The Best Man in Texas (6 page)

She reached into her purse, pulling out a business
card and a pen. “I guess I’ll see you Friday, then. In the meantime… Here. That’s my cell number. In case you ever want to talk,” she said lamely.

He took the card, his expression bemused.

“So.” She stood. “Bye?”

“You want me to walk you out?” he offered.

“Nah.” She smiled. “I can find my way.” With a little finger wave, she headed for the door.

“Brooke?” He didn’t turn to face her. Was his expression as strained with emotion as his voice? “Thank you.”

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Brooke asked from the edge of Meg’s queen-size waterbed, a piece of furniture that ate up nearly all of the square footage in the room.

Almost immediately, Brooke regretted any hint of censure in her tone—Meg had proven supportive and surprisingly reliable in all wedding planning so far—but her sister was bound to cause a stir in the orange halter dress.
How does she manage that much cleavage when she’s actually a smaller cup size than me?
And then there was the short skirt which gave the illusion that diminutive Meg had mile-long legs.

Her sister paused in the act of applying dark lipstick, raising an eyebrow in the vanity mirror. “I happen to think I look nice.”

“You do. You look great,” Brooke admitted. At a beach party the festive little number would have been perfect. But for Brooke’s future relatives and members of some of Houston’s most exclusive country clubs?

Meg sighed. “No offense, baby sister, but I’m not sure I want fashion advice from a woman who looks like
she’s going to deliver a eulogy at the funeral of some congressman.”

“Hey, the little black dress is a classic,” Brooke protested.

The door to the master bathroom—technically the
only
bathroom in Meg’s one bedroom apartment—swung open and Didi emerged with a trilled “Ready!” In her ruffled yellow dress, she looked like some sort of exotic bird as she flitted toward her daughters. “Meg, darling, you look striking.”

“Thank you,” Meg said pointedly.

Brooke, knowing she was outnumbered, excused herself with a mumbled, “Think I’ll go get a soft drink.”

Since Didi had been sleeping on the sleeper sofa for the past couple of days, Brooke had to step over her mother’s duffel bags to make her way to the tiny kitchen. Meg had made such eccentric decorating choices that guests were distracted from their impending claustrophobia. Deliberately mismatched appliances somehow went together with the retro covers of old cooking magazines Meg had collected at garage sales and Traders Village, Houston’s gigantic indoor flea market. It was funny how Meg’s cheap, ramshackle efficiency apartment, located in a neighborhood that barely qualified as safe, evidenced far more personality and care than Brooke’s nicer, cleaner place near the mall.

Frowning, Brooke poured herself a diet soda.
I have personality, too. I’m just not emotionally attached to my apartment. I’ll decorate when I move in with Giff.
Of course, his house was so perfectly appointed that she
couldn’t think of a thing she would change. For some reason, that thought depressed her.

Snap out of it.
So her fiancé had good taste—how was that a problem?

Meg and Didi appeared, all finished with last-minute hair checks and cosmetic applications, and Brooke stepped outside, vowing to leave behind her irrational melancholy. The Nichols women had decided that, rather than taking multiple cars to the same location, they’d drive into the city together. She could make sure no one got lost on the way to Grace’s, and Brooke would be on hand to facilitate introductions between her mom, sister and future mother-in-law.

Her father was teaching a private cooking class and had promised to meet them there no later than twenty minutes after the party had started. As far as Brooke knew, her parents hadn’t spoken to each other since Didi had moved in with Meg. Brooke wasn’t sure how they would react to each other tonight, but she sent up a silent prayer that the evening would go smoothly.

Houston traffic was the usual nightmare, and Brooke was grateful for the company during the drive. Meg had downloaded some MP3s from new bands she thought Brooke might like. As soon as they’d heard enough of each song to figure out the chorus, all three of them sang along with gusto. Didi, who’d revisited her goal of being a performance artist and had taken voice lessons in the nineties, was particularly good.

A fact that she herself was not shy about acknowledging. “The pipes are still in killer shape, eh? Brooke, I
could sing at your wedding! Add a little more razzle-dazzle to the ceremony.”

Meg must have noticed the way her sister clenched the steering wheel because she gently redirected the topic. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the songs you and Giff are using. Knowing you, music was the first thing you decided.”

“Actually, no. Finding the dress and getting the invitations out were more time sensitive,” Brooke said, happy to have those chores behind her. “We haven’t pinned down all the musical selections yet. Oh, shoot—I think I was supposed to turn there.”

Talk of wedding plans was temporarily suspended as Brooke navigated several wealthy neighborhoods. Her mother made approving noises, saying that she was glad Brooke was marrying someone who could provide so well for her. “
You’ll
never have to give a detailed defense every time you decide to buy a skirt and matching earrings,” Didi muttered sourly.

Meg, on the other hand, shuddered at their opulent surroundings. “All the perfectly manicured matching lawns and three-door garages? It seems too sterile. I mean, to each her own. If you
want
a Stepford life—”

“Meg, do me a favor and don’t share that opinion with anyone at the party tonight? Stick to ‘thanks for having us’ and ‘lovely home, Mrs. Baker.’ Although, naturally, she’ll ask you to call her Grace. Trust me, she’s not at all cold or Stepford. She’s a terrific woman. And it was darling of her to throw us this party.”

This elicited a dramatic sniffle from the backseat. “It
should be your father and I throwing this celebration! I wish we could help more with all of the wedding costs. You
know
that I never wanted you and your sister to do without. I have firsthand experience—”

“Mom.” Brooke threw herself in front of the pity train, hoping to derail it before it picked up steam. “Meg and I are doing just fine. We’re hardly impoverished waifs. And Giff and I are employed adults in our thirties. We have no problem paying for our own wedding.”

When Brooke handed her car keys over to one of the valets Grace had hired for the night, she thought it might spur more comments from her mother about money or the lack thereof, but Didi was staring ahead at the three-story house.

“Do you think your father’s already here?” The frosty edge in her tone didn’t completely mask the wistfulness beneath it.

“Doubt it,” Brooke said. “You know he had that class tonight. He’ll be along as soon as he can. Mom, I know the two of you have had some differences this week, but you will put that aside for tonight, won’t you?”

Didi froze at the front door, flashing a wounded look at her daughter. “Are you worried that I’m going to embarrass you? Is that how you see your own mother, as an
embarrassment?
”

The open bar was sounding better and better.

Thankfully Brooke was spared answering—she couldn’t think of anything that was both tactful and honest—because Grace had opened the door.

“Brooke!” Grace was a combination of girlish enthusiasm and dignified elegance in her royal blue dress
and pearls. “And this must be your sister and mother, although, goodness gracious, all three of you could be mistaken for sisters, couldn’t you?”

Didi beamed. “Didi Nichols, pleased to meet you. You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

Grace hugged each of them and ushered them into a high-ceilinged foyer furnished with a grandfather clock, antique side table and several decorative mirrors.

“The caterers and band are all set up in the backyard,” Grace said, “but Giff’s in the study.”

She indicated the spacious room to her left, and Brooke saw Giff pouring Scotch for a business contact Brooke vaguely recognized, a tall man Grace identified as a second cousin and Jake McBride.

Meg’s gaze zeroed in on Jake. Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, “
Whoa.
Who is that?”

“He’s the best man.”

“I’ll say!”

“If I go in there and introduce the two of you, do you promise to behave?”

Meg was already headed for the foursome of well-dressed men, moving with admirable grace in her stiletto heels. “Not even a little.”

Since Grace had just offered to give Didi a tour of the house, Brooke hurried after her sister. After all, this was Brooke’s engagement party and she’d yet to greet her fiancé.

Jake spotted her first and smiled warmly. But as his gaze swept over her, his expression changed. He looked puzzled.

Without being too obvious, Brooke did a quick
double-check of her appearance. Did she have a run in her hose, a missing button? She hadn’t had anything to eat yet, so she wasn’t worried that she had food smudged on her face.

Finding nothing amiss, she gave up wondering why he was nearly frowning at her and said hello to everyone. Giff kissed both her and Meg on the cheeks and took over the introductions.

When Meg shook Jake’s hand, she tilted her head to the side, studying him. “Have we met before? There’s something familiar about you…”

Jake glanced over her shoulder and winked at Brooke, who couldn’t hold back a laugh as she recalled their first meeting at Comida Buena and her instant recognition of him.

“I have some good news,” Jake said abruptly, his gaze still tangled with Brooke’s. “That little girl? They stabilized her enough to begin her numerous operations, and it looks as if she’ll pull through. She has a long road of physical rehab ahead of her, of course, but—”

“That’s
wonderful!
” Brooke said, at the same time Giff and Meg both asked, “What little girl?”

As Jake was giving them a brief update on the accident earlier this week, downplaying his role as hero of the day, Brooke noticed that a tuxedoed member of the hired staff had just opened the front door to Everett Nichols.

“There’s Dad,” she said. “Meg, we should go say hi to him.”

Meg didn’t look thrilled about tearing herself
away from Jake’s side, but she dutifully accompanied Brooke.

“Jake is Mr. July,” Brooke said under her breath. “Your fireman calendar? That’s where you know him from.”

Meg sucked in a breath. “You’re close personal friends with one of the hunks from that calendar and never bothered to mention it? Or introduce me!”

“You met some of his colleagues and deemed them hunky, too, as I recall. How many hot guys do you need to know?” What Brooke had meant as a joke came out almost waspish. Was she suddenly feeling
possessive
of Jake?

Ridiculous.

“Little sister,” Meg said as they reached the foyer, “a woman can never know too many hot guys.”

“Well, sorry I forgot to mention it before now. I’ve had other things on my mind.”
Case in point.
Brooke smiled in welcome. “Hi, Daddy.”

Everett beamed at them. “If it isn’t the two most beautiful young ladies in Texas.”

Meg laughed. “Not that young.”

“Speak for yourself,” Brooke protested. “Can we get you something to drink, Dad?”

“The person who let me in is bringing me back a beer.”

“That sounds good. I think I’ll go see about one of those, too.” Meg disappeared down the hall in the direction of the backyard. The live band hadn’t started playing yet, but it sounded as if they were running a final sound check.

“You must’ve made great time,” Brooke told her father. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“I dismissed class a few minutes early. I wanted you to know how important you are to me. Plus, I wanted to make a good first impression on your future mother-in-law,” he added with a grin.

“I appreciate that. Grace will be back down soon. She’s showing Mom the house.”

Everett’s jaw tightened.

“Dad? Everything all right?”

“Other than your mother being pathologically unable to handle any constructive criticism and running off in a tantrum instead of owning up to her mistakes, everything is right as rain.”

Brooke stifled a groan. “Dad, I know you and Mom are in the midst of a disagreement right now, but tonight is very—”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me making a scene, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair. “
I’m
a mature adult.”

Here we go.

“Y
OU LOOK LIKE YOU COULD USE
this,” Giff said near her ear.

Brooke turned to a reminder of just how lucky she was—an incredibly handsome man in dark suit, his smile illuminated by overhead twinkle lights, holding out a glass of chilled white wine. What woman wouldn’t be delighted by that tableau?

She’d just torn herself away from a few Junior League
ladies. They’d expressed thinly veiled curiosity over why Giff hadn’t chosen his prospective bride from among
their
ranks, then issued invitations for Brooke to get involved in local volunteer efforts once she was married. Thinking about what it would be like to spend more time with those women than Kresley, who’d be almost an hour away with traffic, was a little depressing. So she’d been standing on the bottom steps of the deck scanning the crowd for her friend and editor when Giff approached.

“Thank you.” She accepted the wine gratefully. Showing great restraint, she opted not to down it like a lush and instead smiled at Giff. “And might I add, nice to see you again, stranger. I feel like we’ve been pulled in different directions all night.”

He nodded. “Dozens of people here wanting to speak to us and offer their congrats. It’s demanding work, being the guests of honor.”

“Especially when one of us has been busy babysitting her so-called parents,” Brooke added darkly.

His expression was sympathetic. “They’re still not getting along?”

“No, but at least they’re showing the good sense to avoid each other rather than fight.” She pointed to Meg and Didi, talking to other guests at one of the tables. Everett, meanwhile, was waltzing with Grace near the bandstand. Brooke smiled impishly. “You know, I have an idea of how you could take my mind off my family woes.”

He followed her gaze to the dance floor. “I have been eager to dance with you all night,” he lied unabashedly.
“I’ve just been waiting for the band to play something appropriately romantic.”