Best Laid Wedding Plans Read online

  “Eat,” Beck said. “I skipped lunch today. Had a visit from a pretty little gal when I got back to the shop.”

  “Let me guess,” Cole said. “Jenni Beth.”

  “Yep. She came in to order some lumber for her front porch.” He grimaced. “She plans to do the work herself.”

  “She does. I drove over there today while she was measurin’. That’s what I want to talk about.”

  Binnie propped her tray on one hip. “You want me to come back?”

  “No, I’m ready to order.” Cole looked at Beck. “How about you?”

  “I’m havin’ Duffy’s fish and chips. With tartar sauce. Gallons of Meghan’s homemade tartar sauce.”

  “Have any shrimp and grits tonight?” Cole asked.

  “Sure do. And there should be a pan of homemade rolls comin’ out of the oven any minute now.”

  “Then I’m good,” Cole said.

  Binnie headed to the kitchen to place their orders, and Cole leaned in toward Beck. “Did Jenni Beth tell you what she’s plannin’?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  Cole stared down at his coaster, his thoughts drifting back to last week at Chateau Rouge, when she’d danced with him in the moonlight. That soft skin, those sexy, bedroom eyes. She felt so good, so right in his arms. Heat rushed through him. He’d hoped…

  Beck cleared his throat.

  “Sorry.” Cole shook his head to clear it. “Woolgathering.”

  “She wants to make a few repairs to the house.”

  “More than a few. You been in that house lately?”

  “No.”

  “She walked me through it today.” He whistled. “That place is rough! Far worse than I thought.” He took a drink of his beer, enjoyed the bite of the ice-cold brew. “Did she tell you she quit her job in Savannah?”

  “Yeah.” Beck leaned against the booth’s scarred back. “I wish she’d taken a leave instead.”

  Cole shook his head. “That’s Jenni Beth. Never does anything halfway.”

  “Thought she liked it in Savannah.”

  “She did, but her family comes first, and they’re in rougher shape than I thought, too.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  If anyone understood that kind of loyalty, it was Beck. Hadn’t he basically done the same? Given up his dreams for the family business?

  Cole hesitated. Should he tell Beck about Richard’s call and what he’d overheard? Beck would be in town 24–7. He wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

  Despite Jenni Beth’s arguments, she needed somebody to watch her back. He’d known Richard all his life and found it hard to believe he’d actually do anything to derail her plans. Still…money and greed did strange things to people.

  Cole wasn’t willing to risk Jenni Beth’s safety—or her happiness.

  Twirling his beer on the coaster, he jumped in. “I need to swear you to secrecy, pal.”

  Beck set down his beer, sat up a little straighter.

  Binnie showed up right at that moment with their food. “Anything else I can get for you, boys?”

  “Not a thing,” Cole said. “Looks great.”

  “I’m good,” Beck agreed.

  The minute Binnie was out of earshot, Beck looked at Cole. “My lips are sealed. What’s goin’ on?”

  Cole dropped his voice, the morning’s anger rushing back. In quick bursts, he filled Beck in on the details of Jenni Beth’s plans. “She knows what she’s doing. Her plans are sound. But—”

  He went on to tell him about Richard’s demand for collateral and the phone conversation he’d overheard.

  “You think Thorndike would actually try something?” Beck asked.

  “That land’s worth at least half a million dollars.”

  Beck dropped back against the booth. “We might have ourselves a problem.” He slathered tartar sauce on a bite of fish. “I’ve gotta ask something first, Cole, and I guess, if you want, you can tell me to mind my own business. You and Jenni Beth.” He forked another bite of his fish, chewed. “There something goin’ on between the two of you?”

  Cole’s jaw tightened. “Why would you ask that?”

  “It’s just, well, there’s always tension when you two are together. I need to know what I’m steppin’ into.”

  Cole picked up his beer, set it back down without taking a drink. How in the hell did he answer that? Did he say he wished, but the lady’d shot him down? Close but no cigar?

  “Nothing’s goin’ on, Beck. A friend’s in trouble. We need to help her. End of story.”

  “You say so.” But the look he sent Cole was skeptical.

  Feeling like a heel, hating all the half-truths he’d been handing out, Cole tapped his beer against his friend’s. “To us. We’ve both got our own businesses, our own homes. We haven’t done badly, pal.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Beck raised his drink. Then, head bent, staring at his plate, he asked, “Do you ever miss havin’ somebody beside you when you go to bed at night?”

  Where’d that come from? He frowned. “As in someone permanent? The same body beside me every night?”

  Beck nodded.

  “Somebody like Tansy?”

  “That’s never gonna happen.” Beck shrugged. “In general, you know?”

  “Gotcha.” He pulled on his ear. “My parents have had a good marriage, set a good example. But I’m happy with life as it is. You?”

  “I’m good with things.”

  Cole had an uneasy moment, suspecting they might both be lying to themselves and each other. Nah. He shoved the thought aside. He did like his life. He was satisfied.

  Dropping his fork onto his plate, Beck flagged down their waitress. “Binnie, how about another round here. Cole and I are gonna play some darts. He might get thirsty, and I don’t want him to have any excuses when I win.”

  Cole laughed. “Oh really? Last time, I beat the pants off you.”

  His friend waggled his brows. “Ah, but while you’ve been off tending to business in the real world, I’ve been practicin’.”

  “Beck Elliot, no amount of practice is gonna save you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  They made small talk while Binnie cleared their plates. After they settled their bill, they moved into the back room.

  Two games later, Cole had to concede that his friend had indeed been practicing. And he was rusty. Very rusty. He’d won the first, but barely. Beck had taken the second.

  “Uh-oh,” Beck muttered. “Couple things we didn’t get a chance to talk about during dinner, bro.”

  “Save your breath. It won’t work.”

  “What won’t?”

  “This game’s the tiebreaker. You’re tryin’ to distract me. You can’t.” He stopped, arm cocked, ready to release.

  A high-pitched giggle drifted from the front room. He hung his head. “Kimmie Atherton’s back?”

  Beck nodded. “And newly divorced. Second time, too. She’s on the hunt, friend, and you and she have a history.”

  “History is right. All in the past.”

  “Cole!” Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the excited shriek sent shudders rippling through him.

  He winced and braced himself just in time. She took one leap and plastered herself to him like Saran Wrap on a bowl of his mama’s leftovers. Her legs embraced his hips, and she planted a kiss on him that, in days past, would have had him making up any excuse to get the two of them outside and horizontal on the backseat of his car.

  But that was then.

  Tonight he wanted nothing to do with her.

  He caught the grin on Beck’s face and heard the hoots of laughter from several others in the bar.

  Throwing his arms wide, Cole looked to Beck for help. He half-hoped that without his arms holding her up, Kimmie would fall free. She didn’t. Li
ke a suction cup, she held fast, a stranglehold around his neck.

  Setting his beer on a nearby table, Cole reached for her arms. “Kimmie, how ’bout you let go of me for a second here? Step back so I can get a good look at you.”

  He seared Beck with an I-dare-you-to-laugh-again look.

  Kimmie giggled and loosened her hold, dropping her feet to the floor. With a flourish, she extended her arms out to her sides and sent him a blindingly white grin.

  Red cowboy boots added a bit of panache to faded denim shorts cut so high they barely covered her butt cheeks and a rhinestone-covered T-shirt slit nearly to her navel. Her heavy perfume clung to him.

  “Like what you see, Cole? You sure used to.” Seductively, she moved in toward him. He took a step back, then a second and a third.

  “You’ve grown up real nice, honey, but I was just leavin’. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He aimed the dart in his hand, arched it toward the board, and pumped his fist when it stuck dead-center in the bull’s-eye.

  “But, Cole—” Kimmie whined.

  “Nope.” He checked his watch. “I can’t stay. Beck might have time to play a game or two with you.”

  The expression on Beck’s face changed from cat-ate-the-canary to man-smelled-skunk. He shook his head.

  “Uh-uh. No can do. My crew starts at daybreak tomorrow. Time for me to head home, too.”

  Together they beat tracks to the back door.

  Behind them, Cole heard Kimmie’s booted foot thump the floor at the same time an angry oath exploded from her mouth.

  “Her mother would wash her mouth out with soap if she heard that,” Cole muttered.

  Beck shook his head. “Between you and me, I think her mama’s given up on her.”

  Once in the parking lot, he and Beck caught each other’s eyes and laughed like loons.

  “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?” Cole asked.

  “I meant to, but with Jenni Beth’s problems and all, guess I forgot. Anyway, I sure didn’t think Kimmie would come bouncin’ in to Duffy’s tonight.”

  Cole shook his head. “What did I ever see in her?”

  “You honestly can’t remember?” Beck raised cupped hands to his chest.

  Chuckling, Cole said, “Yeah, okay, there was that. Good thing I outgrew them, huh?”

  “As if.” Beck swatted him with his baseball cap, and the two walked to their respective trucks.

  “You’ll keep an eye on Jenni Beth when I’m in Savannah?” Cole called across the lot.

  “Absolutely,” his friend answered.

  Cole headed home, the darkness thick after spending so much time in the city. But the stars overhead were magnificent. What had he been thinking? Seriously, Kimmie Atherton? Overt sex. She flaunted it, pushed it right out there in a guy’s face. And that’s probably one of the reasons Jenni Beth hadn’t forgiven him.

  He probably could have been a little less conspicuous in his prom choice.

  Add in Angus Duckworth, and he was surprised she hadn’t hired a hit man to take him out.

  He couldn’t help the belly laugh that forced its way out. He felt better than he had all day.

  Chapter 10

  Cole tucked an arm beneath his head. Too early to be awake. The sun had barely peeked above the trees on the far side of the pastureland. He’d left the windows open last night, and a cool morning breeze stirred the air. Tugging the covers higher to ward off the slight chill, he imagined Jenni Beth curled up beside him. The two of them could heat up a room till a man thought he’d die from the fire they created. But he’d sure as heck die with a grin on his face.

  This morning, though, Jenni Beth wasn’t here.

  He loved this old barn and didn’t regret for an instant the hours and hours he’d spent turning it into his Misty Bottoms home.

  His folks were the best, and he loved them, tried to spend time with them at least once a week. But no getting around it. They all needed their own space. The instant he stepped foot inside his mom’s house, he lost his adult status and became her little boy. Sometimes, he was okay with that, enjoyed the pampering, the favorite foods. Other times, he found it annoying. He wasn’t used to having to account for his time, for his whereabouts. He’d been on his own too long to check in on the hour.

  With this setup, he had the best of both worlds. Since the barn was on their property, he could be close without being underfoot. A two-minute walk landed him in his mom’s kitchen for a hug, a cup of coffee, and, when he was really lucky, a homemade meal. But that same two-minute walk took him right back to his own place where he could sprawl on the sofa in his boxers with a football game or the music cranked up, and nobody nagged him to turn down the volume or pick up the socks he’d dropped in the middle of the floor.

  This morning, though, he had more on his mind. Jenni Beth. Richard Thorndike. Both caused a tight little stress knot in his stomach, though not for the same reason.

  A glance at the clock told him it was only a few minutes past six. His folks would probably be up but not ready for breakfast yet. Throwing back the covers, he reached for a pair of the freshly laundered jeans his mom had left neatly folded on his dresser.

  Time to take a ride down by the river. He brushed his teeth, ran a quick comb through his bed hair, and decided he’d shave later. Stuffing his feet into a pair of scuffed work boots, he buttoned up an old denim shirt and headed for the door.

  On the way to his truck, he decided on a short detour.

  A quick rap on the old wooden screen door and he walked into the kitchen of his childhood. His mom, her short hair still a golden auburn, stood at the sink. She turned, a fast smile on her face, and he wrapped her in a hug.

  “The waffles aren’t started yet.”

  “I know, but—” He sniffed the air. “The coffee is.”

  He released her and moved to a cupboard. Pulling out a mug, he asked, “You need one?”

  “Already have mine.” She held up her cup. “In fact, I’m on my second. Doc Hawkins keeps nagging me. He tells me I should probably think of changing to decaf, but I’m fighting it.”

  Coffee poured, he sipped gratefully.

  “You’re up early,” his mother said.

  “I know. Bad habit.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. It gives you a jump start on the day.”

  “Speaking of,” he said. “I’ve got something I need to take care of. I’ll be back inside an hour, though, for those waffles.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure you will. You bringing any friends with you?”

  “Nope. Just me. But I’m hungry as a bear, so make plenty. Is Laurie here?”

  “No, your sister and Nick are in Charleston.”

  “You let her go out of town with him?”

  “Honey, they’re engaged.”

  “Still—”

  “Still nothing.” She arched her brow at him. “You’d do best to stay out of it. Your sister’s a grown woman.”

  “Is this the same Emma Bryson who raised me?”

  “Times change.”

  “Yeah, they sure do.” After another quick, one-arm hug, he saluted her with his mug. “You brew the best coffee. Ever. Anywhere.”

  “Better than those fancy Savannah restaurants?”

  He grinned. “Much better.”

  Roscoe, the family’s old beagle, waited for him on the porch. Kneeling, he rubbed the dog’s back. “Wanna go for a ride?”

  If the dog’s tail whipped any faster, he’d have been airborne.

  “Roscoe’s ridin’ shotgun with me, Mom,” he called through the screen.

  “Okay. Don’t let him run the rabbits, though. He’ll come home a mess, and I don’t have time today to give him a bath. He had one yesterday—after a chase that took him through the creek down back.”

  Cole stared at the dog. “You’ve been warned, Ro
scoe.”

  The dog grinned and followed him to the truck.

  The beagle’s head hung out the window, ears flopping, as the two set off toward the Savannah River and Jenni Beth’s bottomland.

  He should stay out of this. He really should.

  Every time they ran into each other, he felt, well, disconcerted. She threw him off stride, did something to him. Something way too dangerous.

  One single time, he’d given in to that feeling. Once. A huge mistake, and one he absolutely couldn’t make again.

  As he and Roscoe bumped along the dirt track, he thought of her yesterday in that hot, red suit, the fabric showcasing that tight little body. Pushed aside the urge he’d had to haul her to his place and remove that suit, the fancy silk blouse, and find out what she wore beneath.

  And if that hadn’t been enough, he’d driven over to her house and found her there on the porch, wiggling her hips in those skimpy shorts and that body-hugging tank top. When she’d toyed with the shorts’ frazzled ends, he found himself holding his breath. If any more of the fabric unraveled, well, he’d have been undone.

  He swiped a hand over his forehead. The temperature inside his Ford pickup had spiked a good ten degrees. He cranked up the air.

  Rounding another corner, he hit the brakes and whistled. Did she realize what she had here? What she’d offered to Richard as collateral?

  He opened the truck door and called for Roscoe to join him. The dog jumped out, nose working the air.

  “No hunting, boy. This is a reconnaissance trip. You get filthy, Mom will have both our heads.” He slapped a hand on his jean-clad thigh. “Stay right here with me.”

  The dog blinked once, then rubbed his head against Cole’s leg.

  “Good boy.”

  The sun had yet to burn through the fog, and it shimmered around him, dampened his face and hair. Misty Bottoms. The town’s name couldn’t be more apropos. Cole took a minute and simply breathed in the feel of the place. No sound. No movement. He and Roscoe could have been the only living creatures on the planet.

  “Let’s go.” They set off through the high grass. The Savannah drifted by, slow and calm this far down the river. In the 1700s, they’d have grown rice on this land. His brow furrowed. What plans did Richard have for it?