The BFF Bride (4 page)

She hadn’t yet changed from her jogging gear into her uniform. Tabby waited for the usual male reaction to register in Justin’s expression as he took in the sight of Sam’s figure lovingly outlined from neck to ankle in vibrant, clinging purple fabric.

But he didn’t do the typical double take like all the other guys.

Instead, he nodded politely at Sam and turned back to stare into his coffee mug while Tabby rang up a dozen rolls.

If he was so crazy about Gillian that a beautiful woman like Samantha didn’t even merit a glance, what was he doing making Tabby’s life harder by sticking around Weaver for the next few months?

The thought was more than a little irritating. “Sam, you haven’t met Justin Clay yet, have you? He’s Erik’s brother.”

Sam turned her bright eyes back to Justin. “No kidding? You’re the genius scientist who works back East.” She stuck out her hand, cocking her blond head a little to one side. “I guess I see the resemblance to Erik,” she said with a smile. “Except you’re prettier.”

Tabby nearly choked on her amusement when Justin flushed.

“He’d argue that,” he said and nearly yanked back his hand from Sam’s.

“Sam’s one of Max’s deputies,” Tabby told him. “Like Sloan.”

“Well, I wear a badge like Sloan,” Sam allowed wryly. “But nobody calls me their boss like they do Sloan.” She picked up the box of rolls. “Still warm. Wonder if Ruiz will mind if one is missing before I get them to him?”

“I’d like to see the day when you actually indulge yourself for once,” Tabby challenged.

“Oh, I indulge.” Sam’s gaze sparkled as she glanced at Justin on her way toward the door.

“With a
sweet roll
,” Tabby called after her.

Sam just laughed and sketched a wave as she left.

“Heard there was a lady deputy now,” Justin said when the sound of the bell over the door faded. “She still the only one?”

“Max has been trying to recruit more women.” Tabby picked up a rag and started needlessly polishing the counter. “It’s hard. Small-town USA is bad enough. Small town in the middle of Wyoming—where the tumbleweeds often outnumber the residents—isn’t the life for everyone.” Her fingers clenched around the rag as she rubbed harder. “Not even when you’re born and raised in it. You ought to know that better than anyone.” He was the perfect example of getting out, after all. “So what’s this big project you’re doing? Curing the common cold?”

“Nothing that profitable. Just an R&D project that should’ve been wrapped up already, but—”

There was a loud bang from the back of the diner, followed by, “Yo, yo, yo!”

Justin shoved his fingers through his hair, looking impatient. “Now what?”

“Bubba,” Tabby said evenly. “If you want peace and quiet, Ruby’s Café isn’t the place to find it. Why do you think those profit checks you get have a decent number of zeros at the end? Not that you probably notice them much, anyway, with your gigantic pharmaceutical salary.” She pushed through the swinging door to greet her cook. “Morning, Bubba.”

“Hey, girl.” Bubba Bumble had a gentle soul that he hid behind a lumbering, rough-looking, hard-talking exterior. “Figured you’d have the hash browns going already.” He was wrapping a white apron over his white T-shirt and slouchy, black-and-white-striped pants. Next came a pristine red-and-black bandanna that he wrapped over his forehead and tied in the back over his neatly shaved salt-and-pepper hair.

“Sorry. I got—”
Distracted by Justin.
“Busy,” she said instead.

Bubba grunted and grabbed a knife to start peeling potatoes. Leaving him to it, she went back out front. The regular waitresses would begin arriving any minute, but until they did, she was on deck. Once they were there, though, she’d spend most of her morning in the kitchen with Bubba. She could man the grill when she had to, but he was the cook. She took care of the baking—he didn’t like the ancient oven Tabby still used—and did the books and serving or kitchen prep when the load was heavy. And considering the pool tournament being held down the street, she was crossing her fingers for a heavy day.

She topped up Justin’s coffee again without waiting for him to ask and began restocking the rack that held individual boxes of cold cereal.

“Does anyone still order those things?”

“Absolutely.” She gave the rack a whirl. “Or did you think these were the same boxes of Fruity Twirls that were here when your great-grandma ran the place?”

He ignored her sarcasm.

“Since you’re here, you might as well eat. Biscuits and gravy? Pancakes? Or have your tastes gotten fancier along with your running clothes?”

“If they had, I wouldn’t be sitting on this stool,” he replied with such an even tone that she felt guilty. “What’s the special?”

She kept a small chalkboard propped on a shelf behind the counter where she listed the daily specials. But she hadn’t gotten to writing them out yet today, and the board was still wiped clean, the way she’d left it two days earlier.

“Bubba,” she called without looking behind her toward the pass-through window to the kitchen. “What’s the special this morning?”

“Turkey hash,” he yelled back. “Turkey noodle soup and salad this afternoon.”

She retrieved the board and chalk and wrote everything out. She’d just set the board back in place when the front door opened and a couple she didn’t know came in. They were both carrying long, distinctive cases. “Good morning,” she greeted. “Looks like you’re in town for the tournament. Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be right over with menus.” Without waiting a beat, she looked at Justin again. “So? What’ll you have?”

“Scrambled eggs and wheat toast.”

He liked eggs now? Withholding comment, she turned and leaned closer to the pass-through. “Scrambled eggs and wheat for Justin, Bubba.”

Her cook looked up from the growing mountain of potatoes he’d shredded. “Justin’s here?” He immediately set down his knife and crossed the kitchen to look through the pass-through. “Justin! How’s life treating you, man?”

“It’s good, Bubba. You?”

Ignoring their conversation, Tabby carried two waters and menus over to the couple, who’d chosen a booth in the corner. “I’m Tabby. Can I get you coffee or anything else besides water while you have a chance to look over the menu?”

“Bloody Mary?” The young woman looked hopeful.

Tabby smiled and shook her head. “Sorry. No alcohol here. Colbys will be able to accommodate you on that, though, if you have your heart set. You’ll get a good breakfast there, too. Not as good as here—” she gave a quick wink “—but good all the same.”

“I suppose I can live without one.” The girl propped her chin on her hand. “What about you, honey?”

“Coffee’s good for me. And one of those pecan cinnamon rolls that I keep hearing about.” The man flipped open the menu.

“Oh, me, too.” The girl’s expression brightened. “And cream for my coffee if you’ve got it. It’s a holiday weekend. If I can’t splurge on a Bloody Mary just yet, I’ll splurge on that.”

Tabby’s smile turned into a grin. “Coming right up.” Infinitely comfortable with this particular role, she returned to the counter area, prepared a little white jug of cold cream, plated up two warm rolls and returned with them, along with the coffeepot, to the table. While she was serving the couple, the door jingled again, and two more parties of two came in. Everyone had pool cue cases.

She hid her delight and called out another cheerful “Good morning.”

She’d just gotten them situated with menus and drinks when Bubba called out that an order was up, and she went back to grab Justin’s plate. Which also had a side of biscuits and gravy.

Bubba figured he knew Justin pretty well, too, obviously.

Tabby set his plate in front of him, and Justin eyed the fat, fluffy biscuit that was mounded over with golden-brown gravy studded with chunks of sausage. She reached below the counter and came up with a bottle of hot sauce. She was tempted to hold it out of his reach, but she set it in front of him. “Anything else I can get for you?” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting. “More coffee?”

“No coffee. But there is something else.” He hesitated a moment, then suddenly dumped the biscuit and gravy on top of the eggs, completely hiding them, and grabbed the hot sauce.

She hid a smile as she pivoted on her heel to grab an order that Bubba set on the pass-through. “More gravy?”

“The key to the empty unit you’ve still got at the triplex,” he said. “I want to rent it.”

Chapter Four

T
abby turned and was staring at him as if he’d started speaking Swahili. “What’s that?”

“You still have an empty unit at your triplex, don’t you? Erik told me last night—”

“Yes,” she said, looking consternated. “I haven’t managed to rent out the third unit yet, but—”

“Well, now you have,” he said, content to do his own share of interrupting. “At least for six weeks or so.”

Her lips parted, and he knew she wanted to tell him no. He knew it. Just as he knew there was no way that she could. Their families were too close. Their moms were best friends. Her brother was married to one of his cousins.

She managed the diner he and his brother owned.

“I’ll pay twice what you were planning to charge,” he said in a low tone. “Just say okay, Tab, and neither one of us’ll have to go around explaining why we’re the only ones who don’t think it’s such a great idea. My family suggested it last night after you cut and ran.”

“I didn’t cut and run.” Her lips twisted, and she looked away. The bell over the door jingled twice more in rapid succession. “Fine,” she said abruptly. “Meet me over there at two this afternoon. I’ll give you the key.” Then she snatched two slick, laminated menus out of the slot next to the cash register and smiled almost maniacally at the newcomers. “Good morning!”

Justin wondered if he was the only one who heard the wealth of false cheer that had entered her voice.

He wished to hell he’d never admitted to Erik the night before that he wasn’t exactly anxious to move back home for the next several weeks.

Not because he didn’t love his folks. He did. But he’d been out on his own for a long time, and he was used to having his own space. One where his mother didn’t figure she ought to make up his bed every morning.

If he hadn’t made that admission to Erik, then Izzy wouldn’t have overheard, and then his mom wouldn’t have come in on the conversation. Hope hadn’t been insulted at all, either. In fact, she’d been the one to toss out ideas for places he might rent temporarily. Erik, though, had been the one to remember Tabby’s place.

And wasn’t that just the perfect solution?

Everyone knew Justin and Tabby were friends. Always had been.
Thick as thieves.
That’s how his mom had put it as she’d reminisced.

He wasn’t about to tell them those days were over. That Tabby would just as soon kick him to the edge of town than agree to rent one of her triplex units to him. And he definitely wasn’t about to tell them the reason why.

He dumped more hot sauce on the sausage gravy.

And when he was finished, it was one of the waitresses—a girl he didn’t know named Paulette—who took away his half-empty plate.

* * *

Tabby spotted the dusty black pickup truck parked in front of her triplex the second she rounded the corner of her street.

She wanted to turn on her heel and go back to the safety of the diner. Justin might be half owner, but at least there she figured she was safe from him showing up again that day.

Huffing out a breath, she tucked her chin inside the turned-up collar of her coat and trudged forward. When she got closer, she saw that he was sitting on her front porch. He’d changed into jeans and a light gray hoodie.

The cigarette dangling between his fingers wasn’t such a welcome sight. He stubbed it out when he spotted her and rubbed his hands down his thighs as he stood, waiting for her to walk closer. But the faint smell of smoke lingered.

“When’d you start smoking again?” He’d smoked for a few years in grad school. Never around his folks. And rarely around her. And she knew he’d worked like a dog to give up the habit. Because what good was a guy researching cancer cures who died of it himself?

He frowned. “I haven’t started up again.”

She pointedly pushed the toe of her boot against the cigarette butt sitting on the edge of her cement porch.

“I’ve been working on the same pack for weeks.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye as she passed him to unlock the front door of her unit. “Question is why you have a pack of cigarettes at all.”

“I know. Disgusting habit. Unhealthy as hell.”

All of which was true.

So why, darn it, had there been something so stupidly sexy about him sitting there with one?

It was insane.

Maybe it went along with that whole bad-boy appeal thing.

Not that Justin had ever been a bad boy.

He’d just been the boy who got away.

She pushed open the door. “You coming in or going to stand there and wait while I find the key for the empty unit?” It was pretty much an excuse. She knew where the key was. She just wasn’t all that anxious to hand it over to him.

But then, she wasn’t all that anxious to have him inside her home, either. As it was, she thought about him often enough without him ever having stepped foot inside.

He bent over and retrieved the crumpled cigarette butt and stepped through her doorway, pushing the door closed behind him. “Trash?”

She gestured to the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by only a bat-wing-shaped breakfast bar. “Under the sink.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, watching him cross the room. “The empty unit is on the other end. Floor plan’s just like mine. Two bedrooms. Fireplace. One bath. Furnished, which I assume you heard. Minimally, though, so don’t expect all the comforts you’re used to. You’ve got a utility room, but no washer and dryer.” And she’d be hanged if she would offer the use of hers. He had plenty of family around Weaver he could ask, and if not them, then there was a brand-new Laundromat out on the other side of town by Shop-World.

“I don’t care what the floor plan is or whether there’s a washer and dryer. I don’t know what luxuries you figure I’ve got in Boston. I don’t have a washer and dryer there, either. Long as it has running water and electricity, I’m good. What prompted you to buy this place?”

She raised her shoulders, a little thrown by the abrupt question. “I don’t know.”

He gave her a look.

She pressed her lips together. “Fine. With all the new building going on at the other end of town, some of these old places are starting to go vacant. The original owner—do you remember Mr. Samuelson? He had that bait-and-tackle shack—” She made herself stop rambling. “Anyway, he died. Had no family. There was talk about an investor who wanted to buy this lot and the house next door, but only to raze them and put up a convenience store.”

He grimaced.

“Right. That was my reaction, too. Plenty of new building going on at the other end of town. But downtown here? It’s charming just the way it is. Anyway,” she hurried on, skipping the rest of her reasons, “it’s close enough to work that I can usually walk.”

“Like you did today.”

“Obviously.”

“Even though when you walk
to
work, it’s early. And pitch-dark.”

“So?”

He sighed. “Christ, Tabby. That’s practically the middle of the night. You shouldn’t be out walking—”

“—the three very short blocks in this town where nothing ever happens?”

“Why didn’t you charge Sloan McCray this morning for his coffee and roll? It’s not because he works for the sheriff’s department. You charged that blonde lady deputy for hers.”

Tabby clamped her lips shut. The fact that he’d asked told her that he already knew.

“He busted a guy who was trying to rob the diner, that’s why.” Justin pressed his hands flat on the granite-topped breakfast bar and stared at her. “Yeah, I asked and heard all about it. He busted in. While you were there. Alone before hours. With the damned door unlocked.”

“And for a year after it happened, I
kept
the door locked,” she snapped. “Until I got tired of having to stop what I was doing and go unlock it every time I turned around, because half this town knows I’m there long before six when the place officially opens and stops by, anyway!”

“You need to be more careful.”

“I locked my house door, didn’t I?” She realized she was yelling and let out a long breath. “I’ll get your key,” she muttered and hurried down the hall.

She used the spare room as a studio and office. She found the key in the bottom of an empty coffee can that also held her clean paintbrushes and returned to the living room.

He was still standing in the kitchen, and she set the key on the granite. “There you go. Rent’s due in advance.” She blamed the devil for prompting her to make that up right then and there.

He spread his hands. “Not exactly packing a checkbook here, Tab.”

“The bank’s open until five. But you’ll have to park a few blocks away because of the traffic in town for the pool tournament.”

He sighed a little and pocketed the key. “Who lives in the middle unit?”

“Mrs. Wachowski. She used to teach history at the high school—”

“I remember her. She was ancient when we were in school. Surprised she’s still around. She must be a hundred and twenty by now.”

Tabby didn’t want to feel amusement over anything he said, but the retired teacher
had
seemed ancient when they were teenagers. And she would have been totally displaced, just like Mr. Rowe, who was seventy and lived in the house next door, if someone hadn’t purchased the triplex. “She’s eighty-five. And she’s very nice, but she’s a light sleeper. So if you’re still prone to blasting old Van Halen when you can’t sleep, be aware.”

“I played it when I studied,” he corrected her. “And it was AC/DC. Not Van Halen.”

“Whatever.” She was blithely dismissive. As if she didn’t remember very well what it had actually been. She went to the door and opened it. “Don’t forget the bank.”

He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, so close she could see the faint lines radiating from his violet eyes. “I don’t forget anything.”

Her palm felt slippery clenched around the doorknob. “You forgot we were friends,” she said huskily.

“I didn’t forget that, either.”

Her throat went tight, and she damned the sudden burning she could feel behind her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She just wanted him to go.

“Tabby—”

She clenched her jaw.

He sighed. Shook his head slightly. “I’ll bring you the rent money later.”

She nodded stoically.

He sighed again and stepped through the door. She barely waited for him to get through before she pushed it closed after him.

Then she leaned back against it and let out a shaking breath.

He remembered her name now.

Maybe if he’d remembered it that night they’d slept together, she wouldn’t feel the way she did now.

But no. That night four years ago, after he’d peeled off her clothing as if he’d been unwrapping something exquisitely precious and pulled her into his arms, taking her virginity and her heart in one fell swoop, he hadn’t remembered her name at all.

It hadn’t been Tabby’s name he’d whispered against her skin.

It had been Gillian’s.

* * *

That night, Justin stuck the rent check in an envelope and shoved it through the mail slot in Tabby’s front door.

Call him a coward, but he didn’t think he had the stomach to go another round with her.

Instead, he’d killed the evening at Colbys, the bar and grill owned by his cousin Casey’s new wife, Jane. It had been crowded as hell there, what with the tournament going strong. But since several of the participants were relatives of his, he’d managed to slide his way in. During a break in the play, he’d thrown darts with Caleb and April. He’d tilted beers with JD and argued politics with Jake.

He’d also spent nearly an hour on the phone with Charles, convincing his boss that helping to fill the hospital’s shortfall in funds for their lab expansion was an investment worth making if CNJ wanted Justin to successfully bring the results of their latest research project in on time.

It hadn’t been Justin’s project in the first place. It wasn’t even in his usual area of research, which was cancer treatments. Though even before this latest issue, Justin seemed to keep getting pulled farther and farther from the lab.

But Charles had dumped the matter in his lap only a week ago, when the guy who
had
been in charge of it had been arrested on drug charges. Not only was Charles trying to minimize the scandal of that, but he needed the final report on the project to be ready for presentation at a conference in Europe right after New Year’s. CNJ was small potatoes in the pharma world. But with this report, Justin’s boss expected major results.

If
the report was completed on time.

If
the results of the project were even accurate. Which was what Justin had yet to prove, considering the situation.

Five weeks to accomplish something that usually took five months. Sometimes five years.

Was it any wonder he’d wanted to get away from Boston and the pressure of his own responsibilities in the lab there? Much less the pain in the butt Gillian had been making of herself.

Key in hand, he walked along the sidewalk fronting all three of the connected units to the door at the opposite end. It was dark, but there was a porch light on, so he had no trouble fitting the key in the lock, and the door swung open with only a slight creak of the hinges.

He stepped inside and felt around for a light switch on the wall but couldn’t find one. Swearing under his breath, he pushed the door wider so that the light from the porch could extend inside and felt his way into the pitch-dark interior.

His knee connected with something hard and solid, and he swore loudly, reaching out to feel his way around it.

A couch. Which hopefully led to a side table and a lamp.

Why the
hell
hadn’t he checked the place out while it was still daylight?

Tabby was why.

He reached the end of the couch and cautiously felt around for a side table. He nearly knocked the lamp over when he found it, but finally, he felt the switch and turned it.

The resulting light nearly scorched his eyeballs.

He blinked and looked away, going back to the door to close it. It was cold outside and nearly as cold inside the apartment. He looked over the living area. It was definitely a twin to Tabby’s place. At least in layout.