A Love to Call Her Own (23 page)

“And Eleanor's going to be a superhero or a supervillain. She hasn't decided yet,” Dane added. “Whichever gives her the most chances to smack her brother.”

“Our family. We're so proud.” Carly copied his grin. “We're all going to Zeke's out on Main. You're welcome to join us.”

Dalton thanked them politely, made it out the door without distraction, and climbed into his truck for the drive to Jessy's. She occupied the entire bench outside her apartment, back against the curved arm, legs stretched out to the other end. Her shorts were white, her top black, her shoes a black, pink, and green print with delicate heels. The usual overnight-bag-sized purse rested on the bench beneath her propped-up feet, and she was fanning herself with a couple of white paper rectangles.

He parked in front of her, rolled down the passenger window, and called, “Hey, you waiting on Prince Charming?”

Slowly she pushed the dark glasses up to rest on top of her head. “Princes are too stuffy. I'd prefer a cowboy on a fiery steed.”

“Huh. Palominos aren't very fiery.”

“I don't know. A good photographer, sunset, that golden coat reflecting the light…” Moving lazily—sensually—she swung her feet to the ground, stood to her full height, bent to slide the purse strap over her shoulder, and strolled toward the truck. Everything about her looked so good and touchable and kissable, and he'd almost decided to forget dinner and turn this truck toward home when she settled and directed a purely innocent smile at him. “Take me somewhere that serves beef, cowboy. I've got a craving for red meat.”

Home
qualified for that. He had a side of beef in the freezer from the last butchering, and he was sure they could find things to occupy them while the steaks thawed. It would only take five, maybe seven, twenty-four hours.

After pulling away from the curb, he turned south on First, putting the setting sun on her side, her golden skin reflecting all that light.

“How was rehearsal?”

“Uneventful, unless you count the flower girl beating up the ring bearer.”

She laughed. “I went to a wedding years ago where the bride and groom each had a five-year-old daughter so they were both flower girls. They got into a fight during the ceremony, kicking, screaming, pulling hair, and the bridesmaids had to pull them apart, then drag them down the aisle afterward.”

“That must have been a fun new family,” he said dryly.

“Like having twins who despise each other.”

Bingo.
“What have you got in your hands?”

She looked at the papers, then smiled. “Photographs.”

“Of my animals?”

“He could be.” She waved the pictures for emphasis, and he caught a glimpse of a solemn-faced dog.

He swallowed back a groan. “Did I tell you Oz was a stray? Covered with fleas and ticks and half-starved?”

“See? They have so much in common already. Oliver was dumped with fleas and ticks and half-starved, plus someone used him for target practice with a pellet gun.”

A knot tightened in Dalton's gut. He'd spent his entire life taking care of animals. He'd just as soon shoot someone who abused them. But he hadn't wanted a dog when Oz adopted him, and he didn't want another dog now.

You already have two small herds. What could one more animal hurt?

His father's voice echoed in his head:
That damn “what could one more hurt?”
David's parents, his wife, his neighbors, and his kids had used that question to guilt him into taking every stray dog and cat, injured horses, cattle that were nothing more than pets, even a herd of goats when their owner went into a nursing home.

He delayed his answer by turning into the parking lot of an old cinder block building. A crooked neon sign that hadn't lit up since he was a teenager welcomed them to Holy Cow, where a short line was forming at the door.

“I've seen this place, but I've never been here,” Jessy said, sliding to the ground.

“Your loss. Those beeves you were taking pictures of—”

Meeting him at the front of the truck, she frowned up. “Cows. Pretty bovine animals.”

“Beeves,” he repeated. “Damn good dinner on hooves. Anyway, those folks sell their beef to this restaurant. The place isn't fancy, but the food is the best.”

They joined the line, the tin roof blocking them from the sun slanting in from the west. She tapped the pictures together, then offered them to him. He took hold of one corner, but before pulling them free, he warned, “I'm just looking, all right?”

She nodded.

The dog was Dalton's favorite breed: a little bit of this, a little bit of that. He looked full grown, no more than thirty pounds, and his big brown eyes…God, those eyes alone were enough to win him a home. Thoughtful, sad, confused, a good show of bravado underscored with traces of fear.

Jessy didn't gush, coo, or point out all of Oliver's good points. She just watched Dalton as he thumbed through the pictures. When he handed them back, she put them in her purse, then laced her fingers together.

“There's no rush, is there?” he asked after a while. “The shelter's a no-kill shelter, right?”

Another nod.

“Is there any reason you aren't adopting him?”

Her face wrinkled delicately. “Can you imagine a living, breathing being depending on me for everything?”

“I have a whole lot of living, breathing beings depending on me. You could handle one dog. You could even take him to work so he wouldn't have to be alone during the day.”

“Yeah, but you're responsible. I'm—”

When she broke off, he quietly said, “You put a lot of energy into criticizing yourself, Jess. Why?”

Her face flushed. “I'm trying to stop. Old habits, you know. They're hard to break.”

He understood that. He'd buried himself in bad habits and dark places for too long.

Gently, he pulled her hands apart, then twined his fingers with hers. “I'll offer this. I'll be Oliver's last resort. If you don't find the perfect people for him, we'll take him. Okay?”

The smile that lit up her face was sweet enough, honest enough, that he would have agreed to take all the shelter's dogs just to see it again.

Maybe even their cats.

J
essy dressed carefully Saturday afternoon, giving herself more than two hours for a task she could often pull off more than adequately in under ten minutes, but she still wasn't ready when Ilena and Lucy came to pick her up. Normally, she would have just walked to the church, especially since she was leaving with Dalton, but when the sisters had offered, she'd accepted. Accepting little things like rides was something friends did, right?

Hands bracing her lower back, Ilena trailed Lucy into the apartment and to the bedroom. “Jessy, my girl, this is my last visit until my boy is born. Those stairs are a killer.”

“I'm sorry,
Mamacita
. I didn't think of that or I would have been waiting on the street.”

Lucy waved a dismissive hand. “I offered to leave the car running and the AC blasting while I came up to get you, but she said—”

Ilena chimed in with her. “‘Aw, exercise is good for Hector Junior.'”

Jessy kicked off a shoe and wiggled her foot into another, the same shade of red but two inches taller with a sexy little bow off-center on the ankle strap. “I thought we were under orders to call him John,” she said, twisting her foot this way and that in front of the full-length mirror in the closet.

“Carly is not the boss of me,” Ilena said with a huge grin. “Gorgeous shoes. Loan them to me when I can see my feet again, will you?”

“You bet.” Jessy struck a pose. “Okay, bows or no bows?”

“Bows,” they answered together.

“Dress okay?”

Lucy elbowed Ilena. “I think Jessy's dressing for more than a wedding.”

“Yeah, I bet she's got something set up with the best man afterward.”

“
I'd
set something up with the best man if he ever gave me a second look,” Lucy said enviously.

“I can only
dream
of setting something up at the moment,” Ilena said on a sigh as she patted her belly. “I bet she's wearing her sexiest underwear.”

Jessy gave them an arch look in the mirror while fastening one ankle strap, then the other. “You're assuming I'm
wearing
underwear. Besides,
all
my undies are sexy.”

This time it was Lucy who sighed. “I miss sexy underwear.”

“Me, too,” Ilena agreed.

Jessy took a long last look in the mirror. Her dress was a respectable length, form-fitting, a bright red, green, and sapphire print, and she'd laid out a green shawl to take. The odds of getting cold in the church were slim—she swore sometimes she felt the fires of hell inside sacred walls—but she wanted to be prepared for whichever restaurant Dalton had chosen for dinner.

“Okay, girls. I guess I'm ready. Unless—” She reached for another dress, the only shade of pink her red hair would tolerate, but Lucy pulled it from her hands.

“You look perfect, honey. Besides, no matter which dress you wear, Dalton won't be thinking about anything besides getting you out of it.”

Oh, Jessy sincerely hoped she wasn't the only one thinking about it. Even if they didn't do it tonight. As long as he
wanted
to, she'd be happy. For a while, at least.

When they got to the church ten minutes later, the Andersen clan filled the first four rows on the left side, looking less like a scientific convention and more like a wedding party. “Can you believe Carly's whole family came out from Utah?” she murmured as they walked down the aisle to join the other sisters.

Both Lucy and Ilena gave her questioning looks. “Your family would come from Georgia if you got married again, wouldn't they?”

It was obvious in their expressions that their families would. There was a reason, Jessy reminded herself, why she rarely discussed the Wilkses with her friends.

Though she had no problem telling Dalton all about them.

With a shrug, she said, “My family wasn't at my first wedding. They didn't come for Aaron's funeral, either. In fact, they never met him.”

“Oh, Jessy.” Lucy hugged her and Ilena squeezed her hand before they sat down.

As everyone exchanged greetings and compliments on outfits, Jessy gazed at the stained-glass windows and examined her feelings about the exchange. Most notable was the absence of embarrassment. Her cheeks weren't flushed, and her gut wasn't knotted. She didn't feel like the object of pity or like she was some huge failure whose own family didn't give a damn about her. Just sympathy. Her friends felt bad for her, not bad about her.

The knowledge created a small well of pleasure deep inside her.

The wedding began exactly on time—in a military world, punctuality counted—and Jessy pulled her small camera from her purse. Carly had hired a photographer, but there were a couple shots Jessy specifically wanted.

The men entered from a side hall. Dane and Keegan wore their dress uniforms, drawing sighs from practically every woman in the church, while the minister and Dalton wore suits. She saved her own sighs for Dalton: tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, so damn solemn he just about broke her heart.

What was he thinking about? Remembering his own wedding to Sandra? Hoping Carly and Dane found a happier ending than he had? Was he blue? Wishing he'd been one of the lucky ones? Lost in bittersweet memories?

As if drawn by her attention, he turned his head, met her gaze, and smiled. It was small, private, just for her, and it promised
more
.

Her breath caught in her chest as her heart quietly, delicately broke, but in a good way. Jessy Lawrence, who'd sworn never to love a man again, never to risk disappointing another man, was in love with
this
man.

And she had just enough faith to believe he might love her back, at least a bit.

The knowledge made her feel as if she'd just gotten a little bit happier, a little bit shinier, and a whole lot more normal.

The organist launched into the “Bridal Chorus,” and everyone automatically turned toward the back of the church except Jessy. She focused the camera on Dane, waiting for that instant when Carly entered the sanctuary on her father's arm. She didn't need to look for herself or to hear her friends' sighs. The moment was obvious in the emotions that crossed Dane's face. Love, of course. Devotion. Commitment. Peace. Not just happiness but pure joy. And best of all: awe at this new blessing in his life.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jessy snapped rapid-fire, sure that one of the dozen or more shots would be perfect.

Therese and Lisa were radiant in off-the-shoulder dresses the orange-reddish hue of late-fall maple leaves. Carly, of course, was simply beautiful. Her dress bared her shoulders, as well, a creamy-tannish-bronzish taupe that hugged her curves and ended a few inches above her knees, lovely, elegant, and oh, so happy.

The music was fitting; there was no rumbling between the flower girl and the ring bearer, no stumbling over the vows. It was romantic and perfect and so well deserved by both bride and groom that all the margarita girls were sniffling by the time the minister made his pronouncement that Dane and Carly were now husband and wife. The sisters' side of the house punctuated the kiss with envious, happy sighs.

As the recessional started, Jessy swiped at her eyes, then lifted the camera again. She began snapping shots the moment Carly and Dane started toward the back and didn't stop until Therese and Keegan had passed their row. The picture she'd really wanted had come in the middle: Dalton escorting Lisa, his steps slowing slightly as they approached, his gaze shifting to look straight at Jessy.

This time he didn't smile. He simply looked, and even through the protection of the camera, it was a look that reached somewhere way deep inside her and made her feel breathless. Nervous. A little bit scared. A month ago, a look like that would have sent her running to the nearest bar. A look like that promised a hell of a lot more than she'd wanted or deserved or could handle.

Now her mouth was watering. Her insides were quivering. She was damn near shaking from need, but not for liquor. It took her a moment to fumble the camera back into its case, then her purse. Another moment to assess whether her legs were steady enough to support her. Another to find the breath to actually push to her feet and balance on her heels.

The celebration moved to the reception hall, where the cake held the place of honor. It came from CaraCakes, made to Carly's specifications: the round bottom layer with both cake and frosting caramel-flavored, the square center layer carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, and the round top layer caramel again. Amid the frosting swirls, curlicues, and flowers nestled handmade sea salt caramels, Carly's only vice before Dane.
I knew I loved him when I shared my Mags' Mojos with him,
she'd said.

“Aw, man. And here I've been so good on my diet.” Lucy was looking at the cake with the same greediness Jessy would have felt if confronted by a champagne fountain.

Jessy slid her arm around her waist. “I don't know what it's like for you,” she said softly, “if a little piece is okay or if that'll only lead to you wiping out the entire bakery case at CaraCake's on the way home. If it were alcohol, one sip and I would wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover and no clue about what I'd done.”

“Is it rationalizing to say it's a wedding, a special day, made for celebrating?”

“I don't know. I think—for me, at least—I have to redefine ‘celebrating' so it doesn't involve drinking.”

“Or eating.” Lucy's voice was soft, thoughtful. “They say to be successful at losing weight, you have to find out why you eat. I've been on enough diets to tell you that. I eat when I'm happy, nervous, excited, celebrating, sad, tired, angry, lonely, bored, heartbroken…It's my response to everything.”

Jessy had it easier in that regard. She only tried to drink away the dark emotions, to compensate for the fact that she was a fraud and all-around disappointment. Lately, though, she hadn't felt so much a loser. She still found herself fighting cravings, still held on by her fingertips sometimes, and savored the thought of a margarita, a beer, or Patrón the way she imagined Lucy savored the temptation of chocolate. But she hadn't given in yet.

Then she rephrased that. She hadn't given in, period. Not
yet
, as in likely to happen. She was strong. She believed in herself. More important, other people believed in her. How could she fail with her sisters behind her…and Dalton ahead of her?

Celebrations didn't have to be about food. Lucy kept reminding herself of that throughout the reception, along with the fact that she was going out to dinner with Ben again tonight. He was returning to Tulsa the next day—said he'd been away from the office too long—and his sisters were coming tomorrow morning to spend the day with Patricia, just the four of them.

Lord, how she hated to see him go. It wasn't far in terms of miles, but in terms of their lives…He had an everyday ordinary life that she wasn't a part of. Though she knew from experience that absence made the heart fonder, she'd also seen plenty of instances where absence had made the heart look closer to home for someone who could share every part of your life, not just weekends and holidays.

But Ben had said he would come back. He'd mentioned a restaurant in Tulsa that he wanted to take her to. Asked if she liked the Drillers, talked about the great farmers' market on Cherry Street, the new art gallery near his loft, his favorite jazz club that she would enjoy.

He wanted to see her again, and that fact eased the fluttering in her stomach and strengthened her will to avoid the cake. Sure, it would only be one little piece—and, of course, a couple of decadent caramels. Ten, twelve bites max, and probably a week's worth of two-a-day walks to burn off the calories versus finding the thin, pretty Lucy still living inside her. Oh, yeah, no contest…even though she couldn't watch her friends eat their own cake and caramels without drooling inside.

Sitting with her back to the food table, she let a mantra run through her head:
Remember how much better you'll feel, how much better you'll look, how much prettier you'll be.
Sometimes in weak moments, she got on the Internet and browsed websites that didn't even carry her size, looking over all the cool, skimpy, fitted, adorable clothes that she would be able to wear again. No more shapeless dresses, elastic waists, or ill-fitting garments to try to hide her body. No more mortification at even the idea of being seen naked by a man.

And sexy undies, she thought with a glance at Jessy. She really did miss those.

Low music played over the sound system, jazz, Wayman Tisdale, she thought. Mike had been a fan of his basketball playing at OU, then the pros; she'd loved his music. Like Mike, Wayman had died far too young, but he'd left an incredible legacy of music.

Though the room wasn't officially set up for dancing, Therese and Keegan had claimed a space for themselves. They didn't need much, since they were barely moving. All that mattered to them was being in each other's arms.

“I miss dancing,” Fia said with a sigh.

“J'Myel wouldn't slow dance. His moves were too cool and energetic to contain with a slow beat.” Bennie smiled wistfully. “Truth was, he looked like a spastic jackrabbit on the dance floor. Mama Maudene told me don't let the fool dance at our wedding, but I couldn't have stopped him for nothing.” She laughed. “It was a sight.”

“Joshua and I only danced together once,” Marti said. “On our wedding night, in our hotel room. I couldn't wear any of the pretty shoes I'd taken on our honeymoon because my bruised toes could only stand flip-flops. I never asked him to dance again.”

A few moments later, Mr. and Mrs. Lowry cleared out their own space, followed by Lisa Andersen and her husband. Lucy kept waiting for Dalton to come claim Jessy—he hadn't taken his gaze from her since they'd entered the reception hall—but he kept his distance, though they were exchanging looks, furtive, intimate, private. Yep, Lucy and Ilena had been right. The handsome cowboy was definitely getting lucky tonight.