Daughters Of The Bride (20 page)

They hadn’t really seen each other since the tasting. Joyce looked older and tired—as if she hadn’t been sleeping.

“Hello,” Courtney said politely, then reached for her clipboard to make her notes on the cleaning.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course. Let me return the cart to the utility room and I’ll be right down to your office.”

Joyce twisted her hands together. “Courtney, don’t.”

Courtney tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m your boss.”

“You
are
my boss.”

“We’re friends, too. I care about you. Maggie and I have always gotten along, but you and I have a much closer relationship. I don’t want to lose that.”

You should have thought of that before
, she thought angrily. She had to concentrate on pressing her lips together to keep from saying something she would regret.

“You’re still mad at me,” Joyce said helplessly. “Please don’t be. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to start trouble between you and your mother.”

Perhaps not, but she had meant to push things along. Joyce had grown impatient and had taken matters into her own hands, so to speak. Not that stating the obvious would help either of them, Courtney thought. And even though she did consider Joyce a friend, the fact was the other woman was her boss. Not something she could forget.

She needed this job. Not only the pay, but also her living situation made her life convenient. She liked the hotel. She liked being around different people all the time. The hours made it easy for her to study. All of which meant she couldn’t lash out—not without accepting possible consequences.

“I’m sure you had the best of intentions,” she said at last. “Everyone knows now. I’m sure it will all turn out fine.”

“But you’re still angry.”

“I need a little time.”

“Courtney, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. We have to make this right between us.”

“We have. It’s fine.” Courtney held in a groan. Now she sounded like her mother.

“Are you sure?” Joyce’s voice was small as she spoke.

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t believe you.” Joyce shook her head. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She walked away. Courtney headed in the other direction. She restocked her cart for the next day, signed out and started for her room. Halfway there, she changed direction and walked to Quinn’s bungalow. He answered her knock.

“What’s up?” he asked as he let her in.

“I’m crabby and mad at the world. Your grandmother wants everything to be all right between us. She’s my boss, so I can’t say what I really think. Not if I want to keep my job. My mom is hurt and angry, and suddenly Sienna and I are hanging out. Rachel’s still not talking to me and she’s the one I feel the worst about. Aside from that, I’m great. How are you?”

Quinn studied her for a second, then went into his bedroom. She followed, not sure what he was going to do. While she wasn’t exactly in the mood for sex, she was pretty sure Quinn knew which buttons to push to change that.

But instead of getting naked, he pulled a box out of his closet and handed it to her. She sank onto a chair when she saw what it was.

“Those high heels? Really?”

“Put them on and walk around. Trust me.”

She was well aware of how ridiculous she would look prancing around in Saint Laurent high heels in her khakis and polo shirt. But she also knew Quinn well enough to trust him. Crazy, but true. She pulled off her athletic shoes and white socks, then slipped on the pumps.

It took her a second to find her balance. Once she did, she walked the length of the bungalow and back. She felt the tension leave her body. Her shoulders eased and she was able to pull them back. Her breathing slowed and her mind stopped racing.

Quinn moved into the living room and she joined him.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He gave her that
I’m a star
smile and sank onto the sofa. “It’s hard being more than a pretty face, but I do my best.”

“Your best is damned good.” She sat opposite him. “I don’t like being mad at Joyce.”

“Then don’t be.”

“As simple as that?”

“Why does it have to be complicated?”

“Because relationships usually are.”

“Only if you let them be. She was wrong. You know she’s sorry for the results, but it’s unlikely she’s sorry for what she did. If you can accept that, then you forgive her and move on. If not, then you stay mad.”

“Where are you on that spectrum?”

“I’m punishing her.”

“How is that different?”

“She’s my grandmother. She’s not going to fire me. I’ll let her off soon enough, but for now I want her to think about what she did. She hurt you. I don’t like that.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. Only, they were talking about her and he sounded...well, protective.

She didn’t know what to do with that information. Part of her wanted to hug it close and relive this moment over and over. Part of her wanted... Nope, she thought. There was no other part. There was just the hanging on. Because it had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her. She would guess the last person was Rachel, and they’d both been kids then.

“Thank you,” she whispered, thinking that she wasn’t going to ask why. Just in case the reason was he felt sorry for her. Better to simply hang on to the cuddling feeling.

“No problem. So what are you going to do?”

She looked at the shoes. She’d told herself she’d left them at Quinn’s because she wasn’t sure she was going to accept the gift. But the truth was she hadn’t taken them home because she wasn’t sure she was worthy. Whoever wore these shoes needed some attitude and a lot more confidence than she had.

“I’m going to tell her we’re fine. She did what she did. I know why and I understand it. I’m going to tell her I don’t agree with her actions and I don’t want her to do it again. Then I’m going to hug her.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

“Always a good thing, right?” She stood. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Always.”

“Want to help me stop being mad at my mother?”

He held up both hands. “Even I have limitations.”

“Chicken.”

“I prefer prudent.”

“Cluck, cluck, cluck.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. In the heels, she was a couple of inches taller. She kind of liked how easy it was to rest her arms on his shoulders and lean in to kiss him. When they finally drew apart, she smiled.

“I do feel powerful. Next time we make love, I want to be on top.”

“Another fantasy realized.”

She laughed. “You’re easy.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He touched her cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m better.”

“You going to take the shoes with you?”

Had he guessed why she’d kept them here? She wasn’t sure, then decided it didn’t matter. “I am. They’re beautiful, and despite your pretty face, they don’t suit you at all.”

20

QUINN SAT ON
the sofa, his feet on the coffee table, his laptop open. Pearl was stretched out next to him, while Sarge was on the club chair. Wayne sat at the dining room table, several stacks of paper in front of him.

“You have your lawyer look at these?” his assistant asked.

“Twice.”

“Then why am I reading them?”

“You’ll bug me about them if I don’t let you,” Quinn said easily as he deleted an email. “You don’t trust my lawyer.”

“No one trusts lawyers.”

“What if she’s former military?”

Wayne didn’t bother looking up. “She’s not.”

Quinn’s cell rang. He looked at the screen and saw a familiar album cover pop up. “You check the news this morning?”

That got Wayne’s attention. “Sure. Nothing about our crew. Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing yet. Just want to know before I answer the call.” He pushed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Hey, Quinn, it’s us.”

Bryan
, Quinn thought wearily.

“Where are you? We’re at your place and no one’s here.” Collins’s voice was clear despite their being on speakerphone.

“You’re not dead, are you?” That was Peter.

“He answered the phone,” Bryan pointed out. “He can’t be dead.”

“Maybe we called the great beyond. It happens. Don’t you watch sci-fi?”

Quinn felt the beginnings of a headache. As a rule, he avoided bands. In the beginning, he hadn’t had much choice. He’d taken talent wherever he could find it. But as he’d gotten more successful, he’d been able to pick and choose. He could turn over a promising group to other people in his organization.

It wasn’t that bands couldn’t be brilliant. Of course they could. The real problem was the mix of personalities. Look at Tadeo. He was one guy, but between his wife and kids and entourage, dealing with him was like a meeting at the UN. With a band, you multiplied that number by all the members, plus twenty.

Even knowing all that, a few years ago he’d been sucked in by a group of teenage boys with amazing talent. He’d told himself it wouldn’t be so bad. That Bryan, Peter and Collins were different. Which was how he’d ended up producing music for And Then.

Their first three albums had gone triple platinum, with a string of eight number-one hits. But honest to God, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

“Why are you calling me?” he asked.

Bryan, the singer for And Then, made a
tsking
sound. “Quinn, is that any way to talk to us? We know we’re your favorite.”

“Did you consider the fact that there’s a reason you don’t know where I am?”

Peter, the very handsome but not bright drummer, spoke next. “Are you dead? Is it cool being dead?”

“I’m not dead.”

“You sure? Because you’re not here.”

Quinn looked at Wayne, who was slowly shaking his head. “Peter, there are other places than here.”

“Like where?”

Quinn didn’t know if the twenty-four-year-old had been dropped on his head or had done too many drugs. Maybe it was a combination of both. Regardless, he was the best drummer in the business, and And Then owed a lot of their success to him.

“We want to write with you,” Bryan said. “Tell me where you are and we’ll be there today.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Look, you know you’re going to give in. Why go through all the trouble of pretending you’re not?”

Bryan had not been dropped on his head. He was the front man and the brains of the operation. Collins played lead guitar and, like Zealand, rarely spoke. But he wrote music like an angel.

“Los Lobos.”

“Is he speaking Spanish?” Peter asked. “
Hasta la vista
, baby.” The other man laughed. “That’s from a movie. I can’t remember which one.”

Wayne pressed his forehead to the table. Quinn hoped he wasn’t going to start hitting his head. He needed Wayne to stay conscious.

“I’m
in
Los Lobos,” Quinn clarified. “You can drive here. There’s a hotel. If you get rooms here, act nice. This is my town, and my grandmother owns the hotel. I will let Wayne shoot the three of you if you don’t behave. Understand?”

“Yeah, man.” Collins sounded more amused than worried. “That would make Wayne happy, but our fans would eat you alive.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

“We’ll be there. I’ve got some good ideas I want to talk to you about.”

That piqued Quinn’s interest. “How many songs are we talking about?”

“Eight, maybe ten.”

For most artists, that meant at most two of three would be viable. But with Collins, each one could be a hit.

“I look forward to hearing what you have.”

“Good. Thanks, Quinn.”

“Yeah, thanks, Quinn,” the other two yelled before hanging up.

“I have to go back to LA,” Wayne announced. “Right now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want a raise.”

“Fine.”

“You don’t know how much I want.”

“I don’t care how much. You can have it.”

His assistant glared at him. “I hate it when you give in to me.”

“I know. That’s part of why I do it.”

Before Wayne could say anything else, the phone rang again.

Quinn picked it up. “Go away.”

“W-what?” The female voice was soft and trembling.

“Joyce?” Quinn dropped his feet to the floor. “What’s wrong?” His grandmother had gone out with one of her friends for lunch.

“It’s so s-silly,” she said. “I slipped in the restaurant. I’m in the emergency room. I’m sure I’m fine, but could you come be with me?”

“Give me fifteen minutes. I’m on my way.”

* * *

“You won’t believe it,” Belinda continued. “He told Ellie that she could get a tattoo!”

Rachel carefully applied the color to the strand of Belinda’s hair, then expertly folded the foil into a neat packet. “But she’s only fifteen.”

“I know. I should kill him. Seriously, just back the car over him. Maybe twice. Now I have to be the one to tell her no. So he’s the cool dad and I’m the terrible mother. How is that fair?”

Belinda continued to rant. Rachel couldn’t blame her for being upset. How on earth did something like that happen? What had her husband been thinking? Thank goodness Greg never did anything like that to her. Even at his worst—when he’d been more interested in hanging with his friends than being a husband and father—he’d never deliberately undermined her. And lately, well, she wasn’t sure what was happening lately.

He was around so much more than he ever had been. He was cooperative, nice and understanding. It was as if he’d made the decision to grow up. If only that had happened while they’d been married.

Sometimes she wondered why he was trying so hard. Did he want them to get back together? Did she? She missed him, of course. Missed them. But to let him back in her life. Could she trust him? He’d cheated. There was no forgiving that. That was what she’d always thought. But maybe, just maybe, she’d been wrong.

She rotated the chair to finish up a few more foils on the side of Belinda’s head.

“Give this twenty minutes and we’ll get you shampooed,” she said when she was done. “Do you need any more magazines? Or something to drink?”

Belinda picked up the latest copy of
Vogue
. “I’m good. Coming here is a break from four kids. Twenty minutes to just sit and read is heaven.”

Rachel smiled at her and cleared away her bowls and brush. She went into the back room and cleaned up, then drank some water. She was about to go check on her client when Martina, the receptionist, hurried toward her.

“You had a call,” she said quickly. “It was dispatch. Something happened to Greg.”

Rachel went cold. It was the call every firefighter’s wife dreaded.

She rushed to the phone on the wall and dialed a number she’d never forgotten.

“Dispatch.”

She fought to keep her voice calm. “It’s Rachel Halcomb. I’m calling about Greg.”

“Hey, Rachel. Greg was injured on scene. I don’t have the details, but he was conscious when he was taken to the hospital. That’s all I know. Are you heading over?”

“Right now.”

She pressed a hand to her chest as she spoke. Her heart pounded so hard and so fast. She wanted to cry, but there was no way she could give in, she told herself. She had to stay strong. Who knew what was going to happen or what she would have to deal with?

She hung up and headed directly for her locker to collect her purse. She went into the break room, where Sara was working on her laptop.

“Greg’s been taken to the hospital,” she told her coworker. “I don’t know how bad it is, but I need to get over there. Can you finish up with Belinda?”

Sara looked up. “Sure. Is he okay? Are you?”

“I don’t know. I’m having a little trouble breathing, but that should pass. Her color will be done in about five minutes. She gets a simple layered cut. Nothing you haven’t done a million times. Thanks so much. I owe you.”

Sara stood and hugged her. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal. Go be with Greg.”

Rachel hurried out to explain the situation to Belinda, then raced to her car. She had no idea what had happened, but her imagination was able to produce dozens of scenarios, each worse than the one before. He could have been hit by a car at a car accident or burned in a fire. He could have fallen through a roof or been attacked by a crazy person.

By the time she got to the hospital, she was nearly hysterical. What was she going to tell Josh? How would she survive as a single parent? While she thought of herself that way now, in reality Greg was around, helping. He couldn’t be gone, he couldn’t!

She rushed into the ER. There were a handful of patients waiting, a few nurses and someone at the reception desk.

“I’m Rachel Halcomb. My husband, Greg, was brought in. He’s a firefighter.”

The receptionist scanned her computer screen. “He’s in exam room four. You can go right in. It’s that way.” She pointed to her left.

Rachel thanked her, then jogged down the hallway. She felt sick to her stomach and a little dizzy. She slowed for a second, startled to see Quinn pushing his grandmother in a wheelchair. She started to stop to ask if Joyce was all right, then simply waved and kept going. There were a couple of firefighters standing in the hallway by Greg’s exam room. She knew them all, had had them over for dinner, been on picnics with their families. The tallest of the three, Zack, smiled when he saw her.

“Hey, Rach, don’t worry. He’s fine. One of the rookies got into trouble at a fire and Greg helped him out. Unfortunately, he got a cut on his arm in the process. It was bleeding pretty bad, so we brought him here. He’s going to be okay.” Zack winked. “He’ll have a scar, but chicks dig scars, right?”

She forced herself to smile. “We do.” She drew back the curtain of the exam room. As she did, she saw Greg lying on the bed. There was a makeshift pressure bandage around his biceps...and a gorgeous redhead holding his hand. They both looked at her.

Rachel stood immobile for two whole beats of her heart, then turned on her heel and walked back the way she’d come.

“Rachel! Rachel, wait!”

She ignored Greg’s voice and everyone around her. She kept her head high and her pace brisk. It wasn’t until she was back in her car that she gave in to tears.

She was a fool, she thought bitterly. A pathetic ex-wife turned laughingstock. Greg wasn’t trying to get her back. She didn’t know what his game was, but it wasn’t that for sure. He was probably just trying to be a better father to Josh. He didn’t want her getting in the way of that. So he’d played her. And she’d let him.

Not again, she told herself angrily as she wiped the tears from her face. Fool me once and all that. She was going to get back to work, do her job, then go home. Tonight she would walk an extra two miles. She would find an exercise class and start lifting weights. She would get so incredibly fit and hot, she would attract some amazing man and they would fall madly in love. Wasn’t there an old saying about living well being the best revenge? As of this moment, she was all about revenge. At least on the inside. Screw Greg and his bimbo redhead. She was going to be just fine.

By the time she was cleaning up her station for the night, her hurt and anger had faded a little and she’d had a chance to think about all that had happened with Greg. Or hadn’t happened.

She hadn’t bothered to actually talk to him and see that he was okay herself. She hadn’t let him explain. And maybe, just maybe, she’d overreacted to the situation.

She had no idea who the redhead was, but chances were if her ex was dating, she would know about it. As for thinking she’d been played—she honestly had no idea if that was true. Because whatever she and Greg were doing, they weren’t talking about it and that was as much her fault as his.

She drove to camp to pick up Josh. He stood by the curb wearing swim trunks and a T-shirt.

“Hey, Mom,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. “We went swimming today.”

“I never would have guessed.”

He grinned at her. “It was fun. We’re learning how to play water polo. It’s really hard. You have to swim the whole time
and
get the ball in the goal.” He frowned. “I guess it’s like soccer, but in the water and with hands, not feet.”

“So nothing like soccer?”

He laughed. “I guess I’ll have to learn more before I can tell you for sure.”

She hesitated, not sure if she should mention what had happened to his dad. She still didn’t know any details. Before she could decide, they rounded the corner and she saw Greg’s truck parked in the driveway. She wasn’t sure what to make of that except she now knew he’d been released from the hospital.

“Dad’s here!”

She reached for her son’s arm, holding him in his seat. “Your dad had an accident on the job today. He’s okay, but go easy on him.”

Josh’s smile faded. “What happened?”

“He was helping one of the rookies and he hurt his arm.”

Josh was out of the car before she could stop him, and racing to the house. “Dad! Dad!”

Rachel followed more slowly. Greg sat in the living room, a thick bandage on his arm and looking almost gray. Josh stared at his dad.