Wild Card (Wild At Heart Series Book 3)

by Christine Hartmann

  Bree roamed. Strangers handed her a paper cup filled with champagne and a piece of wedding cake. Families at picnic tables invited her to join them. When a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee landed at her feet and she winged it like a shaking green comment to the long-haired man waving across the grass, he and the fellow players included her in the game and she played until her arm ached.

  A cluster of Lone Star’s older relatives from El Paso persuaded her to join them on a blue and white checkered blanket spread across the grass. The gray-haired men and women sat in collapsible chairs and were catered to by younger children running to and fro with paper cups, plates of meat, and bowls of dessert. When a young boy tripped and rolled into the mound of strawberry shortcake he had just spilled, everyone laughed, including the boy. An older woman relative led him, joking, to the bathrooms to get cleaned up. Bree inhaled the night air, filled with scents of meat, perfume, and beer.

  Mal phoned for directions to where she stood. He arrived balancing two plates heaped to overflowing with brisket, baked beans, sliced pickles, raw onion rings, and white bread. He handed her one of the plates.

  Bree nearly dropped it. “This weighs a ton.”

  Mal sank carefully into a cross-legged position.

  A neighbor in a denim shirt with mother-of-pearl studs and deep brown cowboy boots passed Mal a stack of napkins. “Son, you and your little lady are going to need these.” He chuckled in a deep baritone and held his jiggling belly. “Trust me.”

  Mal nodded, looking embarrassed.

  Bree waved at the gentleman. She tucked a napkin into her blouse and spread another on her lap. Mal looked at her askance. She shook her head. “I know your mother wouldn’t approve of my table manners. But I’m not ruining this blouse.” She gave the older man a thumbs up and constructed a brisket sandwich from the assortment on her plate.

  Mal extracted a spoon from his pocket and scooped baked beans. He kept his eyes on the food, ignoring the tumult around them.

  “Does this give you any ideas?” Bree held her sandwich in one hand and gestured toward the party.

  Mal looked up. “About what?”

  “About what a wedding reception can look like. I feel like a mouse who’s been stuck in a cage and somebody just opened the door.”

  “Don’t want anything outdoors.” Mal rubbed his nose. “Too many dogs running around.”

  “Doesn’t this give you ideas about how to think out-of-the-box?” She finished the sandwich and wiped her fingers with a fresh napkin.

  Mal rolled pieces of brisket into a white bread-style burrito, bit the end, and talked through his mouthful. “Mom doesn’t like out-of-the-box.”

  Bree shrugged. “She’s not running the whole show.” She pushed the plate away from her across the blanket. “If I don’t get that out of my sight, I’m going to finish it all.”

  Mal nudged it back toward her. “He cooked it with mesquite.” He rolled a second piece of bread. “Mom runs every show, whether she gets credit for it or not.”

  The corner of Bree’s mouth twitched down for an instant and then she smiled. “Maybe.”

  When they finished their food, Mal stretched himself out on the blanket. Bree lay her head on his shoulder. The sky above them was gray with reflected light. Only one planet was faintly visible. A pair of bulldogs roamed past and sniffed at Mal’s shoes. He jumped from the blanket yelling in fright. Bree rose, groaning. “Come on.” She shooed the dogs away and tugged him down the hill, away from the lights. She showed him how to cup his hands and stare through them at a section of sky. They let their eyes adjust to the darkness until they could see a few previously hidden planets and stars.

  “When I was driving here through the desert, I pulled over on the side of the road and looked up. You could see so much more than we can now.”

  He lowered his hands. “Isn’t it scary?”

  She continued looking. “It’s full of possibilities.”

  Mal squinted at the bright lights of the celebration. Bree smiled and pushed his shoulders as he trudged up the hill. He laughed and leaned back against her. They were both out of breath when they reached the picnic blanket. The older couples swirled nearby on the grass to the old-time country music blaring from multiple sets of speakers. They motioned for Bree and Mal to join their line dance. Bree shook her head, but the denim shirted gentleman from before grabbed her elbow.

  “Learn as you go along, darling.”

  Bree gawked at Mal, whom two matrons had lassoed. A grin split his face.

  Her tutor jerked an elbow in his direction. “Them’s two medal winners he’s sandwiched between. They ain’t gonna let him go.” He yanked a bandanna from his pocket and wiped his brow. “They’ve got too much stamina for me.”

  Bree’s eyes flicked momentarily from the older man’s prancing cowboy boots to his face. “You’re not doing badly.”

  He shook his head. “That man of yours got more guts than you could hang on a fence.”

  Bree giggled and bent her knees in time with his. The maneuvers felt like aerobics class mixed with basic training. The night before at the club she had thought she was dancing hard, but these octogenarians put her to shame. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t keep up. She stomped and kicked and tapped and flicked, but always slightly out of time with the music. Mal, stick figure-ish and clumsy, followed his dual instructors’ leads with tongue clamped between teeth and an earnest expression that earned him multiple pats on the cheek and more than one on the behind. Bree’s eyes lit up. These women saw in Mal what she saw: a gentle nerd who needed coaxing to come out of his shell.

  When, after close to an hour, they excused themselves, the dancing had spread to most of the company. The only people not dancing were the children, who lay under the tent in rows of wiggling sleeping bags, with faces that evidenced little desire for sleep. Bree pointed to Grace, still on the picnic table, only now with Lone Star pressed tightly against her in a slow dance.

  Mal pulled her against him. “Let’s practice.” He swayed with her gently across the grass.

  Bree leaned into him. “Practice what?”

  “For our wedding.”

  She lay her cheek against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes. This, she thought, is heaven.

  ***

  She didn’t feel like talking on the drive back to the city. The sights, sounds, and scents of the party still lingered around her like a bubble she didn’t want to burst. Her lap was warm with the brisket Lone Star had wrapped in aluminum foil and placed in her hands when they said their farewells.

  “It’s all got to go.” He winked. “Am saving just enough leftovers to get us through the flight to Tahiti.”

  She didn’t want to interrupt Grace, who was having a teary-eyed conversation with family members clustered around a framed photograph of someone who looked like a younger relative. Mal wanted to break in, but Bree pulled him away. “Celine will thank her for us.”

  In the sedan, she scooted to the middle of the back bench and refastened her seatbelt, so she could lean against Mal, letting his bubble augment hers, taking her back to the slow dance on the grass. He clasped his hands around her torso and pulled her tightly against him. She wiggled to get closer and let her eyes close as her thoughts swung in time to the remembered music. His hands caressed her neck. She took one in her own and kissed it. He rubbed her cheek and then moved his fingers down the front of her blouse, touching her as lightly as a feather would have floated. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The driver watched the road, seemingly engrossed in the steady stream of late-night talk show news emanating from the car’s speakers. Mal’s fingers gently untucked her blouse and crept up her stomach. She cringed, as she always did when anyone touched her muffin top. Then she drew in her breath as he cupped her breast. She shot another glance at the driver and squirmed to take a look at Mal’s face. He stared straight ahead, his expression blank. She rolled her eyes and nudged him in the ribs. He pinched her nipple. The length
s he was willing to go to avoid romance in bed never failed to startle her.

  When his hand trailed back down her torso and across her thigh, she grabbed it and shook her head. Color mounted to her cheeks, and she knew she could never present a poker face to the hotel staff who would open the door for her. How Mal would hide his own excitement she wondered. But hiding it was obviously not on his mind, for his hand then took her own and placed it between his legs. She gave the area a pat and struggled back to an upright position. They were already on the Strip. The plethora of multicolored neon lights around them illuminated the inside of the car. She re-tucked her blouse and peeked at his face, which to a stranger would have presented the same façade as before but in which she could now read a mood slightly tipped toward annoyance. She whispered, “Later, okay?”

  He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the party, but the bubble had burst.

  The doormen who rushed to open both sides of their car seemed just as fresh as if they had been greeting visitors at one in the afternoon instead of one in the morning. Things in Vegas, she thought, must just be getting started. She reached for Mal’s hand as they walked through the massive, marble columned entrance. It hung limply in hers. She sighed and squeezed it. “Should we get a quick drink?” His steps slowed. She watched his expression and pressed her advantage. “There’s a bar on the top floor. Have a little engagement party of our own before tomorrow.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Okay.”

  She grinned and skipped beside him, her heels clicking on the marble.

  “Mal?”

  The voice froze them in unison. Bree felt her vision of the next few hours shatter with the single word.

  Hands on hips, Faye appeared from the side. She maneuvered in front of them and paced back and forth. Soumil stood a few yards away, hands in pockets, eyes focused on the floor. “Our family had plans for this evening. Or did you forget?”

  Bree felt rather than saw Mal flinch. He slowly withdrew his hand from hers and dug both deep into his pockets, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

  Faye faced Bree. “We all expected you at dinner.” She let out her breath. “Grandma was so disappointed.”

  Bree struggled not to let resentment show on her face. But she wasn’t sure she won the fight. “Didn’t the twins tell you we were going out?”

  “Do you think it’s right to have young girls do your dirty work for you?” Faye shook her head. “I expected better of you, Bree Acosta.”

  Bree bit her lip. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything. She paused and searched her mind. “I can see you’re upset.”

  Faye raised her hands to the ceiling. “Lord, give me strength. You take my son away from his parents the night before his engagement party. One of the few evenings we have with him. How is a mother supposed to feel?”

  The hyperbole made Bree smile. “I’m not dragging him off to Mexico.”

  Faye clasped her hands. “Lord help us if you move back to your relatives.”

  Unexpected anger crackled through Bree like a lightning bolt. She looked at Mal, who edged just perceptibly away from her side. She crossed her arms. “The next time we go out for the evening, we will be sure to let you know.”

  “Next time?” Faye looked at her as though she had received a slap in the face.

  Bree uncrossed her arms. “This is Las Vegas.” She forced a laugh and gestured at the milling groups around them.

  Faye scrutinized Mal. “Was the whole thing her idea, honey?”

  Bree reached out and stroked the back of Mal’s hand, the same hand that minutes before was playing with her breast. Mal jumped away as though stung. He threw Bree a glance that clearly said, “Don’t drag me into this,” and shuffled to his father’s side.

  Bree’s mouth dropped open. A sudden waft of cold hotel air made her shiver. She blinked once and locked eyes with Faye. “They were my friends.” When Faye didn’t respond, Bree wrapped her arms around herself and strode toward the elevator bank, Mal trudging several steps behind. Soumil soundlessly disappeared. And Faye remained alone in the lobby, lips parted in consternation, amid the swirl of excited guests.

  In the elevator, Bree blinked back tears as the small, packed lift ascended. An amorous couple separated her and Mal. She turned away from their French kissing and concentrated on the yellow numbers that marked their passage to higher levels.

  On the twenty-sixth floor, only she and Mal exited. When the doors closed behind them, she turned. “Why didn’t you defend me to your mother?”

  “Defend you?” He fingered the mole on his chin.

  “You wanted to go too.” The tears slid from underneath her eyelids, hot and disturbing. “It’s supposed to be the two of us against the world.”

  Mal strode to a large window overlooking the bright skyline. His eyes focused in the distance. “You don’t need my help.”

  The hopelessness she read into his response moved her. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and stepped to his side. She lay her fingers lightly over his heart. “Of course I do.”

  He shook his head.

  She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “I know you think I’m strong.”

  He twisted away from the window and met her eyes. “Not strong. You’re the same as my mother.”

  Bree felt like he’d punched her. She stared, trying to gain foothold in his eyes but failed. Her hand moved to take his but dropped before she touched him.

  His lips barely moved. “She wants to make people miserable. You want to make them happy. But you both want control.”

  The elevator opened and expelled a gang of laughing teenagers who tumbled into the lobby and cantered down the hallway. In the echoes of their mirth trailed silence. Mal wandered into the empty elevator and Bree, unable to move, watched the doors shut behind him.

  Chapter 15

  A narrow shaft of the next morning’s light peeked through a chink in the room darkening curtains and fell across the bed where Mal slept. Bree sat in an armchair opposite. Her hair fell in disorganized tangles. Dark circles rimmed her eyes.

  Before Mal stumbled to bed at about two-thirty, Bree found sleep impossible. The mattress shook as he crawled in between the sheets. Bree pretended to be asleep, her back turned, her breathing regular. Minutes later, he snored gently. His twitching and nocturnal mumbling, which she usually found endearing, annoyed her. She wanted to fling a pillow at him. When he rolled over and exhaled deeply directly onto her neck, his warm breath mingled with the odor of recently consumed alcohol, she got up.

  She tried sleeping on the sofa in the living room. She listened to a book on her phone. She launched a meditation app. But she couldn’t stop the continuous playback of Mal’s saying she was the same as his mother.

  When his alarm went off, she climbed carefully back into bed and rolled over to greet him, not knowing what to expect, either of him or of herself. But his expression indicated nothing except the misery of waking up with a hangover. His bloodshot eyes blinked at her and his mouth cracked into a smile. He kissed her tenderly and pulled her into his arms for a hug.

  “Stay put.” She slipped out of bed. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

  She threw on a hotel robe and tiptoed into the living room, closing the door behind her. While the coffee was brewing, she threw the security lock into position on the hallway door. No impromptu visits this morning. Balancing the full mug in one hand and holding a water bottle and two ibuprofen in the other, she unlatched the bedroom door with her elbow and nudged it open with her hip, eyes on the coffee.

  Mal coughed. Preoccupied with the level of liquid and expecting to find him in bed, she started when she looked up to find him instead in the middle of the floor, naked and aroused, with arms spread wide. She screamed and dropped the coffee. It spilled in an arc, landing across his left foot. The mug cracked and in her hurry to help him she stepped on the stoneware shards. For a moment, they both hopped on one foot through
the room, Bree dripping blood and Mal watching an ugly red burn grow on his leg. She put both feet to the ground, touched one heel gingerly, and dragged him by the hand into the bathroom, where she helped him hobble onto the bathtub edge and let cold water run on his burn. She hoisted her own leg into the sink and turned on the tap. When their eyes met, Bree felt a tickling at the back of her throat. Her eyes sparkled. Mal’s sparkled back.

  He chuckled. “We’re quite the pair.”

  She giggled. “Are you okay?”

  He looked at his leg. “The water’s helping. You?”

  Her growing laughter made keeping her leg elevated difficult. She turned off the tap and examined the cut, her belly shaking. “It’s hard to see.” She snatched a hand towel from the rack and dabbed her eyes.

  Mal patted the side of the tub. “Come over here.”

  She tottered on one foot across the smooth floor and plopped herself on the rim next to him. He bent and kissed her foot. “I wanted to surprise you.” The confession sent them both into another convulsion.

  “You managed that.” She dried her eyes on her sleeve.

  He rubbed the back of her head and pulled it toward him so that their foreheads were touching. “Sometimes I do stupid things.” The words burst out as part of a chuckle, which he eventually subdued. He raised his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  When she caught her breath, she kissed him on the lips. “I know.”

  ***

  It was apparent to Bree that shopping was, for Mal’s sisters, a unifying occupation. Val suggested a “girls only” lunchtime outing, the twins jumped at the opportunity, and Amy wasn’t able to control her glee at being invited. Bree momentarily worried that Faye would spoil the party, but she was occupied in last-minute preparations for that evening’s extravaganza. If Bree read her to-be mother-in-law’s eyes correctly, relief at Bree’s not interfering trumped fears of being excluded. She wished them off with a wave, only adjuring them not to be tempted to support “this city of sin and perdition.”