The Best Man in Texas (3 page)

And I thought the bride was shrill.
Brooke held the phone a few inches away from her ear and kicked herself for not leaving ten minutes ago.

After she’d finally escaped the haranguing, Brooke had to call Giff and warn him that she’d be slightly late for their meeting at the country club.

He laughed. “Good. Makes me feel better. I’m about fifteen minutes behind myself. I got blindsided with a client crisis.”

“Which you no doubt solved,” she said loyally.

“Unfortunately, no. I’m going to drive down to Corpus Christi tonight so that I can meet with them first thing in the morning. But I should be back tomorrow in plenty of time for the concert.”

The tickets had been an early birthday gift from Meg, and Brooke had been touched that, this year, Meg had bought her something absolutely perfect. Instead of, say, the leather halter top Meg had given her six years ago, then promptly asked to borrow.

Brooke loved music of all types. If she and Giff were having a larger wedding, she would have wanted a live band for the reception. Her favorite part of wedding reporting was probably the musical choices—whether there was a string quartet, organ player, recorded music or even bagpipes. The song chosen for the father-daughter dance. The song the bride walked down the aisle to—nothing wrong with the traditional Wedding March, she supposed, but a lot of women went with selections from Vivaldi or Handel.
Or Zeppelin.
In one of the weddings she’d written about last year, the bridal processional had been accompanied by “Stairway to Heaven.”

She tried to imagine what she herself would use but drew a blank. Probably because she didn’t yet have an
aisle to walk down. After today, they should be closer to resolving that issue.

The country club’s event coordinator, Gretchen, was a petite woman with such big hair that Brooke wondered how she got through the day without toppling over. Gretchen’s cheerful reminder that the venue had a capacity of up to 450 wasn’t exactly a selling point.

“What is she not understanding about an intimate ceremony?” Brooke whispered to Giff.

“My problem,” he returned under his breath, “isn’t that it’s too big. It’s too distracting. It overlooks the twelfth hole—half the male guests will be thinking it’s a pretty day to hit the greens. And I don’t really want golf carts zooming by the window while we exchange vows.”

The next place, a community hall built nearly forty years ago and available for rental, didn’t feel quite right, either. In addition to a giant Lone Star flag covering the top quarter of one wall, the decor included some hunting trophies with eyes that seemed to follow Brooke wherever she moved.

“It’s quaint,” Giff told the leasing agent. “I can absolutely see having a large birthday party here or a corporate barbecue, but it seems a bit rustic for the wedding.” On the walk out to his Lexus, he added for Brooke’s ears only, “I kept imagining you in a cowboy hat with a bridal veil attached.”

“Which do exist,” she confirmed. “But I hadn’t planned on wearing one.”

Their third option, a pretty bed-and-breakfast, was closest to what Brooke had imagined, but Giff seemed
ambivalent when they promised the manager they’d get back to her.

“Are you sorry we can’t use your church?” Brooke asked.

The Baker family had been longtime members of a Methodist church near Grace’s house, but according to the church’s wedding coordinator, they were booked through winter.

“Not really.” He looked pensive as he opened the passenger door for her. Once he’d climbed in on his own side, he added, “The last major family event there was my dad’s funeral. I hate that you never got a chance to meet him. He would have liked you.”

“I’m sure I would have liked him, too.” There was a sudden knot in Brooke’s throat. Not for the first time since she’d started dating Giff, it occurred to her that, while her parents might not be perfect, they loved her and they were healthy. She was lucky to have them.

“I know it’s been years since my dad died,” Giff said, sounding abashed that it had an effect on him even now, “but…”

“He was your father. It’s natural that you’d still miss him, especially on a day as important as your wedding.”

Giff nodded. “When Mom got sick, I missed him more than ever. There were times I didn’t know what to say to her, when I was sure he would have found a way to comfort her, and when I thought that I might lose them both….”

Reaching over, Brooke squeezed his hand. “She’s doing great now. And you have me. You’re not alone.”

He flipped the key in the ignition, his voice becoming determinedly cheerful. “I can’t tell you how excited Mom is about these wedding preparations. She was touched that you invited her to go dress shopping with you. She’s been downright giddy, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. In fact…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud,” he mumbled.

Brooke grinned at him. “‘Out loud’ is when you actually say the words.”

“Well, I’d need to talk to Mom about it. And we’d need to sit down with a tentative guest list to see how small a group we’re both really comfortable with. But…maybe we could be married at home. Her home, where I grew up.”

“That sounds perfect.” Brooke couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to have a true home, being raised in one place.

She and her family had bounced across states, through jobs, school districts and less-than-successful business ventures. She’d lived in houses, apartments and extended-stay hotels. But that had been Brooke Nichols.

Brooke Baker was putting down roots.

Jake answered his phone Friday morning to the worst Brando impression he’d ever heard: “‘Some day…I will call upon you to do a service for me.’”

“Giff?” Jake put a hand over his ear to block out the background noise from the fire station.

“Sorry, I flipped on the hotel TV last night and stumbled across a
Godfather
marathon,” Giff said by way of explanation. “I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“You working tonight?”

“No, I’m coming off a twenty-four-hour shift.” Some of the rookies complained about them, unable to get any worthwhile sleep in the downtime between calls, but in the military Jake had perfected his ability to get whatever shut-eye he could wherever he could. “I’m scheduled to leave in a few hours and come back tomorrow. What do you need?”

“A date. For Brooke.”

The image of the brunette from the other night’s dinner came swiftly to mind, and it was a picture of contradictions. She was a lush, vibrant-looking woman
who didn’t seem to fit her own skin. With her generous mouth and choice of bright yellow clothing, she seemed like someone who should laugh loudly and enjoy some boldly uninhibited hobby. Skinny-dipping, maybe.
Whoa.
Before his mind could go somewhere as inappropriate as Giff’s fiancée, unclothed, Jake did a mental edit. Salsa-dancing. That was safe.

But from the vibes she’d put off Wednesday, she was too stiff to salsa. Her demeanor would have just as easily fit a too-skinny woman with a pinched expression and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Obviously Brooke isn’t that bad. If she was, Giff wouldn’t be with her.

“You still there?” Giff asked.

“I’m here, but I’m confused. I’m pretty sure
you’re
signed up to be Brooke’s date for life. The best man gets called in when there are single, good-looking bridesmaids who need to be squired around.”

“I’m stuck in Corpus on business, and I was supposed to go with Brooke to a concert tonight. Her sister got her tickets, and Brooke’s really been looking forward to it.”

“Maybe the sister can go?” Jake suggested.
Anyone but me.

“Meg waitresses. No way she can get a Friday night off at the last minute. Look, you and I both know Brooke could probably come up with someone, but you owe me. For that debacle at Comida Buena.”

Jake winced, recalling the look on Giff’s face—made worse only by Brooke’s appalled expression. “I never meant for her to hear that.” He had to admit, though, she’d handled the situation with more grace than
he would have predicted. In spite of her smile being strained for the rest of the evening, she’d taken the high road and largely forgiven him without actually making him apologize. Whether he owed Giff or not, it seemed that he owed Brooke Nichols.

“All right” he heard himself say. “I can escort her to this concert. Assuming she’s in favor of it?” Frankly he couldn’t imagine she was in a big hurry to see him again, but maybe she’d agreed to the conciliatory gesture as a favor to Giff, just as Jake had.

“About that,” Giff hedged. “I wanted to check and make sure you were even free before I bothered her with the idea. Let’s do this—if she’s averse to going with you, I’ll leave you a message. If you don’t hear back from me, pick her up by seven. The show’s in the city and begins at eight. And, Jake, I really want the two of you to get along. Give her a chance, get to know each other. Be charming, damn it.”

“Charming?” That had never been a problem before, especially with an attractive female. While she wasn’t his type, even he conceded that Brooke Nichols was beautiful. “Yeah, I can do that.”

B
ROOKE HAD JUST FINISHED
checking her reflection over her shoulder—just because you
could
zip up and wear a pair of snug jeans didn’t always mean you
should
—when the doorbell rang. She felt the smile stretch across her face. Tickets in her purse, her wonderful fiancé at the door; not even eight o’clock, and it was already a great night. She swung the door open wide in welcome.

The smile froze on her face, feeling like some
frostbitten appendage that might snap in half at any second. “J-Jake?”

Jake McBride, in a dark blazer and matching slacks, stood on her front porch. His eyes narrowed. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Wh…?” The unintelligible syllable was all she could manage. It had been bad enough being ambushed with Jake “July” McBride the first time.
What is he doing here?
“I was expecting Gifford.” She fell back on formality as her ingrained antidote to nerves.

“Yeah, I was reaching that conclusion. He called me earlier today and asked me to take you to the concert.” With a sweeping glance from her red, gauzy, V-necked top to her black jeans, he added, “I may have gotten the wrong idea about what kind of concert.”

Brooke barely heard him. She was too busy sucking in her breath and asking questions of an absent Giff.
Gifford, love of my life, man who’s supposed to know me better than anyone, did you just purposely sic a surprise on me?
Even impetuous Meg had learned better than that. Maybe if she actually spoke to Giff, his actions would seem more reasonable.

It would probably be rude to leave his best friend waiting on her porch while she tried to reach him. “Come on in,” she offered, sounding only slightly less enthusiastic than she’d been about having her wisdom teeth removed last year.

Within seconds, she had her cell phone out of her purse, and was listening to the ring of Giff’s phone. And then his voice mail. Probably because he was busy holding a client’s hand, she told herself. Not because he
was avoiding her. Giff was far too gallant for that kind of behavior.

“No luck?” McBride asked from behind her. “I promise, I’m here at his request.”

“But
why?
” She was still trying to wrap her mind around Giff sending his friend with no warning. Obviously her fiancé wanted his closest friend and bride-to-be to make nice. “Never mind. I get it.”

Jake rocked back on his heels. “We don’t have to go together. I can see you’re not exactly…thrilled by the idea.”

“Which is weird,” she said, wide-eyed, “because normally I love spending time with people who think I’m a big mistake.” Her response startled her. Having grown up with people who never censored themselves—and having witnessed the fallout that usually resulted—Brooke tended to guard her words more carefully and repress sarcastic tendencies.

“Ouch.” Jake pressed a hand to his chest as if wounded, but he didn’t seem angry. “I can see where I might have had that coming. I’m…sorry if I hurt your feelings the other day. It really wasn’t about you, though. I have a long-standing history of trying to look out for Giff.”

She nodded. “I’ve heard how the two of you met. And loyalty’s an admirable trait. But it’s not like he’s a scrawny fourth-grader anymore.”

“Yeah. He’s a rich, successful man.”

Her fingers tightened around her cell phone, which she admirably didn’t throw at his head. “Are you implying that I’m some kind of gold digger?”

Instead of answering, he glanced around her sparsely furnished, low-budget apartment. It was all right—clean and conveniently situated to give her access in Houston without living there—but more suited to the two twentysomething girls downstairs who had retail jobs at the nearby Katy Mills Mall and took classes at University of Houston System’s Cinco Ranch campus. This wasn’t where a thirty-year-old settled with her husband and raised children.

“I’m not poor,” she blurted.

His eyes warmed with amusement. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I know this place isn’t fancy. I’ve been saving up.” Not needing much space for just herself, she’d regarded this apartment as simply a way station. Even before she’d started seeing Giff, she’d had The Plan: Meet a great guy, eventually move into a house where they would make a real home together, build a family. Had she been more invested in that nebulous future than sprucing up her present?

“Very sensible of you,” McBride said. “The apartment’s…nice enough. Maybe a little bland. Not that I have room to talk. I haven’t done anything with my house, either. It’s a stereotype, but I thought women got into decorating more.”

She planned to, eventually. Painting a nursery, wall-papering a kitchen where she’d prepare romantic anniversary dinners and before-school breakfasts. But she didn’t know Jake well enough to explain how she’d been waiting her whole life for that dream home, the domes
tic nesting fantasies that had come to mean so much to her.

Instead of confiding her secrets, she shrugged. “Bland. I guess that’s me.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I wouldn’t say that.”

She swallowed, not sure what to say, not even sure whether he was paying her a compliment. Unfortunately the silence stretched too long. They looked at each other far too long. The moment became—
charged
—awkward.

He had truly amazing eyes.

“Brooke? What did you decide? You want to brush me off and go to your concert alone, or let me take you?”

It’s for Giff,
she reminded herself, the man who was helping make all her dreams come true and good-naturedly tolerated her family. Two weeks ago, Meg had decided to tail him around downtown in an effort to put to use what she was learning in her P.I. class; Giff had laughed about it rather than express concern that insanity ran in Brooke’s DNA. The least she could do was show the same acceptance for the people in his life.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Who knows? It might even be fun.”

His lips twitched at her undisguised doubt. “Your car or mine?”

As unsettled as she was feeling, it was probably wise to let him drive. No point in risking lives and making herself look stupid by running a stoplight or something. “Yours, if that’s okay.” She followed him down the stairs.

“Sure.” He pointed beneath one of the parking lights. “I’m right there.”

It was a small, fuel-efficient hybrid. Brooke blinked. “That’s your car?”

“Yeah.” He glanced back at her. “Why? What were you expecting?”

The man oozed testosterone. She hadn’t really given his vehicle preference any thought, but if someone had asked her to hazard a guess, she probably would have said a sports car. Or a pickup truck.

McBride’s smile was at her expense, but that made it no less enticing. “You want to sit up front with me, or are your preconceived notions riding shotgun?”

“You’re one to talk,” she said without heat, knowing he had a point. “Did you even wait until I walked into the restaurant Wednesday before you decided I was a money-grubbing mistake, or had you deduced that the second he told you he was engaged?”

“Touché.” He stopped to open the door for her, reminding her oddly of Giff. So far, the two men seemed much more different than similar.

As soon as Jake slid into the driver’s seat, he said, “I overreacted when Giff told me he’d proposed. It just seemed—to an outsider—like this was happening awfully fast. And it occurred to me that a woman infatuated with his wealth might be in position to take advantage of his vulnerability. It devastated him to think he might lose Grace.”

“I know,” she said softly, grudgingly touched by Jake’s concern for his friend even if it had caused him to judge her harshly. She recalled Giff’s words yesterday
about how excited his mom was about the wedding plans and how relieved he was to see her so happy and energetic.

“I was rooming with him in college when he lost his dad. It…” Jake shook his head. “Like I said earlier, I think I’m just in the habit of trying to look out for him. Even when there’s nothing I can actually do.”

Feeling powerless was never easy for anyone, but she imagined that for a big, tough guy like Jake—a man whose profession actually sent him into burning buildings to save lives—the feeling of not being able to act was excruciating. Something inside her softened and she found that, contrary to her expectations, she might come to like this guy after all.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to have to direct me here. I don’t have a clue where we’re going.”

“T
HANKS AGAIN FOR AGREEING
to drive,” Brooke said as they searched for parking. “The traffic and the freeways here make me crazy. I have to say, even though I know it makes sense to move in with Giff I’m not looking forward to driving this close to downtown.”

“No problem.” City-driving in Houston wasn’t Jake’s favorite pastime, either, but navigating all kinds of streets came with his job. “I’m just glad you knew how to get to this place. I’ve never heard of it.”

Her smile was lopsided, almost self-deprecating. “It’s a total hole-in-the-wall. You should have seen Giff’s face the first time I dragged him here. But they get
some great bands that aren’t well-enough known to book bigger venues.”

“Like the band we’re hearing tonight?”

“Red Jump Funk. They’re a little under the radar,” she admitted. “They’re fantastic, though.”

“They sound like a mad-lib,” he said as he parallel parked between a VW and a truck. “You know those stories where you fill in random verbs and adjectives? How did you even hear about these people?”

“It’s a hobby,” she said as she opened her car door. “My favorite part of living in Austin was the music.”

He grinned, shrugging out of the blazer he’d realized was unnecessary. “Just from my few visits, I do have some fond memories of clubs on Sixth Street.”

“I dated a guy who followed some great underground bands—people no one else had ever heard of. But he was more of a reverse snob than I turned out to be. In his opinion, anyone who had more than a hundred fans worldwide was a sellout. But I love music of all kinds. I saw lots of people perform live during my college years.” Either Brooke was nervous about being out with him tonight, or she was truly passionate about the topic of music because as she made her way up the sidewalk, her words came faster, practically tripping over one another. “Ska bands, Robert Earl Keen Jr., Leonard Cohen, Crüxshadows. They’re a dark-wave group I love.”

Dark wave?
Was that like Goth? Once you got past the pinched smiles and barren apartment, Brooke Nichols got a lot more interesting. He had a sudden discordant image of Brooke in heavy eyeliner and a surprisingly appealing black leather skirt. He was appalled to find
that his gaze had slid downward to her denim-encased hips. In her eagerness to get to tonight’s show, she was walking with a noticeable bounce in her step.