The BFF Bride (11 page)

Or so he’d thought.

She’d moved the paintings back to their original places. There were only half the number he’d seen last time. As she crouched down and fussed with them, he could tell that the blizzard painting was gone.

“Maybe that’s what our problem is,” he said quietly.

She went still.

He set the dog on the floor and reached down to grab Tabby’s hands, pulling her to her feet.

Her eyes were wide. Dark. And full of wariness.

“Pretending we weren’t the kissing kind of friends,” he added, just to be clear. Something in her gaze flickered, and he felt the resistance in her hands. “Don’t pull away.”

She didn’t, though she spread her fingers, almost experimentally, as if she were still planning to. “Justin, this isn’t a good idea.”

“What isn’t a good idea?”

Her fingers curled. “What, uh, whatever it is you’re thinking about doing.”

He could read her thoughts as clearly as his own.

And damn straight she knew what he was thinking.

He released one of her hands and slid his palm along her jaw. Felt her jerk a little, but not away from him. He pushed her chin up with his thumb and leaned closer. “I think it’s one of the best ideas I’ve had in a really—” he leaned even closer “—really long time.” Four years, at least.

He closed the last few inches of distance between them and pressed his mouth against hers.

He didn’t close his eyes.

Nor did she.

So he saw in her eyes what he felt in the kiss.

The kick start of blood.

The sudden blast of heat.

The urgent desire for more.

He moved his hand, sliding it behind her neck, threading his fingers through her thick, silky hair, angling her head. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her hands roved over his shoulders, fingertips kneading. Then she made a soft sound, and her lips parted against his.

Whatever he’d planned—an experiment, a test, a challenge—went up in smoke. Any thought beyond getting more of Tabby Taggart was impossible.

More warm flesh beneath the sweater he dragged over her head.

More of the pulse beating like a wild thing below her ear lobe.

More of the sweeter-than-sweet taste of her tight nipple through the lace covering it. She inhaled deeply and yanked at his shirt so forcefully that he heard it rip and buttons pop. He dragged down the zipper on her jeans and pushed his hands inside.

She twined herself around him, gasping against his neck as he lifted her onto her messy worktable and buried himself inside her. She cried out, arching against him sharply as her sweet, hot spasms gloved him, luring him into oblivion.

Justin wasn’t sure how long it was after that before his good sense started to return.

He was sure, however, that Tabby wasn’t as slow in that regard as he was.

His heart was still pounding and the sweat on their bodies hadn’t cooled before she was unwinding her legs and pushing away from him, reaching for her clothes that somehow had spread out from corner to corner of her studio.

“Tabby—”

She shook her head, throwing out her palm. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.” She picked up her bra, took one look at the lace that had been torn in two and tossed it aside before yanking her sweater over her head, pulling it down past her bare thighs. “If I hear another apology from you after—” She broke off and waved the jeans she plucked off the floor. “I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

She might have ended up gloriously naked, but he hadn’t gotten that far. He hitched up his jeans. “Well, then relax, because I’m
not
apologizing.” He wasn’t sure where the stamina came from after the sex storm that had just flattened him, but he was abruptly and wholly pissed. “You were more than willing, Tabbers. And neither one of us has the excuse of being drunk this time.” Not that there really was any comparison to the last time.

Hell, after he’d unintentionally, drunkenly mumbled another woman’s name to her four years ago, that particular party had screeched to a dead-as-a-doornail stop. There’d been no spectacular finish. No daunting fear that he might actually be in over his head where she was concerned. And damn sure no haunting suspicion that no woman was ever going to fit him as perfectly as Tabitha Taggart did.

Which was a suspicion that freaked him out more than anything else.

“Yes, well, I don’t need pity sex from you, either,” she said thickly as she left the room.

“What?”
He followed her, stepping over his shirt on the floor as she headed down the short hall and into her bedroom. “Where the hell did you get
that
stupid idea?”

She didn’t look at him. Just dumped her jeans on the bed and yanked open one of her dresser drawers to pull out a folded shirt. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face.

His head started to pound. He matched it beat for beat with the palm of his hand against the wooden door. “Dammit, Tabby!”

“Go home, Justin.” Maybe it was the door between them that made her voice sound thick. “Take Beastie with you.”

He didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to leave her.

The fact that she didn’t want him, though, was too obvious to ignore.

“This isn’t over,” he warned through the door.

“There isn’t anything
to
be over,” she yelled back at him. “Do you want me to watch your dog in the afternoons or not?”

His head pounded even more. “Yes!”

Then he scooped up Beastie, who’d been chewing on his ankle, and looked the puppy in the eye. “God save me from freaking crazy females,” he said through his teeth. “And that includes you, too.”

Then he walked out.

Chapter Eleven

“J
ustin’s here. He’s asking to see you.”

When Paulette made her announcement, Tabby didn’t pull her hands out of the bread dough she was kneading. After the insanity in her studio the night before, she had been clinging to every shred of normalcy she could find.

Which, to her, meant baking rolls at Ruby’s.

She was on her fifth batch even though it was the lunch rush and she should have been working the front along with the other servers.

“Just tell him to chain the dog up out back until I’m finished here,” she told Paulette.

“He doesn’t have a dog with him.”

“Then tell him I’ll pick her up at his place when I’m through. So I hope he’s got her contained in her kennel.”

Paulette shrugged, adjusting her apron around her waist and disappearing through the swinging doors.

“You punishing that bread dough for something?”

Tabby didn’t look up. “Not now, Bubba.”

“Just sayin’.” He slapped a burger on the grill and reached up to the pass-through to grab the next order. “You get one of Miz Templeton’s party invitations?”

She shook her head. “Nope.” Which was fine with her. The last fancy-dress event she’d attended had been the hospital fund-raiser. Her emotions had been spiraling since.

The swinging door pushed open again. “Paulette—”

“I am not Paulette.”

Tabby’s fingertips dug into the dough. She glanced at Justin standing in the doorway and looked away just as quickly. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. A CNJ-logoed ball cap covered his head, the bill pulled low over his eyes. But the memory of his thick blond hair standing in spikes because of her fingers twisting through it was just as vivid in her mind as the reality of him now. “I told you last night I’d take care of Beastie.”

“That’s about the
only
thing you told me last night,” he countered. He took another step farther into the kitchen, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

She dashed more flour over the sticky dough. She was excruciatingly aware that Bubba was watching the two of them. “It was the only thing that needed to be said.”

He snorted and moved next to the rolling cart where she was working. “What happened was unexpected, but not the end of the world,” he said under his breath. “You’re acting like an outraged virgin or something.”

Her face caught fire. She looked from him to Bubba, who was adding more burgers to the one already sizzling on the grill, and back to Justin again. “This is neither the time nor the place,” she hissed.

“Then when
is
the time and place? You were gone before dawn this morning. You had the diner locked up tight when I came by before I went to work.”

She faltered for half a moment. She hadn’t heard him come by this morning. “You’re the one who wants me to keep the door here locked until opening. Or have you already forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.”

She scooped up the heavy mound of dough, flipped it over and slapped it back down hard against the floury board. A cloud of white exploded over the front of Justin’s clothes. “Give it time,” she advised.

“You used to say exactly what was on your mind,” he said, swiping his hand over his jeans. “What happened?”

You.
She turned away from the dough that she was going to have to throw away because of the punishment she’d been giving it and tossed a clean towel at him. “When you finish slumming it here in Weaver, you’ll go back to Boston and everything’ll return to normal. You won’t give a thought to this place until you come back for the next holiday. Is that clear enough now?”

His expression darkened. “This is my hometown, too, Tab. I’ve never once considered it
slumming
. If that’s the word in your head, maybe that’s how
you
feel!”

Her jaw loosened. “I love Weaver. I’m not the one who is always leaving it!”

“And why is that? Maybe you’re really just afraid to go out and see what else the world has to offer. Instead you stay here, comfortable ruling your Ruby’s roost, dabbling with your painting and playing
spinster
poker!”

The music coming from Bubba’s ancient radio suddenly shot up in volume, startling them both. Tabby gave her cook a look.

Bubba gave her a look back. “Folks around town are already talking about the two of you. You want to give ’em even more fuel?”

Her shoulders drooped. She went over to the sink and washed away the dough clinging to her fingers. She could feel Justin watching from behind her; it was like the point of a firebrand pressing between her shoulder blades.

Then she heard the scrape of his shoe, and a moment later the door was swinging hard after him.

She blinked against the burning behind her eyes, turned off the water and blindly reached for the paper towels.

Bubba handed the roll to her.

She avoided his concerned look and tore off a few sheets to dry her hands.

“Wanna tell ol’ Bubba what that was about?”

She shook her head and went over to the worktable, where she scraped the dough into the trash barrel.

“Ever consider just telling the guy how you feel?”

She frowned, continuing to scrape the wooden board with the edge of her metal spatula. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You got it bad for the boss. Looks like he’s got it bad for you, too.”

Her jaw ached from clenching it. “I can tell you that he definitely does not.”

“Then what happened last night between the two of you? ’Cause something sure as shootin’ did.”

“Nothing happened,” she lied. Because as much as she loved Bubba Bumble, she wasn’t about to tell him what had happened the night before. “Your burgers are starting to burn.”

They weren’t.

But Bubba mercifully turned his attention back to his grill, anyway. “So, about that party of Miz Templeton’s,” he said, sounding faintly diffident—which was so entirely out of character for Bubba that it succeeded in penetrating Tabby’s misery.

“What about it?”

“She invited me. Sent me one of her fancy invitations and everything.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it toward her.

She wasn’t quick enough to catch it. Kneeling down, she picked up the ivory square from the floor and unfolded it. “Fancier than a wedding invitation,” she murmured, waving the engraved card between her fingers.

He made a face, deftly assembling the hamburgers and plating them alongside steaming-hot French fries before setting them on the pass-through. “Order up,” he yelled, then looked back at Tabby. “I didn’t expect her to invite me.”

“Why wouldn’t she? You’ve been cooking for her for a while now. Do you
want
to go?”

He glanced at the orders lined up in front of him and dumped more thin-sliced potatoes into the fryer. “If I don’t, she might not ask me to cook for her anymore when Montrose is off. And the money’s good.”

“I doubt she’d do that.”

He looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Tabby. She’s kind of a crazy old lady.”

“So go, if you’re worried about it. You can rent a tux in Braden, I’m sure. What’s the problem?”

He cracked two eggs with one hand over the grill and pitched the shells in the trash without having to look. “Invitation says me and a guest.”

For the first time all day, Tabby felt faintly amused. “So you get to take a date. That’s hardly a problem, Bubba. People all over this town are curious to see inside that mansion she’s built.”

He let out a disgusted grunt. “I don’t wanna find a date. Some girl who’ll want a
second
date.”

“God forbid,” she murmured drily.

“I was thinking maybe you’d go with me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be expecting anything dumb from me, like flowers ’n’ stuff. And you’d fit in there better than the ladies I know down at Jojo’s.”

Jojo’s was a dive bar on the other end of town. “Thanks, I think.”

“So? Party’s Saturday night.”

Even though she’d just been counting her blessings that she hadn’t received an invitation, she smiled at him. “Sure, Bubba. Why not? I’m curious to see inside her mansion, too.” At least there was no need to worry about any romantic complications. The man was like a rough-edged, well-meaning uncle.

And maybe, just maybe, it would give her an opportunity to think about something
other
than Justin.

When the lunch rush abated, she walked home, leaving Paulette to close up the restaurant. It started snowing before she got there, and by the time she’d changed into warmer clothes and liberated Beastie from the kennel cage Justin had procured, the ground was covered in a solid layer of white. This was a source of curiosity to Beastie, who approached the whole matter with obvious wariness before she found a squatworthy corner of the yard. But once she’d done her business, the mystery of the white stuff became a sudden playground, and it took Tabby quite some time before she was able to corral the mischievous pup and go inside.

She called her mom for wardrobe guidance for the Templeton party while she stood guard over the dog wolfing down puppy kibble and water. “Bubba’s invitation said black tie. That’s fancier than the fund-raiser was, and I had a heck of a time finding a dress for
that
. What’s Mrs. Templeton thinking, anyway? This is Weaver. We don’t do black tie.”

Jolie laughed. “My encounters with Vivian Templeton make me believe that she expects Weaver to adjust to her rather than the other way around. I’m just glad that your father and I had an honest reason to decline the invitation we received, since he needs to be in Cheyenne this weekend. I know she only sent the invitation because I did her gown. From what I’ve heard, it’s mostly family members she’s inviting.”

The Clays and the Templetons. That included Justin.

Tabby pushed aside the troublesome thought. “Bubba figures he needs to go in order to stay in her good graces,” she told her mother. “I wonder if I could just rent a gown somewhere.”

“Tabby! You’re not going to rent a gown.”

“What? Anything else seems silly when I’ll only be wearing it a few hours. Bubba only needs me as his plus one. I’m hardly out to impress anyone.” Especially Justin.
If
he was going to be there. Which he probably wouldn’t be, anyway.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to stanch her mental nonsense.

“And I’ve heard there are places that rent gowns,” she continued. “Same as guys rent tuxedos. You don’t think anything about that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with renting a gown if you need to,” Jolie said. “But I’m a seamstress, for heaven’s sake. With a daughter who has never needed a formal gown. Not even for her high school prom.”

“I didn’t go to prom.” She’d stayed home, hiding her misery beneath an I-don’t-care-about-stupid-dances attitude because Justin had taken Collette.

“My point exactly,” Jolie said. “Come to the house this afternoon. We’ll work up a design before dinner.”

“What about Vivian’s gown?”

“Already finished. See you soon.” Without waiting for Tabby to offer another argument, her mother ended the call.

Tabby hung up her phone and looked down at Beastie. The puppy was lying across the toes of her boots, evidently tuckered after romping in the snow and filling her stomach. “You’re lucky,” Tabby said to the dog. “You never need to worry about this sort of thing.”

The dog’s ears didn’t even twitch. She just continued snoring softly.

“Well, at least you’re not chewing up anything,” Tabby said.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

* * *

Justin stared at the nearly indecipherable note taped to his front door. Obviously Tabby’s handwriting. Aside from the word
Beastie
, there was little that he could make out in the rest of the sentence.

He crumpled the note and went inside. He knew she wasn’t home. He didn’t put it past her not to answer the door if he knocked, but her car was gone.

He stepped around the empty kennel cage and threw himself down on the couch, not bothering to remove his jacket, and closed his eyes. He had less than a month left before he needed to present the finished report to Charles, but he still had twice that many days’ worth of materials to get through.

Didn’t help that every time he tried to concentrate on the work, he kept thinking about Tabby.

At this rate, he should have just stayed in Boston.

He’d have been equally unproductive, but at least he wouldn’t have gotten tangled up with her like he had.

His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket, wearily focusing on the display. It was his mother.

He hesitated for a moment, then swore softly and answered. “Hey, Mom.”

“
What
is going on with you and Tabby?”

He sat up straighter. “What? Nothing.”

“Then why have I been hearing all day about some fight the two of you had at Ruby’s?”

God help him. “It wasn’t a fight.”

“I don’t know what to make of all this, honey. First that business about being engaged to Gillian. Now all this with Tabby.”

“There’s no
all this
!” He pushed to his feet and paced around the kennel cage, because evidently he couldn’t lie to his mother when he was seated.

“She’s like a daughter to me, Justin. I won’t tolerate any dissension between the two of you, any more than I would between you and your brother.”

If only it were that easy. “There’s no dissension.”

“See that there isn’t,” she said crisply. “I don’t want to be countering gossip about you long after you’ve returned to Boston, and you know that’s what I’ll be doing if people around town don’t find something more interesting to speculate about.”

“There’s no dissension,” he repeated.

“Fine.” Her tone warmed a little. “Why don’t you come out for dinner tonight?”

“I can’t.” That, at least, was the truth. “I’ve got too much work to do.” He’d only come home long enough to see to the dog.

Who wasn’t even there.

He heard his mother sigh. “Well, make sure you eat something,” she said. “I know how you can get when you’re involved in a project. And make sure you carve out at least a few hours Saturday evening.”