The BFF Bride (6 page)

“Wednesday’s fine.” He lowered the painting back in place and carefully leaned the canvases once more against the wall. “Do you sell them all?”

“Most of them.” She clasped the round seat beneath her. “Bolieux sells them, anyway.”

“That the gallery Sydney got you hooked up with?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She spread her fingers and looked at her fingernails. Picked at some dried paint. “Once I ship all of these to them, they’ll display and catalog them. List them online, too. I’ve sold a lot more since they started doing that.”

“You getting good money for them?”

“Not enough to buy Ruby’s yet, but I’m getting there.”

He stopped in his tracks.

She raised her eyebrows. “What? You find that surprising?”

“I don’t know. I never thought about it. Does Erik know about this?”

“I’ve mentioned it a time or two in passing.” She shrugged, and the shirt slipped down her shoulder another inch. It was clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra. At least not one with straps.

He shook himself again. Why the
hell
was he noticing stuff like that? He’d worked damn hard over the years, training himself to overlook such things where she was concerned.

“Until I started making some money with my art,” she continued, “it’s just been a nice thought.”

“Tabby’s Café,” he mused. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea or not. It was as unsettling as thinking she had cute toes.

But she shook her head. “I wouldn’t change the name. The place is Ruby’s. Always has been. Always will be. At least as long as I have any input on the matter.” She pushed off the stool and slipped past him through the doorway. “Wednesday at six. You s’pose they’ll think it’s odd when we don’t drive out there together?”

Her parents lived outside town on a small spread where her dad still trained cutting horses. He found his gaze dragging over the stack of paintings containing the one with the blizzard-like blue, gray and white swirls. “Uh, yeah.” He went after her. “They’d think it was odd.”

She’d gone into her kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. Unlike the plain white model in his unit, her stainless steel one looked brand-new. So did the coordinating range and the built-in microwave.

“So what’re we going to do?” She took out a diet soda and pulled the tab. It was obvious she wasn’t going to offer him one.

“Drive out there together.”

She turned her head around, as though she had a pain in her neck.

Of course, he was pretty certain his presence
was
the pain.

“Tell me again why you couldn’t do this oh-so-important work of yours in Boston?”

Her T-shirt had slipped off her shoulder again.

He turned away from the sight and headed for the door. “Too many distractions there. I’ll drive on Wednesday.” His voice was abrupt. “Like you said. We’ll probably be safe after that until Christmas Eve.”

* * *

They weren’t safe.

Two nights later, Tabby stared out the passenger window of Justin’s truck as they drove back into Weaver from her parents’ place.

What was supposed to have taken only an hour or so—just long enough to politely eat and run—had ended up consuming the entire evening. Mostly because Jolie had invited Tabby’s brother and his family to join them.

The only saving grace was that Evan and Leandra’s three kids—Hannah, Katie and Lucas—had kept the spotlight off Tabby and Justin.

And the fact that they’d barely exchanged five words even though they’d sat next to each other at the dinner table.

“Hannah looked good.” Justin’s voice broke the monotonous sound of the tires on the highway. Who knew how long ago the radio in the borrowed ranch truck had stopped working.

“She’s comfortable at Mom and Dad’s.” Her eleven-year-old niece had autism. “She would have had a harder time with the whole crew at your folks’ place on Thanksgiving. That’s one of the reasons why Evan and Leandra tend to go see Helen in Gillette.” Helen was her dad’s stepmother. She was a difficult woman, to say the least. She had always been kind enough to Tabby, but the older she’d gotten, the less she appreciated Helen’s attitude toward Jolie. Even after all these years, Jolie and Helen’s relationship was strained.

“Your grandmother still dote on Evan?”

“To his chagrin, yes.”

“He, uh, ever see—”

She knew where he was going. “Darian?” Her father’s half brother was Evan’s biological father, though he’d never spent one minute of his life acting like one. That had always been the role Drew Taggart held. He’d met Tabby’s mom when she’d been pregnant with Evan, and they’d been married ever since. “No. Not for years, far as I know.” It wasn’t the only twist in her family tree, but given what was going on with the Clays and Templetons, it seemed mild in comparison. At least to her.

To her it was easy. Jolie and Drew were her parents. Evan was her brother. End of story, as far as she was concerned.

They fell silent, and she listened to the roll of the tires for a few more minutes. But it felt as if those tires were connected to a string that kept pulling tighter and tighter until she couldn’t bear the silence another second.

“I didn’t know they were going to bring up the tree lighting,” she said abruptly. “It never occurred to me. You’re never here for it and—”

“It’s not the end of the world.”

She finally turned her head and looked at him.

The only light came from the occasional headlights of an oncoming vehicle. But even though she felt that he’d become a stranger these past few years, his features were forever imprinted in her mind.

“It’s just one more time when our families are going to be together and we’re going to have to keep pretending everything is hunky-dory between us.” The tree-lighting ceremony was a town affair, scheduled for the coming Friday, just two days away.

She’d always enjoyed the festivity.

Now, the entire idea of it made her want to climb into bed and pull the covers over her head.

Could she do that until January without anyone noticing?

Inside her brain, she let out a frantic laugh.

“Well, maybe things
would
go back to being hunky-dory if you’d just let the past go.” He slowed suddenly and pulled the truck off onto the shoulder of the highway, shoved it into Park and looked at her. “It was a
mistake
, Tabby.”

“You got that right,” she said tightly.

He exhaled noisily and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Okay, not a mistake. An accident. Do you think I intended—” He broke off again and swore under his breath. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t mean to—”

“Call out another woman’s name while you were caught in the throes of passion?” She filled her voice with sarcasm, because it was so much more preferable than letting the pain she still felt show.

“Yes!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, making her jump.

Then his wide shoulders rose and fell. “Yes,” he repeated quietly. “I was drunk, Tab. You and I were
both
drunk. I was home, celebrating getting my PhD. Gillian and I were on the outs. Again. And you were my best friend. I didn’t plan to get you into bed. I didn’t plan any of that. It just...just happened.”

It felt like a noose was tightening around her throat, and her eyes stung.

And when he spoke again, his voice was as ragged as she knew her own would have been. “And I know none of it excuses anything.” His long fingers closed over her arm, squeezing. “D’you think I haven’t regretted everything? That I haven’t kicked myself every damned time I turn around? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. A hundred million times, I’m sorry. Just—” He cleared his throat. “Just tell me what I can do to make it right again, and I’ll do it.”

Did he regret making love with her? Or did he regret calling her by another woman’s name?

Or was it the entire humiliating fiasco that he wished away?

Her throat felt raw. “It’s not something that can be made right, Justin.”

He exhaled. Squeezed her arm. “You haven’t done anything in your life that you wished like hell you could take back? That you could undo?”

She closed her eyes, and a hot tear escaped. “Yes.”

She wished she could undo falling in love with him. But she’d done that when she was about fifteen years old, when they’d been stuck together in the high school auditorium during a blizzard.

And she’d long ago given up hoping that she’d get over it.

“Then you understand,” he said huskily. “I know you can’t forget it. But you’re one of the best people I’ve ever known, Tab. Can’t you find some way to forgive?”

Yes, she could forgive.

But for years now, ever since he’d gone off to college and had never really come back, she’d had to watch him leave.

Again and again and again.

And in January, she’d watch him one more time.

So after the debacle four years ago, it had just been easier to hold on to the anger that resulted. And now, she wasn’t sure if she could actually let it go. Even if she tried.

His fingers were hard and hot on her arm. Insistently reminding her that right now, right
now
, he was here.

“Fine,” she whispered and felt something hard inside her chest start to give. A little. “It’s over. In the past.”

He waited a moment. Even in the shadows, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “You forgive me?”

She inhaled deeply. Let her breath out slowly. Her tight shoulders sank.

“Yes. I forgive you.”

Chapter Six

W
hen Justin showed up at Ruby’s before she’d unlocked the door at six, she realized he was determined to make sure she’d meant her words from the night before.

He’d always been determined that way. And she’d always been one to stand by her word.

So she unlocked the front door and threw her arm wide in invitation. “Scrambled eggs?” Her tone was dulcet.

The lines beside his violet eyes crinkled. His hair was damp, and he smelled like heaven when he walked past her.

“G’morning to you, too.” He crossed to the counter and dumped his messenger bag on a stool before sitting down. “And you know I hate eggs.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh and failing.

And laughing, honestly laughing, with Justin felt too good to regret. Even though she knew the opportunity to do so came with an expiration date. “I knew you ordered those the other day just to be contrary.” Some things about him hadn’t changed.

“Fortunately, Bubba’s sausage gravy helped cover the taste. Mostly.” He leaned over the counter to grab the coffeepot, and she quickly looked away from the sight of his faded blue jeans hugging his very perfect rear end. He didn’t have quite the brawn that his cattle-ranching brother possessed, but there wasn’t a single inch of Justin Clay that wasn’t lean and oh so prime.

She didn’t want to get caught ogling his butt and quickly went behind the counter to finish filling the saltshakers, which she’d been doing when he’d knocked on the glass door.

“So what are you going to be doing at the hospital today?” The night before, during dinner with her parents, he’d talked briefly about the space Rebecca had situated him in at the hospital, but he hadn’t said much about the project he was working on there. And when he’d talked about it the other day right here in the diner, Bubba’s arrival had interrupted.

“Reviewing five years’ worth of research.” He got up and went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with one of her sticky cinnamon rolls on a plate. He sat back down and cut the oversize roll in half before picking it up. “They’re still hot.” He took a bite and blew out a breath. “Really hot,” he said, chewing fast.

She poured him a glass of water, slid it in front of him and went back to filling saltshakers.

“What’s the research about?”

“I could tell you.” His set down the roll and gulped down half the glass of water. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve already said it’s not a cure for the common cold, so I know it’s not that. Some newfangled weight-loss pill? The next advance in the little blue pill for men who can’t—”

“No. And no. But if the research bears out, then it could be another step forward in treating infertility.”

She capped the last saltshaker. “You think something’s wrong with the research?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your expression did.”

“It wasn’t my research project. I have no idea what I’ll find.”

“Whose project was it?” She told herself she was prepared for him to say Gillian’s name, but when he didn’t, she still felt her shoulders relax.

“A guy named Harmon Wethers.”

“Why isn’t he handling it?”

His lips twisted. “He’s got other things to take care of right now. Regardless,
my
boss—Charles—assigned it to me. I’ve got a lot less time than I would if the research project had been one of my own design. We’re both in research, but Wethers’s area of expertise was entirely separate from mine, and there’s a lot of stuff to validate before I can even start writing the paper.”

Tabby studied him for a moment. “You’re really worried you won’t finish in time.” It wasn’t a question. She could see it in his eyes.

“Pretty much.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“CNJ loses a whole lot of money.”

“It’s a multimillion-dollar company.”

“And they’d be losing millions.” He frowned slightly. “I’d just as soon not lose my job over it.”

“You’ve been Charles Jennings’s golden boy since you identified that one cancer strand thing right out of college—” She had the clippings about it from the medical journals still tucked away in her dresser.

“I wouldn’t say golden,” Justin countered. “But he has invested a lot in me, and now it’s time for me to keep delivering. If I succeed, there should be a good promotion in it.”

“The vice president deal?” She shrugged one shoulder when he gave her a surprised look. “Erik mentioned it.”

“Yeah. The vice president deal.”

She leaned over, folding her arms on the counter. “You don’t sound entirely thrilled.”

“It’s what I’ve worked toward since before I even finished college.”

She tucked her tongue behind her teeth for a moment. But she still couldn’t stop herself. “Is it what you still want, though?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

She shrugged her shoulders and dropped it. She used to dream of him wanting to come back to Weaver to stay, but time and experience had finally killed those thoughts off for the fantasies they were. “If anybody can do it, I’m sure you can. Even if it means proving the results aren’t what everyone expects, you’ll finish in time to meet your deadline.”

His eyes met hers, and he smiled faintly.

And for a moment, her heart stopped a little.

She didn’t even realize that Sloan McCray had entered the restaurant until he cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said, setting his travel mug next to the cash register with a bit of a thunk.

Her cheeks felt hot, and she straightened, quickly grabbing the coffee carafe to fill his mug. “Cinnamon roll this morning?”

“Now that I’m addicted to them, yes.” The deputy nodded toward the nearly decimated one on Justin’s plate. “That’s how it starts,” he said. “You think you can have just one. Run a few hundred miles to work off the calories. But you keep coming back for another. Pretty soon, you’re missing work, selling your dog. Anything for another fix—”

“Please.” Tabby pushed the pastry box into his hand. The deputy was in superb condition. Even before he’d married Abby Marcum, every female in town had either wanted to marry him or mother him. “You come in because you like the coffee. Pam Rasmussen told me half the time you’re auctioning off your roll to the other guys in the office.”

The deputy smiled slightly. “Our dispatcher does like to talk.”

“Along with nearly every other person who lives in Weaver,” Justin added drily.

Sloan’s smile widened a little, and Tabby wanted to cringe at the speculation in his eyes as he looked from Justin back to her again.

“Well.” Sloan dropped a few bills in the tip jar. “Hope you two enjoy your, ah, morning.” Still smiling slightly, he ambled out of the restaurant.

“Well,
that’s
great,” she muttered when the door closed and the bell jingled.

“What’s that?”

She propped her hands on her hips. “You didn’t see that look he gave us?” She tossed up her hands at the blank response she got.

“What?” He popped the rest of his roll in his mouth.

“Nothing.” At least the deputy wasn’t the kind to gossip the way Pam Rasmussen was. She plunked the coffee carafe on the counter in front of him. “I’ve got to get started on the hash browns for Bubba.” She escaped into the kitchen. “Don’t choke on that roll!”

Justin smiled at the door swinging to and fro after her and swallowed down his roll. Then he filled a to-go cup with coffee, added a few bucks of his own to the tip jar and headed out, the weight of his messenger bag bumping against his hip.

Things were getting back to normal with Tabby.

The day was looking up already.

* * *

Every year, Weaver’s community tree lighting was the town’s official kickoff for the holiday season.

About fifty Christmas trees—fresh, unlike the one at the diner—were set up in the town park at the end of the block and strung with lights. A band was on hand to play Christmas music. There was an enormous potluck, with everyone who could bringing covered dishes to share. They were arranged by the tree-lighting committee on plastic-covered plywood planks propped on barrels. Kids chased each other around. Adults overate and gossiped. And when it was time for the tree lights to come on, everyone gasped a little, cheered a little and felt swept up in the holiday spirit.

At least that’s how it always worked for Tabby.

She didn’t bring a dish from her own kitchen, though.

Using a three-shelved rolling cart from the restaurant, she wheeled over several serving pans of barbecue that Bubba had prepared at Ruby’s. Pulled pork. Brisket. Shredded chicken. She had it all, plus fat, yeasty rolls on which to pile it. There was enough food on her rolling cart to feed a small army, and that’s the way she liked it.

Because there were those families around who came to the event who
couldn’t
bring a dish to share.

It was up to places like Ruby’s to make sure that no one went away hungry.

Pam Rasmussen—the gossipy dispatcher from the sheriff’s office—had been chairperson of the tree lighting for more years than Tabby could count. Pam grabbed her in an enthusiastic choke hold the second she spotted her. “Merry Christmas!”

Tabby laughed as much as her limited breath allowed and worked some distance between them. “Everything’s looking great as always, Pam.”

The other woman beamed. “I’ve got a table reserved just for your food.” She admired the pans on the cart. “Can I peek?”

“Knock yourself out. It’s exactly what you asked for at the last committee meeting.”

Pam peeled up the foil edge covering the topmost pan. “Smells heavenly. My husband loves Bubba’s brisket.” She tucked the foil back in place. Then she straightened and pulled down the hem of her brilliant red sweatshirt festooned with a glittery snowman on the front. “Okay.” She was clearly back in chairperson mode. “Your table is closest to the pavilion.” She waved toward the round structure situated in the middle of the park.

“You moved the food this year?”

“We’ll try it. Everyone sets up their picnic chairs to face the band in the pavilion, so I’m hoping with more focus in that direction, we won’t have any incidents of kids spiking the punch like we did last year. If I could get the committee to agree that serving punch in punch bowls is passé, we wouldn’t have that problem.”

“I like the punch bowls,” Tabby admitted. “It’s tradition.”

Pam made a face. “So is spiking them with booze when nobody is looking,” she said drily.

“It only happens later in the evening when most of the folks with children have already gone home.”

Pam propped her hand on her hip. “Please tell me you’re not packing a fifth of vodka somewhere under that red sweater you’re wearing.”

Tabby laughed and held up her palm. “On my honor,” she assured Pam and wheeled her cart in the direction of the pavilion.

Residents were beginning to show up in the park. Most of the picnic tables had already been staked out. There weren’t enough there to accommodate all the people who would attend, so they were prime real estate. Others brought chairs of their own and blankets to spread out on the grass that had begun browning over a month ago. Some—like the Clays and her folks—brought their own folding tables to use.

After she’d stored her cart out of the way behind the pavilion, she headed toward her family’s collection of tables.

She gave a general wave to all and sat down on the blanket next to her sister-in-law, Leandra. “Where are the kids?”

“Evan’s got them over on the playground.” Leandra leaned back against her hands and stretched out her legs, knocking the toes of her boots together. “You decided yet what you’re going to wear to the hospital fund-raiser next weekend?”

Tabby shook her head. She kept forgetting that her brother had purchased a table at the event. “Can’t I just wear the usual?”

Leandra laughed slightly. “Blue jeans and boots? It’s cocktail attire, sweetheart. That means a dress, typically. Or at least some sparkle on slacks that aren’t made of denim.”

Tabby made a face. “Do you have anything in your closet that I can borrow?”

Leandra laughed wryly. “I don’t have anything in my closet for
me
. Izzy is whipping up a dress for me, though. Talk to your mom. Maybe she can do the same thing for you.”

Except her mother had already admitted she’d be making a dress for Vivian Templeton’s hush-hush party. Nevertheless, Tabby glanced around. “Is she even here yet?” It was obvious to her that her parents weren’t. But the person she was really looking for was Justin. Who was also absent.

“I talked to your mom an hour ago. They should be pulling in any minute. I need an idea what to get her for Christmas, too.”

Tabby laughed ruefully. “That is an infectious problem, girlfriend. I saw a blouse over at Classic Charms that looked nice, but when I went back to buy it, it was gone. Sydney told me that she sold out half their stock last weekend with all the people in town for the pool tournament.”

“Good for business. Bad for us. And one more reason I’m glad I’ve already talked to Izzy.” Leandra suddenly lifted her hand in a wave and pushed to her feet. “I see Squire and Gloria. Going to go give them a hand.”

Tabby waved at them but stayed put because she spotted her brother crossing the grass from the playground with his kids in tow. She greeted them with hugs. Katie and Lucas both flopped down on the blanket beside her and started begging for food. They were four and six and full of energy. Hannah sat, too, but was quieter.

“Hey, bugs.” Tabby leaned close to the girl. “Did you have fun at Grandma Helen’s for Thanksgiving?”

Hannah nodded.

“Look what I brought for you.” Tabby pulled a coloring book out of her oversize purse. “All of the pictures are flowers, just like you like. And—” she reached in her purse again and pulled out a small box “—brand-new crayons.”

Hannah’s eyes lit with delight. She had a particular fondness for new crayons, loving the way they were all the same length and the tips were sharp. “Just for me?”

“Just for you, bugs.”

Hannah reached out and gave one of her rare hugs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”