Bride Quartet Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “They’re anxious to get going,” Emma murmured. “And they’re happy.”

  “Plus fairly adorable,” Mac added as she managed to zoom in for a couple of candids. “And speaking of adorable, look who just pulled up.”

  “Oh.” Spotting Jack’s car, Emma instinctively brushed at her hair.

  “He’s seen you look a lot worse.”

  “Thanks very much. We both had a pretty full day, so I didn’t expect . . .”

  He looked so good, khakis today and a crisp pin-striped shirt, which meant client meetings and office work rather than construction sites. The easy gait, the burnished hair shining in the sun, the quick, killer smile all added up to . . . yum.

  “My ass looks fat in these pants,” she hissed to Mac. “I don’t care because they’re for work, but—”

  “Your ass doesn’t look fat in those. I’d tell you if it did. The red sweats with the cropped legs? Your ass looks fat in those.”

  “Remind me to burn them.” Emma passed the drink back to Mac, then tuned up her smile as Jack crossed to them.

  “Ladies.”

  “Man,” Mac responded. “I’ve got to get to work. Later.”

  She loped off.

  “Rehearsal,” Emma explained.

  “Are you in on that?”

  “Just as backup. Are you done for the day?”

  “Yeah. I had to make a stop at a client’s not far from here, so I . . . Am I in the way?”

  “No. No.” Flustered, she pushed at her hair again. “I was just taking a break, walking over to the rehearsal in case they needed me for anything.”

  He slid his hands in his pockets. “We’re being weird with each other.”

  “God. Yes. We are. Let’s stop. Here.” She rose to her toes, kissed him firmly. “I’m glad you came by. I’ve been at it since about eight, and wanted a break. Mrs. G’s making lasagna. Do you want in on that?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Then why don’t you go charm her, have a beer, and I’ll see you inside when we’re finished.”

  “I’ll do that.” He caught her chin in his hand, leaned down to kiss her again. “You smell like your work. It’s nice. I’ll see you inside.”

  As they separated, her smile bloomed.

  EMMA WALKED INTO THE HOUSE TO THE GOOD, RICH SCENTS OF dinner and Mrs. Grady’s big, bawdy laugh. The combination boosted her already happy mood. She heard Jack relaying what seemed to be the tail end of a work story.

  “Then, when she clued in, she says, ‘Oh, well. Can’t you just move the door?’ ”

  “She did not.”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “Every day and twice on Sunday. Are you moving the door?”

  “We’re moving the door, which will cost her about twice as much as the armoire she fell in love with. But client is king.”

  He took a sip from his beer, and his gaze shifted toward Emma when she walked in. “How’d it go?”

  “Easy and fun, which is always a good sign for the real thing. They’re trusting luck and the weather forecaster on tomorrow’s predicted rain holding off until late evening, and going without the tents. So, fingers crossed on that.”

  As she would in her own home, Emma got out a glass for wine. “They’re off to the rehearsal dinner. But I think we’ve got the better deal here.” She sniffed the air. “It smells great, Mrs. G.”

  “Table’s set,” Mrs. Grady said as she tossed a salad. “You’ll eat in the dining room like the civilized.”

  “Parker and Mac will be right along. I haven’t seen Laurel.”

  “She’s fiddling in her own kitchen, and knows what time I’m serving.”

  “I’ll give her a heads-up.”

  “All right then. Jack, make yourself useful since you’re mooching, and put this salad on the table.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Hey, Carter.”

  “Hello, Jack. They’re right behind me, Mrs. G.”

  She gave Carter a steely stare. “Did you teach anything useful today?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Did you wash your hands?” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then take that wine in and go sit down. And no picking until everyone’s seated.”

  She served family style in the big dining room with its lofty ceiling and generous windows. Because it was Grady’s Rule, cell phones were turned off, and Parker left her BlackBerry in the kitchen.

  “Sunday Bride’s aunt stopped by,” Parker began. “She brought the chuppah, she just finished making it last night. It’s a work of art. I’m keeping it upstairs. Emma, you may want to take a look at it, in case you feel you should tweak any of the arrangements. Carter, you’re teaching the aunt’s sister-in-law’s older boy. David Cohen.”

  “David? He’s a bright kid, who’s currently using most of his creativity to cut up in class. Just last week he gave a report on Of Mice and Men in the style of a stand-up comic.”

  “How’d he do?” Mac asked him.

  “I’m not sure how Steinbeck would’ve felt about it, but I gave him an A.”

  “It’s such a sad book. Why do we have to read so many sad books in school?” Emma wondered.

  “We’re reading The Princess Bride in my freshman class now.”

  “Why didn’t I have teachers like you? I like happy books, and happy endings. And look at you, with your own Buttercup.”

  Mac rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m a real Buttercup. Tomorrow’s event has a nice fairy-tale feel, though. All those fairy lights and candles, all white flowers.”

  “Tink complained she was going snow-blind. But they’re beautiful. A couple more hours tonight, and they’re done. All the hand-tying and wiring makes this one very labor-intensive. Plus.” She held up a hand sporting new nicks and scratches. “Ouch.”

  “You wouldn’t consider being a florist a dangerous career.” Jack took her hand, studied it. “But you’ve got the battle scars.” And kissed her knuckles.

  There was a long beat of silence, speculative stares.

  “Stop,” he ordered with a half laugh.

  “You’ve got to expect it.” Still watching them, Laurel stabbed into her salad. “We’re making adjustments here. I think you should lay one on her, right here, so we can use the visual to help us adjust.”

  “Wait! Wait!” Mac waved a hand. “Let me get my camera.”

  “Pass the lasagna,” Jack said.

  Leaning back, Parker sipped her wine. “For all we know, the two of them are just having a joke at our expense. Pretending to be involved, then laughing at us behind our backs when we buy in to it.”

  “Oooh,” Mac murmured. “You’re good.”

  “I am,” Parker agreed. “But really, it’s not like either of them are the shy type. Certainly not too shy for one little PDA, and among friends, too.” She shrugged as a smile tugged at her lips. “So I’m leaning toward practical joke.”

  “Kiss the girl,” Mrs. Grady told him, “or this bunch won’t give you any peace.”

  “Or lasagna,” Laurel decided. “Kiss!” She clapped her hands together. “Kiss!”

  Mac picked up the chant. Even when she elbowed Carter he just laughed and shook his head.

  Giving up, Jack turned to a laughing Emma, pulled her over and gave her a kiss that brought cheers and applause from the table.

  “Looks like somebody’s having a party and forgot to invite me.”

  The noise died away as everyone turned to the doorway, and Del. He stared at Jack, lifting a hand to stop Parker when she started to get to her feet.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “We’re having dinner.” Laurel spoke coolly. “If you want some you’ll need to get a plate.”

  “No, thanks,” he said, just as coolly. “Parker, I’ve got some paperwork to go over with you. We’ll take care of it another time since you’re in the middle of something that’s apparently none of my business.”

  “Del—”

  “You and
I.” He interrupted his sister, never taking his eyes off Jack. “We’ll deal later, too.”

  When he strode out, Parker released a long sigh. “You didn’t tell him.”

  “I was still figuring out how to . . . No,” Jack said. “No, I didn’t. I need to go straighten this out,” he told Emma.

  “I’ll go with you. I can—”

  “No, better not. It may take a while, so . . . I’ll call you tomorrow.” He pushed back from the table. “Sorry.”

  When he left, Emma managed nearly ten seconds. “I have to at least try.” She popped up, rushed after Jack.

  “He looked pretty steamed,” Mac said.

  “Of course, he’s steamed. His perfect balance has been shifted.” Laurel shrugged when Parker snapped a look at her. “That’s part of it. And that part’s only worse because Jack didn’t tell him. He’s got a right to be steamed.”

  “I could go after them,” Carter suggested. “Try to mediate.”

  “Mediators often get punched in the face by both parties.”

  He smiled humorlessly at Mac. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “No, let them hash it out.” Parker sighed again. “That’s what friends do.”

  BECAUSE EMMA’S CONCERN HELD HIM UP A GOOD TEN MINUTES, Jack didn’t catch up with Del on the estate. But he knew where he’d go. Home, where he could curse, snarl, and brood in private.

  He knocked, and had no doubt Del would open the door. For one thing, he had a key, and they both knew he’d use it if necessary. But more, Delaney Brown wasn’t one for avoiding confrontation.

  When Del yanked open the door, Jack looked him in the eye. “You swing at me, I’ll swing back. We’ll both get bloody, and won’t resolve anything.”

  “Fuck you, Jack.”

  “Okay, fuck me. Fuck you, Del, for being an ass about—”

  He took the punch to the face—because he hadn’t seen it coming—and returned it. They stood there, in the doorway, mouths bleeding.

  Jack swiped at his. “Do you want to beat the hell out of each other inside or out?”

  “I want to know what the hell you were doing with your hands on Emma.”

  “Do you want to hear about that inside or out?”

  Del merely turned, and stalked back to his great room for a beer. “How long have you been moving in on her?”

  “I didn’t move in on her. If anything we moved in on each other. For Christ’s sake, Del, she’s a grown woman, she makes her own choices. It’s not like I twirled my moustache and stole her virginity.”

  “Watch it,” Del warned, then the temper in his eyes went lethal. “You slept with her?”

  “Let’s back it up.” Not a good start, Cooke, he thought. Not the best of springboards. “Let’s just back it up.”

  “Yes or no, goddamn it.”

  “Yes, goddamn it. I slept with her, she slept with me. We slept with each other.”

  Something murderous flashed in Del’s eyes. “I ought to beat you senseless.”

  “You can try. We’ll both end up in the ER. And when I get out, I’m still going to sleep with her.” Something equally deadly flared in Jack’s. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  Because he felt he had more strikes on the wrong side of the column than Del, Jack nodded. “Okay, given the circumstances, it’s your business. But it’s not your right to tell either of us who to be with.”

  “How long?”

  “It just happened. It just started turning on me, on us, I guess, the last couple of weeks.”

  “A couple of weeks.” Del bit off the words “And you didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “No, I didn’t, mostly to try to avoid getting punched in the face.” Jack yanked open the fridge, got out a beer. “I knew you wouldn’t like it, and I hadn’t figured out how to explain.”

  “You didn’t have any trouble explaining it to everyone else, apparently.”

  “No, I didn’t, but then everyone else wasn’t going to smash their bare fists into my face because I’m sleeping with a beautiful, interesting, willing woman.”

  “She’s not any woman. She’s Emma.”

  “I know that.” Frustration piqued to beat down the anger. “I know who she is, and I know how you feel about her. About all of them. Which is why I kept my hands off her until . . . recently,” he finished, and held the cold bottle to his throbbing jaw. “I’ve always had a thing for her, but I set it aside. ‘Just don’t go there, Jack.’ Because you wouldn’t like it, Del. You’re my closest friend.”

  “You’ve had a thing for a lot of women.”

  “That’s right,” Jack said evenly.

  “Emma isn’t the type you sleep with until you catch wind of something new. She’s the kind you make promises to, make plans with.”

  “For God’s sake, Del, I’m just getting used to . . .” He didn’t make plans or promises—ever. Plans changed, didn’t they? Promises got broken. Keeping it loose was keeping it honest.

  “We were together one night. We’re still figuring things out. And cut me a small break here. However many women I’ve been with I’ve never lied to them or treated them with anything but respect.”

  “April Westford.”

  “Jesus, Del, we were in grad school, and she was stalking me. She was a lunatic. She tried to break into our house. She keyed my car. She keyed your car.”

  Del paused, took a swig of beer. “All right, you’ve got a point with that one. Emma’s different. She’s different.”

  “That small break, Del? I know she’s different. Do you think I don’t care about her? That it’s just the sex?” Unable to stand still, Jack paced from the bar to the counter and back again. It unnerved him, the depth of the caring. It was twisted up enough already without his best friend going off about promises, about Emma being different.

  “I’ve always cared about Emma. About all of them. You know that. You damn well know that.”

  “Have you had sex with the rest of them, too?”

  Jack took a long sip, and thought the hell with it. “I kissed your sister. Parker, since right now you’re thinking of all of them as your sister. Back in college, after we ran into each other at a party.”

  “You hit on Parker?” It wasn’t temper now but sheer shock that radiated. “Do I even know who you are?”

  “I didn’t hit on her. We bumped lips. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Then, since it felt like kissing my sister, and she had pretty much the same reaction, we had a good laugh about it, and that was that.”

  “Did you try out Mac next? Laurel?”

  His eyes went hard and hot; his fingers itched to make another fist. “Oh yeah, I went through them all. That’s what I do. I go through women like they’re bags of chips then litter the streets with what’s left of them. What the fuck do you take me for?”

  “Right now, I don’t know. You should’ve told me you were thinking about Emma that way.”

  “Oh yeah, I can see that. ‘Hey, Del, I’m thinking about having sex with Emma. What do you think?’ ”

  It wasn’t temper that leaped back on Del’s face, nor was it shock now. It was ice, and to Jack’s mind, that was worse.

  “Let’s try it this way. How would you feel if you’d walked in tonight? Try that on, Jack.”

  “I’d be pissed. I’d feel betrayed. You want me to say I fucked it up? I fucked it up. But every way I look at it ends up like this. You think I don’t know how it is for you? The position you took on when your parents died? And what they all mean to you? Every one of them. I was there with you through it, Del.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with—”

  “Everything does, Del.” Jack paused a moment, spoke more calmly now. “I know it doesn’t matter that Emma has a family. She’s yours.”

  Some of the ice thawed. “Remember that. And remember this. If you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

  “That’s fair. Are we okay on this?”

 
; “Not yet.”

  “Let me know when we are.” Jack set down the half-finished beer.

  WITH NO CHOICE, EMMA BUCKLED DOWN TO FINISH THE WORK for Friday’s event. She and her full crew began early Friday morning designing and creating the flowers for the other weekend events.

  Late in the afternoon, she began shifting flowers from the cooler, putting others in, loading the van so her team could start dressing the house and terraces.

  Once the reception was under way, she’d come back and finish what was left on her own.

  Just prior to the bride’s arrival, she and Beach filled the portico urns with enormous white hydrangeas. “Gorgeous. Perfect. Go on in and help Tiffany with the foyer. I’ll go work with Tink around back.”

  She made the dash, calculating the time, checking other pots and arrangements along the route. On the terrace, she climbed the ladder to hook the white rose ball in the center of the pergola.

  “I didn’t think I was going to like it.” Tink hauled the standing arrangements into place. “White’s so, you know, white. But it’s really interesting, and sort of magical. Hiya, Jack. Gee, who punched you?”

  “Del and I punched each other. Just something we do every so often.”

  “For God’s sake.”

  If he’d expected Emma to get fluttery about his bruised jaw, he was disappointed. Annoyance in every movement, she climbed down the ladder, set her hands on her hips. “Why is it men think beating on each other fixes anything?”

  “Why do women think eating chocolate does? It’s the nature of the beast.”

  “Tink, let’s finish the swags. Chocolate at least makes you feel good,” Emma said as she continued to work. “A fist in the face doesn’t. And did it fix things?”

  “Not completely. But it’s a start.”

  “Is he all right?” She pressed her lips together as she glanced back at Jack. “I know Parker tried to call him, but he’s been in court all day.”

  “He hit me first.” Jack took the ladder from her, moved it where she pointed, then tapped his swollen lip. “Ouch.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Emma gave him a very light kiss. “I don’t have time to feel sorry for you right now, but I promise to make time later if you want to stay.”