A moment later Angie heard a click as Glory picked up an extension. “Hello?”
“Hey, there. It’s me. How ’bout lunch? Eleven-thirty, at the diner?”
“You can’t possibly know how much I would love that. I’ll be there. You’re buying.”
“Whatever it takes.”
Someone snorted. “Angie, you talk to her.” Great-Grandpa Tony was back on the line. “Make her see the light.”
Glory made a low, growling sound. “And they all wonder why I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Dixie’s Diner had stood on Main Street across from the grocery store for as long as Angie could remember. According to town legend, there had once been a Dixie, back before World War II. But she was long gone.
Angie arrived right on time for her lunch with Glory. Even at eleven-thirty, the long counter with its chrome-and-red-vinyl stools was full. As were half the center tables and all of the booths. Luckily, Glory had gotten there early. She waved from the back booth and Angie hurried to join her.
Currently, the diner was owned and run by Charlene Cooper, who’d been a year behind Angie in school and who’d inherited the place when her mom and dad died. Charlene had been barely eighteen when the tragedy occurred. The Coopers had gone off the road and into the river far below.
Angie was just sliding into the booth opposite Glory when Charlene came over, her blond hair anchored at the back of her head in a sort of half ponytail that bounced as she walked. Her wide mouth was stretched in a welcoming smile. She handed them each a menu, congratulated Angie on her marriage to Brett and asked, “Iced tea?”
“Sounds good,” said Angie.
Glory was nodding. “Make that two.” Then she scowled. “Wait. Scratch that. Just one.” She held up the water glass Charlene had already set in front of her. “I’ll have plain water. Nursing. It’s not for sissies.”
Charlene laughed and trotted off.
Angie unrolled the paper napkin from around her flatware. “Where’s Johnny?”
“At home. Mamma’s watching him—and did you hear?” Glory glanced around to make sure no one was listening. She leaned close and whispered, “Sissy came back.” Sissy Cooper was Charlene’s baby sister. She’d been sent off to live with relatives when their parents went over the cliff. “Gone Goth. Safety pins in her nose, black lipstick, spiky purple hair. And this is the good part…” Glory paused for effect before delivering the bombshell in a whisper low enough that Angie barely heard it. “Brand gave her a job.”
Charlene and Brand Bravo had been high school sweethearts. But they’d had a falling out of some sort. A serious one. The rift had never been mended. Nowadays, they’d walk across the street to avoid running into each other—which made Brand’s hiring Sissy pretty surprising.
Glory went on, “Sissy is now Brand’s receptionist and clerk. Can’t you just see her, safety pins sticking out everywhere, filing a brief, or whatever it is they do in a lawyer’s office? She started this morning.”
Angie made a big show of looking at her watch. “And now it’s almost noon, so everyone in town has heard all about it.”
Glory giggled. “Got that right. And I have to tell you, it’s a relief every once in a while to have folks talking about somebody other than me.”
Charlene reappeared with Angie’s iced tea. “The usual for both of you?”
“Thanks,” said Angie.
“Yeah,” said Glory. Charlene waltzed off. Glory grinned. “And Sissy’s return isn’t all folks are talkin’ about. There’s also you.” She raised her water glass in a toast.
Angie sipped her tea and asked, all innocence, “What do you mean, me?”
“Well, you and the wonderful, one-and-only Dr. Brett. It’s a big deal around town—and I mean in a good way. You know. Romantic, all that. You two running off to Reno…” Glory lowered her voice again. “And everyone knows you’ve been in that house by the river all weekend—with the blinds closed.”
Angie thought of those few crucial moments before they’d shut the blinds and hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. She said, deadpan, “We had a tough week, workwise. We were very, very tired.”
“Sleeping. Ha. Right.” Glory reached across and brushed her shoulder with a fond hand. “You look…terrific, you know that?”
“Er, I do?”
“Oh, yeah. All soft and glowing.”
Angie couldn’t hide her smile anymore. She felt it bloom wide. “Well. I guess that’s because I’m happy.” She picked up her tea again.
Glory said, “I always wondered when you and Brett would finally get together.”
Angie set down her glass without drinking from it. “So did everyone else in town, apparently—except Brett and me, I mean.”
“Well, at least you figured it out at last. You’ve been in love with that guy since forever. And don’t give me that huffy look. Brett’s always been the only one for you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Angie leaned really close to her sister and whispered, “Then what about Jody?”
Glory snapped her fingers. “Nothin’, that’s what. A way to work through your frustrations at waiting so long to come on home and get what you really want.”
Why argue? Angie thought. No, she wasn’t in love with Brett. She never had been. But things really had worked out just great and that was what mattered.
“And you know what?” Glory fluttered her eyelashes as she paused for effect. “I do believe that’s a hickey on the side of your neck.”
Angie resisted the urge to put her hand over the spot. She’d covered it with makeup—she thought.
Glory laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not that notice-able—unless someone’s lookin’ for it.”
Angie tried a stern expression. “And now, little sister. We need to talk about you.”
“Admit it. You’re nuts for the guy.”
Angie knew she was busted. “Okay. The truth is, it’s incredible….”
“It?”
Angie mouthed the letters S-E-X. “This morning, at the clinic, I had to constantly remind myself to keep my mind on my job and not on my husband’s totally hot body.”
“This is a problem?”
“Well, he is a doctor. And I’m a nurse. People count on us to be paying attention when we’re giving them injections and performing minor surgeries. The last thing we need is to be distracting each other on the job.”
Glory wasn’t especially sympathetic. “Buck up. You’ll get used to all this happiness, just wait and see.”
Their sandwiches came, a matched pair of BLTs on whole wheat, each with a beautiful mound of French fries on the side. As they shoveled the food in, Glory finally opened up and vented a little.
The family was driving her crazy. She had to get out—and she was taking Johnny and moving back to Chastity’s that afternoon. “Mom’s freaking out about it. She wants me and Johnny to stay at home—unless I agree to marry Bowie. Then it would be fine with her if I left, as long as I was moving in with him.”
“But you’re not.”
“Nope. That’s just asking for trouble, to get myself hooked up to a guy as messed up as Bowie.”
“But you still love him.”
“Hey, what can I tell you? It’s like a chronic disease, my love for that guy. Somehow, I’ve got to learn to live with my affliction.”
“Can I help, today, with your move to the Sierra Star?”
“Nope. Got it handled. Chastity’s got that old pickup and Brand said he’d pitch in. Alyosha’s bringing his pickup, too.” Alyosha Panopopoulis was Chastity’s boyfriend. They’d been going out since before Christmas. From what Angie had heard, Alyosha was the second man, ever, in Chastity’s life—the first, of course, being her rarely there, now-dead, psycho-dog husband Blake. “I’ve got everything packed,” Glory assured her. “And I’m only moving down the street, anyway.”
“What else can I do to help? Anything. Just name it.”
Glor
y pointed at her plate. “This. Buy me lunch now and then. Listen to me rant.”
“Okay, then. Once a week. Monday at eleven-thirty, right here in this booth. Shake on it.” She held out her hand.
Glory took it and they shook to seal the deal.
Angie’s first week as Mrs. Brett Bravo flew by in a haze of hard work—and great sex. She did manage to get down to Grass Valley on Wednesday to see her gynecologist and get a new diaphragm, but other than that, she and Brett were together constantly.
Oh, she could not get enough of that man.
Brett seemed to feel the same way about her. They’d lock the clinic doors at five and race home, where they’d run around the great room yanking all the blinds down and then fall on each other like a couple of sex-starved teenagers.
By Friday night, as they lay in bed, cuddled up close, appeased for the moment, they agreed that they really needed to get out of the house, to do something in their spare time that included clothing and contact with the outside world.
“Oh, I suppose we should,” murmured Angie, and snuggled in with a sigh, thinking that it didn’t get any better than this: Brett’s big arms around her, her head pillowed on his hard chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He stroked her hair, idly ran his hand down her back, setting off a chain of lovely warm shivers in the wake of that gentle touch. “Tomorrow’s the spring dance…” In the Flat, there were usually four community-run dances a year, one for each season, held upstairs in the town hall next door to the firehouse. His voice rumbled beneath her ear as he added, “We could grab a couple of steaks at the Nugget first. What do you say?”
“Fine with me,” she whispered, sliding her hand down under the blankets and wrapping her fingers around him, so warm and innocent and soft—at first. She squeezed, gently. His response was immediate: a delicious thickening as he hardened….
He made a low sound—part growl, part groan. “You’re going to kill me, you know that.”
“Oh, but what a sweet way to go…”
Brett anticipated an intimate dinner at the Nugget with his wife. But when they got there the next evening, Brett’s mother and her boyfriend, Alyosha, were sitting in “their” booth.
“Hey.” Nadine shrugged. “If I’d a known you two were coming, I’d a stuck a reserved sign on it. How’s married life treating you?”
“Wonderful.” Angie replied.
Brett liked the warm, excited way she said that. He glanced over to meet her eyes. Heat arced between them. He watched her swallow.
He knew what she was thinking. He was thinking it, too. It was good to be out together, but nowhere near as good as being home, where they could do whatever came naturally—and then do it again.
And Nadine was still prattling away. “Well, nothin’ like mad love, I always say.” Irritation flashed through him. Mad love. Hardly. Not him and Angie. They were smarter than that. “You mind a table instead of a booth this time?”
Brett didn’t mind in the least. He didn’t care where they sat—or what they ate. It was ironic, really. He’d been the one who suggested they ought to go out—and already he wanted to grab his bride, throw her over his shoulder and head for home, where he would waste no time getting her out of the sexy short skirt she was wearing and back into bed. He put a hand at the small of her back—so she would look at him again and also for the simple, stunning pleasure that touching her always brought.
“You mind?” he asked. She shook her head. He told Nadine, “A table’s fine.”
But by then Alyosha was sliding out of his side of the booth and in next to Chastity. “Come on, you two.” He waved them on. “You join us. We have plenty of room.”
So they sat with his mother and her date. Brett would have preferred it to be just the two of them—but at least, this way, he and Angie ended up side-by-side. Now and then, just in passing, they would touch. She would brush her arm against his, or her thigh would press his as she shifted those long legs of hers.
His nerves hummed with the constant awareness of her—the scent of her, the way the light made her brown hair shine, those gorgeous dimples that curved along her soft cheeks each time she smiled. He wanted to stick out his tongue and lick them, lick her. Every inch of her.
But they were out in public, so he had to behave himself. And in spite of the torment of having to wait till they got home to make love with her, it was good, he thought. Real good. Sitting in that booth with his wife at his side; seeing Ma so happy, at last, with a man.
Alyosha was a widower, retired. He worked as a handyman to supplement his reduced income. He had a kind heart and a level head and he laughed often and easily. Brett was glad that at last Ma had found a guy like this, after all that his bad dad had put her through.
After the meal, they walked across the street to the dance together, the four of them. By then, it was full dark, a cool spring night with the stars thick overhead. Golden light poured out the open double doors of the town hall, along with the music from a local five-piece band.
Sidney Potter was selling tickets, her broken leg stuck out to the side and her crutches propped within reach against the nearby wall. She took their money and congratulated Brett and Angie on their newlywed status.
“How’s that leg feeling?” he asked as she passed him two tickets.
Sidney winked at him. “Until I try to stand up, I hardly know it’s broken.”
They went on upstairs, gave their tickets at the door and entered the rustic ballroom, which was paneled—walls, ceiling and floor—like the Nugget, in knotty-pine. Built-in pine benches lined three of the walls. Open double doors on the street side let in the cool night air and led to a wide balcony that overlooked Main. At the far end of the room, opposite the entry doors, the Salty Dog Band blared out “Tequila Sunrise” up on the simple platform stage.
The band wasn’t that great, but at least it was a ballad. That meant he had an excuse to take Angie in his arms. He pulled her to him and they two-stepped out onto the floor. A good dancer, she followed him effortlessly.
Years ago, when they were in high school, he used to dance with her all the time. After all, they were pals and he knew she liked to dance. If he noticed her sitting on the sidelines, he would always step up and offer to be her partner so she could get out on the floor. Then, when the song was over, he would let her go with a smile and an easy, “See you later, Angie.”
Back then, he realized now, he’d been a damn fool who’d had no idea what he was missing.
She let out a low, throaty laugh, the sound cascading through him, arousing him the way everything else about her aroused him. She teased, “Bet I know what you’re thinkin’.”
“Hit me with it.”
“The old days. You and me, dancing, right here in the old knotty-pine ballroom, same as now—and yet so completely different.”
That was another incredible thing about her: the way she could read him, the way she so instinctively got what was going on inside him. “Okay, admit it. You’ve got psychic powers.”
She dimpled at him. “Well, the truth is, I just happened to be thinking the same thing.”
He wanted to kiss her, right there on the dance floor. But if he kissed her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. So he settled for pulling her just a fraction closer. He felt her warm breath against his neck. And her light, cool, tempting touch: one hand in his, the other on his shoulder. And he was holding her, guiding her, with his palm at her lower back.
Dancing wasn’t so bad. Not as good as making love with her—but then, nothing was as good as that.
He kept her in his arms for the next three dances. And then Anthony cut in, so he had to let her go. After that there were three fast ones. Each dance, Brett would start toward her, but some other guy would get to her first. It was kind of funny, really, how he’d miss out every time. Not that it was any big deal. During the fast dances, the partners hardly touched, anyway. The guys who got to her first didn’t even have their arms around her.
When the next slow one came, Brett was too late again. Brand stepped up to Angie before he could reach her. So he danced with Dani, all the while acutely conscious that Angie was dancing with someone else—even though that someone else was his own brother.
Dani gazed up at him, dewy-eyed and sighing. “It’s so beautiful. I mean, after all this time, I was beginning to wonder if you and Angie would ever get together. But look at you. Married at last and totally in love…”
He almost blurted out in a growl, You don’t get it. It’s not like that.
Somehow he bit off the sharp words before they escaped him. And he wondered at his own over-the-top reaction. Why should an innocent remark from Dani bother him so much?
He did love Angie.
Just not in the way everyone seemed to think.
He loved Angie, but he wasn’t in love with Angie. And she wasn’t in love with him. That was the beauty of what they had. They were best friends and they were partners—at work and at home. And there was the sex thing, which continued to flat-out astonish him, it was so good.
But they weren’t in love.
And did Dani need to know all that?
Hardly.
He composed his expression into an easy smile. “Yeah. She’s really something. I’m a lucky man.”
After Brett danced with Dani, a ghoulish little thing in a short black skirt with spiked maroon hair, safety pins all over her face, combat boots and one of those lace-up leather bustier things strutted up to him. “Hey, Brett Bravo. I know you.”
He peered at her more closely. “Sissy? Sissy Cooper?” Last time he’d seen Sissy, she’d been eight or nine, a sweet, skinny little thing with big blue eyes. He only recognized her now because he’d heard she was in town again—and that she liked to wear safety pins for jewelry.
“You got it.” She grinned, black-painted lips tipping up at the corners, the safety pin stuck in her left eyebrow glittering. “I’m back in town and workin’ for your brother.”
“So I heard.”
“How ’bout a dance?”
Married in Haste Page 8