Bravo Unwrapped

by Christine Rimmer

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “What?”

  “At this point in your life, when L. T. Carlyle says jump, you can simply say no.”

  “Yeah. And then pay the price.”

  “There’s a price, either way.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “No. But it does happen to be the truth.”

  Sixteen

  The minute she got to the phone, L.T. started in on her. “B.J. About damn time. That woman, Buck’s mother, said you and Buck had flown off to Vegas. What for?”

  “Buck has two half-brothers there. We went to visit them.”

  L.T. grunted, a disbelieving sound. “He needed to get with his brothers, for the story?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I suppose so.”

  “You suppose so?”

  “It’s Buck’s story, L.T. I don’t intend to edit it until after he turns it in.”

  There were blustery noises and then, “Fine, fine. But I’ve been thinking. You’ve been there a week now. We could use you back here. I want you to talk to Buck, tell him that the deal he made with you, the one about you staying there, or he won’t write the story? Tell him that’s unreasonable. Tell him I said I need you in New York.”

  “You need me….”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “For?”

  “Well. I don’t need you, exactly. But you’ve got your job to do and you should get back to it.”

  “Is there a problem at Alpha? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “What the hell does it matter if there’s a problem? What matters is that you’ve got a job and you should be doing it. It’s called a damn work ethic, and I brought you up to have one.”

  “So Giles does have a handle on everything? No snags? No major crises?”

  L.T. made a low, snorting sound. “Look, B.J. Just tell Buck you’ve got to return right away.”

  “No.”

  There was a pause. Not a pleasant one. Then L.T. said, “What?”

  “I said, no. I’m not telling Buck I have to return, because I don’t have to return. And even more important, I don’t want to return. I’m having a great time.” Oh, it felt just terrific to say that. So she said it again. “A great time. I’ll be back in a week, as we agreed.”

  “What the hell’s this?” L.T. snorted some more, an old bull pawing the ground, getting ready to charge. “You sound like you’re on a goddamn vacation all of a sudden.”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I am. On vacation.”

  “What are you talking about? Nobody gave you a vacation.”

  “That’s right. Nobody did. I haven’t had a vacation in years. So I’m taking one now. I’m on vacation. And I’m staying on vacation until a week from today.”

  “Wait. Hold on. What about the story?”

  “Buck’s said he would write it. He will. He has a contract, for crying out loud. Don’t worry about it. It’s a done deal.”

  There was a silence on the line. An ominous one. And the strange thing was, it didn’t spook B.J. in the least. She waited. For once in her life, she decided, L.T. was just going to have to be the one to break the silence.

  At last, he muttered, “You’re giving me serious heartburn here, you know that? My chest is on fire.”

  “Take a Rolaids.”

  “I don’t need people on my payroll who crap out on the job.”

  She had a scary, sinking feeling. But she didn’t let him know it. “Are you firing me?”

  Another threatening silence—and then, “I’m tempted, believe me.”

  “But you’re not firing me.”

  He wouldn’t say he wasn’t. Not in so many words. Instead, he settled on a cryptic ultimatum. “One week. Not a day more. Or else.”

  The line went dead.

  B.J. hung up softy, ignoring the urge to slam the phone hard into the cradle. For a moment or two, she just stood there, her fingers white-knuckled on the handset. Then, carefully, she let go. Shaking her head, she went to the bed and sank down on the edge of it.

  She was still sitting in the same spot a few minutes later when Buck tapped on the French doors. She signaled him in with a tight toss of her head.

  She watched him come toward her. He stopped a foot from her knees. “Well?”

  She tipped her head back and looked at him. “I think I hate my own father.”

  “Bad?”

  “Awful.”

  He sat down beside her, wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. “Tell me…”

  She rested her head on of his shoulder. “Oh, he’s suddenly decided I’ve been here too long. Since he had no real reason why I have to race back to New York right this minute, he tried to bully me into it.”

  “He failed, right?”

  “Yeah. Then he threatened to fire me.”

  “But he didn’t fire you.”

  “Not quite.”

  He stroked her shoulder. “You want to go?”

  “Where?”

  “Back to New York.”

  “Hell, no. Not till next Friday. It’s one more measly week. He can get along without me until then. He can get along without me, period. Or so he’s always telling me. So fine. It’s a week. He can wait till then.”

  He squeezed her arm. “You’re shaking.”

  “I am not—and if I am, do me a favor and pretend that I’m not.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He guided her down to the bed and canted up on an elbow beside her. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

  “Have someone go and kill my father?”

  He ran a brushing finger along the curve of her jaw. In spite of her fury and frustration at L.T., Buck’s touch left an echo of pleasure in its wake. He teased, “You’re feeling bloodthirsty today…”

  “How can you be so…disgustingly lighthearted about this?”

  “Your father is who he is. He’s not going to change.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “He never liked you, when you and I were together. But I suppose you’ve forgotten what a jerk he was to you, now you’re a world-famous author and whenever he sees you, he kisses your ass.”

  Buck almost smiled—she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Remember that dinner, at the Castle, after we’d been together, oh, maybe two months? Remember how he put you down through the soup and halfway into the rack of lamb?”

  “I remember.”

  “He used to do that to every guy I ever went out with. He’d want to know who I was dating and then he’d insist I bring them over for dinner. And then he’d humiliate them. You were the last one I ever let him do that to.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  “Before you, when he did that, I’m ashamed to say, I’d think less of whatever poor guy he’d eviscerated. I’d see them as less of a man, somehow. And within a week or two, I’d stop going out with them. But you…”

  “As I recall, he wasn’t content to simply stab a guy to the heart. He had to turn the knife, as well.”

  “Yeah. He really got on you. He said you had no connections and no background. That you didn’t even have any training to speak of in your chosen profession, so your dream of being a writer was bound to remain just that—a dream. He said you had no education. And he’d seen no sign that you had any talent.”

  “Plus, he reminded me, I could barely pay my rent at my fleabag apartment.” Buck chuckled low and tenderly stroked her hair back from her forehead. “As I recall, he added that a man without talent or background should always have money, at the very least.”

  “My father is, was and always has been a true SOB.”

  “But as I remember, you did defend me.”

  “Fat lot of good it did.”

  “You told him to shut the, er, heck up.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Then you jumped up and told me how sorry you were that you had brought me there. You threw your napkin on the table. It was very dramatic. You said, ‘Buck. C
ome on. We’re out of here.’”

  “But you wouldn’t go.”

  “I knew if I let him run me off then, he’d never forget it. And neither would you.”

  “Oh, Buck. That’s not so….”

  He brushed a light kiss across her mouth. “Yeah. It is.”

  She admitted, “Well. It did impress me. That you held your own with him. You told me to sit back down and finish my dinner and then you turned to L.T. and told him he was right on all counts—and would he please pass the bread basket. I couldn’t believe it when you did that, so cool and calm and above it all. You actually shut L.T. up. Knocked the wind right out of him.”

  “For about three seconds.”

  “Three seconds is impressive when it comes to my father. One way or another, whether he’s holding court or employing his infamous silent treatment, L.T. Carlyle dominates the conversation.”

  Buck bent close again. “You’ve stopped shaking.”

  “Um. Yes. It seems that I have.”

  His lips touched hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the moment, which progressed the way such moments often did between the two of them.

  One kiss led to another, the top button to the next button down….

  And so on.

  Until she was naked beneath him, sighing his name, crying out for him never, ever to stop.

  He didn’t. Not for a very long time.

  Much later, they got under the covers for a totally decadent afternoon nap.

  “I should take a vacation more often,” she whispered, on the verge of dropping off to sleep. “I don’t think it gets any better than this.”

  “It does,” he vowed. “Tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  “What happens tonight?”

  “The Annual New Bethlehem Flat Methodist Ladies Auxiliary Potluck, that’s what.”

  When they got to the hall that night, Buck led her through the serving line, leaning close to advise her as they approached each new dish.

  “Betty Haven’s artichoke and chicken casserole. Oh, yeah.” He dished a spoonful onto his plate and she did the same. “Cherie Salinger’s cheese pineapple surprise salad. Uh. Maybe not… And will you look at that? Tuna cashew casserole. That’s Tina Wurtzburger’s and it’s the best.”

  She craned toward him to whisper in his ear, “I don’t see any names on these, Buck. How do you know who made them?”

  “Before I left town, I never missed a potluck.” He caught her wrist as she started to dish herself up some kind of Jell-O concoction. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you. That’s Magda Lily’s mystery Jell-O mold. You never know the kinds of weird things she might put in there. I know, it’s hard to believe anyone could mess up Jell-O. But Mrs. Lily manages it every single time.”

  She took his advice and gave the Jell-O mold a pass. “But it’s been more than ten years since you left. You’d think all the dishes would be different by now.”

  “Uh-uh. The women in my hometown know that when you’ve got yourself a good potluck recipe, you don’t mess with success.”

  They finished loading their plates and went to sit with Chastity at a table near the center of the room. Alyosha Panopopoulis appeared a few minutes after they sat down.

  “Is there maybe room for me?”

  “Alyosha! Welcome.” Chastity blushed and tapped the empty chair at her side.

  The handyman took it. “So. How’s life, eh?”

  “Oh, just lovely,” said Chastity. “Just absolutely fine.”

  Buck sent B.J. a look with What’s this about? written all over it.

  B.J. only shrugged and smiled.

  He held her gaze for a moment, looking thoroughly flummoxed, and then he shrugged right back at her. After that, he got very absorbed in his plateful of potluck. B.J. followed his lead—but took care to eat slowly.

  Now her morning sickness seemed to have faded, she had no trouble getting food down and keeping it there. She knew she had to start watching her diet or she’d be big as a house in no time at all.

  Brett showed up and then Brand after him, each with a full plate. They took seats and dug in.

  Glances shot back and forth among the Bravo boys as they saw that their mother actually seemed to be welcoming the attentions of a man. But it was all very friendly and easy.

  Alyosha talked about his children. There were five of them—three girls and two boys. The girls all lived in the Bay Area. One son made his home in the San Fernando Valley. The other had lived in Texas for the past eight years. Alyosha explained that when his wife had died five years before, he’d decided to live his dream and move to the mountains.

  “And so you see,” he said. “Here I am.” He beamed at Chastity and she beamed right back at him.

  Then Bowie appeared.

  Chastity’s youngest son stomped up to their table and plunked his plate down hard. The food on it actually bounced. He yanked back a free chair, and sat down with a muttered curse.

  His brothers shared another three-way look. “Okay,” said Brett at last. “I’ll bite. Bowie. Why the attitude?”

  “None of your damn business.” Bowie picked up his fork and stabbed himself a big hunk of herb-dotted red potato. He shoved the potato in his mouth and chewed with a furious scowl on his face.

  A real conversation stopper, that Bowie. They all ate in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

  Finally, Brand set down his fork. “You’re no fun, Bowie. No fun at all. What’s your problem now? Glory turn you down again?”

  Bowie let out a string of swear words.

  Alyosha gasped. “Bowie. Shame on you. In front of your beautiful mother…”

  Bowie shoved back his chair. “That’s it. I don’t need the damn handyman getting on my ass.” He glared at his mother. “What’s he doing at our table, anyway?”

  Buck spoke up then. “That’s enough, Bowie.”

  Bowie turned on him. “Don’t you start on me, Mr. Big Shot Famous Author. Who the hell cares what you have to say? You don’t even live here anymore.”

  Chastity put up a hand. “Bowie.” Bowie whipped his head around to face his mother. Before he could get out a single rude word, she said, “Leave this table. Now.”

  “Fine.” With another raw curse, he shoved back his chair. It crashed to the floor behind him. He stomped off toward the door. Tossing his plate in a trash can as he went by, Bowie left the hall.

  Into the deafening silence that followed, Chastity turned to Alyosha. “I apologize for my son’s behavior.”

  Alyosha laid his hand on hers.

  Every eye in the room was on them—and neither Alyosha nor Chastity seemed to care in the least.

  Buck was the one who finally took things in hand. He got up and righted Bowie’s overturned chair. Then he laughed and cast a sweeping glance around the quiet room. “Show’s over, folks.”

  Within seconds, the room was abuzz with a hundred conversations. Buck took his seat again.

  B.J. leaned close to him. “Nicely done.”

  He whispered back, “You have to know they’re all talking about Bowie—and the budding romance between Ma and the handyman.”

  “Let ’em talk.”

  “That’s the right attitude to have—because believe me. They will.”

  The next night, upstairs in the hall, B.J. and Buck attended the Harvest Ball. The Ladies Auxiliary, assisted by the New Bethlehem Flat Elementary School student body, had worked half the afternoon, hanging fall-colored crepe-paper streamers from the ceiling and plastering the walls with construction-paper autumn leaves.

  Chastity and Alyosha were there, together, looking like a pair of infatuated teenagers. Buck and B.J. shared a glass of punch with them.

  B.J. danced every dance in Buck’s arms—except for two: one with Brett and another with Brand.

  Brett teased her. “I think you’ve gone and stolen my big brother’s heart—again.”

  Such talk made her nervous. She redirected Brett’s remark. “So what about you, Br
ett? Who’s your special girl?”

  The second Bravo brother was distinctly evasive. He would only say that the last thing he needed was a grand passion in his life. “Besides, I just got through my internship and started my practice. I want to get myself established before I start thinking about love and marriage and all the challenges that go with it.”

  “Love waits for no man,” she teased.

  “Eventually, I’ll find myself a nice, steady, both-feet-on-the-ground kind of woman. I want two kids and a comfortable life.”

  B.J. faked a snoring sound.

  “Wake up,” Brett kidded her, “watch out for my toes.”

  Brand claimed the next dance. The third Bravo brother talked of the big house he was building on a hill a few miles east of town. “You should see the view. Incredible. It’s my dream house, or it will be. If I ever find a decent contractor—and I’m not asking for the moon here, believe me. Just show me a man who’ll stick with the job.” He’d had three contractors so far. “One couldn’t keep a crew to save his soul. Another had a serious alcohol problem. I’d find empty beer bottles all over the site. The third one made zero progress in an entire summer working for me….”

  B.J. smiled up at him, thinking that Buck had a couple of great guys for brothers.

  Too bad there was also Bowie—who appeared just as the dance B.J. shared with Brand was ending. Buck’s baby brother was so drunk, he swayed on his feet. Luckily for everyone, he didn’t stay long. He spotted Glory sharing an innocent dance with another guy and stomped right back out again.

  By then, B.J. and Brand had joined Buck and Brett at the punch table.

  “Someone should have an up-close and personal talk with that boy,” Brett remarked quietly.

  “Soon,” added Brand.

  Buck only nodded, his expression grim.

  Seventeen

  Monday, early, Lupe returned.

  The photographer had taken the red-eye and she had a message from L.T. “He said to tell you that the piece Buck is writing had better be, and I quote, ‘the best damn Christmas feature yet.’”