Best Laid Wedding Plans (9 page)

A laugh bubbled out of Jenni Beth before she could stop it. “I've worked with lots of Yankees in Savannah. They're good, hardworking people.”

A blush reddened Kitty's face. “Guess the War of Northern Aggression's well behind us, isn't it?”

“Yes, and thank heavens for that.” She carried her plate and cup to the counter. “Wish me luck.”

Back in her car, Jenni Beth turned onto Church Street. Halfway down the block, she spotted the faded green railroad car that Brenda Sue had converted into a flower shop over twenty years ago.

A new sign hung by the short flight of wrought-iron stairs. Brenda Sue's Flowers had become Bella Fiore. Italian for pretty flower. Kind of ritzy for Misty Bottoms, but maybe the town needed more ritzy to draw people from Savannah.

Jenni Beth parked and marched up the steps. One foot inside the door, she stopped dead, her hand still on the knob. God-awful gaudy. The decor hit her like, well, like a runaway train. Reams of gold ribbon, cherubs, and red velvet—in May! Belle Watson had come to Misty Bottoms. The place practically screamed bordello.

Bella Fiore. One hundred eighty degrees from Brenda Sue's down-home style with its gingham bows and sunflowers.

This was Low Country. Late spring, heading into summer. Where were the pastels, the lilacs and peaches? The spring and summer flowers?

Panic slammed her. Could she work with this woman? Let her anywhere near her brides?

“Can I help you?”

The minute the new shop owner opened her mouth, Jenni Beth heard Fran Drescher, from
The Nanny
reruns she and her mother sometimes watched. She even looked like Fran with all that thick black hair.

Jenni Beth swallowed hard and extended her hand. “I hope so. Are you Pia D'Amato?”

“Yep, that's me.”

“I'm Jenni Beth Beaumont.”

“From Magnolia House.”

“Yes.”

“Come on in and get off those feet.” She waved her hand in a come-here gesture.

Jenni Beth peeked at her own practical sandals, then gazed longingly at the expensive Hermès espadrilles Pia wore. Mentally, she wished the woman well. Unless she had a sugar daddy or was a trust-fund baby, she seriously doubted Ms. D'Amato would be able to afford any more designer shoes. Not on the profits from Bella Fiore.

Although that played right into the reason she'd come. “I have a proposal to run by you, Ms. D'Amato. One I hope will benefit both of us.”

“Really?” Pia's perfectly penciled brows rose as she dragged out the word. “You want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to decline another cup so soon after leaving Kitty's, but politically, that wouldn't be smart. “I'd love one.”

Twenty minutes later, feeling hopeful, Jenni Beth left the little shop. This relationship could work. With a little collaboration, she and Pia should be able to provide Magnolia House brides with flowers. She'd have to keep a close eye on the taste level of Pia's designs, though. Roses and baby's breath. Dogwoods, magnolias, camellias, and Spanish moss. Bouquets and boutonnieres. Another piece of the puzzle that made up her dream snapped into place.

As she slid into her car, Jenni Beth looked over her shoulder. Pia D'Amato was on the phone—and very animated. Good. Maybe she was already sharing their plans with her backer. Jenni Beth didn't know who it was, but felt certain she had one. She sure didn't seem strapped for cash.

No. That would be Jenni Beth herself who filled
those
shoes.

Cole's thumbs drummed on the steering wheel in time to One Republic's “Counting Stars.” It had been a good scouting expedition, and he'd found the perfect columns for Magnolia House, assuming Jenni Beth didn't get her back up and dismiss them out of hand. And he'd made it back in time for dinner with Beck. He needed time with his pal, wanted his take on some of the changes going down.

He adjusted the rearview mirror and took a quick look at himself, ran a hand over his jaw. Not good, but not too bad. If he was meeting Jenni Beth, which, unfortunately, he wasn't, he'd need a shower and shave. Since his dinner date was Beck, he could probably forget both.

But Beck mentioned running home to clean up after he finished his job, so he'd better, too. Besides, his mom wouldn't appreciate him running around town looking like some ragamuffin.

Cole turned onto Whiskey Road. If he hustled, he could shower, toss on some fresh clothes, and not be more than ten minutes late.

When he rushed into the house, he spotted a note on the kitchen counter. His mom had put clean sheets on his bed and fresh towels in his bath. Checking the fridge, he found the homemade caramels, downed two, and closed his eyes to savor them. Nobody made caramels like his mom. She'd left him a quart of milk, some fresh bread, cold cuts, and leftover fried chicken—in case he got hungry.

That was his mom. When it came to family, he'd won the lottery.

* * *

What the heck?
Monday night and the parking lot at Duffy's Pub was bursting at the seams. Football season had ended a couple months ago so that wasn't the draw. Must be Meghan's cooking. He sure hoped she had some of her shrimp and grits left. While Savannah boasted more than one top-notch chef, nobody came close to Meghan's down-home cooking.

Stuffing his truck key into his jeans pocket, he pushed through the front door and felt he'd come home. Music played, glasses clinked, conversations drifted over and around others.

Beck waved at him from a side booth. “Get yourself in here. You're already one behind.” He lifted the nearly empty bottle and wagged it at him.

“He's drinkin' Bud. You havin' the same?” Binnie asked from behind the bar.

Cole leaned across the counter and pulled the waitress into a big hug. “You still puttin' up with Duffy and all the lowlifes who come draggin' in here, Binnie?”

She laughed. “I'm waitin' on my Prince Charming to ride in and rescue me from all this, but, darn, he's sure takin' his time about it.”

“You've got my number,” Cole said.

“Yep, I sure do. Just like another hundred or so women.”

“Ouch.” He laid a hand over his heart.

“So you drinkin' Bud tonight?”

“Is it cold?”

“Duffy's chippin' the ice off it as we speak.”

“That'll do then.” He slid into the worn wooden seat across from Beck.

“So what brings you to Misty Bottoms, pal?” Beck asked.

“Work. Hit a couple sales, did some banking. Odds and ends.” He took the beer Binnie offered and thanked her for the bowl of peanuts.

“You guys gonna eat or just drink your way through the night?”

“Eat,” Beck said. “I skipped lunch today. Had a visit from a pretty little gal when I got back to the shop.”

“Let me guess,” Cole said. “Jenni Beth.”

“Yep. She came in to order some lumber for her front porch.” He grimaced. “She plans to do the work herself.”

“She does. I drove over there today while she was measurin'. That's what I want to talk about.”

Binnie propped her tray on one hip. “You want me to come back?”

“No, I'm ready to order.” Cole looked at Beck. “How about you?”

“I'm havin' Duffy's fish and chips. With tartar sauce. Gallons of Meghan's homemade tartar sauce.”

“Have any shrimp and grits tonight?” Cole asked.

“Sure do. And there should be a pan of homemade rolls comin' out of the oven any minute now.”

“Then I'm good,” Cole said.

Binnie headed to the kitchen to place their orders, and Cole leaned in toward Beck. “Did Jenni Beth tell you what she's plannin'?”

“Yeah, she did.”

Cole stared down at his coaster, his thoughts drifting back to last week at Chateau Rouge, when she'd danced with him in the moonlight. That soft skin, those sexy, bedroom eyes. She felt so good, so right in his arms. Heat rushed through him. He'd hoped…

Beck cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” Cole shook his head to clear it. “Woolgathering.”

“She wants to make a few repairs to the house.”

“More than a few. You been in that house lately?”

“No.”

“She walked me through it today.” He whistled. “That place is rough! Far worse than I thought.” He took a drink of his beer, enjoyed the bite of the ice-cold brew. “Did she tell you she quit her job in Savannah?”

“Yeah.” Beck leaned against the booth's scarred back. “I wish she'd taken a leave instead.”

Cole shook his head. “That's Jenni Beth. Never does anything halfway.”

“Thought she liked it in Savannah.”

“She did, but her family comes first, and they're in rougher shape than I thought, too.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

If anyone understood that kind of loyalty, it was Beck. Hadn't he basically done the same? Given up his dreams for the family business?

Cole hesitated. Should he tell Beck about Richard's call and what he'd overheard? Beck would be in town 24–7.
He
wouldn't be. Couldn't be.

Despite Jenni Beth's arguments, she needed somebody to watch her back. He'd known Richard all his life and found it hard to believe he'd actually do anything to derail her plans. Still…money and greed did strange things to people.

Cole wasn't willing to risk Jenni Beth's safety—or her happiness.

Twirling his beer on the coaster, he jumped in. “I need to swear you to secrecy, pal.”

Beck set down his beer, sat up a little straighter.

Binnie showed up right at that moment with their food. “Anything else I can get for you, boys?”

“Not a thing,” Cole said. “Looks great.”

“I'm good,” Beck agreed.

The minute Binnie was out of earshot, Beck looked at Cole. “My lips are sealed. What's goin' on?”

Cole dropped his voice, the morning's anger rushing back. In quick bursts, he filled Beck in on the details of Jenni Beth's plans. “She knows what she's doing. Her plans are sound. But—”

He went on to tell him about Richard's demand for collateral and the phone conversation he'd overheard.

“You think Thorndike would actually try something?” Beck asked.

“That land's worth at least half a million dollars.”

Beck dropped back against the booth. “We might have ourselves a problem.” He slathered tartar sauce on a bite of fish. “I've gotta ask something first, Cole, and I guess, if you want, you can tell me to mind my own business. You and Jenni Beth.” He forked another bite of his fish, chewed. “There something goin' on between the two of you?”

Cole's jaw tightened. “Why would you ask that?”

“It's just, well, there's always tension when you two are together. I need to know what I'm steppin' into.”

Cole picked up his beer, set it back down without taking a drink. How in the hell did he answer that? Did he say he wished, but the lady'd shot him down? Close but no cigar?

“Nothing's goin' on, Beck. A friend's in trouble. We need to help her. End of story.”

“You say so.” But the look he sent Cole was skeptical.

Feeling like a heel, hating all the half-truths he'd been handing out, Cole tapped his beer against his friend's. “To us. We've both got our own businesses, our own homes. We haven't done badly, pal.”

“I'll drink to that.” Beck raised his drink. Then, head bent, staring at his plate, he asked, “Do you ever miss havin' somebody beside you when you go to bed at night?”

Where'd that come from?
He frowned. “As in someone permanent? The same body beside me every night?”

Beck nodded.

“Somebody like Tansy?”

“That's never gonna happen.” Beck shrugged. “In general, you know?”

“Gotcha.” He pulled on his ear. “My parents have had a good marriage, set a good example. But I'm happy with life as it is. You?”

“I'm good with things.”

Cole had an uneasy moment, suspecting they might both be lying to themselves and each other
. Nah.
He shoved the thought aside. He did like his life. He was satisfied.

Dropping his fork onto his plate, Beck flagged down their waitress. “Binnie, how about another round here. Cole and I are gonna play some darts. He might get thirsty, and I don't want him to have any excuses when I win.”

Cole laughed. “Oh really? Last time, I beat the pants off you.”

His friend waggled his brows. “Ah, but while you've been off tending to business in the real world, I've been practicin'.”

“Beck Elliot, no amount of practice is gonna save you.”

“We'll see.”

They made small talk while Binnie cleared their plates. After they settled their bill, they moved into the back room.

Two games later, Cole had to concede that his friend had indeed been practicing. And
he
was rusty. Very rusty. He'd won the first, but barely. Beck had taken the second.

“Uh-oh,” Beck muttered. “Couple things we didn't get a chance to talk about during dinner, bro.”

“Save your breath. It won't work.”

“What won't?”

“This game's the tiebreaker. You're tryin' to distract me. You can't.” He stopped, arm cocked, ready to release.

A high-pitched giggle drifted from the front room. He hung his head. “Kimmie Atherton's back?”

Beck nodded. “And newly divorced. Second time, too. She's on the hunt, friend, and you and she have a history.”

“History is right. All in the past.”

“Cole!” Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the excited shriek sent shudders rippling through him.

He winced and braced himself just in time. She took one leap and plastered herself to him like Saran Wrap on a bowl of his mama's leftovers. Her legs embraced his hips, and she planted a kiss on him that, in days past, would have had him making up any excuse to get the two of them outside and horizontal on the backseat of his car.

But that was then.

Tonight he wanted nothing to do with her.

He caught the grin on Beck's face and heard the hoots of laughter from several others in the bar.

Throwing his arms wide, Cole looked to Beck for help. He half-hoped that without his arms holding her up, Kimmie would fall free. She didn't. Like a suction cup, she held fast, a stranglehold around his neck.

Setting his beer on a nearby table, Cole reached for her arms. “Kimmie, how 'bout you let go of me for a second here? Step back so I can get a good look at you.”

He seared Beck with an I-dare-you-to-laugh-again look.

Kimmie giggled and loosened her hold, dropping her feet to the floor. With a flourish, she extended her arms out to her sides and sent him a blindingly white grin.

Red cowboy boots added a bit of panache to faded denim shorts cut so high they barely covered her butt cheeks and a rhinestone-covered T-shirt slit nearly to her navel. Her heavy perfume clung to him.

“Like what you see, Cole? You sure used to.” Seductively, she moved in toward him. He took a step back, then a second and a third.

“You've grown up real nice, honey, but I was just leavin'. I've got a big day tomorrow.” He aimed the dart in his hand, arched it toward the board, and pumped his fist when it stuck dead-center in the bull's-eye.

“But, Cole—” Kimmie whined.

“Nope.” He checked his watch. “I can't stay. Beck might have time to play a game or two with you.”

The expression on Beck's face changed from cat-ate-the-canary to man-smelled-skunk. He shook his head.

“Uh-uh. No can do. My crew starts at daybreak tomorrow. Time for me to head home, too.”

Together they beat tracks to the back door.

Behind them, Cole heard Kimmie's booted foot thump the floor at the same time an angry oath exploded from her mouth.

“Her mother would wash her mouth out with soap if she heard that,” Cole muttered.

Beck shook his head. “Between you and me, I think her mama's given up on her.”

Once in the parking lot, he and Beck caught each other's eyes and laughed like loons.

“Why the hell didn't you warn me?” Cole asked.

“I meant to, but with Jenni Beth's problems and all, guess I forgot. Anyway, I sure didn't think Kimmie would come bouncin' in to Duffy's tonight.”

Cole shook his head. “What did I ever see in her?”

“You honestly can't remember?” Beck raised cupped hands to his chest.

Chuckling, Cole said, “Yeah, okay, there was that. Good thing I outgrew them, huh?”

“As if.” Beck swatted him with his baseball cap, and the two walked to their respective trucks.

“You'll keep an eye on Jenni Beth when I'm in Savannah?” Cole called across the lot.

“Absolutely,” his friend answered.

Cole headed home, the darkness thick after spending so much time in the city. But the stars overhead were magnificent. What had he been thinking? Seriously, Kimmie Atherton? Overt sex. She flaunted it, pushed it right out there in a guy's face. And that's probably one of the reasons Jenni Beth hadn't forgiven him.

He probably could have been a little less conspicuous in his prom choice.

Add in Angus Duckworth, and he was surprised she hadn't hired a hit man to take him out.

He couldn't help the belly laugh that forced its way out. He felt better than he had all day.