The Best Man in Texas (13 page)

“Jake Michael McBride! Oh, is it really you?”

In his memories, his mother was always stooped, looking like a woman with an air of fragility, as if the next hard knock life sent her might be the one that broke her. Other than having the same eyes—eyes he’d inherited—this pink-cheeked woman bore no resemblance to his recollections.

He bent down to hug her. “You look great, Mama.”

“This is just so… I can’t for the life of me recall the
last time I’ve had such a surprise!” She suddenly pulled back, her bright gaze turning suspicious. “Wait, there isn’t anything wrong, is there? Bad news you felt like you should deliver in person?”

“No.” He followed her inside so that they could close the door against any Texas-size mosquitoes that might be lurking about. The furniture in the front den hadn’t changed at all, but there were no longer any beer bottles at the foot of his father’s recliner, no glasses of whiskey-colored melted ice forming water stains on the hexagonal coffee table. “Not a thing wrong. It was just time.”

She swatted at his shoulder, trying for a pseudo-stern expression but too delighted to pull it off. “Well past time, wouldn’t you say?”

He ducked his head. “How’s Aunt Deb doing after her surgery?”

“Improving nicely.” She studied him. “But you didn’t drive clear ’cross town to ask me that when you could have picked up a phone. Not that you need an excuse to visit—you’re welcome any time, day or night—but what really brings you here, son?”

He got the sense that she already knew. Her tone was so compassionate and encouraging that a lump formed in his throat.

“I thought maybe… I thought I’d come see Dad.”

“He’s at his Tuesday meeting.” She glowed with quiet pride. “He never misses. Jake, he’s a different man.”

Jake had been skeptical, but after seeing how much his mother had changed for the better, it was impossible to believe that his father hadn’t evolved, as well. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She squeezed his hand. “You have to promise me you’ll stay. He shouldn’t be much longer and it would just kill him if he missed you.”

“I’ll wait,” Jake agreed. “I was kind of at loose ends tonight anyway.” As soon as he’d said it, he realized how insulting it sounded but Mrs. McBride didn’t seem bothered.

“Good, you come into the kitchen and have some of my walnut brownies.”

“You made them?” Now that she mentioned it, he could smell them. But he didn’t remember her doing much baking during his childhood.

“I did. When you were growing up, it felt like I was working two jobs just to keep you in groceries—I swear I’ve never seen anyone put away that much food—and of course there was making sure you had rides to and from practice. I didn’t have a lot of time…” She trailed off. “I’m sounding like I blame you for my own shortcomings, but that’s not how I mean it. Maybe the problem was I didn’t
make
time to develop my own hobbies. I do now.”

“Good for you.” No wonder she looked so much healthier. He couldn’t fathom how much easier her life was now that her husband had sobered up and she was no longer responsible for the daily care of a surly adolescent. Regret nipped at him. He’d spent so much time being angry at his parents for his home life that it had never really occurred to him to try to make it better for him and his mom. He could have cooked the occasional dinner for her or thrown in a load of laundry. Instead, he’d escaped whenever he could to the Baker house
and his fantasy of belonging to that family instead of his own.

Impulsively he hugged his mother. “You sit down. I’ll cut the brownies and pour us some milk.”

“Well,” his mother breathed. “You are just full of surprises tonight. And you look good, too. So grown!”

Grown, maybe, but not wise. He wished for a moment that he and his mother shared the same easy relationship as Giff and Grace. Giff was always able to ask his mother’s advice, but Jake wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Which was his own damn fault. If he’d responded to his mother’s overtures—even just meeting her for lunch if he was too stubborn to come the house and deal with his father—he could have cultivated a real relationship with her. Then maybe he’d be able to tell her about Brooke without it feeling stilted and unnatural.

“Mom,” he said suddenly, “I hope you don’t mind, but I plan to be coming by a lot more often.”

“If I’d known this was going to be my lucky day, I would have bought a lottery ticket! I think the only way this could get any better is if you met a girl and brought her over some time, too.”

He curled his fingers, the image of Brooke’s smile washing over him like a ray of sunlight. “Yeah, that would be pretty great. Who knows? Maybe some of your newfound luck will rub off on me.”

I
T WAS TEN O’CLOCK WHEN
Jake insisted on leaving, mostly out of respect to his parents, whose energy seemed to be flagging.

“Sorry,” his mother said sheepishly as they walked him to the door, his father displaying none of his old antagonism for the cane he was forced to use. “We’re getting old. I’m always asleep before the late-night talk shows start airing.”

“You’re not old,” Jake’s father had interrupted firmly, the way he looked at her was mesmerizing. “You’re the most beautiful woman in Houston.” She’d giggled—actually
giggled
—as if she were fifteen instead of fifty and then hugged both men at once. “Now, Jake, you promise me that we’ll see you again before Fourth of July. I swear I’m not letting go until you do.”

“I promise, Mom. And maybe… I’d love to cook dinner for the two of you sometime. You haven’t seen my house yet.”

His parents exchanged a long glance.

“We thought about it,” his mother said. “I wanted to bring you a housewarming gift. But we didn’t want to invite ourselves.”

He swallowed hard. “Consider yourself officially invited.” He returned her hug, then shook his father’s hand, amazed by the sheen of tears he saw in his father’s eyes.

“I’ll walk you to the car,” the older McBride said gruffly. There was a ramp on the side of the house that led down to the driveway, so that the man didn’t have to use the stairs.

Once they were alone outside, his father began telling him about AA. “You know I was at my meeting tonight? It’s not uncommon for people to talk about how they
got started drinking…and what finally gave them the impetus to stop. I know you wanted me to quit drinking when you were a boy and I should have. I can’t tell you how much I regret hurting you, your mother. Hell, even myself.

“But it wasn’t until you moved out that I realized I may have blown my last chance at being a dad to you. Then when you enlisted and left the country, I didn’t even know if I’d ever see you again. I had some starts and stops, quitting isn’t a one-time decision, it’s an ongoing process. But the day I heard you were coming back to Texas, I knew I’d done the right thing. I felt like I was getting a second chance and it’s become easier and easier not to miss the booze.”

“You sound like you’re doing great, Dad. And I’m proud of you.”

His father was unabashedly crying now, and Jake was startled to find his own eyes damp.

“I, um, I should get going.”

Mr. McBride nodded. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”
Not anymore.
He felt as if he’d been given a miracle, suddenly blessed with the warm, bustling mother and proud father he’d always wanted.

Bemused, he drove home, thinking ahead to the fall and wondering for the first time what his holiday schedule would be like. A bachelor with no children and no strong familial ties, he’d always volunteered for extra shifts so that others could spend the time with their loved ones. This year, Jake wanted to be selfish. The only thing that made him grin wider than the idea of trying his hand at a pumpkin pie for his mom was the
hope that Brooke might actually be speaking to him again by Thanksgiving.

After tonight, he felt as if anything was possible, buoyed by optimism. And, as he pulled into his driveway, it seemed as if the universe was already responding to his positive thinking.

“I’ll be damned.”

Giff’s car was parked near the house, and Giff himself was sprawled back across the hood, looking up at the stars. He didn’t look as if he were lying in wait for a second round of hand-to-hand combat.

Hoping for the best, Jake hopped out of his car.

“Great view you have out here,” Giff called. “I’d forgotten the night sky could look like that.”

“How long have you been out here?” Jake asked.

“About fifteen minutes. Mom made me bring you a piece of cake. It’s in the car if you want it.”

So Grace had guilted her son into coming? It wasn’t as encouraging as Giff having the idea all on his own, but it was a start. “Actually, I’m stuffed. Mom filled me up with walnut brownies.”

Giff propped himself up on his elbows. “You saw your mother? No kidding?”

“Dad, too. They look fantastic.”

Giff let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think I’d see the day. Mom said we just had to be patient, but then, she always chooses to believe the best about you. Me, I didn’t think you’d get your head out of your butt.”

Jake was shocked, not at the cynical way Giff was talking to him—he was obviously still angry—but because his friend had never really expressed an opinion
on whether Jake spent time with his folks or not. He’d certainly never been critical about it before.

“I thought you understood why I wasn’t nostalgic for home. Just from the few times you visited when we were kids, you saw what it was like.”

“Yeah. When we were kids. I got it. But your mom’s been telling you that he’s cleaned up his act, and it galled me that you wouldn’t at least give him a chance. Do you know what I’d give for one more day with my father? To get his opinion on my life or just hang out and watch the Cotton Bowl? You had an opportunity I would have mortgaged my soul for and never cared enough to take it. I’ve resented the hell out of you for it.”

Jake was stunned. Gifford Baker was jealous of him?

Giff swung himself off the front of the car. “I realized a long time ago that my father would never know my children. And after Mom got sick, I started to worry that neither would she. When I met Brooke, she seemed so perfect, so right for me, that I got carried away. I went from wondering if I was falling in love to imagining Mom’s face on my wedding day and how happy she’d be holding a grandbaby. I may have skipped a couple of steps.”

“But that doesn’t excuse what I did,” Jake said.

“No. It doesn’t. But it was my mother’s venerable opinion over dinner that now
I
am the one with his head up his posterior. I’ve already lost a dad and risked losing a mother, so what kind of idiot would it make me to willingly sacrifice the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother?”

Jake’s relief was too poignant, too big, to squeeze into words. He nodded his head repeatedly, not sure exactly what he was agreeing with but hoping Giff wouldn’t think it was the “idiot” part. Finally he croaked, “Thank you.”

“I saw her yesterday. Brooke. She brought back some stuff she had of mine, including the ring. And I felt bad for her. The poor girl looks like she’s having a rough time. But that was it, some friendly pity and ‘oh, so that’s where my sunglasses have been.’ If I’d loved her enough to marry her, there should have been a lot more, shouldn’t there? Rage, hurt, some kind of second-guessing myself on whether to fight for her.”

Wanting to tread carefully here, Jake simply said, “I guess so.”

Giff shoved his hands into his pockets and stared him down. “I guess the big question now is, do you care enough to fight for her?”

“Um, you mean fight
you?
”

“No, dumbass.” Giff surprised him by laughing. “What I mean is the Midsummer Night Gala this Saturday. It’s to raise money to fight childhood leukemia. Brooke will be covering it as part of her lifestyles and society beat. And I just happen to have a ticket it turns out I won’t be using.”

Jake felt poleaxed. “You would do that for me?”

“I’m just giving you the ticket, man. You sink or swim on your own. And if it’s the former, I reserve the right to take vengeful glee in your downfall.”

“Deal.”

“Kresley, I feel like a moron!” Brooke fidgeted on the padded antique bench, keeping her voice down so that she didn’t offend any society matrons. “A glittery, bewinged moron.
Why
did you tell Sugar I agreed to come in costume?”

Sugar Reese-Archibald, daughter of one millionaire and wife of another, was the brains behind tonight’s fund-raiser.

“It’s a
costume
ball. And she didn’t so much ask as decreed.”

It had worked, to a point. Most women were in costume, but the majority of men had chosen black-tie instead.

“Go mingle,” Kresley advised. “There are worse things than spending the evening in a posh ballroom, surrounded by rich men and champagne fountains.”

“Yeah? I didn’t see you jumping at this opportunity.” She knew she was bordering on churlish, but she was having trouble getting in the party-going spirit—the latest on a list of difficulties this week. She was also
having trouble sleeping, eating and going for more than sixty seconds without thinking about Jake.

Shoot.
She’d made it all the way to fifty-five that time.

“
I
am heavily pregnant,” Kresley reminded her. “No one wants to see this body in a pair of sparkly tights and a fairy dress. Besides, the guests there are already comfortable with you. So many of them know you through society weddings or, well…”

Giff.
A lot of the people who could afford to come to this event were associates of his. They’d originally planned to attend as a couple. He’d mentioned when she gave him the ring that he wasn’t planning to come after all.

“I don’t consider my ticket a waste of money, since it’s for such a worthy cause,” he’d said, “but I’ve been invited to something else that night.”

She suspected that the real reason for his change of plans was kindness to her. He’d known she’d be here for the paper and hadn’t wanted to make her evening more awkward. He’d been so gracious when she gave him the ring back that she’d faltered, asking herself again how she could let go of such a flawless guy.
Because you’re fixated on another man entirely.
Even if she stayed strong and never contacted Jake, it wouldn’t be fair for her to date someone else right now, much less marry.

“All right,” Brooke resolved. “I am going now. And I will be festive and witty.”

“You make me proud. Speaking of which, the article we ran on Jake was fantastic. I’ve already had people e-mail me.”

That certainly put tonight in perspective. The remainder of the evening couldn’t be anywhere near as painful as writing that had been. She’d been doing a lot of writing lately, not just for work, and found it cathartic. But that particular piece had felt as if she were gouging out her own heart with a pen.

After saying goodbye, Brooke stood and checked her make-up in a huge oval mirror. Her eyes and lips were dusted in the same shimmery lavender, and she’d let Meg talk her into sprinkling body glitter across her face, neck and exposed arms. The dress she’d chosen for tonight was fairly simple—a white, off-the-shoulder, bubble gown shot through with silver threads. But the garland of flowers that kept slipping down on her head, to say nothing of the darned wings, were working her last nerve.

As she returned to the ballroom, a story began to spin in her head of its own volition, about an extremely cranky fairy with poison-tipped wings. It made her laugh, drawing questioning glances from the masked waiter who passed by with a tray of duck pâté appetizers. From another waiter, she accepted a flute of champagne and had just taken her first sip when someone tapped her shoulder.

Since Sugar had been introducing her to people all night—Important Benefactors who wanted to make sure their names were mentioned in the paper—Brooke expected to once again find tonight’s reigning Queen Titania with some local celebrity or business mogul in tow.

“Jake!” It was all she could do to keep from dropping her champagne. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he said simply. His gaze dropped to her sandaled feet, then slowly traveled back up. His grin was a mile wide. “And I am
so
glad I found you.”

This was worse than those nightmares in which she couldn’t find the classroom where her exam was, only to realize she was standing naked in the school hallways. No woman should have to run into a man from her romantic past
while wearing wings
.

She eyed his black tuxedo pointedly. “It’s a shame no one told you it was a themed costume ball. You could have come as Bottom. He’s the one who turns into an ass,” she said sweetly.

He pursed his lips. “Yes, I believe we’ve already discussed my familiarity with Shakespeare.”

His reminding her of that conversation also reminded her of how unexpectedly close she’d felt to him during their trip to Tennessee. How different would those few days have been if they hadn’t also been marred by her guilt over Giff?
Who is no longer in the picture.
The realization both exhilarated and frightened her. He’d been not only an obstacle between her and Jake but a buffer, a guarantee—she’d thought—that she wouldn’t develop any imprudent feelings for the breathtaking firefighter.

He really was painfully handsome; looking at him was reminiscent of staring into the sun. But she couldn’t look away. Her gaze was riveted to his face as if she had to memorize everything about him, in case they were separated again. She’d missed him so much. Although she’d insisted to Meg and Kresley that most of her unhappiness came from guilt and the hassle of calling off
the wedding, with Jake now standing in front of her, she couldn’t deny the truth.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you,” she said hesitantly. Would it make her look weak if she implored him to forget she ever said that?

“I know.” His voice was strained. “I was hoping I could change your mind. And that…you might dance with me?”

“Okay.” Dancing gave her a socially acceptable excuse to remain close to him without the pesky requirement of making coherent conversation. There were so many things she could say, but none seemed right.

With her hand in his, the Midsummer Night Gala really did take on a magical, otherworldly quality. She couldn’t believe she was in Jake’s arms again, free to enjoy it this time without conflicted feelings. He held her far closer than he should, and she luxuriated in the muscular contours beneath the civilized jacket and tie.

“How did you know I would be here?” she murmured softly, as if their regular speaking voices might break the spell.

“Sorry I found you?”

“No.” Even the damn fairy wings were worth it if she got this in return. “Just curious.”

“Giff told me.”

She lost her rhythm and would have tripped, but Jake held on to her. “Giff? Gifford Baker?” Not that she knew of another one, but still.

“He’s obviously a better man than I am, because if I lost you… Not that I have you to lose,” he admitted. But he wanted her. That was crystal clear in his
steady, unapologetic gaze. “I have something to ask you, Brooke.”

“Y-yes?”

“Will you have dinner with me next week? Not because you were assigned a story or because you were ambushed or as a favor to anyone.” He sounded boyishly vulnerable, yet incredibly sexy. “But just because you want to be with me?”

When had they stopped moving? “I do,” Brooke said. She nibbled her bottom lip, her pulse frantic as she willed him closer. “I want that very much.”

His mouth brushed over hers, no more than a whisper of contact. Then he found the shell of her ear, making her shiver in his arms. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Anywhere they could be alone sounded like paradise to her. “God, yes.”

His eyes glittered with desire. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

O
UTSIDE OF THE BALLROOM
, in a dimly lit, plushly carpeted corridor, Jake was unable to resist the impulse to kiss her any longer.
Really
kiss her, the kind of kiss that involved the entire body and no holding back. They were both nearly panting when they stopped to catch their breath.

“What now?” she asked, moaning softly when he ran his lips down the side of her neck. “Your place, mine? Whose car do we take? Right now, I can’t even remember where I’m parked.”

“We could just check into a room here.” He was
stunned by his own boldness. It was too soon, too risky. What if she was offended by the suggestion?

But her eyes had heated to molten sapphire, and it only took her a second to respond with a husky “Perfect.”

The few minutes spent at the lobby counter passed in a dazed blur as he tried unsuccessfully to comprehend his good fortune. Before Jake knew it, he and Brooke were in a darkened room, looking out at the glittery view below, and he still couldn’t fathom how—or even when—he’d talked her into forgiving him.

“You’re not mad anymore?” he pressed. “That I kissed you?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “Actually, I was hoping you’d kiss me some more.”

He cupped his hand behind her nape. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” she purred. “Do you think you could help me out of my…wings?”

Chuckling, he obliged, also taking the time to shove off his own jacket. Pieces of clothing hit the floor between kisses, and he found himself gifted with an unexpected image that would be forever seared onto his memory: Brooke wearing only a pair of sparkly high heels, a lopsided flower garland and a naughty smile.

He pressed her to the bed with the newly formed goal of kissing every creamy inch of her. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured above the flat dip of her navel.

Brooke would have told him he was wrong, but she couldn’t speak. His mouth was making her crazy. She had no words or coherent thoughts. She had no inhibitions. She had no plan. She had no filter. She was bared
to him in every way possible. The sensations Jake had ignited beneath her skin overwhelmed her, surging up and hurtling her into a shattering release.

She cried out, unnerved by the sheer intensity of what she’d experienced, but then he was kissing her, and the craving that should have been sated built again. Murmuring her name, he slid inside her, not trying to slow her down when she set a savage, frantic rhythm that sent them both over the edge.

Brooke felt flung from her body. Dots swam in front of her eyes. Her lungs would never have enough oxygen in them again.

“I love you.”

She was actually so dazed from the unprecedented, soul-shaking sex that it took her a moment to realize she’d said the words. It was like watching a dubbed movie where the characters’ dialogue was a fraction of a second ahead of their mouth.

“Oh, God.” She twisted away from him.
Have you
lost
your mind?
“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jake seemed untroubled by her impulsive pillow talk. On the contrary, his smile was bright enough to light up all of Harris County. “I love you, too.”

“No. No, no, that’s—” She scrambled toward the edge of the bed, taking as much of the sheet with her as possible. “I was momentarily confused by the mind-blowing sex. I don’t… That wasn’t me.”

“The hell it wasn’t,” he said lightly, his smile not dimming. “I was there. I know.”

“We got carried away.” Panic was rising within her—all the emotions she’d tried to repress in the name of
order suddenly spewing forth. She’d been beyond “carried away” she had been completely without rational thought. She’d ended her engagement less than a week ago, and now she was falling into bed with another man and telling him she
loved
him?

It was the nightmare version of herself, the one she’d always feared she might wake up and see in the mirror, the passion-driven dreamer who would make Meg and Didi look like calm analysts in comparison.

Taking deep breaths, she tried to find that inner calm. “Jake, I do care about you—”

“It’s more than that.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “Don’t downplay it and try to make it less than it is.”

“Don’t rush me! I’ve only known you a little over a month.”

He quirked an eyebrow but spared her the embarrassment of pointing out that she’d gotten
engaged
after only two months.

Then he just shook his head, smiling. “I’m too relaxed to fight. Come to bed, and we’ll sort this out in the morning.”

She doubted she could be so close to him for that long without jumping him again. He was a detriment to her willpower. And her ability to think. And to the person she’d tried so hard to be.

“Jake,” she said carefully, “I need time to process. And it’s better if we don’t make love again. For a while anyway.”

His jaw dropped. “I don’t believe this. We were
phenomenal
together.”

“This isn’t a rejection,” she tried to reassure him.
Considering that she’d just stepped back into her dress and was casting about the room to find her shoes, he might not believe her. “I just need to—”

“Squish your feelings down inside some box? To have inhuman control over yourself? I want to be with you, Brooke. But I want to
be
together, freely and honestly. A relationship with me would not be as cordial and antiseptic as the one you had with…as the one you had before. It would be messy and real and imperfect and deliriously good.”

She believed him. He did tend to make her feel delirious.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” she admitted. “You make it sound good—or feel good, at the very least—but I never wanted all that passion and crisis.”

“Then you don’t want me?” he asked, that hint of vulnerability back in his voice.

And I put it there.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to be responsible for someone else’s emotional well-being, wasn’t sure she could ever be comfortable with someone having that much power over her. “You know that’s not true. I just want to slow down, think it over.”

“Okay.” He looked away from her. “But it seems to me like you’re always finding excuses. You’re too busy thinking about your life or chronicling other people’s lives or planning out the life you think you want to actually
live
your life. If you’re not careful, Brooke, it’s going to pass you by.”