The BFF Bride (8 page)

“You know we never agreed on getting married even when we were together.” His voice was flat.

“That’s just because we were both so wrapped up in our careers. In the success of CNJ. We’re meant to be together. You’re going to be Daddy’s successor. Everyone knows it. We’re the perfect couple!”

He was getting a pain in his head. He felt as if she was actually going to cause him a nosebleed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What was so perfect that it landed you in bed with another guy?
Again?
”

“I told you that was a mistake. I told you I wanted to start fresh. That I needed a...a real sign from you that you wanted to be with me.”

She was exhausting. She might be brilliant when it came to developing CNJ’s line of consumer products, but when it came to the usual logic of surviving every day with other human beings—much less the personal relationships with them—she completely missed the boat. Her reasoning defied explanation.

That fact might have charmed him when they’d been college students, but it had entirely lost its luster.

“What I told you over a
year
ago,” he said bluntly, “was that I needed a sign from you that you were done playing games. Which is all you’ve done in the time since. I told you six months ago we were through. Over. Done. Not together. Not ever going to be together again. And I’ve repeated it just about every damn week since. How much clearer do I have to be?”

She put on her pouty face again. “But my coming here
is
a sign, honey. I even brought you a surprise.”

Beyond the unwelcome surprise of her presence? “I don’t want surprises, Gillian.”

“You’ll want this one.” She pushed open the truck door and trotted down the sidewalk, disappearing around the corner.

It would be too much to hope that she wouldn’t return. And if he drove away, she’d just come after him again. He knew from experience that she could be relentless when she set her mind to something.

She reappeared around the corner, her blond hair rippling around her shoulders and the unidentifiable bundle she held in her arms.

Then she reached his truck and pulled open the door.

“See?” She smiled brilliantly, ever confident in her own appeal and manipulations as she set the bundle on the truck seat beside him. “Here’s proof.”

The bundle wriggled, looking up at him with big brown eyes and a wagging tail. Then the puppy woofed and hopped onto Justin’s lap.

He automatically caught the small beagle pup and moved his hand away from the sharp little teeth. “My hand’s not a chew toy, little girl,” he murmured and looked again at Gillian.

“I knew you couldn’t resist a puppy. You’ve talked about wanting a dog for years,” she said. “That’s why he’s the perfect peacemaking gift.” She ran her hands down her slender hips. “We’ll raise him and he’ll be the perfect dog when we start our family.”

Horror engulfed him. “You didn’t cook all this up because you’re pregnant, did you?”

She looked insulted. “Do I look fat and pregnant to you?”

She looked the same as always. Very thin. Very blonde. Impressively spoiled and inherently selfish.

There was no way any baby she carried could be his. The last time they’d slept together was more than six months ago. She’d have to be showing a decent-size baby bump by now if she were going to claim it was his.

That didn’t mean there were no other possible sources of paternity. With Gillian, there were probably more than a few.

But no matter how much Charles Jennings had spoiled his daughter, he wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of her having a baby outside of marriage. So at least if she were pregnant, it would explain her unexpected appearance in Weaver. She’d need a husband and right quick.

“Yes or no, Gillian. Are you pregnant?”

She huffed. “No, I am not pregnant.”

The puppy squirmed in his lap and started chewing on the ridged steering wheel.

Justin scooped his hand beneath the warm fat belly and held the puppy out to her. “Take the pup—who is a
she
—back to wherever you got her and go home, Gillian.”

“But—”

“Take. The. Dog.”

She made a face and took the puppy, who whined and scratched her paws against Gillian’s leather jacket. “It’s not going to be that easy to get rid of me, Justin,” she warned, though she had the good sense to back out of the way when he reached across the cab of the truck and yanked the door closed. “I’m not giving up on us!”

He cranked the engine and drove off. When he glanced in his rearview mirror, he saw her standing in the belch of smoke the truck had let out.

He hoped it would be the last he saw of her.

When he got to the triplex, there was no sign of Tabby. He even checked with Mrs. Wachowski but the old woman just shook her white-haired head.

He drove back through town hoping to spot Tabby but steered clear of the restaurant on the off chance that Gillian was still hanging around like an infection. When he reached Shop-World at the other end of town without spotting Tabby, though, he admitted the futility of the exercise. Particularly when he didn’t even know whether she drove the same car she used to.

He stopped in a parking lot next to a park that hadn’t existed a year ago and pulled out his cell phone. The signal strength was a little better there than it was at the triplex.

He called Tabby’s folks’ number, but all he got was the sound of her dad’s voice on the answering machine. He knew she had friends, but the notion of calling all over town trying to hunt her down had no appeal, since it would just add fuel to the perpetually turning gossip wheel.

Instead, he dialed Charles at his home and asked the man to rein in his daughter before Justin lost his temper entirely. It was obvious that Charles had no idea what Gillian had done, and the older man assured Justin he’d take care of the matter.

He’d better. Right now, Charles needed Justin to finish the infertility project more than he needed his spoiled little girl to get back the toy she wanted to toss around.

Then, out of ideas, he drove back through town to the hospital.

He couldn’t do anything about Tabby until he found her. But at least he could do what he was in town in the first place to do.

Work.

He just wished it held as much satisfaction as it used to.

Chapter Eight

“T
abby, dear.” Mrs. Wachowski’s voice came through the front door, accompanied by knocking. “Are you home?”

Sighing, Tabby threw off the blanket she’d been huddling beneath since she’d left her brother’s vet practice, where she’d gone after walking out of Ruby’s that morning, and padded to the front door. She unlocked it and peeked around the edge at her elderly neighbor.

From the scarf tied over her white hair to the low-heeled black pumps she wore on her feet, the short, round woman was clearly dressed for an outing. “You look nice, Mrs. Wachowski. Bingo night in Braden with Mr. Rowe again?”

The woman’s head bobbed. “I thought young Justin would be here by now, and I just don’t know what to do with her.”

Tabby’s jaw tightened. “Do with who?”

Mrs. Wachowski shifted, and Tabby spotted the leash she was holding. “The puppy, of course. That pretty fiancée of his left the puppy with me around three because he wasn’t home when she came by, but it’s six now and I thought he’d certainly be back.”

The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened, but she opened the door wider. Sure enough, there was a small brown-and-white puppy at the end of the leash. A puppy who was trying to attack the brick edging of the flower bed lining the front of the triplex.

If Justin wasn’t with his
fiancée
, he was probably working. She crouched down and clapped her hands together, drawing the puppy’s attention. “Did she say anything else?” Like when the wedding would be? The thought was bitter.

“His fiancée?” Mrs. Wachowski adjusted her scarf slightly and checked her wristwatch. She’d been a stickler for punctuality when she taught high school history and hadn’t changed since then. “I was surprised to hear he was engaged, of course. He never mentioned it, even when he was helping me this morning with my furnace.”

Justin hadn’t mentioned anything to Tabby about helping Mrs. Wachowski, either. Seemed not mentioning things had become his new normal. “What’s wrong with your furnace?” The puppy sniffed her way around Mrs. Wachowski’s shoes, making her way toward Tabby’s fingers.

“Nothing now. The pilot light was out, but he got it going again.”

“That’s good.”

“So what do you think I should do about the puppy?” Mrs. Wachowski looked concerned. “If I leave her alone in my unit, I’m afraid she’ll have an accident or two. She’s not house-trained in the least. And she wants to chew on everything.”

“She’s a puppy,” Tabby murmured. “Puppies chew.” As evidenced by the way the dog pounced on her fingers. “What’s her name?”

“His fiancée never said, actually.” Mrs. Wachowski carefully lifted one foot then her other out from the loop in the leash the dog had made around her. “I did think that was odd, but—” She made a worried sound. “There’s Mr. Rowe now, ready to drive us to bingo. I don’t suppose I could impose on you to—”

“I’ll watch the puppy,” Tabby said wearily. She scooped up the dog and stood. “Did she—” she couldn’t bring herself to say Gillian’s name “—leave food or anything else for the dog?”

Mrs. Wachowski handed over the leather leash handle. “Not a single thing. I fed the little beastie some bread that I crumbled up with chicken stock. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That’s more than a lot would do,” Tabby assured her. “Go and enjoy your bingo, Mrs. Wachowski. The puppy will be fine until Justin gets back.”

The woman was clearly relieved. “You’re such a sweet girl, Tabby.”

The puppy switched her attention to Tabby’s face, enthusiastically swiping her tongue over every part she could reach. “That’s me,” Tabby muttered as she watched Mrs. Wachowski scurry to the curb and Mr. Rowe in his waiting car. “Sweet, foolish Tabby.”

She watched them drive around the corner and then set the dog on the brown grass. “Don’t suppose you know how to potty on command, do you?”

The puppy scampered toward the sidewalk, squatted and peed on the cement.

“Well. It’s better than my living room rug.” She tugged gently on the leash. “Come, little beastie. Let’s go inside.”

Which were words the dog seemed to recognize, because she bounded up the porch step and darted inside, yanking the leash handle right out of Tabby’s relaxed grip. A second later, she heard a crash and a yelp, and she vaulted after the pup.

Inside, the lamp that usually sat on Tabby’s narrow entryway table was lying on its side on the floor. The white shade was split, but the lightbulb was still intact. “No harm.” Tabby set the lamp where it belonged and rubbed the puppy’s head.

It wasn’t the dog’s fault her owner was engaged to an idiot male who didn’t know better than to trust a faithless woman.

“Come on.” She unclipped the leash from the puppy’s too-large blue collar, picked her up and returned to the protective cocoon she’d made for herself on the couch.

The dog immediately burrowed into Tabby’s fluffy blanket and tucked her wet nose against Tabby’s neck.

She stroked the warm, smooth coat. “I should get myself one of you,” she said on a sigh. “My brother takes care of beasties like you. From tiny puppies all the way up to huge horses and most everything in between. If I tell him I want a dog, he’ll find one of his many strays and be on my doorstep in two shakes.” She looked into the dog’s inquisitive brown eyes. “He wanted me to take a cat last year. But I’m afraid of turning into the spinster cat lady.” She rested her cheek on the top of the dog’s head.

The phone sitting on her end table rang, and she reached blindly to pick it up. “This is your friendly neighborhood dog-sitting service,” she said robotically. “Please leave your message after the tone.”

“Dog sitting, huh?” Sam Dawson’s voice held laughter.

“Hey, Sam.” Tabby grabbed the television remote and muted the black-and-white movie she’d been watching. “Diner’s closed tomorrow if you’re needing more cinnamon rolls.”

“Not this time. I wanted to see if you were interested in going to Colbys tonight. Hayley and I are going. Girls’ night.”

“Why isn’t Hayley home romancing her new handsome husband?”

“He’s working security out at Cee-Vid tonight.”

Covering for another one of the security guards, Tabby guessed, since Seth usually worked days. “I’d go, but I’m puppy sitting,” she said, and the sittee in question gave a little woof and started chewing on the point of Tabby’s chin. She winced and covered the pooch’s muzzle. “No biting.”

“If you hadn’t just said you were puppy sitting, I’d wonder what was going on over there,” Sam said on a chuckle. “You’ve really got a puppy there?”

“Well, I don’t have a man,” Tabby returned darkly.

“You would if you ever said yes to the guys who ask you out.”

“Is this a lecture on my love life or an invitation to girls’ night?”

“You don’t have a love life.”

“Don’t remind me.” Tabby redirected the puppy’s interest away from chewing on her face again. “
No biting.
And I don’t recall you being in the company of any eligible males lately.”

“I work with a few dozen every day.”

“Socially.”

“Ah, well, that’s a different story. Sure you don’t want to come? Get one of your neighbors to watch the pooch?”

It would serve Justin right if she closed Beastie in his apartment, unsupervised. Let the little girl go crazy, chewing and knocking things over. Maybe give him a nice puddle to slip in when he got home.

“He deserves it, but you don’t,” she murmured to the dog.

“Talking Greek there, girlfriend.”

Tabby tucked the phone against her shoulder and leaned over to set the puppy on the floor. “Sorry, Sam. I would come if I could. A girls’ night sounds like just the ticket right now, but I can’t.”

“This have anything to do with your hunky renter’s marital plans?”

Ugh.
“Where’d you hear?”

Sam snorted softly. “In the line at Shop-World while I was buying kale and green tea. In the salon when I stopped in to get my hair trimmed. At the Gas ’n’ Go when I was filling up. Plus, Hayley and Seth were at the diner this morning. Shall I go on?”

Tabby closed her eyes. “That’s what this sudden girls’ night is about?” Yes, she was friends with Sam, but they’d only met up the way she was suggesting a few times before.

“Nope. Seth’s honestly working. I haven’t had sex in six months, and I’m looking for a likely prospect at Colbys. But a girl always needs her wingmen.”

Despite herself, Tabby chuckled. It was hard not to, when it came to Sam. “Fine. But I still have a puppy here who shouldn’t be left to her own devices.”

“Bring her along, then,” Sam said. “Put her in a purse and carry her on your arm like some rich girl from Beverly Hills.”

“I don’t have a dog-friendly purse,” Tabby said drily. But she did have a veterinarian brother. “Fine.” She pushed out of her blanket cocoon again and stood. “What time will you be there?”

“Sevenish.”

Allowing her enough time to shower, dress and drop off Beastie at Evan’s. “All right. But if I end up not showing, don’t worry about me. It just means my brother couldn’t watch the dog after all.”

“Fair enough.” Sam rang off, and Tabby looked down at the puppy. She’d sprawled beneath the glass-topped coffee table and was trying to wrap her jaws around one of the wooden legs.

“Sure,” Tabby said, tugging the dog free and propping her against her shoulder. “Leave scars. It’s only fitting.”

The puppy shivered with delight and slathered Tabby’s neck with her tongue.

An hour later, freshly showered and dressed in the most presentable pair of jeans she possessed and a thick oat-colored knit turtleneck, she left her house with Beastie on the leash and headed toward her 1979 Buick parked in the triple-wide driveway.

She had just spread a towel on the backseat for Beastie to sit on when Justin’s truck pulled up.

She wanted to ignore him. To settle Beastie on the backseat, get in her car and drive away.

But Beastie was
his
dog.

His and Gillian’s.

So she crossed her arms and leaned back against the open door and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. The truck’s headlights had barely gone out before he climbed out and his long stride carried him rapidly across the lawn.

“That’s
your
car?”

She stiffened. “You’re not exactly driving the newest model off the production floor.” And she happened to know that he didn’t even own a vehicle in Boston. “I bought it from Mrs. Wachowski when she had to give up driving. It was her husband’s.”

He stopped a foot away. “I only meant—” He shook his head, looking impatient. “Where have you been all day?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I had to account to you for my personal time. I guess I missed that clause in my employment contract at Ruby’s.”

“Dammit, Tab—”

“Here.” She pushed Beastie into his arms.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t drop her. She’s just a baby.”

“I know what she is!”

The puppy whined, and Tabby snatched her back, cuddling her against her chin. “If you’re going to yell, then maybe I should wait until Gillian gets here!”

He shoved his fingers through his hair, and even though the three porch lights on the front of the triplex weren’t very bright, she could see he’d left the thick, dark blond strands standing on end. “Gillian was here,” he said, sounding like he was talking through his teeth.

“Obviously.” Tabby stroked the puppy’s back. “She dumped off your puppy on Mrs. Wachowski. So where is she?”

“Mrs. Wachowski?”

Tabby very nearly stomped her boot. “Gillian!”

The puppy woofed shrilly and Tabby patted her shaking back. “Sorry, Beastie.”

“Beastie?”

“Well, your
fiancée
didn’t see fit to tell Mrs. Wachowski what this little girl’s name was, much less leave any food or toys. So what is her name?”

“I have no idea,” he shouted.

Tabby cuddled the puppy. “I warned you about yelling.” She pushed the car door closed and headed toward her front door.

Justin grabbed her elbow from behind. “Not so fast.”

She yanked free. “Don’t touch me!” Beastie whined again, and she tucked her against her other shoulder, patting her again to calm her. “All the years I’ve known you, I’ve
never
thought you were a liar, Justin Clay. But to lie about Gillian? What good did that do you? Is your ego so monumental that you needed your childhood friend to swallow your story, hook, line and sinker? What was the point, when you
had
to know I’d learn the truth sooner or later? For God’s sake. Why couldn’t you have just admitted you were marrying her?”

“I am
not
marrying Gillian.” He was talking through his teeth again. “I did not lie about her. I did not
lie
about one damn thing. You’re more than a childhood friend. You’re my best friend. And she was supposed to take that bloody puppy with her this morning when I told her to leave me the hell alone.”

Tabby gave a disbelieving sniff. “The entire town has heard about your engagement.”

“Yeah, and the Weaver grapevine proves itself to be as inaccurate as it always is. Something I spent an hour reminding my
mother
about when she called me on the carpet for not telling her the supposed news.”

“If you told Gillian to leave, what was she doing coming here and leaving Beastie with Mrs. Wachowski?”

He threw his arms out to his sides. “It’d take more brilliance than I possess to ever explain why Gillian does what she does!” He let his arms drop. “She’s bat-crap crazy. You going to believe the word of a crazy person or the guy you’ve known your whole damn life? I told you Gillian and I were through.”

Tabby set Beastie on the ground between them, and the puppy immediately squatted, leaving another puddle on the cement driveway. Then she stood, looking up at them and wagging her curving tail so enthusiastically her butt swayed back and forth, too.

“And I warned you that you weren’t,” Tabby said and handed him the leash.

Then she got in the ancient car, started up the engine and drove away.

She’d never felt more in need of a girls’ night.

* * *

“He really said she was bat-crap crazy?” Sam Dawson propped her elbow on the round high-top table they were occupying at Colbys and leaned closer.