His Darling Bride (Echoes of the Heart #3) (9 page)

Bethany tossed popcorn at her. “You’ve been pestering Rick Harper for gossip?”

“Hey”—Selena tossed Cheetos back, each of her fingernails polished with a different color Bethany suspected perfectly matched her niece’s manicure—“my husband finally got his chance to defend his baby sister’s honor. The whole family’s been waiting for half a decade for that Carrington louse to eat a face full of somebody’s knuckles. And to add insult to injury, some new-in-town guy was necking with you before my man and his sidekicks got there. And you say it was just to piss Benjie off? I’m rooting around for whatever details I can dig up.”

“Oliver would have asked Rick if Selena hadn’t,” Dru said. “He’s always been overprotective where his baby sister is concerned.”

“He told me once,” Selena said to Bethany, “that when family services first placed you with Marsha and Joe in the midst of your
I don’t need
no stinkin’ home
phase, that it was like looking in a mirror.”

It had been the same for Bethany.

When you came from a life so fractured you wish you’d come from nowhere, you learned not to want wherever you wound up next. She and Oliver—and she and Shandra now—had recognized that about each other, without having to know the details about their very different journeys to foster care.

“He’s still steaming about whatever he thought he saw when the boys walked up to you,” Selena said. “To hear Oliver bluster, you would have thought Rick’s new bartender was taking advantage of you.”

Ginger Reed Jenkins released an exaggerated sigh. “Why doesn’t some gorgeous cowboy ever take advantage of me?”

“Because
your
husband,” Dru answered, “would knock any man who tried clear to the next county.”

“No one was
taking advantage
of anyone at McC’s,” Bethany insisted.

“Which only makes inquiring minds want to know more,” Dru quipped. “Especially after you and Cowboy Bob were getting chummy at brunch.”

“I wanted to apologize and clear the air.”

“Travis stopped by the bakery for his coffee and cruller this morning,” Leigh Hastings said to Bethany, “and asked Dan what he knew. I guess your brother figured since you lived over the bakery for a year, maybe we were in the vault. My husband told him we didn’t have the scoop on whatever you’re hiding about the guy. And that even if we did, we wouldn’t be sharing the deets unless you said it was cool.”

“Thanks,” Bethany said. “But I’m not hiding anything.”

“Come on.” Dru waggled her eyebrows. “We need some juicy gossip to liven things up.”

She yawned and propped her bunny-slippered feet on the coffee table. She had a fuzzy slipper collection that rivaled Bethany’s obsession with patterned tights.

“I’ve arranged for a stripper,” Leigh offered.

“I brought the
No Boys Allowed
movie.” Bethany raised her glass in another toast, hoping to nudge the conversation along to a different topic.

“We’re stocked up on your drug of choice.” Selena checked with Ginger, who patted the shopping bag she’d dropped onto Vi’s threadbare oriental carpet.

“Then it’s a hootenanny.” Dru pulled a throw pillow into her lap, smiling slyly. “But first . . . more dish.”

“He sure is easy on the eyes,” Ginger purred.

“I hear he’s a hunk of burning love.” Leigh relaxed into the cushions behind her.

“He turned heads just eating soup at G&Bs,” Dru noted.

Bethany drank too much daiquiri too fast, thinking about just how easily he’d turned
her
head again.

Brain freeze!

She winced.

“What I don’t understand,” Selena said, “is why you seem so bent on letting this guy slip away, even if Thursday night was just a fluke. There’s clearly plenty of chemistry there.”

“Maybe too much chemistry?” Dru asked.

While everyone waited for Bethany to answer, the out-of-rhythm ticking of close to a dozen wall-mounted cuckoo clocks filled the room. She inhaled and reminded herself that none of them meant any harm. Ginger and Leigh were good friends of Bethany’s, not just Dru’s and more recently Selena’s. They were great women, wonderful people, and they’d been around Chandlerville long enough to know Bethany’s history, at least since she’d been placed with the Dixons.

So why was Bethany fighting the itch to leave the party early?

“I’m having a hard enough time dealing with everything,” she confessed, “without worrying about whether what I’m feeling for a new guy is going to get me into as much trouble as falling for all the other guys I have.”

Selena and Dru exchanged a long look.

“So you are falling for him?” Dru asked.

The doorbell rang, sparing Bethany.

“I thought our stripper would never get here!” Leigh glided across the room, her drink in hand. She sipped as she opened the door. “Hey, Peter. How’s your night going?”

“Busy Sunday.” Peter Forino was the eldest son of one of the families that frequented the Dream Whip. “You’re the third house I’ve been to just on this street.”

“And it used to be such a nice neighborhood.”

“What?” His cheeks reddened beneath his adorable freckles and teen acne.

“Nothing.” Leigh brushed a reassuring hand down his arm as Bethany and the rest of the party animals giggled. “Just set the pizzas on the coffee table. How much do we owe you?”

“For two large pies?” He stepped inside, dropped off the boxes, and checked the ticket taped to the one on top. “Extra toppings. Deep dish. That’s twenty-five fifty. My dad heard what tonight was for.” He grinned at Dru, his expression slipping to confusion when he caught sight of her slippers. “He threw in breadsticks and marinara sauce for dipping, and told me to tell you to have a great time.”

“Make sure you thank him for me,” Dru said.

Selena stood and dug a wad of bills from her tote bag, passing them over.

“That covers your tip, too,” she said. “Thank Vinnie for all of us.”

Peter counted what she’d handed him and grinned. “Thanks! I will.”

He jogged back to the door and outside to the compact car his folks had bought him for his eighteenth birthday—with the understanding that he’d be delivering for Little Vincent’s Pizza more nights and weekends than he’d be cruising with his friends.

Bethany slipped into the kitchen for the paper plates and napkins Dru had insisted on. No decorations, no fuss, no cleanup. Her pre-wedding bash was either going to be a fun, easy break for everyone, or it wasn’t happening. By the time Bethany returned to the living room, Selena had flipped open the box of cheese and pepperoni, extra mushrooms, and was pulling out the first steaming slice.

She plated it and handed the bounty to Dru. “Vincent and Betsy Forino make the cutest kids. Their youngest, Bella, is the reigning princess of my second-grade class.”

“Peter just came in for dress shoes to wear to the Chandler High Homecoming Dance.” Ginger ran a local shoe boutique, Neat Feet, that her parents had started ages ago. “He’s up for homecoming king.”

“A hunk of burning love in the making.” Leigh grabbed a plate and a slice from the veggie box. She nibbled daintily, crust first.

“Let’s hope his parents teach him to benevolently wield his power over women.” Dru glanced Bethany’s way, her understanding clear for how confusing love and belonging could be. How Bethany’s instinct might always be to distrust where her heart wanted to lead her. “The world is full of enough men only interested in what they can get out of a woman, never in what they could give.”

“Not your man.” Bethany took her first mouthful of the best pizza on the east side of Atlanta. She closed her eyes in reverence, savoring the spicy, cheesy goodness. “Brad lost his heart to you when we were all kids. The same way Selena was Oliver’s one and only from the second they set eyes on each other. I’m glad I’m here to see the four of you finally wising up and figuring things out.”

It was that kind of life-changing wisdom Bethany desperately wanted for herself.

“To Dru and Brad.” Selena raised her slice in a toast.

“To the bride and groom,” everyone chimed in, eyes misty with their hopes and dreams for their friend and sister’s future.

Dru sniffled. “I think I need a handful of those pills.” She wiped her eyes and patted her rounded belly. “The second trimester’s supposed to be calmer than the first. But I keep watering up about absolutely nothing at all. I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m excited, I’m a total brat . . . Whatever I’m feeling, I always wind up crying. It’s infuriating.”

Bethany’s never-let-the-world-get-her-down sister looked radiant, not furious. And so much in love with the life she and Brad were starting together, it was impossible every time Bethany saw Dru not to believe that the same could happen for her if she wanted it badly enough.

Ginger plucked a bag of assorted Jelly Bellies from her tote and handed them to Dru. “Heavy on the buttered popcorn and cotton candy.”

“Another mommy-friendly cocktail coming up,” Bethany said. “Selena, you fire up the porn.”

“Score!” Dru dug into her candy while Leigh snagged the bride her second slice of pizza.

Bethany headed to the kitchen. The opening music to
An Affair to Remember
kicked off on the DVD player. She smiled, reminding herself how lucky she was. And that, especially tonight, she had no business worrying about Mike and how sparks flew every time they saw each other.

You sure you can’t make Mike an exception to your no-dating rule?

“Forget the sparks,” she scolded herself as she made Dru’s drink.

Sure, their instant connection had come out of nowhere. But why
was
she making such a big deal about it? He was a nice guy, having some fun his first few days in town. If he’d wanted to have fun with her, fine. If the goodbyes they’d said today meant the fun was over, fine. It was no big f-ing deal.

She had to stop overthinking things and people, as if the entire world were a threat she had to constantly be on guard against. She finally had happiness within her grasp. Warm, close nights like tonight, with people who cared about her laughing in the other room, waiting for her to join them. What did it matter whether some cowboy she’d kissed had felt the same things she did?

Tonight
was the magic she’d been searching for all her life. She had the family she’d fought so hard to get back to. It was time to finally, completely, let them all the way in.

You can’t give up on love, Bethany. Remember that.

“I’m not sure how long I’m staying this time, Mom,” Mike said over his cell phone. “A few weeks. Maybe a month. My service is replacing someone last-minute who had an unexpected family emergency. The guy already had a furnished apartment in town lined up to rent and a preliminary site visit scheduled for today.”

“Can’t someone else do it?” A resigned sigh said that Livy Taylor already knew the answer.

“I’m happy to help.”

“As long as it’s not your family you’re helping.”

“I help a lot of families, Mom.” Mike was years past engaging in Olivia Taylor’s passive-aggressive insistence that he move back to New York permanently. “Including you and Dad.”

“But the foundation’s charity gala—”

“Isn’t until Christmas. And—”

“It will take months to cultivate the interest and donations we’re needing for a silent auction this important.”

“George and I are already looking into which pieces to send.”

“That’s wonderful, darling,” his mother fake-praised, turning up the charm—ignoring his mention of the family friend who’d been with them at Jeremy’s bedside the day he passed. “But you know we’ll need details and images as soon as you can get them to us, and—”

“You’ll have them.”

“
And
this would be the perfect time for you to take a public role in a foundation event. Get your feet wet working with the board directly on the auction. Your brother would be so proud if he knew you were pitching in personally to help other families who’ve—”

“Been through what ours has,” Mike finished for her.

Nudging up the brim of his hat with his knuckles, he turned off Main Street onto Maple, heading for Bellevue Lane.

“I’ll frame something high-dollar donors can’t refuse.” Even if the only people who’d appreciate the significance of the grouping would be him and George. “We’ll email high-res images once they’re framed and matted. The grouping will bring the donations you need. But you know that’s all I can do.”

It wasn’t Mike’s first contribution to the family business—to honor his brother, not to please his parents. Years ago he’d made his position clear to Olivia and Harrison Grover Taylor III. If they ever reneged on keeping his involvement anonymous, he’d sever his final ties to their posh, status-obsessed Manhattan lives.

“But we could get so much more interest in your donation if people finally knew—”

“You won’t need more interest. If the city was embroiled in a natural disaster, you’d manage to charm press coverage for one of your shindigs.”

“But putting a face and a name to the mysterious fine-art photographer HMT? We’d have super donors eating out of our hands. It could fund years’ worth of programs and scholarships and projects in honor of your brother’s battle. We’d earmark some of the money for the initiatives you’ve insisted we start. Revealing the identity of a celebrated contemporary photographer would turn this year’s gala into the event of the—”