Читать книгу His Wedding - Muriel Jensen - Страница 9

Her and her big mouth. The shriek Janet had been in the middle of when she felt herself falling had caused her to swallow water. As she sank into the cold Atlantic, she felt as though she’d also ingested one of the small boats—or at least, an oar.

The moment she got over the shock of her fall, she struggled upward, choking. She collided with the bottom of a boat and pulled herself around it, spotting sunlight. The light disappeared when the next boat bobbed against the first one. She groped her way back as she spotted sunlight in that direction. Her lungs were bursting as the shaft of sunlight disappeared again when the first boat now swung the other way.

Resisting panic, she followed it to its stern, but it drifted out with her to the end of its line.

Panic fought back. Had all this turmoil in her life, all this discovery, been intended simply to bring her to this point where she would…die?

It didn’t seem possible, and yet here she was, unable to find the surface, unable to—

Something grabbed the back of her shirt and she was thrust upward until her head and shoulders cleared the surface. She gasped for air, choking painfully, spewing water.

A hand swiped her clinging hair out of her face. “Janet? Are you all right?” Brian asked.

She tried to open her eyes, but all she could do was cough.

Brian swam a small distance, his arm hooked around her middle, taking her with him. Then he put one of her hands on something solid, his legs tucked under her like the seat of a chair to keep her in place.

“You have a hold of the ladder,” he said, placing her other hand beside the first. Just two rungs and you’ll be sitting on the pier. Come on. Up.”

She couldn’t coordinate the movement, then his hand, under her backside, pushed her up. Her feet found an underwater rung and she propelled herself over the top. She was on her hands and knees and beginning to drag in air.

Brian swung up beside her, putting a hand to her back as he squatted to look into her face. “Janet?”

“Yes.” She was embarrassed, but somehow her annoyance with him had fled. Nothing like immersion in cold water to stabilize a mood. “Yes, I’m still Janet. Did you think I couldn’t come up because I was having my name changed?”

He barked a laugh. “Your sense of humor has survived.” Then he lifted her up into his arms. “I’ve got a shower in the back of the shop.”

She held on to his neck as he strode up the steps. “I couldn’t find my way between the boats,” she said, unable to believe that had been so difficult. “Every time I went for the sunlight, the boats bumped together again.”

“My fault,” he replied, walking through the shop and into a small area in the rear. “I was pushing them apart, looking for you from the pier, so when your opening disappeared, it was probably me, shoving from the other side.”

“Nice guy.”

“What do you want from the son of Susannah Abbott and Corbin Gir—”

She put a hand over his mouth. “If you bring that up again,” she threatened, “I’ll have to bite your ear.” Her position in his arms made his ear an easy target.

He stopped in front of a half-open door. She glimpsed a shower stall and a medicine cabinet, but what really caught her attention were the lively depths of Brian’s blue eyes a mere inch from hers. Usually, they were so steady on her that they made her feel defensive. But today they made her feel…odd?

“And that would discourage me?” he asked with a half smile.

Her mouth fell open. Was he more interested in her than it appeared?

Before she could analyze that, he set her on her feet in the doorway and pointed to a small wicker rack of towels. “There’re soap and shampoo in the shower.”

“And…you can dry my clothes?”

“No, but I can give you something to change into. I’ve got matching T-shirts and shorts with the store name on them. Pink, green or yellow?”

“Yellow.”

He studied her. “Small? Medium?”

She folded her arms to hide a little shudder of that same sensation. “Medium.”

“I’ll leave them on the doorknob.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped into the bathroom, locked the door behind her and took the first good breath she’d had since he’d looked into her eyes and suggested that he wouldn’t mind if she bit his ear.

The bathroom was small and utilitarian, all in white tile with the same checkered curtains the shop windows sported.

She peeled off her wet things and climbed into the cubicle. The showerhead was powerful, with a pulsing adjustment that went a long way toward relaxing the tense muscles in her neck and back.

He had shampoo but no conditioner. And no blow-dryer. Her hair would dry flat, but at least it would be clean.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her head and opened the door just enough to see if he’d placed the shorts and T-shirt on the doorknob. He had.

She grabbed them and locked the door again. She noticed in pleased surprise that he’d thought to include a three-pack of panties and a sports bra. Remarkably, everything fit. The shorts were a classic boy cut, with his logo on a hip pocket. The T-shirt had the logo across the chest.

She was staring in the mirror at her alarmingly natural face, free of makeup, and her wet hair, into which she’d tried to fluff a little volume, when there was a knock on the door.

She opened it.

Brian stood there, a pair of floral flip-flops in one hand and simple white tennies in the other. He held them up for her to make a decision.

“Ah. Perfect.” She chose the tennies.

“Come out when you’re ready,” he said. “I’ve poured you a cup of coffee.”

She had already slipped on the shoes and took only a moment to fluff her hair again, then concluded any effort to look fashionable was hopeless.

She found Brian tearing at a package of oatmeal cookies. He’d pulled open the curtain between the front and the back of the store, probably so that he could watch for customers.

A battered coffee table next to an old red sofa held two diner-style mugs of coffee and an empty plate. He dumped the open pack of cookies unceremoniously onto the plate.

“Good thing about owning a general store,” he said, gesturing her to sit down. “You can entertain at a moment’s notice.”

She sank onto a sofa cushion. “And provide clothing for people who fall into the drink.” She grinned in self-deprecation. “Certainly was a conversation stopper, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. But it doesn’t have to be the end of the argument if you have more to say.” He sat beside her and thought back. “As I recall, you said, ‘We’re talking about my sister’s wedding and you’re not going to—’ And then you screamed.”

She took a cookie, dunked it in her coffee and popped it into her mouth. “Actually, now that I’ve been immersed in cold water, I see your arguments more clearly.”

“Really. You agree with me?”

“No,” she denied firmly, “but your feelings aren’t that different from mine.”

1He leaned back into his corner of the sofa, his legs stretched out and crossed under the table. He sipped at his coffee and waited for her to explain.

She turned toward him, cookie in one hand, cup in the other. “I’m afraid of embarrassing them, too, though for different reasons. I feel very much out of my element amid all their style and elegance. I mean, Chloe would probably never dunk a cookie in her coffee, would she?”

“Uh…I can’t say I’ve ever seen her do it.”

“See? And she’s not only stylish and elegant, she’s European. I am so not going to measure up to the rest of the Abbotts.”

As she made that claim, an idea formed, full-blown. Three years ago, she’d been left at the altar—well, not the altar, the travel agency. Her fiancé was supposed to meet her there to pay for their honeymoon tickets to Hawaii. When he never came, she went home, to find a voice-mail message that he’d changed his mind about the wedding and was off to London.

She’d been more careful of men since then but hadn’t stopped looking for the right one. And despite Brian’s resistance, she was beginning to wonder if it was him. Now she thought she had a way to spend time with him to determine if he was or not. Convincing him of that, of course, would take time and effort and was a job for later.

“You’re not going to measure up?” he said in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. You always behave as though—”

She interrupted with a swipe of her cookie in the air. “It’s an act. I’m just afraid that one day I’m going to do something embarrassing to them.”

“Get a grip, Janet,” he said. “They’re not royalty. They’re just wealthy people who are socially well connected.”

She gave him a dry look. “If I may quote you, ‘Easy for you to say.’ You grew up in their world. Your parents had the same standard of living, the same social connections. You know how to behave among all this—” She raised a finger to stop him when he would have interrupted her. “Yes, you have that scandalous background.” She enunciated the word with a dramatic waggle of her eyebrows. “But people deal so much more on perception than they do fact. All people notice is that you behave like a gentleman, that you’re well-spoken and well educated. Columbia, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I went to Columbia.”

“I went to Las Manzanas Community College and Columbia River College.”

“Doesn’t education depend on the thirst for knowledge in the student, rather than on where he goes to school?”

“I don’t imagine my brothers’ Ivy League educated friends would believe that.”

He studied her with a frown. “I think you have some reverse snobbery at work here.”

She smiled innocently. “Why? You’re convinced everyone’s going to judge the Abbotts by the unfortunate circumstances of your birth.”

He continued to frown, and she couldn’t decide if he was out of arguments or out of patience. She considered it a good time to make her point.

“I’ve been asked to be Campbell and China’s maid of honor,” she said, sipping her coffee, “and I don’t have the luxury of refusing them. China’s my only sister and I’m hers.” She paused on the chance he wanted to comment. He didn’t.

“So friends and family are coming from far and wide to this wedding of the year, and I have to be part of the party and take my chances that I won’t do or say something inappropriate among all those people and with all the press bound to be there. Word is the New York Times is sending someone.”

She bit into her cookie, avoiding his eyes. Was she overdoing it? She couldn’t tell. And for a usually straightforward man, he was a master at hiding what he was thinking when he wanted to.

She ate the last bite of her cookie, chewed and swallowed, buying time.

“But if you were best man,” she added, putting her cup down and dusting off her hands, “I’d feel less intimidated. You can help me during the Mass. I wasn’t raised Catholic and I’m not familiar with the ritual, but you are, right?”

“My mother took me to church when I was a child, but I haven’t been in a long time. I don’t think your brothers have, either.”

“At least you have some experience. I won’t know whether to stand or sit or kneel, but you’ll be beside me. You can give me a high sign. You can provide moral support during the reception, and I can deflect the reporters away from you. We’ll help each other.”

HER ARGUMENTS WERE very transparent. The Mass could be confusing to the uninitiated, and it was true that the congregation sat behind the wedding party, so it wasn’t possible to follow their lead in sitting, standing, kneeling unless you turned around to see what they were doing—and that would be just the faux pas she seemed so worried about.

But Sophie, Sawyer’s fiancée, knew the ritual; she sang in the choir at St. Paul’s. Following her lead would be easy enough.

And he couldn’t remember ever seeing Janet make a misstep despite her insistence that Abbott society was unfamiliar to her.

He could only deduce that she was laying it on a little thick because she was determined that her sister and her brother have the wedding they wanted, and that included him.

And, though he disliked admitting this to himself, he found it hard to refuse the appeal in her wide brown eyes. Even knowing it was as much performance as sincere emotion, he was going to let it reel him in. Undoubtedly, he would hate himself for this later.

“All right,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You mean…you’ll do it?”

“Yes.”

“But…why?”

“Because you’re so persuasive.” And, he added silently to himself, I’m a self-indulgent idiot.

He rested one hand on his knee and she closed both hers over it as she beamed at him. “Thank you, Brian.” Her gratitude did sound heartfelt, and her hands on his knee, even over his hand, had a very pleasant effect on his body. “They’ll be so happy.”

“Well, that’s what we want.”

The bell rang over the front door. “Excuse me,” he said, getting to his feet. “Customer.”

Another came in before he was finished with the first, and before he knew it, the place was suddenly hopping.

When he turned to see if everyone had been helped, he found Janet trying to reach something on a top shelf for an older woman who watched her in concern. Brian recognized the woman as a three-or-four-times-a-week customer for most of August and September.

Janet’s body was stretched to its utmost, her heels off the floor, her calves and her bottom in the shorts tight with her effort. He could have watched her in that pose for a while, but he hurried to lend a hand.

“What are you after, Mrs. Lindell?” he asked.

She pointed to the back of the shelf. “That bottle of hair gel.”

He caught it off the shelf and handed it to Janet. She gave it to the woman, who already had a helmet of hair that looked as though it wouldn’t move in a class five hurricane. It was carved into a curled and flipped style he remembered his mother wearing twenty-five years ago.

“Is that the right brand?” Janet asked helpfully.

“That’s it exactly!” The woman gave Janet a ten-dollar bill. “I was sure you were out of it! You wouldn’t believe what a sailboat can do to a hairdo.” To Brian she said, “I’m glad to see you’ve gotten yourself another assistant. She’s more attentive than that boy you just hired. The last time I was here, he was so engrossed in an argument he was having with a girl he didn’t even notice me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was unwelcome news. Joe Fanelli was young, but he’d been so eager for the job. Part of the reason Brian had hired him was that his grandfather owned and operated Fulio’s, the best restaurant in Lost-hampton, known for its attention to detail and customer service. Joe had worked for him after school and during summers, and Brian was sure Fulio insisted on a work ethic at least as strong as his own.

Janet passed him the ten and the three of them went to the cash register. He made the woman change and put her purchase in a bag. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I promise that won’t happen to you again.”

“Thank you.” She took her change and chatted on about the dearth of cheerful and dependable retail help while she opened her wallet, dropped the change into the right compartment, then closed it and moved several things around in her purse so that she could put the wallet back in.

Then she picked up the bag and patted Janet’s cheek with her free hand. “You’ll go far, sweetie. The consumer likes a convenient place to shop and a helpful staff. My husband owns four delicatessens. I know what I’m talking about.”

She winked at Brian. “Bye, now.”

Brian watched her walk away, hoping he wouldn’t have to fire Joe Fanelli.

“I think I know what Joe’s problem is,” Janet said, leaning a hip against his counter.

That surprised him. “I wasn’t aware you knew him?”

“I don’t. But I heard the ladies at the beauty shop talking about him when I had my hair trimmed just before I left for L.A.”

“And?”

“And,” she said gravely, “his girlfriend is pregnant. That’s why he’s put off college for a year. Her parents are furious at both of them. His parents are angry at him. Even the girlfriend wants him to go to school. She’s insisting she’ll get a job and raise the baby and wait for him to graduate. He wants to get married and assume his responsibilities.”

Brian leaned against the other side of the register. “You ladies really discuss things in depth over hair trimmings.”

“Having your hair or your nails done inspires confidences. It’s a fact.” She looked worried. “Are you going to fire him? He needs the job.”

“I understand that. But I’d like to stay in business, and that won’t happen with customers being ignored. I’ll talk to him. Then if he doesn’t shape up, I’ll fire him.”

She nodded approval. “Very fair. Well, now that I’ve argued with you, fallen in the inlet, had coffee, made a sale for you and acted as Joe Fanelli’s union advisor, my work here is done. Can I have a plastic bag for my wet clothes?”

He reached under the counter for one and handed it to her. “I’ll close up for a few minutes and drive you home.”

“No!” She put a hand to his chest. His heartbeat reacted to her touch. She must have felt it, because she dropped her hand immediately, then cleared her throat. “I’m perfectly capable of riding the Vespa home.”

“Not a good idea after your dunking,” he said, moving her aside when she stood in his path. “And I appreciate your lending a hand when I got busy. Thank you.” He went to the door, changed the Will Be Back sign to read In Fifteen Minutes, then ushered her out ahead of him and locked the door.

“This is silly!” she argued, hurrying to keep up with him as he steered the Vespa toward his truck, then lifted it into the back.

“I…” she started to say, but he opened the passenger door and lifted her into the truck.

She growled and she pulled out the seat belt.

“As a general rule,” he said, before closing her door, “socially correct women never growl. You might bear that in mind.”

He had her home in five minutes, unloaded the Vespa and placed it for her in a corner of the garage. Behind her at a small distance, the beautiful yellow-and-white mansion that was her family’s home was perched on a knoll, with a view of the vast lawn and the apple orchard. The house had a central cupola and porches at the front and back that exemplified the cozy style at the heart of everything Abbott. Janet seemed to fit in well.

The construction going on at the west end of the house reminded Brian again of the potential for scandal in his very name. His father had almost destroyed Chloe’s addition. She’d wanted to enlarge the sun porch on the first level, add a room for Brian on the second level so that he could stay with them during holidays and other family occasions and expand the third floor so that when Sawyer and Sophie were married, there would be lots of room for her three children. Now Sawyer and Sophie were living at Sophie’s place, nearer the hospital where she was a nurse, but Chloe had visions of having the entire family together in Shepherd’s Knoll for holidays and long, lazy weekends, even though they all lived nearby.

His father had cruelly, vengefully set fire to the addition though it was obvious that both China and Chloe’s wheelchair-bound Tante Bijou were inside. The building had gone up quickly, and had it not been for China’s courage and quick thinking, and the fact that Campbell and Winfield, who handled the estate’s security, had arrived home at the right moment, both women might be dead. He shuddered at the thought.

“Thank you,” Janet said. “Can you come over tomorrow?”

He had to pull himself out of his grim thoughts. Had he really agreed to be in this wedding? “Ah…why?”

“Because Abbott’s West is sending someone from the men’s department to measure all of you for tuxes.” Abbott’s West was the retail flagship store in Manhattan.

He groaned. Yes, he had agreed. He’d done it for Janet, as much as for the family.

She widened her eyes at him teasingly. “If it’s socially incorrect for women to growl, are socially correct men allowed to groan?”

She made him smile, but it seemed wisest not to answer. He knew this was going to get worse before it got better. “What time tomorrow?”

“Ten. And you’d better go easy on Joe Fanelli. You’re going to need him a lot between now and the wedding.” She patted his shoulder. “Thanks for the cookie and the coffee.”

He sighed and smiled. “I don’t regret that. But I’m starting to wonder if fishing you out of the water was the wisest thing I could have done.”

“I guess only time will tell. See you tomorrow.”

She headed for the house. He climbed into the truck to spare himself the view of her neat little backside as she walked away.

But there it was, beautifully framed in his rearview mirror.