Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance) (9 page)

Li’l Bit looked at him. “Huh?”

“The job. Head of security. What’d my mom say about it?”

“Man, told her I’d not repeat a word.” He made a motion of locking his lips and throwing away the key.

“Repeat—” Unbelievable. This Jerry Garcia wannabe was his mother’s
confidant?
He was trying to come up with a next question that might open those invisibly locked lips when he heard a familiar woman’s voice.

“Hey, you two, starting the party without me?”

Grams sat regally in her wheelchair, resplendent in a pink-and-orange caftan dotted with rhinestones whose sparkle paled compared to the diamond heirloom ring she wore.

Looking at the roses on the table, she touched the hand of the older gentleman standing next to her. “Richmond, darling, you ordered my
favorite
roses.”

Richmond had always reminded Braxton of a balding version of Anthony Hopkins. He had a thing for bow ties—today he wore a burgundy one with a crisp white shirt and blue cardigan—lending him a studious air, fitting for the retired American history professor.

“How’d your sleuthing go?” she asked Braxton.

He shrugged. “No signs of you-know-who.”

Earlier, he’d taken a taxi—didn’t want to risk someone tracing his license plate—to a check-cashing business Dmitri had called him about, claiming a “compatriot” told him Yuri was fencing goods there. So Braxton visited the place, checked out the license plates in the lot, asked some innocent-sounding questions. Not a single indication Yuri was conducting any dirty business there.

“And you,” Grams said, turning to Li’l Bit. “Still feeling tired?”

“A little bit,” he said, pointing to the empty bread basket as a waiter walked by.

Braxton had heard that response was what had earned the stoner his nickname.

Satisfied more bread was on its way, Li’l Bit held up the paper bag, “Found those cigarillos you like, Glenda.”

Why’d he bother to wrap the gift, or paper-bag it, if he was just gonna broadcast its contents before she opened it? But it didn’t seem to bother Grams, who gushed about his finding her favorite cigarillos, which apparently were scarce.

“Your mother should be here any moment,” Grams said to Braxton. “She dropped us off at the handicapped parking spot—covered, thank goodness—then parked the car. Where would you like us to sit, dear?”

“Wherever the birthday girl wishes.”

As Richmond guided the wheelchair to a spot, his mom arrived, her hair a little frizzy from the rain, clutching a white box with a big pink bow. Leaning over, she kissed Braxton on the cheek.

“I forgot to get a birthday card,” she whispered.

“Me, too,” he whispered back.

To him, it wasn’t a big deal. But his mom thrived on order, tradition and responsibility. Which had always struck him as funny, considering she was raised by Grams, who was glitzier than Joan Collins.

Today his mom wore black pants and a white blouse, her only accessory a string of pearls, a long-ago birthday gift from his dad. She nervously clutched the gift as though unsure where to put it...or herself. Dorothy Morgan exuded confidence when it came to organizing potlucks for her bowling league or arranging dinner parties at the house, but grew uncomfortable in “showy” places, which she viewed this restaurant to be, nervous that she might break some rule.

Benedict Morgan had always told his wife she was too hard on herself. Nevertheless, whenever they were in public, Benny had been her protector. He’d walked close to her, ensured she had a comfortable seat, brought her drinks and anything else she wanted, so she never had to deal with crowds, rules or her own self-doubts.

“Let me help you, Mom.” Braxton stood, took the gift from her and set it on the table, then pulled out the chair next to his.

With a smile of relief, she sat.

He looked around, didn’t see a waiter. “Want me to get you a glass of white wine?” he asked.

“Thank you.”

By the time Braxton returned from the bar with wine for his mom and a martini for Grams, Drake and Val had arrived.

Presents were piled on a chair next to his grandmother, and Li’l Bit was entertaining everyone with the story of the first time he met Val and how she’d threatened to throw a plant through his window. Everyone had heard it many times, but apparently this was the first for Richmond, who had a look of surprise on his face.

“So,” Li’l Bit said, “I said to her through the closed door, ‘Lady, you and your negative energy need to leave, man!’”

Val jumped in. “That’s when, as my nanny used to say, the cheese slid off my cracker. You know, I went a little crazy. With good reason! I’d had a rough day tossing back vodka shots with Russian thugs, plus I was worried something awful about Drake, who’d been missing for hours, so
I
said to the door, ‘I suggest you step back from your window,
man,
’cause the glass is gonna fly!’”

Everybody laughed, except Richmond, who looked frightened.

Fortunately, a waiter appeared with more beverages and took everyone’s food order. After he left, Grams tapped the edge of her water glass with her knife. Once she had everyone’s attention, she smiled sweetly and said, “Richmond and I have an announcement.”

Richmond cleared his throat and took Grams’s hand in his. “I’ve asked this lovely lady to marry me, and she said yes.”

As they kissed, everyone clapped.

“Being pregnant gets me so darn emotional,” Val said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a napkin.

“Darling,” Grams said to her, “I’m wearing the family heirloom ring because you asked me to, but after the baby arrives in May, it’s yours again.” She looked up at her husband-to-be. “The following month, this June bride will be wearing her own wedding ring.”

Braxton stood, raising his wineglass. “I’d like to give a toast to the bride-and groom-to-be.”

As he looked at his grandmother’s twinkling jade-green eyes, he flashed on a long-ago memory of her moving into his family’s house after the sudden death of her husband, Jack. For weeks afterward, Grams, never one to wear her pain, kept up a good front during the day, but at night he’d hear her softly crying in her room.

He glanced around the table, thinking about how each of them had weathered tough times. His mom losing her husband, he and Drake their father, nearly four years ago. Drake overcoming his gambling demons. Val surviving Katrina.

Li’l Bit...well, he must have weathered a scarcity of weed at some point in this life.

And Braxton survived the near loss of his family, the greatest loss he could imagine. To be here with all of them again, celebrating another milestone, was something he’d never take for granted again.

“Damn,” he rasped, fighting to keep it together, “I must be pregnant, too!”

After the laughter subsided, he raised his glass once more. “To Grams and Richmond...there is only one true happiness in life, and that is to love and be loved.”

As Braxton sat, Richmond stood. He gestured to the bouquet of flowers, his hand trembling slightly, then looked down lovingly at Grams’s upturned face.

“If I had a rose for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”

More clapping and a few sniffles.

“Welcome to the family, Richmond.”

“Better learn how to make martinis!”

Then Li’l Bit stood, tears rolling down his face. He raised his Mai Tai, which now had two umbrellas, to Richmond and Glenda.

“You guys,” he said, his voice breaking, “you’re like the bomb, man.”

As he downed the rest of his drink, everyone clapped.

Val started to stand, then sat back down as Li’l Bit continued talking.

“Glenda, I memorized some dialogue from our favorite
Inner Sanctum
show, ‘The Skull That...’ ” He paused to wave his empty glass at a passing waiter.

Val shot a worried look at Braxton, as though he could stop this downhill train on its flaming collision course to hell.

He had to try. Nobody wanted a quote from the skull. “Li’l Bit,” he said, “maybe you can share this later with Grams.”

“It’s okay, dude, I remember the words.” He focused again on Grams. “Like I was sayin’, this is from that primo show ‘The Skull That Walked’ because it reminded me of you and Richmond.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“‘I know it sounds strange...fantastic...but it’s real, Helen,” he said in a deep, radio-announcer-like voice. “This thing seeks to dominate, to possess me. Lately, I have begun to feel its presence in my sleep, during my waking hours. It controls my actions like a hypnotist controls his subject.’”

He opened his eyes and cast a proud look around the table, seemingly unaware that he’d done anything out of the norm.

Braxton shot a look at Grams. To his astonishment, she was staring fondly at Li’l Bit as though his walking-skull recitation was beautiful. Even Richmond looked moved.

“Of course, that was about the invisible monster,” Li’l Bit said, back to his own voice again, “but I thought those words were right-on ’cause they describe—” his chin trembled “—the awesome power of your love.” He raised his empty Mai Tai glass. “Richmond, I love you, man. Welcome to the family.”

Welcome to the family?

Braxton raised his glass along with everyone else, not liking what he’d heard. Great if Li’l Bit wanted to hang out with his grandmother and Drake, but no way the dude was becoming a permanent fixture at their family get-togethers. He wasn’t flesh and blood. He hadn’t been there when Braxton was nine years old, sitting in the front row with his mom and Drake, bursting with pride as they watched Benedict Morgan accept an award from the mayor of Las Vegas for saving dozens of lives during a gangland shooting at Bally’s.

Li’l Bit didn’t know what it was like to be an outcast, to sit in the dark watching your childhood home that you couldn’t go back into, aching to be part of it again. Why did he get to waltz in when Braxton had had to crawl back?

Life might go on, man, but not with my family.

* * *

A
SHORT
TIME LATER,
everyone at the table was eating, drinking, chatting. As Braxton dug into his rigatoni with eggplant puree, he checked out the other Italian dishes around the table—chicken cacciatore, spaghetti, lasagna—and a thick-crust large pizza smothered with ham, jalapenos and pineapple for Li’l Bit.

“Hey, bro,” Drake said, “did I see you in that dreamdate poster hanging in the lobby?”

“Yeah,” Braxton grumped, “Brad Pitt wasn’t available, so they asked for me.”

Li’l Bit, a chunk of pineapple stuck on his T-shirt, did a double take. “Wow, Brad Pitt’s gonna be in that auction, too?”

“No, dear,” Grams answered. “They’re joking. And that isn’t Braxton in the picture, either.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that. Poster guy looks a lot younger. Hey, Brax, gonna shave your chest like that dude?”

“No.” He stabbed his fork at his rigatoni. Irked him to be called Brax by anybody other than family. Especially
that
anybody.

“I think it’s mandatory,” Drake said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“Think again. And by the way, I’m not
that
much
older than poster boy and his fake tan and digitally enhanced six-pack.” He shoved the bite into his mouth.

“Getting kinda defensive, bro,” Drake said.

“Maybe ’cause I’m getting kinda tired of you harassing me,
bro,
” he shot back. “Like you’d be so easygoing if you had to strut you stuff wearing a pair of your hottie-whitie-tighties.”

“
Harassing
you? Ouch!” Drake looked at his wife. “You kicked me.”

She smiled sweetly at everyone. “Hormones. I do declare, being pregnant makes my body do the strangest things.”

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Grams, tapping her knife on her water glass, got everyone’s attention.

“Another announcement,” she said. “This time to honor Braxton for being a guinea pig—I mean
volunteer
—for my fund-raiser.” She waited for the laughs, which she got. “Last year we hosted a silent auction for Keep ’Em Rolling and raised twenty thousand dollars. This year I’m hoping the auction raises at least thirty.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Let’s do it, Grams!”

“Yes,” she agreed, “let’s do it!” She paused. “I’m one of the fortunate ones who can afford to buy an electric wheelchair with all kinds of goodies.” She patted the chair arm. “This baby has a portable charger, adjustable armrests, swivel seat and maxes out at eight miles an hour.”

“You said seventeen,” Dorothy interjected.

“Yes, I did,” Grams admitted, “because I just couldn’t resist that bad-girl-on-wheels reputation.” She sighed theatrically. “But the truth is I rarely go over five.”

Dorothy gave a small smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I hope so. Anyway, there are people in Las Vegas who desperately need wheelchairs but can’t buy them themselves, which is why Keep ’Em Rolling is near and dear to my heart. Our volunteers renovate wheelchairs for those in need.” She looked around the table, her eyes shiny. “Makes me proud my family will be here next Friday night to support Braxton as he helps us raise money for this wonderful cause.”

Braxton hadn’t heard about this being a family affair until now.

“No pictures.” He jabbed a finger at Drake. “I mean it.”

Drake held up his hands in mock surrender. “Bro, thought never crossed my mind.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at Grams, whose sweet, appreciative look warmed him like sunshine.

Truth was, he’d do anything she asked. During those years when he’d been banned from the house and the rest of the family had treated him like a pariah, she’d called every week to ask how he was doing. After she started dating Richmond, he’d drive her to meet Braxton for dinner, once on his birthday. He’d never forget her singing “Happy Birthday” to him, tears shimmering in her eyes. Knowing how his lousy life choices had hurt her just about did him in. When he’d blown out the candle on the cake she’d brought—chocolate with cream-cheese filling, his favorite—his only wish was to fix his life so he could go home again.

He smiled at Grams, thinking she had to be one of the coolest ladies—young, old or anywhere in-between—on the planet.