The Best Man in Texas (2 page)

Giff had told her he’d shown his mom the ring before he’d taken Brooke to dinner last Friday; they’d gone to see her afterward to share the happy news. The woman was as warm and caring as her son, and Brooke knew she’d make a wonderful mother-in-law.

“We’re having Sunday supper with her this weekend,” Brooke said. “Giff offered to take us all out somewhere, but she said she has to cook to properly welcome me into the family.” Grace probably knew a great meat loaf recipe.

“She’s his only family?” Kresley asked.

“Pretty much. He has an uncle in Dallas, some cousins he’s not really close to that I’ll meet eventually. But
next to his mom, the most important person to him is a guy he grew up with. They were apparently like brothers—I’m supposed to meet him Wednesday. If Giff loves him, I’m sure I will, too.”

“Whoa.”
They heard Meg’s return before they saw her. She launched herself back into her chair, fanning herself dramatically with what looked like a magazine. “You guys should really go play pool.”

“Um, I tire pretty easily these days,” Kresley admitted. “I was considering going home to bed.”

“But you’re missing out!” Meg dropped what she was holding on the table, and Brooke realized it was actually a calendar. “There are three seriously hunky firemen in the next room. I refilled a drink for one, and we got to talking about these calendars they did as a community fundraiser. He gave me this one at a discount since the year’s half over.”

Brooke laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a calendar at your apartment.” Meg’s only concession to structured time management were a few clocks, but the one in her living room had been stopped for months. Brooke always wanted to sneak in with batteries and reset it.

“Trust me, sis, this calendar I
will
be hanging up.” She began flipping through it so they could all see the pictures.

January’s photo featured a man with a great smile who was leaning across an old-fashioned fire engine, his hand on the gold bell. The caption read Ringing in the New Year. Overall, it was a politically correct calendar that no one would be embarrassed to have in their kitchen. A couple of female firefighters were included,
and no one was posed in a bright red thong. But the men who’d been chosen for the summer months were all shirtless, and Brooke’s breath caught when she noticed Mr. July.

The man on the page had chiseled cheekbones and a jawline dusted with dark stubble. His light brown hair was cropped close, extremely short on the sides but long enough to be tousled on top. His arms were amazingly well defined without making him look like a professional weight lifter. It was his eyes that captivated her, though. She wasn’t sure if it was their unusual clear green color or something in his gaze that—

Meg snapped the calendar closed. “A few of these guys are actually in the next room! Come on, we can go ogle the life-size versions.”

Brooke cleared her throat, self-conscious over just how intently she’d been ogling already. Was
he
one of the three men in the billiards room? She squelched her flare of curiosity, calling Giff’s face to mind. “No thanks. You forget, Kres and I are both in happy, monogamous relationships.
And
we both have to be at the office for a staff meeting at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“She’s right,” Kresley seconded. But that didn’t stop her from casting a wistful glance in the direction Meg had indicated. “I need to get going.”

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Meg mumbled, “I can’t believe I’m related to someone who would voluntarily pass up this opportunity. Are you sure you weren’t adopted?”

“You tell me,” Brooke said with a laugh. “You were
there first.” Being adopted would certainly explain why she usually felt like an outsider among her own family.

But that would all change soon. Once she and Giff were married, they’d build the life she’d always wanted.

It occurred to Jake Wednesday evening as he walked through the stone archway and inhaled the smell of peppers and grilled meats that this was as close as he’d ever come to that elusive
home
sentiment. Though it might be no more than a hole-in-the-wall, to Jake the family-owned Comida Buena was heaven. Assuming angels ate garlicky guacamole.

Giff was already inside, waiting for his turn at the hostess podium. His face broke into a wide smile when he spotted Jake. “McBride!” They leaned forward, each slugging an arm around the other man’s shoulders. If people were surprised to see two former football players who topped six feet hugging, well…Jake didn’t give a rat’s ass.

“Glad you could make it,” Giff said.

“My pleasure.” Jake pointed at the uniform he wore. “But I’m on call, so no cerveza for me. I promised to bring back tamales for the guys at the station.”

They followed the hostess past a large black velvet painting of a rooster and brightly decorated sombreros hanging on the wall to a booth in the back. A busboy
moving with superhero-like stealth tossed a basket of chips onto the table, then disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived; Jake knew from experience not to touch the fiery house salsa until glasses of water had been poured.

Once they’d been given their drinks and had placed their orders, Jake got straight to the point. “So, Mr. Mystery, what’s the big news?”

Giff leaned back against the padded bench, managing to look at home in the shabby interior despite his dress shirt and slacks—a designer suit minus matching blazer and tie—probably costing close to what Jake had paid for his first car. At least, what he’d paid to
own
the hunk of junk. He’d poured a ton of money into rebuilding it.

Responding to Jake’s bluntness with his own, Giff announced without preamble, “I’m engaged.”

Engaged?

Engaged to be
married?

Jake had been peripherally aware that Giff had a girlfriend. He had not known it was so serious. “That does qualify as good,” he said distractedly, trying to process the news.

“I certainly think so,” Giff drawled.

“What…when?”

“I proposed to her last Friday, before I left town. And we’d like to be married by late summer.”

Her.
Some faceless stranger was about to become Giff’s future. Surreal. “Her name’s…” Jake searched his memory.
River? Lake?
“Brooke, right?”

Giff nodded. “Brooke Nichols.”

“And you’ve been dating since…?”

“We met on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been about two months.”

Jake couldn’t prevent a wry chuckle. Even back in the fourth grade, faced by jealous punks from less privileged families, Giff had seemed oblivious of his own wealth. He was generous and unpretentious, but the fact remained some men would have needed to save up for the ring for longer than Giff had actually
known
his fiancée.

“Two months, huh? That’s—”
Unlike you.
“Bold.”

Companies around the country hired Giff to consult because of his analytical mind. He liked to study a problem from every possible angle before he recommended a course of action. This Brooke must be quite a girl for him to move so fast.

“I think I was channeling you,” Giff confided with a grin.

In what universe could anyone associate Jake with betrothal? The most stable, permanent thing in his whole life had been his friendship with Giff. Although Jake didn’t think of himself as commitment-phobic—definitely not one of those pitiful fools trying to pick up a different woman every weekend—he hadn’t sustained many relationships, either. He couldn’t picture himself married.

He couldn’t even picture himself proposing.

“I’m not sure I get the comparison,” Jake admitted. “I’ve never been close to asking someone to marry me.”

“No, but you’re fearless. You don’t hesitate to rush in
headlong. You’ve often told me ‘life is short.’ And this thing with Mom being sick…” Giff glanced away.

“She’s better now, though?” Jake’s flare of anxiety belied the “fearless” label. Grace Baker had been a second mother to him, loving him wholeheartedly. Since his return to Texas, he’d made more of a point to visit her than his own family. Although his mom had assured him that his father had quit drinking, for good this time.

“She insists she’s fine.” Giff shook his head as if to physically dislodge his own worry. “She even fussed at me last month when I asked how she was. She told me to stop driving her crazy with concern and go live my own life. That’s what I’m doing. With Brooke.”

Vague uneasiness rippled through Jake. In both the military and in his service as a firefighter/paramedic, he’d seen people cope with life-and-death situations. Sometimes coming face to face with your mortality or that of a loved one led to knee-jerk reactions. Giff had no siblings, had lost his father and had lived under the threat of losing his mother. Was he so worried about losing his family that he was trying to throw a new one together? An understandable motivation, but one that might not lead to a smooth future and the happiness Giff deserved.

Jake hesitated to voice that thought. Instead, he said cautiously, “So tell me about Brooke.”

“She’s terrific—smart, gorgeous, supportive. Her only possible flaw is being a Longhorn,” Giff joked. A&M’s Aggies had a long-standing rivalry with the University of Texas. “But I’ve decided to forgive her
that. She’s going to be a fantastic mother. She works at a newspaper for now. I think she wants to stay home after the kids are born, at least for their early years.”

The kids? Once again Jake found himself disoriented. How had they zoomed straight from popping the question to parenthood? It seemed so rash, so uncharacteristic of Giff, that Jake couldn’t help wondering if Brooke had been pushing the idea. Was she one of those women whose biological clock was ticking like a time bomb?

The cynical part of him couldn’t help thinking that if they had kids right away, she’d be able to quit work even sooner. Was she swayed by Giff’s wealth and the idea of a more leisurely lifestyle?

“The two of you have a lot in common?” Jake prodded. “Does her family hail from River Oaks, too?”

Giff laughed at his friend’s exaggeration in mentioning one of Houston’s most affluent communities. “
I
couldn’t even afford a place in River Oaks. But, no, she doesn’t come from money. You of all people know that’s not important to me.”

For a moment Jake was ashamed of himself for even asking. “Yeah, I know.” But just because it was unimportant to Giff didn’t mean it was equally inconsequential to a prospective bride.

Suddenly Giff’s gaze went past Jake, and the man smiled. “Surprise. Here’s your chance to find out about Brooke for yourself instead of just listening to me babble.” He stood, signaling.

Following suit, Jake rose and looked behind him, curiously scanning the restaurant. He only had an impression of a dark-haired woman wearing yellow. His
view was blocked by a waiter who carried a tray of fajitas that were still audibly sizzling.

And then she came into sight. Giff had said she’d make a fantastic mother, but maternal wasn’t the first thing that sprang to Jake’s mind when he saw her. She was sleek and lush all at once, wearing a canary-yellow silk blouse and black pencil skirt. The clothes accentuated a great figure but were way overdressed for Comida Buena, like the tuxedoed teenagers one saw in pancake houses after prom. Her brown hair, nearly black, was cut in a bob, the jagged layering around her face lending her edge. And her eyes—

Had just gone as wide as two tortillas.

She stopped cold as she reached Jake, her voice so low that he barely heard her words. “Oh, my God. You’re Mr. July.”

“F-from the calendar,” the brunette babbled, making a wider circle than necessary to sidestep him. She tilted her face upward to absently accept Giff’s kiss on the cheek, but her startled gaze remained on Jake. “My sister has a calendar, and you— The fire department…”

“Ah.” Jake realized now what she was talking about. He glanced across the table to Giff, who looked puzzled. “That fundraiser I told you about at Christmas?”

“My sister, Meg, bought one of them,” Brooke interjected. “I just wasn’t expecting Mr. July to be the best man at my…” Trailing off, she shot Giff an apologetic glance. “Did you have a chance to ask him yet?”

“We were working our way to that,” he said.

“Oh.” She shoved a hand through her hair, somehow without messing it up; every strand slid neatly back into place. Then she turned to face Jake again. “We’re still hammering out the specifics, but we plan to have the wedding soon.”

“That’s what I hear.” Now that he’d seen the bride-to-be, he was even more surprised at the seeming urgency. Impeccably put together, she looked like one of those
women who wanted things
just so,
the kind who would actually enjoy fussing over little details such as seating charts and color-coordinating ribbons with flowers.

“Once Giff and I settle on a date, we’ll let you know ASAP so you can put it on your—” Her cheeks flushed with color.

“Calendar?” Jake supplied with a grin. Was it pre-nuptial nerves, or did she always fluster this easily? His photo had been a pretty tame picture for a good cause, nothing that warranted blushing. Or, for that matter, memorizing. If she hadn’t been his best friend’s fiancée, Jake might have found it flattering that she’d known exactly who he was when July was still two months away.

She was covering her moment of embarrassment with newly squared shoulders and a brisk tone. “Hopefully there won’t be any schedule conflicts for you.”

Before Jake could tell her that nothing would get in the way of his standing up for the man who’d been like a brother to him, Giff chuckled. “I doubt we have to worry about that. Jake likes to keep his schedule wide open, be spontaneous.”

That was true. After years of rigid structure in the Army and, to a lesser degree, the protocol at the fire station, he now used his personal time to experiment with a different way of life. “I like to be free to go wherever the mood takes me.”

“You would get along great with my sister.” Brooke’s expression was neutral, but there was a flat undertone in her voice that made Jake wonder if
she
got along with her sister.

Giff hit his palm to his forehead. “I haven’t even properly introduced the two of you. Brooke, meet Jake McBride. Jake, Brooke Nichols.”

Jake reached across the table to shake her hand, which she pulled back the instant good manners allowed. Not exactly a warm, gushing bride-to-be. Shouldn’t she be glowing with happiness and proudly displaying the engagement ring or something?

She turned to Giff. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. Will you order for me if the waitress comes back before I do?”

“Sure. You want your usual?” Giff asked.

“Absolutely. The number three, as always.” She gave Jake a tight smile. “Not all of us were born with the spontaneity gene.”

He watched her go, trying to form a first impression. Was her parting shot a jab at him, or an attempt at self-deprecating humor? There was a…starchiness about her that made it easy to believe she wasn’t the spontaneous type. And having seen her briefly with Giff, a man known for his thoughtful analysis of situations, Jake couldn’t say that either of them looked swept away with passion for each other.

So why the rush to get married?

W
ELL
. B
ROOKE MET HER EYES
in the ladies’ room mirror.
That could have gone better.

She sighed. Some people, especially Meg, never quite believed her when she insisted she disliked surprises, but tonight was proving her point. When confronted with the
unexpected—such as green-eyed Mr. July—she tended to stiffen up as though bracing for impact.

Her life had been peppered with strange announcements and incoming decisions that she’d had no control over. Instead of growing more accustomed to them over time, they’d made her almost brittle. As if the next thing that startled her might send her over the edge. Taking a deep breath, Brooke reassured herself that life with Giff would hold blessedly few surprises.

He planned ahead and always did as promised.
Exactly
what she needed. Of course, right now, the guy of her dreams was probably sitting out in the dining room trying to explain to his best friend why she’d behaved so awkwardly. Giff had made it clear that, next to Grace, Jake McBride was the most important person in his life. Which meant that Jake would be important in
their
life.

Damage control time, she decided as she reached for the door. She would go back to the table and make friends with Mr. McBride. She would not be thrown off by the fact that his face—and bare chest—happened to be featured on some calendar of Meg’s. Or that he was, impossibly, better-looking in person than in photograph.

Knock it off.
So the guy was attractive. Big whoop. Brooke was engaged to one of the best-looking men in the entire Houston metropolitan area, so there was no reason for her to experience this flutter of…of— Whatever it was, she planned to ignore it.

Newly resolved, she exited the restroom and wound her way back through tables that were starting to fill up
with diners as the hour grew later. She had to stop several times in the wake of servers who balanced steaming plates halfway up their arms.

Standing semi-camouflaged behind one such waiter not far from Giff’s booth, she was in position to overhear his friend.

“…just saying, what’s the hurry? Don’t you want time to think it over so you don’t make a mistake?”

“You realize that you’re implying Brooke is a mistake?” Giff pointed out, sounding more exasperated than outraged on her behalf.

“Maybe she is,” Jake pressed. “I—”

The waiter moved away, leaving Brooke exposed. Her horrified gaze met her fiancé’s, and his expression was enough to stop McBride in midsentence.

Oh, hell.
She ground her teeth through an unpleasant rush of déjà vu, every moment she’d ever had where she wished the earth would just swallow her whole. Mercifully her humiliation morphed quickly into anger. What did
she
have to be embarrassed about? Jake was the one who’d been making rude remarks; not even Meg was so uncouth that she’d challenge the engagement while Giff was on the actual premises.

Still, Brooke couldn’t let Jake infuriate her into equal rudeness, not if she was going to befriend him. She refused to start her marriage to Giff feeling like she didn’t belong in his inner circle. Like she didn’t fit in.

Again.
She plastered a smile as bright as the Vegas Strip across her face. What was that old proverb, something about killing people with kindness?

Giff was already on his feet. “Brooke. I know you must have overheard—”

“Overheard a lifelong friend expressing concern for your well-being?” she interrupted.

“Thank you.” Jake’s tone was gruff. “I’m glad you realize that, under the circumstances, my question was perfectly normal and nothing against you personally.”

Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Of course it was against her personally, as she was the only woman in the world engaged to Giff. With effort, she kept her voice so honey-sweet that the kitchen staff could have drizzled it over the sopaipillas. “I’m sure we’ll look back on this moment and laugh.”

Giff nodded gratefully. “Say, on our fiftieth wedding anniversary, when we’ve shown Jake how needless his worrying was.”

“I look forward to it.” Jake raised his glass in their direction, but there was still an assessing glint in his eyes that made Brooke feel as if she weren’t being toasted. She was being challenged.

“S
O, APPARENTLY
G
IFF’S
best friend is the devil.” Brooke made this announcement from one of the chairs on the other side of Kresley’s desk.

Since the two of them tended to show up in the small newspaper office earlier than most of their coworkers, it had become their ritual to take turns bringing in breakfast and chatting for a few minutes before officially starting their days. Kresley used to favor strong coffee and pastries she would later work off at her gym. Currently she preferred low-acid orange juice and granola
bars. Brooke had felt almost guilty ordering her own cheese danish.
Maybe I should consider those granola bars, too.
She planned to spend Saturday trying on wedding dresses. The last thing she wanted was to go up a size.

Kresley arched a blond brow. “Dinner last night didn’t go well? Giff’s such a teddy bear that I imagined any buddy of his was a sweetheart, too.”

Sweetheart? Was there a
less
accurate word to describe the intense and skeptical Jake McBride? “I don’t think McBride approves of the engagement. But he told me not to take it personally,” Brooke added.

“He actually had the gall to say he didn’t approve? Of
you?
” Kresley’s indignation was comforting. “Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

“Funny you should ask. You remember that calendar Meg showed us Monday night? The firemen?” When her friend nodded, Brooke said, “Giff’s best friend, Jake, is Mr. July.”

Kresley bit her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. “Which one was he? I remember all the summer months featured shirtless hotties, but nothing more specific than that. Blame pregnancy brain. I barely remember what street I live on.”

“Jake’s got brown hair, cut pretty short. He’s…” As she tried to think how to describe him, Brooke squirmed in her seat. She opted for glib exaggeration. “Cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes that could tempt a woman to sell her soul. You know the type,” she concluded with a nonchalant shrug.

“One of those good-looking but cocky guys? I hate him already.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Yes, he is good-looking. And there was definitely evidence of a little arrogance. But he’s not a completely self-absorbed egomaniac. It’s clear he feels protective of Giff.”

“Protective?” Kresley made a dismissive sound. “Giff’s over six feet tall and a wealthy man. He can take care of himself.”

Brooke found herself wondering if the wealth was an issue for Jake; the only time he’d been prickly with Giff was when the check had arrived and the two macho men had argued over who got to pick up the tab.

“Hell, no, I won’t let you pay,” Jake had said. “This is a celebration. Consider dinner a gift to you and the lucky lady.”

Giff had given up then, smiling down at Brooke. “
I’m
the lucky one.”

Pulling herself back to the present, Brooke straightened in her seat. “Am I bringing enough to this marriage?”

“What?” Kresley looked confused.

“Me and Giff. As you pointed out, he does have money. And looks. And a heart the size of Texas.”

Kresley set her cup down so hard that orange juice probably would have sloshed out were it not for the plastic lid. “Do
not
tell me this July jerk is making you question whether you’re good enough for Giff.”

“Not exactly. I just…”

It wasn’t like Brooke to dwell on the past, especially with such a bright future to look forward to, but she
recalled the intense emotional highs she’d experienced when she was twenty. Her boyfriend had seemed like her world. She didn’t feel that now. Didn’t a man as special as Giff deserve that kind of devotion, someone who would view him as her world?

You don’t feel that because you’ve
matured,
dummy.
Giff wanted a woman he could build a life with, not someone who mooned over him like an infatuated teenager.

“Never mind.” Brooke scooted her chair back. “I’m not making any sense.”

Kresley grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t always coherent during my engagement, either. I swore I was going to lose my mind before the actual wedding arrived. Of course, I let Dane’s mom and mine talk us into a huge circus of a wedding. You shouldn’t have that problem.”

“Definitely not,” Brooke said, repressing a shudder at the idea of turning her ceremony into a spectacle. “Some people might find it weird that I write about all these gala weddings for a living and don’t want one of my own, but my job’s given me time to really think about it.” People stressed over colors and fabrics and venues…which font to use on the invitations, for pity’s sake!

But those were details. They weren’t marriage. She felt as though 90 percent of her job was writing prologues instead of an actual story. People didn’t seem to realize that the Big Day was nothing more than the once-upon-a-time part; they had years—decades—ahead of them to work toward their happily-ever-after.
Maybe she was cynical, but when she typed up stories of horse-drawn carriages and the release of white doves, she found herself wondering if the bride and groom weren’t trying a bit too hard, if they weren’t compensating, substituting storybook-style romance for deeper, truer love. She and Giff might not revel in the glitz, but they had a good partnership.

She smiled, her spirits lifted. “If I’m going to take off early to meet Giff this afternoon, I’d better get to work.”

“Absolutely.” Kresley made shooing motions toward the door. “Go earn your keep.”

Brooke’s day passed quickly; she typed up two engagement announcements, had a phone interview with a local woman starting her own greeting card line and drafted a story about a bride and groom who planned to work both of their very different heritages into the ceremony. Was it hubris that she thought it turned out to be a very touching article?

When the phone rang after lunch, she answered it with a smile, half-expecting Giff. They were supposed to look at three wedding venues today.

“This is Brooke Nichols.” Soon to be Brooke Baker. She rolled the name around in her head, adjusting to the sound of it. Unfortunately her pleasant musing was cut short by a mother of the bridezilla who was calling to complain that her daughter’s marriage to a young man from Conroe hadn’t received more coverage.