Читать книгу The Maverick's Bridal Bargain - Christy Jeffries - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Vivienne’s skin was still tingling from the sound of Cole Dalton’s sexy drawl as she waved off Zach and Lydia before her boss got out of her car. Luckily, Estelle was still on the phone with one of their flower vendors when their newest clients drove away, saving Vivienne from an awkward introduction. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to save them—or anyone else within a block radius—from hearing exactly what Estelle thought of having centerpieces set in burlap-covered mason jars, because the Cadillac’s speaker volume was always set to Ridiculous.

Behind the windshield, Estelle’s red acrylic fingernail jabbed toward Vivienne, the gesture clearly telling her that her boss wanted her to wait right where she was. After several minutes of threats to never refer another bride to them again, Estelle finally disconnected the call and exited the boatlike sedan like a ninety-pound bleached-blonde tornado, ready to blow through anything that stood in her way.

“Who was that leaving?” Estelle asked, not bothering to take off the giant tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses that hid more than half of her face, as well as the healing scars from her most recent visit to the plastic surgeon.

“Those are our new clients,” Vivienne replied, her shoulders straighter than they had been for the past three months, when Estelle had first started pressuring her to bring in more bookings.

“Gah. More cowboy weddings,” Estelle complained, before lighting up a cigarette. “I hope you told them that flannel isn’t a bridesmaid dress option. We can’t have people thinking we’re running a rodeo over here.”

“They’re from Rust Creek Falls,” Vivienne explained, waiting for the significance to sink in. Surely, the woman would be impressed now that their company was officially branching out into the small town that was becoming well-known for so many recent marriages.

“You got the full deposit from them, right?” The woman was happy only when money was exchanged. At Vivienne’s nod, Estelle continued. “Good. Who was the other cowpoke with them?”

Despite the older woman’s insulting tone, Vivienne’s tummy did a somersault at the mention of Cole. “That’s one of the groom’s four brothers.”

“Four?” Estelle pushed the supersize sunglasses on top of her teased platinum curls. Even the heavy mascara loaded onto her fake lashes couldn’t conceal the gleam in her eye. “Are they all single?”

Vivienne flashed back to an earlier glimpse she’d had of Cole’s strong, tanned fingers and reminded herself that the lack of a wedding ring didn’t mean he wasn’t in a serious relationship. “You know, I didn’t think to ask.”

“Well, find out if they are,” Estelle told her, before reaching into the back seat. “Girl, in this business, you always need to be thinking one step ahead. If the other three are as good-looking as those two, there are bound to be some more weddings in the works. And I want you to book them.”

A feeling of incompetence raced through her. They’d been having a similar conversation for the past year. She knew she was supposed to be bringing in more business, but there was something icky about force selling happily-ever-after. Vivienne was of the opinion that her work should speak for itself and happy couples would be more likely to refer their family and friends her way. But before she could argue as much, Estelle passed her a small plastic cage holding a shivering black-and-white guinea pig.

Their company had done weddings with everything from songbirds to butterfly releases to dogs as flower girls. But they’d never done one with rodents. Vivienne crinkled her nose. “What’s this for?”

“When I went in for my post-op last week, the doctor told me my blood pressure has been through the roof lately. But with my high cholesterol and thyroid problems, I’m on so much stinkin’ medication right now, the last thing I want to do is shove more pills down my throat. Apparently, there’ve been recent studies about pets helping to ease people’s stress levels, so I thought I’d give it a try.” Estelle used the remainder of her cigarette to light up a new one before crushing the butt under her size-four stiletto. Cutting back a pack a day and not constantly yelling at wedding vendors would probably be more beneficial, but Vivienne knew better than to suggest as much. “Since I’m allergic to cats and I can’t stand the stench of dogs, my only choices at the pet shop were this little guy or a turtle. And I don’t do moldy tanks.”

Vivienne held the cage up to eye level and peered inside. There was something achingly familiar about the startled fear reflected in the poor animal’s eyes. “So why did you bring him to the office?”

“The stupid thing is defective. It was up all night long making this weird wheezing sound.” Estelle grabbed two binders off her back seat and hooked her trademark purple tote bag over her bony shoulder. The ash from her cigarette was almost an inch long and hanging on precariously as she headed toward the office door. “I need you to take him back to the pet store. Maybe you can get me the turtle instead.”

Vivienne was pretty sure the guinea pig wasn’t defective; it was just overwhelmed. After all, Estelle’s nose and lungs had had decades to build up a tolerance to her heavy-handed application of dime-store perfume and her chain-smoking. Usually, Estelle never smoked in front of clients, but since those had been scarcer lately, her boss was lighting up at an alarming rate.

Vivienne remained outside in the parking lot, setting the cheap plastic cage on the hood of Estelle’s car. She wanted to unlatch the metal door, but she was afraid the thing would run away.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked. The guinea pig twitched its nose in response, the whiskers on either side of its face quivering.

Vivienne wasn’t much of an animal person. Growing up, she’d had only one pet, and that had been short-lived. When her parents divorced the first time, not only had they fought for custody of Vivienne, they’d also fought for custody of Filmore, a fluffy Pomeranian who didn’t understand the concept of every-other-week visitation. Vivienne was at school one day when Filmore snuck out of her dad’s sparsely furnished apartment and tried to make his way back to the house he was used to—the split-level home her mom got in the divorce. He never made it.

Her mother accused her father of giving the dog to one of his girlfriends, and her father accused her mother of leaving a trail of bacon the entire two miles between his apartment and her house. At first, Vivienne was heartbroken over her lost pet, but a week later, she was getting off the school bus a block away from her mom’s place and saw Filmore in the window of the Petersons’ house. She knew the Peterson girls from school. They were younger, and their parents never screamed at each other on the front lawn like hers did. So Vivienne decided not to say anything, because at least Filmore would get to live with a happy family even if she couldn’t. Every once in a while, she would go over to their house and pretend she was interested in having make-believe tea parties and playing with their babyish pink palace dream house just so that she could visit her dog.

When her mom and dad eventually got back together, Vivienne asked if they could go over to the Petersons’ and get Filmore. However, her parents were so caught up in each other and making up for lost time that they didn’t want the burden of a pet again.

Vivienne bit her lower lip as she studied the helpless guinea pig. Maybe she should take him back to her apartment for now. She should also call the pet store and tell them that under no circumstances were they to sell that poor turtle to Estelle. But, first, she had a wedding to put together. Balancing her binder in one arm, she carried the cage into the office.

The peanut M&M’s were long gone, so she broke off a piece of the granola bar she’d thrown in her purse this morning when she realized she wouldn’t have time for breakfast, then pushed it through one of the slots toward her new friend. The guinea pig cautiously moved forward and sniffed the food before using its tiny paws to shove the whole thing into its cheek. Then Vivienne settled into her chair and got to work.

She opened the binder to see that a photo had gotten stuck inside one of the divider pockets. And not just any photo. The photo. All five of the Dalton brothers were handsome. And after hearing about the tragedy of losing their mother, Vivienne was fascinated to find out more about them. She told herself she was interested in learning all their stories, but it was really Cole she stared at, Cole’s story she wanted to hear.

Something inside of her ached. Maybe it was all the romance novels and bridal magazines pulling at her heartstrings. She’d read her fair share of both, and every once in a while she could forget about the bridezillas and the uninterested grooms and the wedding marketing ploys and wonder if there was such a thing as love at first sight.

Not for her, of course. Having witnessed the whirlwind of her parents’ marriage, Vivienne was smart enough to want to get to know her future husband for at least a few years before she decided if they were compatible.

She was also smart enough not to get all worked up by a pair of well-worn jeans and a sexy smirk and a honeyed voice calling her ma’am.

* * *

A week later at the Circle D, Cole was in one of the corrals exercising his uncle’s injured horse when a Jetta zipped down the driveway toward the ranch house. As the car approached, he recognized Vivienne behind the wheel and his pulse sped up. Paying attention to the driver instead of where he was going, Cole kept walking straight as the horse rounded the turn. Zorro’s front hoof grazed the side of his boot, causing them both to stumble.

“Easy, boy,” he said more to himself than to the stallion.

She was wearing some sort of silky floral dress that wrapped around her curves like a second skin, and her high heels had no business navigating the dirt driveway, which was still fairly muddy after a recent spring rain. Balancing that big binder on her hip, Vivienne used her free hand to carry a tall vase. A strong wind caused the side of her dress to flip open and his lungs froze as he was treated to a full view of her shapely thighs. When she tried to pull her dress back into place, she dropped the binder, its contents spilling out everywhere.

Quickly, Cole secured the lead rope to the mechanical arm of the hot-walker, then hopped over the fence, mentally kicking himself for initially staring at her like a lovesick calf instead of immediately rushing to her aid. On his way, he picked up scattered papers and pictures of cakes and flowers. The dainty images and carefully handwritten lists made his work-roughened hands look big and coarse, and he quickly shoved the stack at her.

“Thank you,” she said, not noticing that the notebook she’d just pulled to her chest was covered with mud. “I’m supposed to meet Zach and Lydia here at the ranch and then drive over to check out Maverick Manor as an option for a wedding venue. But I’m running a little early.”

“You’re getting dirt all over your...” He pointed at the mud now covering the neckline of her dress, then slammed his fingers into his front pockets when he realized he was gesturing toward her breasts. When she pulled the binder closer as if she could shield his inappropriate gaze, he felt his cheeks flame.

“Do you want to wait for them on the porch?” he asked. He had no idea when Zach and Lydia would get here, and while Cole could rescue windblown papers, he wasn’t much for entertaining guests or making small talk. Racking his brain, he asked himself what his aunt Rita would do if she were home. “Can I get you a drink?”

Vivienne rotated her slender wrist to glance at her watch. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind me using the restroom, I could try to clean myself up a little before they get here.”

“No problem,” he said, taking the tall vase from her. “Follow me.”

He slowed his pace so that she could better follow him without getting one of her heels stuck in the driveway. His uncle and aunt’s sprawling log ranch house was pretty big, but with Cole’s dad and brothers living there temporarily, he couldn’t vouch for the cleanliness of anyone else’s bathroom but his own.

He said as much as he led her down the hallway toward the girls’ wing. Then, because he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea about where he was taking her, he added, “We have to walk through here to get to the Jack-and-Jill-style bathroom.”

“This is your bedroom?” she asked, her gaze focused on the fierce pink sign on the door ordering all boys to keep out.

“Originally, the two rooms on this side of the house belonged to my cousins Kristen and Kayla before they got married. So I can’t take credit for the decor. All the frills and ruffles and throw pillows were here when I moved in.”

“That’s good to know.” Vivienne’s playful smile sent an electrical current through his gut. “I had you pegged for more of a roses-and-chintz type of guy, so the daisy quilt and eyelet curtains threw me off for a second.”

“Roses? Me? And here I thought I was sending out a strong tulip vibe.” He grinned back at her and then continued on toward the bathroom.

“I think it’s sweet that your masculinity isn’t threatened by a few pastels and floral prints.”

“Listen, I slept in much worse conditions when I was deployed in the Marine Corps.”

She didn’t respond, so he turned back to see if she was still following him. Vivienne had paused right outside the bathroom door, her head tilted. “You were in the Marines?”

“You seem surprised,” Cole replied.

“In my line of work, I try to never be too surprised about anyone.” She crossed over the threshold and set her muddy binder down on the tile counter. “Although, I had assumed that you were just a cowboy.”

“Just a cowboy?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant like a full-time job. Your brother Zach mentioned that he’s been so busy working here with your uncle and helping your father find a new ranch. I saw the picture of you with your brothers dressed up in—” she gestured toward his daily uniform of boots, jeans and a flannel shirt “—all that cowboy gear and I figured that you guys all worked together.”

“Some of us work harder than others,” he said as he winked. Then he wanted to kick himself for flirting when nobody was even around to witness it. Well, nobody except Vivienne, who seemed way too serious and professional to engage in harmless bantering. Still, she had made the first joke, so maybe he’d read her wrong. “If it’s any consolation, you were right and I’m now a full-time cowboy.”

“So then you’re not a Marine anymore?”

“Well, you know what they say. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” He saw the confusion creasing the smooth skin of her forehead. “I put in my time and was honorably discharged.”

“Oh. How long did you serve?” Vivienne focused on him when almost any woman he knew would’ve already directed her full attention to her own reflection in the nearby mirror, worrying how she would get all that dirt off her pretty dress.

Cole was surprised by how natural it would’ve felt to hitch his hip up onto the countertop and shoot the breeze with her. Five minutes ago, he’d been dreading talking to her about anything more substantial than whether she preferred ice in her sweet tea. Yet the lady who had at first appeared to be all business now seemed completely at ease making small talk in such close and personal quarters.

Unfortunately, his departure from the Corps and the circumstances surrounding it brought back the painful memory he would never be comfortable talking about with anyone, let alone a stranger—no matter how attractive she was.

Instead, he did what he always did when he wanted to avoid something. He winked and made a wisecrack. “You’d need to have security clearance to get that type of information out of me.”

Vivienne’s hand rested casually on the edge of the sink as she faced him and wiggled her eyebrows. “As the wedding planner, you’d be amazed at some of the insider intel I can access.”

His glance dipped down to the V of her dress as he considered how far she might go in her fact-finding mission. A throbbing of awareness below his belt buckle yanked him back to reality. When he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, she was staring at him in a way that made him feel completely exposed.

Cole purposely broke eye contact by reaching for a couple of pink washcloths in the cabinet before handing one to her. “Why’s that?”

“In addition to organizing everything, my job is to be part psychologist, part coach, part fortune teller and a full-time mediator. I have to get all the data I can about not only the couple, but also their friends and their families, to prepare for a multitude of possibilities.”

“But it’s just a wedding. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked as he began cleaning the binder in one of the bathroom sinks.

She used a washcloth at the other sink to wipe the spot of mud on her dress, looking in the mirror as she spoke. “I need to know which uncle—or aunt—is likely to have too much to drink. I have to make sure that there aren’t any bickering cousins sitting together at the head table or any exes coming as someone else’s plus-one. It helps to find out in advance if the father of the bride has any food allergies and what the mother of the groom’s favorite song is for the...” Regret dawned in her eyes and, thankfully, she caught herself just before saying the words mother and son dance.

But the image was already out there for Cole.

His mom.

The woman who’d dreamed of being a dancer on Broadway before she’d fallen in love with a rancher from Montana. The woman who’d taught them all how to do a basic waltz and an electric slide before they were in sixth grade. The woman who used to stop whatever she was doing when the perfect two-stepping beat came on the radio, grab whichever boy was nearest to her and then laugh and sing as she twirled a kid around the house.

Diana Dalton would never get to dance at any of her sons’ weddings. The thought was like a punch to Cole’s gut.

“I am so sorry,” Vivienne began, but he held up a palm. Hearing her pity would only make the guilt twist deeper inside of him.

“Don’t worry about it.” He forced his tense lips into a casual smile, but his reflection revealed that it was more of an uncomfortable grimace. They were looking at each other through the mirror, and even though it wasn’t direct eye contact, it was still too much. He grabbed a towel off the rack behind him, buying himself a few seconds to regain his composure before he turned back.

Vivienne’s own hands had stilled under the stream, so he shut off the water and passed her the clean binder. His voice sounded normal enough when he said, “Here. Good as new.”

Then he reached for another brightly colored hand towel and held it out to her. She opened her mouth, but before she could apologize, he cut her off. “Don’t tell my brothers this, but when we moved to the Circle D, I purposely drew the short straw because I’ve always been partial to the color pink anyway.”

Then, as if to prove that everything was fine, he gave her another wink in the mirror before walking out.