Читать книгу Lone Star Wedding - Sandra Steffen, Sandra Steffen - Страница 9

Hannah Cassidy hitched the strap of her big leather purse onto her shoulder and hurried down the sidewalk toward her friend’s restaurant. The traffic on the street was heavy; the honking horns, hiss of brakes, and the pounding of a teenager’s car stereo were typical for a late Saturday afternoon in downtown San Antonio. Hannah’s jacket clung to her back and a sheen of perspiration dampened her forehead. She didn’t mind the heat. It was July, and like her father used to say, the only thing hotter than July in San Antonio was August.

She’d just come from a former classmate’s bridal shower, and she had to admit she was still smarting a little. All any of her friends talked about these days was settling down and biological clocks. She was only twenty-seven. What was the hurry? Oh, she’d grown adept at smiling demurely when her friends offered advice concerning her single status, but even she’d had to stretch to find her smile when she’d opened the consolation prize this afternoon. They’d thought it was hilarious.

Hannah hadn’t bothered defending the stand she’d taken when it came to settling for less than honest love. Couldn’t they see that she liked her life? Her business, The Perfect Occasion, was challenging and rewarding and was even starting to show a profit. Her mother and brother were happy, and lately she’d felt a strange sense of anticipation, as if excitement was just around the corner.

So what if she spent more Saturday nights working than she spent dating? She was good at what she did, and she was earning a reputation for her ability to dream up wonderful, unusual themes for everything from birthday and retirement parties to graduations and weddings. Traditional weddings would always be in style, but lately she’d seen a trend toward weddings with a theme. Her newest client wanted a mobster-style wedding and Hannah wanted to talk to her closest friend about reserving The Pink Flamingo for the evening of the big event.

She ducked around the building that housed Adrienne’s restaurant, and slipped through a bright-pink side door. The air inside the small, trendy restaurant was decidedly cooler, but the pace was no less hectic than it had been on the street out front. Waiters and waitresses in black trousers and fuchsia-colored shirts bustled from the kitchen to the dining room, heavy trays balanced high on their hands.

Hannah’s best friend, Adrienne Blakely, was nowhere in sight, not in her usual place behind the dais in the lobby, or in the dining room, or in the office near the back door. Hannah poked her head inside the kitchen last. The chef and his assistant, a spiky-haired, forty-year-old woman named Desiree who was dicing vegetables, glanced up at the same time.

“Have either of you seen Adrienne?” Hannah asked.

Gerard raised his eyes expressively, but it was the woman brandishing the knife who said, “Last I knew, she was sweet-talking a customer who burned her tongue on Gerard’s soup.”

“How many times must I tell you it’s called fricassee?”

“Freakin’ whatever,” Desiree insisted. “I’m telling you, one of these days somebody’s gonna figure out how to sue God for making the sky blue.”

A waitress bustled in with another order. “Is that true? Somebody’s suing God Almighty?”

Hannah laughed out loud. She’d never been able to figure out where Adrienne found her employees. As unusual as The Pink Flamingo itself, they never failed to make Hannah smile.

Leaving poor Gerard to explain, Hannah hurried from the room. Her footsteps slowed when she entered the dining room. There was still no sign of Adrienne, but that giddy feeling was back, stronger than ever. Excitement was just around the corner, so close she could almost taste it.

A movement to her left drew her attention. A tall, dark-haired man in an expensive-looking suit pushed his chair out just as a waiter she hadn’t met rounded the corner. Hannah could see the collision coming, and hurried forward, arms flailing. “Look out!”

Parker Malone glanced at his watch and reached for his briefcase all in one motion. The Pink Flamingo wasn’t the type of establishment he normally frequented, but his client had insisted on this trendy uptown restaurant with its brightly colored napkins and plastic pink flamingo on every table. Parker preferred more subdued settings, but the dinner meeting had gone well, all things considered. His client left. Next, Parker had an appointment across town with his father, the legendary J. D. Malone, and J.D. didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Parker was planning the most direct route to his father’s house when he felt a slight jab against his shoulder. His stop was automatic, his sudden jump backward a reflex action. A dark-haired woman and a pimply faced kid both stopped abruptly. Unfortunately the objects in their hands didn’t. A tray and a purse toppled to the floor. Everything else went flying. Parker bit back an expletive the same instant a coffee cup bounced off his elbow. He spun around, steaming coffee arcing like a miniature tidal wave, heading straight for the woman’s arm.

She jumped, winced, and made a grab for her jacket. Parker’s hands were already there, whisking the jacket off her as if it were a cloth off a magician’s table. He was vaguely aware of something cold that had splattered the back of his hand, but his attention was trained on the skin he’d bared. The hot coffee had left red splotches on an upper arm that was otherwise golden brown. Her shoulders were slightly bony; her collarbone looked fragile. His gaze strayed slightly lower. She definitely wasn’t skinny everywhere. His perusal had made it as far as her chin when he felt a small object beneath the sole of his shoe. He glanced down, then lowered to his haunches and took the small square packet into his hand.

The floor was littered with all kinds of women’s paraphernalia: combs, lipstick, one earring, keys, a pen, a pack of gum, and at least a dozen packages similar to the one in his hand. He’d known women who carried one or two, but a dozen or more? He was speechless, no small feat for an attorney with the reputation for having a razor-sharp tongue.

“I’ll take that. I just came from a shower, and this was the consolation prize.” The woman’s voice, deep and sultry, stirred his senses; the flutter of her fingertips on his palm all it took to kick his libido into high gear. He didn’t know what the hell she meant by consolation prize, but her mention of showers evoked a potent image of long limbs, full breasts, steaming water and sultry sighs.

“Here, le’ me help.” The waiter poked his way between Parker and the woman. “Are these what I think they are? Oh, my God, pink, yellow and blue? Cool.”

Parker glared at the kid. “It’s bad enough that you’re inept, but you’re in the goddamn way. I have a meeting across town in twenty minutes and I didn’t plan to wear chocolate mousse on my Italian tie. This is the stuff lawsuits are made of.”

The woman gasped, her gray-eyed gaze meeting Parker’s for the first time. “I really hope you won’t do that. I think I have something that will help diffuse the situation. Let’s find a quiet corner and get you taken care of.”

She began scooping the remaining pastel-colored packets back into her purse. With the exception of the blood thundering through his ears, Parker couldn’t seem to move.

“This won’t take long,” she said, rising to her feet. “I assure you that you won’t be more than a few minutes late for your appointment. If you’ll just follow me.”

Parker rose to his feet very slowly. Regardless of how long it took, he was going to be late.

Hell, J.D. could wait.

She strolled toward a narrow hallway, and he followed, aware of the sway of her hips beneath that beige skirt. Upon closer inspection he noticed that the only thing nondescript about the skirt was the color. The fabric and fit were noteworthy, to say the least. She’d tucked the matching jacket over her arm. Funny, he didn’t remember handing it to her. They passed a series of doors marked Employees Only and finally entered what appeared to be a small storage room. She switched on a light, but didn’t close the door. Parker thought that was interesting but refrained from comment.

Until a couple of minutes ago he’d thought he’d heard it all, seen it all, and experienced most of it, but this situation had all the makings of one for the record books. Assuming a watch-and-listen attitude, he stood back and waited to see what she would do.

Her head was tipped forward, her gigantic purse held at waist level. “I know it’s here somewhere,” she said, rummaging through the bag. “I just had it in my hand.”

“Do you—” he had to clear his throat to finish “—do this often?”

She shrugged, the action drawing his attention to the front of a flesh-colored silk tank he’d uncovered when he’d peeled her jacket off her shoulders. “No, but I enjoy helping out now and then.” Still digging through her purse, she continued. “My best friend owns this place. You know how hard it is to get a business off the ground. A lawsuit could ruin her. You don’t want to sue, do you? I mean, the courts are already crammed with petty lawsuits, aren’t they? If I can just find that silly little package I can get you taken care of and you can be on your way.”

The single bulb overhead cast a golden glow over her dark hair, casting a shadow on her cheeks every time she blinked. Who in the hell was she? What in the hell was she? She didn’t look like a hooker, that was for damn sure. Prostitutes didn’t wear beige suits. And he’d never seen a hooker with dewy-looking skin or hair so many shades of dark brown it had to be natural.

“A-ha.” Smiling, she lifted a square foil package to her mouth and placed it between her teeth.

Parker sucked in a deep breath. Okay. She didn’t fit any preconceived notions he had, but with that little package opening between her teeth, several of his fantasies swirled through his mind then dove to a place straight south of there.

If he didn’t say something pretty soon, he was going to lose his ability to speak.

“Lady.” His gaze got caught on her mouth and he almost chucked his conscience. She reached for the package with one hand and looked up at him, her eyes large, her lips lifted in a half smile he found stimulating as hell.

He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and took a small backward step. “Look, it’s a tempting offer, but I don’t have sex with women I don’t know. I haven’t in years.”

Hannah froze. Sex? Was that what he’d said?

A gong went off inside her skull, understanding dawning with all the subtlety of a hurricane. The consolation prizes, her assurance that she would alleviate the situation. He’d seen, he’d heard, and he thought she was a common…an ordinary…a woman who…

She knew her mouth was gaping. Clamping it shut, she took a backward step. He’d said it was a tempting offer. Of all the egotistical…

She could still hardly believe the insinuation. Why, she was no more a…

A…

How dare he…

Why, she ought to…

With utmost control and precision, she pulled the premoistened towelette from the little package in her fingers and shoved it into his hand. “You’d better get your mind out of the gutter, mister. And while you’re at it, clean your own stinking tie.”

She spun on her heel and left him standing there, his eyes wide, his mouth set in a grim line, a crinkled, premoistened towelette in his outstretched hand.

Hannah rushed headlong through the restaurant and out the side door. She hadn’t found Adrienne, but her instincts had been right. Excitement had been just around the corner. Excitement and embarrassment, that is. And nestled tightly between the two had been an incredible awareness of the man’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, his chiseled features softened slightly by a small cleft in his chin. For a moment when she’d first seen that little indentation, she’d wanted to place her finger there, ever so gently.

She’d never felt so instantaneously attracted to a man. It had almost been lyrical. She’d practically heard violins.

And he’d thought she was a hooker.

Reaching her boutique in record time, Hannah unlocked the door that led to her apartment and quickly took the stairs. Feeling slightly off-kilter, she opened some windows and thanked her lucky stars that she never had to see that man again.

“What I want to know is why y’all didn’t get his phone number?”

Adrienne Blakely lifted the lid on a container she’d brought with her from the restaurant, sniffed, and replaced the lid, only to move on to the next container. A former Miss Atlanta runner-up, Adrienne was drop-dead gorgeous, loved bright colors, and had maintained her Georgia accent despite the fact that she hadn’t been “home” in nearly ten years. “And why in hades aren’t you using the air-conditioning?”

Hannah scribbled a note on the wedding planner on her lap then popped a cocktail shrimp into her mouth. A fan stirred the hair at her nape. She’d changed into shorts and a tank top hours ago. Her feet were bare, her face clean-scrubbed. Returning to her notes, she said, “You know I like to dress light when I’m home.”

The two women were upstairs in Hannah’s apartment, and as they often had these past three years since they’d met, they were spending a companionable evening together eating the leftovers Adrienne had brought with her after closing The Pink Flamingo for the night.

Stretching out on Hannah’s sofa, Adrienne fluffed a pillow and placed it beneath her head. “And the other portion of my question?”

“I told you,” Hannah said, shaking her head because Adrienne never let a question go, no matter how relaxed she appeared. “The man’s a shark.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so’?”

“So y’all stay out of the ocean. That doesn’t mean you have to stay out of his bed.”

“I’m not getting into his bed.”

“Whyever not? Just because I’ve decided never to have sex again is no reason you shouldn’t.”

“He mistook me for a prostitute. That’s hardly a good basis for a relationship.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? I was thinking more along the lines of head-reeling, toe-curling, mind-boggling sex.”

“Get real.”

“I am real. One hundred percent.” Adrienne glanced at her chest. “It’s what cost me the crown. My mother reminded me of it a little while ago over the phone. Now, if I would have been born with a chest like yours, I would have been a shoe-in, but I didn’t develop large breasts naturally, and I just couldn’t put silicone in my body, not even for a title and a shiny tiara. My mother still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“I thought you said it was the congeniality contest that got you.”

“Oh, that.”

Hannah smiled. Adrienne joked about that fated beauty contest from time to time, but she’d once confided in Hannah that the real reason she’d lost was much more scandalous and heart-breaking. Rather than reminding Adrienne of painful memories, she said, “Besides, if you had a chest like mine, you’d have to wear a bra.”

Adrienne wrinkled up her nose. “That wouldn’t be any fun. But we digress. I thought he was sort of cute.”

“Sort of cute? The man was a god in a suit and an imported silk tie, which you’ll probably be sued for, by the way.” Adrienne waved the notion away, and Hannah added, “And even if I was interested, I don’t know his name.”

“Parker.”

Hannah looked up from the wing chair where she’d been curled up for the past hour, and slowly lowered her feet to the floor. “What did you say?”

“His name is Parker.” The trendy Southern blonde had Hannah’s undivided attention now, but Adrienne continued to stare at the chipped purple nail polish on her big toe. “Parker Malone.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“You’ve met him?”

“Somebody had to save my newest waiter from the interrogation your john was giving him.”

“J—John?”

Adrienne laughed at the stricken expression on Hannah’s face. “You know I love to kid. Did you really dump a whole box of pastel-colored condoms at his feet then politely tell him to follow you? My, but you do know how to make an impression. No wonder he was so interested.”

“He wasn’t interested.”

“He wanted to know your name. Actually, I think he would have appreciated any information he could have weaseled out of us. Your phone number, your driver’s license number, your social security number, your birth date, address, star sign, shoe size, whatever.”

“You didn’t tell him!” Hannah was on her feet, and Adrienne raised noisily to a sitting position.

“Relax,” she said, pushing her short blond hair behind her ears. “Jason doesn’t know you yet, and I’m not intimidated by the Parker Malones in this world.”

Hannah fell back into her chair. “How did you get so much backbone?”

“I was raised in the South, remember? Y’all don’t think those finishing schools only teach girls how to drink tea with their pinkies in the air, do you? What are you working on, anyway?”

“Plans for my mother’s wedding.”

Adrienne paused in the middle of picking up their used paper plates to glance at the lists Hannah was making. “I still can’t believe your mother is going to marry one of the Fortunes of Texas. My mother would die to marry me off to a rich man. I’m thirty-three. I think she’s giving up hope. But Ryan Fortune is rich, and his ranch, the Double Crown, is one of the biggest, most prestigious and profitable ranches in the entire state. It’s just so romantic that your mother loved him when they were both practically children, and now they’re finally being reunited. Have y’all decided what you’re going to wear to the engagement party next weekend?”

“Mother refuses to call it an engagement party. It’s just a get-together.” Hannah motioned to a tiny closet in the alcove between the living room and her bedroom. “I picked up a dress the other day.”

“Tell me it isn’t beige.” At the expression on Hannah’s face, Adrienne said, “Sugar pie, you should wear something bright pink or purple, or better yet, red.” She spoke into the closet, causing the words to sound muffled. “Something that’ll make y’all shine.”

“It’s my mother’s big night, Adrienne. She’s the one I want to shine.”

Adrienne swung around so suddenly the long dress in her hand swished. Her eyebrows formed two identical blond arches, her lips shaped around a long whistle. Holding a filmy, wispy dress the color of walnut shells up to Hannah, she said, “It may not be pink or red, but lordy, I do believe you’re gonna be doing a little shining of your own. What a shame you’re going alone. Whoever could you call? Perhaps some tall, dashing man with an adorable little cleft in his chin?”

Leave it to Adrienne to have noticed that.

Hannah stared past the other woman, picturing the stranger’s strong face. Now that she knew his name, their brief encounter seemed even more intimate. It didn’t change the fact that he’d assumed she was a woman who made her living on her back. It stung her pride, and her pride was important to her.

She took the dress from Adrienne and hung it in the closet. “He’s pompous, he’s arrogant, he’s shrewd and he has a sharp tongue. A man like that wouldn’t think twice about using a woman like me and then tossing me aside.”

Hands full of containers, Adrienne headed for the door. “From what you’ve told me about that little episode in the storage room, he didn’t take you up on what he thought you were offering. He must have at least one scruple.”

“Maybe you should call him.”

“He wasn’t after my phone number, sweetie. I still say you should give it the old college try.”

With a wink the Southern belles of old would have never gotten away with, Adrienne left. It didn’t take long for Hannah to notice the flat, gray object on the table where she always dumped the mail. She padded over and reached out with one finger, sliding the card closer as if it might bite her.

Malone, Malone & Associates, P.C. Attorneys At Law

Adrienne was about as subtle as her bright pink capri pants.

There was a business address, a business phone number. Hannah turned the card over. On the back was another telephone number, this one written in black ink in a distinctive, masculine scrawl.

She knew his name. She knew his phone number. Now what? she wondered.

Now nothing, she told herself. Her encounter with Parker Malone was over. It didn’t matter that he’d been the most ruggedly attractive man she’d ever seen in a suit. He’d embarrassed her. Worse, he’d jumped to conclusions, the most degradingly possible kind.

Striding to an antique desk, she bent to drop the card into the wicker basket filled with wadded-up notes and paper plates. She stared at the card for a long time, then opened a drawer and dropped it inside.

Hannah accepted a glass of white wine from a pleasant, friendly woman who spoke with a Mexican accent. Taking a small sip, Hannah glanced around. She’d seen Ryan Fortune several times since he’d come back into her mother’s life. The first time she’d visited his home, she’d been in awe of its size. She’d heard someone say the house had eight bedrooms. It was grand, and at the same time warm and lovely. The ceiling in the great room was high and beamed. An old stone fireplace dominated an entire wall. Handwoven blankets hung on the other three walls, pottery made by local artists from the same type of clay on which the house sat leant warmth and interest to shelves, corners and on the top of a painted armoire that probably hid a television and stereo system from view.

The house was large, opulent and cordial, as was its owner. Hannah had liked both on sight. Ryan Fortune had promised her mother the party would be a small, friendly gathering. Hannah was beginning to realize that to a man of Ryan’s wealth and social standing, sixty-five to seventy people constituted a small group.

Hannah stood with her mother near the entryway leading to the dining room. Following the course of her mother’s gaze to the group of men on the other side of the room, one of whom was Lily’s future husband, Hannah smiled. Lily Redgrove Cassidy was lovely, and perhaps even more exotic-looking at fifty-three than she’d been at seventeen. Her firstborn and only son, Cole, stood across the room with Ryan and two men whose backs were to Hannah and her mother.

“He’ll be back in a moment, Mom.”

Lily glanced around sharply at Hannah. “I know that, dear.”

“Then what is it?” Hannah asked, trying to understand the reason for her mother’s obvious discomfiture. “Maria isn’t coming, is that it? Is that why you’re chewing on your bottom lip?”

Smoothing an errant strand of hair back into the intricate knot on the back of her head, Lily said, “I’m disappointed that your sister isn’t here, but that’s not it.”

“Then, what is it?”

Lily squeezed her middle child’s hand. “You know me so well. Am I really so transparent?”

“You’re beautiful, and you know it. I can tell when something’s bothering you, that’s all. What could possibly be marring this happy occasion?”

“I’ve learned that Ryan’s attorney is dead-set against Ryan and I making our engagement public. Ryan won’t listen, but what if he’s right? He started divorce proceedings long before he and I found one another again, but what if my presence in his life makes it even more difficult for him to finally break free of Sophia?”

Hannah shook her head sadly. Her own brother was an attorney, so she didn’t dislike all lawyers, but at that moment she very much disliked the attorney who had put the worry in her mother’s brown eyes. “Ryan Fortune has been to hell and back with that woman he married when he was too blind with grief to see her for what she was. He deserves happiness, Mom, and so do you. I’m proud of him for wanting to proclaim his love for you to the world. Maybe Ryan should tell his attorney to take a flying leap the next time he sees him.”

“Oh, his attorney is here tonight, dear.”

“He is?”

Laughter erupted on the other side of the room. Ryan slapped the man closest to him on the back, then held up a glass, his eyes meeting Lily’s. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

Little by little, conversations throughout the room ceased and everyone looked toward Ryan. It was common knowledge that Ryan had gotten his height and build from his father, the late Kingston Fortune, but his dark hair and eyes came from his mother, Selena. Ryan’s personality, drive and conviction were all his own. “To my future wife.”

Suddenly all eyes turned to Lily. Lily Redgrove Cassidy stood out in every crowd, but the smile she cast at her future husband made her appear radiant in a way Hannah had never seen. A smile tugged at Hannah’s mouth, as well. She raised her glass, her gaze darting over people all around the room. There were plenty of Fortunes present, of course, but the rest of the guests were a mixture of people who wore power and prestige as if it were their right, and others who had worked for Ryan Fortune for years and had earned a permanent place in the Fortune household as well as in all the Fortunes’ hearts.

Pleased that all these people were welcoming her mother into their circle, Hannah smiled warmly at her brother, who winked, eliciting a broader smile from her. Her glass was almost to her lips when her gaze meandered to the man standing to Cole’s right. Her eyes widened, her head turning automatically for a more direct look.

Disbelief had her lowering her glass. She might have glanced right past the piercing blue eyes that were staring directly at her, the chiseled jaw, prominent cheekbones and slightly arrogant tilt of the man’s head, but she couldn’t have overlooked the shadow in the tiny cleft in Parker Malone’s chin even if she’d tried.