Authors: Mary Margret Daughtridge

SEALed with a Ring (7 page)

"We'll be packing up soon, but it's been a great day. I think we've found placements for three of the dogs. One family took a dog to the Land Rover they were looking at to see if he liked it."

"Did he?"

"They said he hopped right in and sat up like, 'Okay, I'm in. Where are we going?' I hope that was okay, to let a dog get in a car."

JJ dismissed her anxiety with a grin. "These days, if it will sell cars, I'll include a dog guaranteed to love rides in every deal."

"How about you? Isn't it time for a new dog for you?"

"Soon, maybe." Her golden retriever, Smiley, had been gone almost a year. But while JJ was ready for an other dog, her soon-to-be-fiancé wasn't fond of animals. Since she agreed with the rescue organization's policy of only placing dogs in homes where they would live inside the house, she wasn't sure how she and Blount would work it out.

The cell phone at her waist vibrated. JJ smiled apolo getically and mouthed, "See you soon," as she turned toward the corner of the lot where her sporty, red Lexus SC 430 was parked and brought the phone to her ear.

JJ glanced at the man beside her in the late-afternoon sunlight and then back at the couple being married below on the beach. Only a handful of people had been escorted to the semicircle of plastic chairs set on the sand at the water's edge. The minister, JJ understood, was the missionary father of the bride. The only attendants, a matron of honor and a best man, didn't process. Instead, they walked shoulder to shoulder with their friends to where the minister stood.

The assemblage was simple and intimate, and despite the hotel's plummy reputation, oddly egalitarian. Beach walkers and their dogs stopped to watch. A pair of hotel maids in gray and maroon uniforms halted beside their laundry cart. All up the twenty-story face of the hotel, guests kibitzed from their balconies, peering down on the scene.

The crowd standing at the railing of the hotel's beach side patio had gone silent, expectant, as if to catch the occasional syllable tossed up to them.

The bride looked as romantic and magical as a pre Raphaelite painter's heroine in a simple white cotton dress ornamented only with delicate inserts of white lace in the bodice and down the long sleeves.

If the bride looked like a heroine from an ancient legend, the groom looked like the Viking hero who had claimed her, with his reddish hair and golden skin burnished by the setting sun and his Irish fisherman's sweater revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his chest. His strong-boned face bent tenderly to hers.

The ever-present wind off the ocean lifted the bride's white skirt from time to time and twined it round the groom's legs as if even the dress longed to press itself to him. The bride's full-length chiffon veil tried to do the same thing, until laughing, the groom captured it and, completely unself-consciously, draped its silken length across his broad shoulders like a stole. It was still at tached to the bride's silvery-blond head, of course, so he drew her closer and tenderly adjusted it so that it was not so taut as to prevent her moving her head.

Exchanging rings was hardly necessary after that. Groom and bride had both made it clear how eagerly and completely they accepted the bonds of matrimony.

JJ tightened her jaw against tears caused, she rea soned, by the wind blowing in her eyes.

The groom slipped a ring onto the bride's finger, then bent to kiss her fingers in tender homage. A moment later when her turn came, the bride did the same. A collective sigh wafted among the watchers on the patio. Around JJ, several couples squeezed one another's hands.

JJ sneaked a glance at Blount's face to gauge his re action to the moving scene. He wasn't watching it. He was looking over the crowd, probably making a mental list of who he needed to speak to.

Though they stood side by side, she and Blount weren't sharing this experience in any way. Before it could blossom and set fruit, JJ pinched off the sprout of disappointment. He was exactly what she needed him to be. JJ, with her championship of animals and children, had been accused of having a sentimental streak. If he had none at all, he could be a balance for her.

Blount caught her looking at him and smiled. Now he did cover her hand and squeeze it. He looked like he was anticipating sex tonight. So was she. It had been a long time for her—almost a year. Although she was trying to be rational about selecting a husband, something about knowing she was interviewing each of the four men her grandfather presented her with had prevented her from going to bed with any of them until she made her choice. It would have felt a little too much like she was trying them on for size. And really, she didn't want any part of her choice of husband to be based on sex.

Sexual compatibility was important, of course, but she saw no reason she wouldn't find it with Blount. His features were even and his light brown hair just long enough and raggedy enough to give him a
with it
look, while his charcoal sport coat, red tie, and white starched shirt would distinguish him from his students at the uni versity. He was tall enough that she didn't have to worry about towering over him in three-inch heels.

He really was a very pleasant-looking man. She gave him a deliberately sultry look of promise and turned her attention back to the marriage ceremony.

The ceremony over, the groom helped an elderly lady to rise from a plastic chair while the best man did the same for a middle-aged woman. When the woman turned around, JJ, to her surprise, recognized Mary Cole Sessoms, her mentor. On the patio, someone cranked up the music.

"I'm ready for a drink," Blount announced. "Can I get you anything from the bar?"

"A gimlet, please."

Blount had no more than turned away when a man with silver-flecked hair slid an arm around her waist in a one handed hug. "Hello, beautiful," He kissed her cheek lightly. "Don't marry that man," he whispered. "Marry me."

JJ returned the hug. "Henry. You are good for my ego."

"I could be good for more than that. I'm serious."

JJ looked into the eyes of the man who had been her friend the past five years. "You're not ready to give up your bachelor status." Divorced for years, Henry was known for the number of beautiful women he dated. She enjoyed Henry. He liked to shag. A laidback cousin of swing dance, the shag was the signature dance of several generations in the coastal Carolinas. He knew just how to flirt without ever getting heavy-handed, and he never pushed for sex although he'd made it clear he'd be ready anytime she was.

"I would for you."

"Oh, no. I value my own skin too much. At least twelve women would come gunning for me if I took you off the market." She patted his cheek. "Besides, I like you too much to marry you. I need you as a friend."

Though she had thousands of acquaintances, friend ship was a rare commodity in JJ's life. Her position as the working head of a large, successful car dealership meant that men who were her natural equals—equally successful, equally depended upon by as many people— were twenty years older.

The same was true of women, except there were far fewer of them. Women hardly wanted to be compared with a woman just as smart and just as successful, but twenty years younger and possessed of the voluptuous body and sultry beauty of a young Ava Gardner.

Except for old movie buffs, most of the world had for gotten the fifties movie star, but not the folks of eastern North Carolina, who claimed her as one of their own.

Though nature had given JJ the emerald-green eyes and abundant black-coffee hair and the tiniest hint of a cleft in a very stubborn chin, the resemblance to the silver-screen siren wasn't totally accidental. JJ had rec ognized her beauty as a form of power and accentuated it, with the help of a hairdresser and judicious use of makeup. She'd have been well-known anyway. An al most iconic face meant she was recognized anywhere she went. This wedding, though she was acquainted with neither bride nor groom, was no exception.

JJ had just time to promise Henry a dance later be fore the head of the Wilmington choral society, one of the civic enhancements Caruthers supported, claimed her attention.

"Mary Cole!" JJ exclaimed an hour later, delighted to see the sixtyish insurance agent among the shifting groups of acquaintances. Despite their age difference, Mary Cole re ally was a friend. Living in different towns, they most often saw one another when business brought them together. Still, when her youngest daughter, Pickett, had married last year, Mary Cole had invited JJ to the wedding, and JJ had driven an hour and a half to attend. They air-kissed.

"You look beautiful." JJ pulled back to admire Mary Cole's full-length evening gown of silver silk that per fectly complemented her silver hair. "Didn't I see you down on the beach with the wedding party? How do you know the bride and groom?"

"You were at Pickett's wedding last year, right? Don't you remember?"

JJ nodded—a small social lie. In truth, JJ remem bered almost nothing about that occasion except the talk with her lawyer that had confirmed her worst fears—and
that
she would never forget. She'd spent most of the last year trying to wiggle out of the marriage dictate before finally yielding to necessity.

The other part of the occasion that she hadn't been able to forget—although, God knows, she had tried— was wild, no-holds-barred sex with a stranger. A
stranger. She had been beyond upset, but that was n
o excuse for abandoning all her self-control.

Mary Cole hardly waited for JJ's nod before she went on. "
Well
," she began portentously. "It's the most ro mantic story. The bride is Pickett's best friend, Emmie. She and Do-Lord met at Pickett's wedding. He was the best man, and she was Pickett's maid of honor. They hit it off, and the next thing you know, they were in love. Now they're married."

JJ went very still. "Do-Lord?" She'd heard the name before, and there was only one person she could have heard it from.

"He got the nickname in the Navy. His real name is Caleb. Emmie won't call him anything but that."

"I take it he's a SEAL, too?" JJ's stomach went cold and heavy—like she'd swallowed a whole slushy in one gulp. Although she had been horrified that she had had sex with a stranger, on the plus side, at least she been certain she'd never see him again. Fearing she was in quiring about her own doom, she asked, "Are a lot of his friends here?"

"Yes indeed, my dear!" Mary Cole winked conspiratori ally. "Would you like to meet one or two? Pickett can take you around and introduce you. Pickett, come over here."

JJ wished she had kept her mouth shut. "That's not necessary."

"Pickett," Mary Cole said when the petite young woman JJ had seen on the beach joined them, "you re member my friend, JJ Caruthers, don't you? She was at your wedding."

No way did Pickett remember her. JJ had never actu ally spoken to the bride and groom.

"There were so many people there. I'm sure she doesn't." JJ forestalled the necessity for another social lie. She offered her hand. "It's nice to meet you now."

They shook hands while Mary Cole said, "Pickett, JJ wants to meet some of Jax's and Do-Lord's friends. Now, who do you think we should fix her up with?"

"Oh, no. Really!" JJ rushed in. "Please don't bother." The last thing she wanted was to meet her mystery SEAL with a bunch of people watching. Her greatest hope was that he had forgotten all about her.

Men talked. Having spent her whole life in a male dominated industry she knew. If they had no personal experience of a woman's willingness, they speculated. If they did, they bragged.

Though sex without marriage might no longer soil a woman, the double standard was alive and well. Men respected women known to be selective in granting their favors, and that respect colored their every interaction.

If he wanted to brag, he wouldn't have to embellish. The absolute truth was as salacious as anyone could want. She had no desire to remind him.

The best thing would be to find Blount and get the two of them out of there. She wished she hadn't sent him to get her pashmina shawl from their hotel room a few minutes ago. Instead, she wished she'd used being a little chilly as a good reason to move their evening to the next phase.

"Don't look so worried," Pickett urged, chuckling. "Mother is a hopeless matchmaker. I'm not going to push guys at you. A SEAL wouldn't be to everyone's taste. Anyway, Mother, Jax is fixing to drag me out of here. I'm pregnant," she explained to JJ. "He thinks I get tired. To tell you the truth, I do."

"Does this mean you're going to listen to reason and not try to stay at the Snead's Ferry house while all the con struction goes on this weekend?" her mother demanded.

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