The BFF Bride (12 page)

“What’s going on Saturday evening?”

“Vivian Templeton’s Christmas party. I told you about it the last time we talked.”

“Right.” He’d gotten the invitation. Tossed it somewhere. “I don’t even know the lady. Why is it you want me to go?”

“Because, regardless of what your grandfather wants us to think, it’s the polite thing to do. She’s just dropped a ton of money on the hospital. The woman is family whether Squire wants to admit it or not, and we’re going to act like it.”

Justin still didn’t think his presence would matter to Vivian Templeton one way or another. But it obviously mattered to his mother. And he didn’t need to be at cross-purposes with yet another female. “I can spare a few hours.”

“You’ll need a tux.”

He managed not to swear out loud. Tuxedos in Weaver were about the most outlandish thing that he could imagine. “Fine.”

“Justin—”

“I’ll have a tux,” he assured her, containing his impatience with an effort. “You get the same promise from Erik?”

“Erik is Izzy’s problem,” Hope said. “But I’m sure she’ll succeed.”

No doubt. His brother would turn cartwheels in a tutu for his wife, particularly now that she was pregnant with their child.

Justin’s phone vibrated in his hand, alerting him to another call. “Got another call, Mom. If I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you Saturday.”

“All right. I love you, honey.”

“You, too.” More interested in getting off the hook with her while he was still in her good graces than anything else, he switched calls. “Yes?”

“Justin, my boy! Charles here. How is the report coming?”

Justin grimaced. Sometimes you were the bug. Sometimes you were the windshield. These days, he was feeling like he was both. “It’s coming, Charles.”

“I don’t have to remind you what it’ll mean to the company if you get it completed on time.”

“I know.” He opened the door and looked out at the falling snow. He’d forgotten that it could actually be a pretty sight. But what really caught his attention was the car pulling into the driveway.

Tabby’s car.

“Can I ask you a favor, Charles?”

“As long as it doesn’t cost me a few more million dollars.”

“Can you send someone over to my apartment? Someone other than Gillian. Strangely enough, I need to have a tux shipped here by Saturday.”

“My secretary can take care of it.”

“Thanks. If there’s nothing else you needed, I’ve got a report to get back to.”

“That’s what I like to hear, my boy. Exactly what I like to hear.”

Justin ended the call, pocketing the phone as he stepped off the porch and headed toward Tabby’s vehicle. The moment she opened the car door, the puppy escaped, racing toward him so fast she practically tripped over her own long ears.

He scooped her up, and she licked his face a few times before scrabbling at him to be let back down again. The second he did so, she was off like a bolt toward Tabby, who was already on her porch, unlocking the door.

He followed the dog, hoping to make it before Tabby could close the door in his face.

And he would have, too. If his shoe hadn’t landed in a pile of dog poop, sending him sliding in the slick snow.

He landed flat on his back, the breath slamming out of him as he stared up at the flecks of white coming down at him from the solid gray sky.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“Oh, my goodness.” Mrs. Wachowski opened her door and peered out at him lying half in and half out of the bushes lining the front of her unit. “I saw you through my window. Are you hurt?”

He coughed. “Besides my pride?” He winced when Beastie pounced on his chest. “I’ll survive.” He sat up and eyed Tabby’s door. Which was now closed.

Probably locked again. At least against him.

“Ever have one of those days, Mrs. Wachowski?”

“Sure.” She left her porch and bent over beside him, tucking her frail hand beneath his arm. He didn’t need her assistance as he got to his feet, but he couldn’t help appreciating her effort. “Then I finally retired from teaching history to hooligans like you and that Rasmussen boy, and they stopped.” She dashed her hands over his shoulders, brushing away the clinging snow. “There you are. Right as rain. You’re certain you’re not hurt anywhere?”

He glanced at Tabby’s closed door again. “Once I deal with the mess I’m in, I’ll be fine.”

She wrinkled her nose, obviously thinking he meant the dark smear on his shoe. “Fortunately, messes clean up.” She patted his shoulder and returned to her door, going inside.

Justin exhaled and scraped his sole against the edge of the sidewalk as well as he could. Then he continued to Tabby’s door and knocked.

The porch light flicked on, and she answered so immediately he wondered if she’d seen his ignominious tumble. “We need to talk.”

“Not really.” She brushed past him, pulling the door closed again. “I’m on my way out.”

“You just got back.”

“So?”

“Where are you going now?”

She lifted her eyebrows and headed toward her car. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, actually.”

“Got a call from my mother because she heard we’d been fighting at the diner. She’s concerned about...dissension.”

She stopped and looked back at him. “There’s no dissension.”

He rubbed the puppy’s silky head where she’d tucked it under his chin. “That’s what I told her.”

“So we’re both liars,” he heard her mutter. “I knew this would happen.”

He closed the distance between them. It was getting darker by the second. “There’s an easy solution.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Easy.”

He continued, speaking over her. “Have an adult conversation with me for once about what’s going on.”

“We had sex,” she said tightly. “And it was a mistake. That’s what’s going on.”

“I don’t think sex was a mistake. I think most everything that’s happened since we had sex has been a mistake.”

She looked away, dashing a snowflake off her face. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a fishbowl,” she muttered. “Mrs. Wachowski’s watching us through her front window.”

“And Mr. Rowe’s pretending to sweep snow off his front porch while he looks this way. We are in a fishbowl. That doesn’t change anything. We had sex, Tabby. I wasn’t doing you some damn sort of favor. We kissed, and that’s all she wrote. I thought you were right there with me, but I guess I was wrong.”

Her gaze flicked up to his. She moistened her lips. “You weren’t wrong,” she said almost inaudibly.

Only the knowledge that they were being watched kept him from reaching for her. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Besides not wanting to upset either one of our families? I don’t want to get used to something that’s not going to last.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point but couldn’t.

And her expression said she knew it. “You’re going to finish your work soon and go back to Boston. And I’m going to be here.”

“Come with me.”

He didn’t know where the words had come from, but they were out there now. And she was staring at him as if he’d suggested she move to Mars. “Go
with
you! What are you—”

“You can paint there,” he said over her words. “Just as easily as you can paint here.”

She blinked, going quiet for a moment. “Painting is my hobby,” she finally said.

“One you’re earning money doing.”

“Yes. But I still enjoy it because it
is
a hobby. If I
had
to paint for my living?” She shook her head.

“Then don’t paint!” Something was slipping through his fingers, and he wasn’t even sure what it was. “Do something else. Anything else that you want to do. You can live with me. Or...or find a place of your own.” That wasn’t at all what he wanted, but if he just got her out there, he could sway her.

His gut tightened. He was pretty sure he could.

Her head tilted slightly, and her dark hair slid over her shoulder. She reached out and brushed her fingertips over Beastie’s sleeping head. “I am doing what I want to do, Justin. I don’t stay in Weaver because I’m afraid to go out into the big bad world. I stay because this is my home. Because every...everything I love is here. You used to understand that. I thought you did, anyway.”

“If this is still about what happened four years ago—”

“It’s not. What you want out of life has always been different than what I want out of life. When we were kids it didn’t matter. But we’re not kids anymore. I’m not the kind of girl who can do the friends-with-benefits thing. That might be fine for someone else, but it’s just not in my genetic makeup, I guess. I still believe sex should mean more than that. And now that we’ve gone
there
—” she waved her hand “—I don’t know how to get back to just being friends again. Either I get mad. Or you get mad. And someone inevitably notices. You’re going to be here for another few weeks, so if only for the sake of a little sanity and keeping our families from getting needlessly upset, I think it would be best if we keep our distance from each other. At least when we have a choice about it.”

“What if I don’t agree?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Give me a better solution.”

He stared at her. Unfortunately, he didn’t have one.

So when she broke the tense silence between them by getting in her car, he didn’t stop her.

Instead, he watched the taillights of her old car until they were no longer in sight.

Chapter Twelve

“T
abby!” Hayley Banyon, looking elegantly beautiful in a royal blue gown, caught Tabby’s hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then she looked up at Bubba. “My goodness, Bubba. Look at you.”

Tabby’s cook grimaced. He was clean shaven—something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. He looked as though he already wanted to rip off his black bow tie, even though they’d just arrived at the party. “Feel like a trussed-up penguin,” he said, tugging at his black tuxedo jacket.

“You don’t look like a penguin,” Hayley assured him. “You’re downright handsome.”

Which was a compliment that only made Bubba look even more uncomfortable. He muttered a gruff “thank you” that made Hayley’s smile widen. She squeezed Tabby’s hands once again before excusing herself to greet more people as they entered the high-ceilinged, marble-floored foyer.

Come with me.

Tabby shook the memory of Justin’s words out of her head and slid her hand around Bubba’s arm, urging him past the beautifully decorated Christmas tree situated in the center of the spacious entry. She wanted to be there about as much as she wanted holes drilled in her head.

But she wasn’t going to let Bubba down just because Justin Clay once again had her twisted in knots.
Come with me.
Just like that. Drop everything that mattered in her life to go with him simply because he’d discovered having sex with her wasn’t so bad, after all.

“The sooner Vivian sees you here, the sooner you can leave,” she said under her breath.

Bubba made a face. “I never wore stuff like this before.”

“I’ve never worn an evening gown, either,” Tabby said, brushing her hand down the heavy red fabric of her dress. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t trip over the thing and fall on my face. The only floor-length thing I’ve ever worn was a flannel nightgown when I was little.”

As she’d hoped, Bubba’s expression lightened up a little. “You don’t have on your cowboy boots underneath there, do you?”

“I wish.” She lifted the hem a few inches off the floor to reveal the high-heeled pumps her mother had loaned her to go with the dress. “It’s going to take alcohol to make me forget the way these shoes are pinching my toes.” Though why it might work for her aching toes when it didn’t work to help her forget those three little words—
come with me
—she couldn’t imagine.

“Pretty sure there’ll be plenty of alcohol,” Bubba said as they entered a living area that made even Hope and Tristan Clay’s great room look small. “I’ve seen the boxes of stuff Montrose has been getting.”

Despite herself, she realized she was gaping at the sight of the room around them, and she made herself stop.

She’d never seen so many pieces of gold furniture in one place before. But then, she’d also never seen people she’d known all of her life dressed in this much formal wear before, either. Not even at the hospital fund-raiser.

She blinked a little at the sight of Tristan Clay, decked out in a tux just as black as Bubba’s. But Justin’s dad wore his with enviable ease. Probably because he owned and operated the hugely successful Cee-Vid and was more accustomed to such ostentatious displays. Hope, who was standing beside her husband, looked positively radiant in a deep purple gown. They seemed deep in conversation with a couple Tabby didn’t know who were similarly attired.

Even though she knew her mom had been glad for a legitimate excuse to miss the party, she was sorry that Jolie wasn’t there to see all the glamour.

Right here in Weaver.

For the first time in days, the matter of Justin Clay edged slightly to one side in her mind.

“Bubba,” she murmured. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

He responded by turning her slightly so she could see the hostess where she was standing by a tall window, talking with a stern-looking man.

Tabby had only seen Vivian in person a few times. She figured Hayley’s grandmother was probably in her eighties. But there was nothing exactly elderly about the white-haired woman. Even though Tabby’s mother had described the gown she’d made for Vivian, she still blinked a little at the sight of it. Yards of white satin ought to have overwhelmed the diminutive woman, but they didn’t. The shining gold fabric tied around her waist in an oversize bow ought to have seemed silly, but it didn’t. Plus it matched the fancy little bolero jacket she wore.

“Do you think she planned it so she’d match the gold flecks in the upholstery?”

Fortunately, Bubba’s guffaw was drowned out by Christmas music and conversation. “Knowing her, she might have.” Evidently losing interest, he gestured toward a table that was set up as a bar. “Alcohol’s over there.”

Tabby gratefully headed over with him. This whole thing was feeling decidedly surreal, and fortification would be necessary if and when Justin got there. She’d been praying for two solid days that he’d get so involved with his work that he’d forget all about the party.

But if her prayers of the cowardly variety were answered on a regular basis, he would’ve gone back to Boston after Thanksgiving the way he usually did.

Gathering her wits about her, she glanced at the elaborate display spread out on the white-and-gold cloth covering the table. There was nothing as simple as beer on offer, which was one more indication that Hayley’s grandmother expected those around her to adjust to her style, rather than the other way around.

What else could explain a woman who drove a Rolls-Royce around Weaver when a pickup or SUV would have been far more sensible?

Bubba seemed to take it more in stride, but then he had more personal experience with their hostess than Tabby. He simply poured himself a healthy measure of whiskey and muttered something about needing some fresh air. Tabby let him go. He was more familiar with the big new house than she was, after all.

She studied the collection of wine bottles for a moment, then chose a pinot noir. She took one sip and groaned a little.

“Something wrong with the wine?”

Startled, she glanced up at the tall man who’d stepped behind the table. “Not at all.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s too good. I’m afraid the usual stuff I drink is never going to satisfy me now.”

“My grandmother has good taste in liquor and wine. But—” he angled his blond head and smiled “—I wish she didn’t think beer was beneath her.” His eyes glinted. “I might survive the evening, though, if you’ll tell me that you and I aren’t related.”

“Mrs. Templeton is your grandmother?”

He glanced over at their hostess, who now seemed to be in heated discussion with her companion. “Yes. And that guy she’s arguing with is my old man.” He looked back at Tabby and stuck his hand over the bottles. “Archer Templeton.”

Tabby’s smile widened as she shook his hand. “You’re Hayley’s brother. The lawyer, right?”

“Guilty.”

“She’s mentioned you a few times. I’m Tabby Taggart. And I’ll admit to knowing quite a few of the people here, but I’m definitely not related to any of them.” Never would be.

Come with me.
As what?

Archer didn’t immediately release her hand. “The evening is looking up.”

She flushed a little. It was hard not to. The man was crazy handsome and possessed a devilish smile. If she didn’t already know the futility of it, she might have wondered if he was rocket worthy.

She slipped her hand away from his and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Do you live in Braden, Archer?”

“Sort of. I have a house there.” He dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and splashed vodka over them before tossing in a few olives. “I spend more of my time in Cheyenne. Sometimes Denver.” He lifted his drink. “My dad’s idea of a martini.” He squinted a little as he took a sip. “So if you’re not one of our newfound kin, are you here with one? Hayley says our granny was choosy with her invites.”

“I’m here with Bub—er, Robert Bumble.” The name obviously meant nothing to him. “He cooks for your grandmother when Montrose is off.”

“Ah.” Archer nodded his head. “And is it serious between you and ‘Bub—er, Robert’?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I would be lost without him,” she said seriously, then chuckled when Archer frowned. “We actually work together,” she admitted. “I run a diner here in Weaver. He’s our regular cook. And I honestly couldn’t do it without him.”

“Well, then.” His frown disappeared, and he held up his highball glass between them. “To new friends.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Something tells me you already have a lot of
friends
, Archer.”

His smile deepened. “I’ll plead the Fifth on that.”

She laughed and tapped the side of her wineglass against his. “To new friends.”

* * *

Entering the room on Erik and Izzy’s heels, Justin immediately spotted Tabby. It was hard not to. Just as she had at the hospital fund-raiser, she stood out like a shining beacon. Only tonight, instead of a shimmery white dress that stopped midthigh, she was wrapped in red from neck to toe. The only things left bare were her sleekly muscled shoulders and arms. She’d done something to her hair, too. It was as shiny as ever, but it was straight and smooth as glass, streaming behind her back.

She was Tabby. Yet she wasn’t.

He was vaguely aware of Erik saying something, and then his brother and sister-in-law were crossing the fancy room, leaving him behind.

He watched Tabby and a strange man share a toast and a smile that looked way too friendly and felt his fists curl.

Without conscious thought, he moved over to them and put his arm around her. When she jumped, he merely cupped his palm around her shoulder, holding her still. “How’s the wine?”

The look she gave him spoke volumes.

It didn’t stop him from sliding the glass right out of her fingers. He absently did the ritual wine-tasting bit he’d perfected because of CNJ. Swirl. Sniff. Sip. He’d done it with heads of corporations and medical institutions. But he didn’t take his eyes off the other man, who was giving him an assessing look in return.

“Not bad,” he said, taking a longer sip. “Who’s your new friend, Tab?”

She was rigid beside him. “Your cousin, actually,” she said through her teeth. “Dr. Justin Clay, meet Archer Templeton.” She turned away from him with a sharp little jerk that dislodged his hand. “It’s been very nice meeting you, Archer. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my date.” She walked away.

Both men watched her, though Archer was the one to break his stare first. “Doctor,” he drawled. “Hayley gave me the rundown, but I didn’t pay her much attention. My uncle is a pediatrician.”

“Not that kind of doctor. Tabby just likes jerking my chain.”

“Hmm.” Archer looked amused and belatedly stuck out his hand. “Which one of Squire Clay’s sons do you belong to?”

Justin was supposed to be a civilized man. He crushed the appealing notion of dragging Tabby away where she’d be out of reach of guys like Archer and reluctantly shook the other man’s hand. “Tristan is my father. I’m his youngest. He’s Squire’s youngest. And you? Where do you fit?”

Archer jerked his chin toward a white-haired lady wearing a set expression. “That gray-haired guy arguing with Granny Vivian? He’s my father, Carter. Also her youngest.”

Erik had reiterated the history for Justin before they’d entered the palatial house. “Your grandfather and my grandfather’s first wife were brother and sister.”

“Half brother and sister. But, yeah. My grandfather never knew about her, though, until they were adults.”

“Your grandfather died when he was still a young man.” Erik had told him that, too.

Archer nodded. “And your grandmother died while she was still a young woman.” He glanced again at his grandmother. “Viv managed to piss off a lot of people in her day, including your grandfather. Otherwise, we might have learned about each other long before now. But she’s trying to make up for it.”

“Someone should tell her that dropping a pile of money on the hospital isn’t going to sway my grandfather. Squire makes up his mind about something, it’s not likely to change. Before my dad was even born, your grandmother disrespected Squire’s wife because she was illegitimate. Obviously she didn’t have a problem with your grandfather—she named my uncle after him. But my grandfather won’t ever forget.”

Archer shrugged. “I only met her earlier this year myself, but I already know that Vivian doesn’t change her mind, either. Even if she has to build a brand-new fence around the obstacle of your grandfather, she’s going to keep mending the rest of them. Trying to, at least. I can give her credit for that, even though my father won’t.”

“Seems our families have even more in common,” Justin said. “Stubborn-as-hell grandparents.”

“And similar taste in women.” Archer’s gaze traveled past Justin, obviously watching Tabby again.

Forget civilized. “She’s off the market,” he said flatly.

The other man’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t give me that impression.”

“Regardless. Look somewhere else.”

Archer eyed him for a moment. Then he shrugged and topped off his glass with a shot of vodka. “Glad to meet you, Doc. I think we all might be in for an interesting evening,” he added as he walked away.

Justin doubted it. If he hadn’t heard from three different people that week that Tabby was going to be there with Bubba, he would have excused himself from going altogether, no matter what he’d promised his mother. He still had work to do, and the deadline was looming larger with every passing day.

But he was glad he was there. Archer Templeton was a player. Justin recognized the type.

And there was no way the guy was going to play with Tabby.

Since she’d scraped away his suggestion about Boston the way he’d scraped dog crap from his shoe, he hadn’t seen or spoken with her. Until tonight.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her hugging Izzy. Physically, the two women couldn’t have been more different. Izzy was short and curvaceous with white-blond hair. Tabby was tall and lean with brown hair so dark it was almost black.

But for a moment—a moment that had his hair standing on end—he imagined Tabby with a baby bump like the one Izzy sported.