Wedding Bell Blues (34 page)

Sherice felt like stamping her foot. All those Toleffsons were such smart-asses. “Get out of my way, Erik. I’ve got an invitation and I’m going in.”

Erik pushed himself slowly to his feet, running his gaze over her without much interest. “You might want to think about that for a minute.”

“I have thought about it,” she snapped. “Get out of my way.”

“I know you believe this is the best kind of revenge,” Erik continued, not moving, “but you need to do a little analyzing here.”

Sherice pressed her lips together, tapping her toe. One thing she didn’t want to do was think. On the other hand, she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d dumped Daisy on that picnic table so she could argue better. A crying baby just got in the way when she was trying to make her point. Then Mama Toleffson had walked off with Sherice’s best bargaining chip.

She blew out an irritated breath. “Look, I’m going in there. You can’t stop me.”

He shrugged. “You’re right. I can’t. None of us Toleffsons can do much to you right now, although if I were you I’d try not to piss Pete off any more than you already have, seeing as how he knows most of the lawyers and judges in Des Moines.”

Sherice shook her head. “So? I’ll get a lawyer from Ames or something. I’m not afraid of any of you Toleffsons, not even Pete.”

“No, probably not. So how do you feel about the Kents?” His gaze flicked back toward the ballroom. “And the Brandenburgs?”

Sherice had a faint sting of uneasiness. “Who are they? Friends of yours?”

His grin became slightly lopsided. “Not really. I don’t have many friends here. They’re Docia’s parents. And from what I hear, they’re worth more than all the Toleffsons for several generations put together, in terms of money anyway.”

“So?” She smoothed her skirt over her hips. “You’re all poor, so what? I’ve got no problem with Docia Kent’s family. It’s you Toleffsons who’ve been giving me grief.”

“But Docia’s a Toleffson now.”

Erik leaned forward slightly, and she found herself thinking of all the stories Lars had told her about him. All the things he’d done, things that made his straight-arrow brothers treat him like he was radioactive. For a moment, she almost wished she’d brought that big lummox Otto Friedrich with her.

She straightened her spine. “What’s your point?”

“It doesn’t matter whether you piss off the Toleffsons. Like I said, we can’t do much to you even if we wanted to. On the other hand, I figure you’re ready to trade up from Lars. Right?”

Sherice blew out a quick breath, then raised her head defiantly. “You think I can’t?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. But does it make sense to go in there and make trouble, when you’d be screwing around with two of the richest families in Texas?”

She dug her nails into her palms, trying not to listen.

“You think the Kents don’t have long memories?” His voice was lazy. “You think Billy Kent won’t go out of his way to keep the woman who ruined his daughter’s wedding reception from cozying up to anybody in his tax bracket?”

Sherice’s pulse pounded in her ears.
Shit, shit, shit
.

“C’mon, Sherice.” Erik’s voice softened. “Think it through. Go on back to Des Moines and get your lawyer. Just let them have their reception.”

For a moment—a very brief moment—Sherice was ready to do it anyway. The thrill of bringing everything down, causing the kind of scene where everybody ended up furious and in tears while she walked out in triumph. But then her practical self kicked in.

He was right. Damn him.

She turned on her heel, stalking back up the path, then glanced back over her shoulder when she reached the corner of the house.

Erik still sat on the stairs where she’d left him, his large hands clasped in front of his knees.

Sherice narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you helping them? They treated you like crap. Just like they treated me.”

“Ah, but I deserved it,” he said. “And once in a while you get a chance to make up for shit you’ve done. This is one of those times.”

Sherice sucked in a breath, feeling a hot flush of irritation. “And you figure that’ll happen to me?”

Erik grinned at her again, leaning back against the steps. “If you’re lucky.”

Janie managed to miss the bouquet Docia threw at her. It bounced once off the tips of her fingers, rather like a volleyball, and landed in Allie’s hands.

Wonder turned slightly pale. So did Allie.

Janie knew they were all trying to help, but she wasn’t sure why they thought giving her a bouquet to match the garter Pete had caught would change things. Pete had to go back to Des Moines. He had a job there, even if he didn’t like it much. He had family. He had responsibilities, and she knew only too well how seriously he regarded them all.

It had been a lovely fantasy, but fantasy time was over now. She had to be a grown-up again. And she didn’t mind too much. Really.

Janie bit her lip. Maybe if she repeated that mantra enough times it would take care of the hollow feeling in her chest.

The reception line passed in a daze. Janie fielded compliments on her dress from most of the Konigsburgers, along with a few piercing looks from those who still thought she was cheating on Otto. She also got some interested looks from the out-of-town guests, mostly the men but also a few wives. She ignored them all. She’d already decided the afternoon was going to be her one turn in the limelight, or rather in the light that reflected from Docia and Cal.

Docia glowed, partly from joy and partly from irritation that she’d gotten stuck in the Cinderella dress in spite of her best efforts. Janie was so happy for her that her heart contracted every time Docia laughed.

Happiness
, she assured herself. That pain in her heart was happiness.

The reception dinner was lavish—beef in some kind of elaborate sauce with an array of vegetables so tiny they might have been grown by gerbils. Janie ate almost none of it. She sat next to Cal, who had his own plate of seared sea bass, with Lars on her other side. Whatever they said was lost on her. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even hear most of the time, given the orchestra sawing away in the background. Her stomach had rolled itself into a tight little ball.

She drank water and avoided the champagne that everyone else was pouring down lustily. She had a feeling champagne would make her maudlin, and this was a joyous occasion. The only people who got to cry were Reba and Mrs. Toleffson, although Mrs. Toleffson looked thoroughly dry-eyed from where Janie sat.

Allie’s cake was a marvel of engineering and imagination, cantilevered layers dripping with flowers and curlicues and filled with a butter cream that was guaranteed to raise a person’s cholesterol by twenty points. Even the groom’s cake was a spectacular concoction of carrots and pineapple and raisins and cream cheese. Janie was sure it would have tasted terrific if she’d been able to choke down a bite.

After the last dish had been removed, Pete got to his feet, holding his champagne glass in front of him as the orchestra ground to a halt. “I’m supposed to make a toast, but I’m not much good at this.” He sighed. Everyone in the tent stared up at him expectantly.

“To Docia and Cal.” He raised his glass. “May you have the kind of wonderful life together you both deserve.”

All around her people raised their glasses, nodding and smiling. Janie gulped down a swallow of champagne, then pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to hold back the panic rising in her throat.

What had she been going to say? She couldn’t remember her toast. She tottered to her feet, bracing one fist on the table in front of her, her champagne glass extended in the other.

“Docia,” she said, her voice trembling, “you’re my best friend.”

Docia looked up at her intently, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“Cal—” Janie turned to him, “—you’re the nicest man I’ve ever met.”

Cal stared at her, his forehead furrowing.

“Here’s to you both.” Janie took a deep breath. “You make us all believe in the power of possibilities.” She took another gulp of champagne, managed a thin smile for the crowd, and sat abruptly.

Lars put his hand on her shoulder. “That was beautiful, Janie. Are you okay?”

Janie nodded, biting her lip. She really was okay. Really. Okay.

“Janie.” Docia stepped behind her chair and hugged her again. “Oh, Janie.”

Janie wanted to tell her to stop it, that she was tired of being hugged. But somehow her voice seemed to have deserted her. Somewhere in the background the orchestra was beginning to tune up again.

“Oh god,” Docia moaned, “time for the dances.” She turned to Cal. “Did you tell your mother, you’d be dancing with her?”

“She’ll figure it out. Come on, babe, we get to lead off.” He grabbed Docia’s hand and turned toward the dance floor that had been set up in the adjoining tent.

“Slow down,” Docia snapped. “I can hardly move in this getup as it is.” She gathered up a handful of chiffon and took a couple of teetering steps. Cal grinned and swept her up into his arms, carrying her toward the orchestra tent as she squealed.

All around Janie, people moved toward the sounds of music. She sat staring at her now-empty champagne glass. She wasn’t sure just when she’d chugged the contents, but the champagne was undoubtedly all gone now.

“Janie?”

She looked up. Pete stood watching her. “You promised to dance with me, remember? That was a beautiful toast, by the way.”

She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Thanks. Yours was nice too.” She stared back at her glass again. Her brain was a little woozy all of sudden.

“Dance?” He said again. His forehead was slightly creased.

“Dance.” She nodded. “Sure, I can do that.” The afternoon sunlight reflected off the edge of her champagne glass as she stared, dazzling her.

“Or we could go back inside the inn and see if we can find an empty bedroom,” Pete added casually.

Janie stared up at him. His mouth was solemn, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s do that instead.”

It only took three tries to locate an empty room that was also unlocked. Since Reba and Billy had reserved the entire Woodrose Inn, Pete figured they wouldn’t invade anyone’s privacy as long as he didn’t see anything in the room that reminded him of Reba. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the lace curtains, flickering shadows across the floor. The bed was king-size, fortunately. Pete locked the door behind them and threw on the deadbolt for good measure.

Janie stood framed against the windows, her moonlight dress shimmering. She was wearing the most beautiful piece of clothing he’d ever seen, and he was going take it all off her anyway. He was a lust-crazed beast, and it didn’t bother him a bit.

After a moment, Janie glided toward him. He was pretty certain her feet never touched the ground, but since she was made of moonlight he wasn’t surprised. She ran the tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw.

“You look hot,” she said.

Ah, if she only knew.
“It’s the vest,” he croaked.

The corners of her mouth quirked up slightly. “Take it off, then.”

His fingers fumbled with the buttons until her hands slid beneath his, opening his coat and vest, then pushing them off his shoulders.

Cool air caressed his shirt front for the first time in a couple of hours at least. But his skin still felt like it was on fire, particularly since Janie kept stroking her fingers across his chest.

He closed his eyes and let himself feel the whisper of her touch. “God, Janie.”

When she took her hand away, he almost groaned. He opened his eyes to see her reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress. He pushed her hands away gently. “Let me.”

He pulled the zipper down, then let his hands glide across her silken skin, moving his thumbs up the bumps of her spine. He blinked. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“It’s sort of built into the dress,” Janie murmured.

Pete began to roll the dress down, careful to treat it like the piece of magic it was. Janie stepped out and stood in front of him, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts.

He reached for her hands and unfolded her arms slowly. He’d never get tired of looking at her breasts, he decided. Not even when they were both in their eighties. He’d still want to see them.

His heartbeat sped up suddenly—he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

He wouldn’t see her when they were eighty. He might not even see her tomorrow. He’d be packed and ready to go, heading for the San Antonio airport, back to Des Moines. Back home.

This could be the last time he saw her beautiful body. The last time he held her in his arms. The last time he kissed her. The last time they made love.

Or not.

Somewhere in his brain his practical voice was screaming.
What are you thinking of? You’re the Deputy Assistant County Attorney. You have responsibilities. You have a job. An important job that everyone depends on. You have a freakin’ condo in West Des Moines.

My responsibilities could be taken over in a microsecond by any number of hungry assistants. The only reason people depend on me is that I’m there. My job is sucking my life away. My condo looks like Hotel Anonymous.

If you make love to her now,
the voice screamed,
it will mean you love her. No backing out. No going away. It will mean Janie Dupree is The One.

Pete felt something in the back of his mind, like an object dropping into place—a puzzle piece, a missing coin, the keystone in an arch. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted.

I do love her. And she is The One. Now and always.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Janie lay on her side, watching Pete’s sleeping face. He had a small scar over his left eyebrow and a slight indentation at the base of his chin. His beard was already growing in, a dark shadow on his cheeks.

She kicked a couple of pillows out of the way. The bed had an elaborate lace bedspread and more pillows than a seraglio. She kept finding them tucked into inconvenient places.