Vonnie: Book Two of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  As they took a taxi from the hotel to the chapel though, Zee felt like her outfit wasn’t complete and it wasn’t until they were awaiting their turn with the pastor that he understood what was missing.

  Flowers.

  Vonnie didn’t have a bouquet to carry like the brides he’d seen in the movies.

  Zee rectified that in a whispered conversation with the woman behind the counter, the one who’d tried to do an up-sell when Rio’d paid in advance. And who agreed to keep Zee’s purchase a secret until the last moment.

  It wasn’t any big thing, just a small bunch of mixed flowers tied with gold ribbon, but it fit Vonnie perfectly. A fact she more than let him know before he’d walked her down the short aisle to where Rio and the preacher stood. “They’re beautiful, Zee. But you didn’t have to do this, you know,” she’d whispered, her eyes trained on her future husband.

  “Yeah, I did, little girl. Wanted you to have something from me on your special day.”

  Shifting her eyes from the front to glance at him, he took in her pretty face and its warm expression. “Thank you, brother mine.”

  He wanted to reply, but by that time they were at the front of the chapel. Or it might have been because the lump in his throat was too big to talk around, but he somehow knew she understood. And accepted the stuff he never gave voice to, all the feelings in his heart when it came to having her in his life again.

  To Zee’s mind, the ceremony went fast, over almost before he could take it all in and he was still spellbound later when he realized they were at a fancy-assed restaurant for what Vonnie called their ‘wedding supper’. She and Rio were reviewing what had just gone down—or rather, she was and Rio was grunting in all the right places as drink after drink and course after course arrived and was swept away by unobtrusive waiters.

  “We still gotta come up with a plan, princess, for when we get home,” Rio stated in one of the rare lulls when Vonnie took a bite. “Your girls are gonna go ape-shit when they find you did the deed on the sly.”

  Carefully placing her fork on the edge of her plate, Vonnie reached for her napkin to delicately wipe her mouth. And even before she opened her mouth, her slumped shoulders said it all. “Yeah. They will.”

  Zee joined Rio in not saying a fucking word, as if they both knew the little redhead wasn’t done.

  “I’m gonna be on everybody’s shit-list for a while.” Her eyes were on her plate as if it could tell her the future. “But the truth is I wanted it to be just you and me, Rio. Just the two of us pledging our lives together, with only Zee looking on. Is that so wrong?”

  Rio shook his head and reached for her much smaller hand. “No, spitfire. But think they’re gonna feel like you shut them out. Didn’t give them a chance to make it special for you.”

  “It was already special,” she groused, sitting back and looking between both men. “And they can get all that stuff out of their system with Phoebe.”

  The men didn’t say anything, but then Zee had an idea. “When will your girl get married?”

  “In about six weeks, why?”

  Zee nodded as his brain churned along a route it had never taken. “What if you and Rio put together a kick-ass party in, say, late January? A kinda after-the-fact reception?”

  Her eyes lit up and she turned to look at her new husband. “That might work, honey. What do you think?”

  Rio smiled with only one side of his mouth. “I think we’re still gonna get our asses chewed when they all find out, party or not.”

  “But if we can keep it a secret for a while…”

  “And just how’re we gonna do that, princess? Not let them see you writing your new last name? Keep all the Mr & Mrs, husband and wife shit on the down low, watching everything we say when we’re around them?” Rio remained in an eye-lock with the woman he’d pledged as his other half. “And what’s to say I even want to hide it, Vons? Because I sure as shit don’t! Only an hour in to this lifetime gig and I’m frickin’ over the moon about marrying you. So don’t ask me to lie about it.”

  Zee watched Vonnie do a deep blink, one that probably matched his own at his new brother-in-law’s zealous words.

  “So not wearing my rings when we’re around them is outta the question, huh?”

  Rio slammed his palm on the tablecloth before throwing his napkin on it as well. “You will wear your rings at all times, spitfire. Everywhere and for every moment of every goddamn day, do you receive?”

  Aw, shit. Rio going to military-mode wasn’t good except as an indication Zee’s sister might’ve gone a bit too far.

  But Vonnie obviously knew her way around the large ex-Ranger and the mad-on he sported. Sliding her ass along the banquette, she pressed herself into his side so tightly the man had no choice but to lift his arm. And while Zee didn’t hear what she whispered, he did see Rio’s frown loosen, release, before morphing into tenderness.

  It was then Zee snuck out of their booth in order to pay the bill and slip away without any fanfare so the newly hitched pair could get on with their honeymoon.

  Coming back to the moment as the trio winged their way back to Colorado, Zee glanced up at Rio only to find the man’s eyes were already on him. “Glad you came, bro’. Meant a lot having you there—and not just for your sister.”

  Giving Rio a chin jut in reply, Zee turned back to the window, silently hoping to find some of that brand of happiness, the one he clearly saw and named in Rio’s eyes, for himself.

  But until then, he’d just bask in the beauty of what his long-lost sister had found.

  And appeared to treasure as she lay tucked up against her husband and continued to eye her new set of rings.

  While still holding the bouquet her brother had proudly provided.

  #.#.#.#.#

  Wasn’t that a good story? D.P. and I are working really well together—as Vonnie’s novel shows. She provided the plot (and, man, what a plot, huh?) and I just used my words to build it scene by scene.

  But we need your help in getting the word out about the Broken Girl Series. Leave a review and if you especially liked Phoebe and Vonnie’s books, tell your other reader friends. I don’t know about you, but a friend’s recommendation influences me to reach for a book I otherwise might’ve passed up.

  Next up is Tonya’s story and as Debbe and I talk through the characters and the plot points, I find myself getting excited to explore the stuff she and Eryk will go through. Our plan is to have the third Broken Girl book published at the beginning of 2017. And as a teaser, we’ve included the first chapter of Tonya’s tale just to peak your interest.

  As always, thanks so much for reading—because you know you’re the reason we do this, right?

  Smiling and waving into a beautiful fall afternoon,

  ~J.A. Hornbuckle

  10/25/16

  Broken Girls – Book Three

  Tonya

  Chapter One

  Trying to hold the edges of the thigh-high slit of my bridesmaid’s dress closed for the three-hundredth and forty-second time since donning the blasted thing, I let out what I hoped was a long suffering sigh, instead one of the frustrated kind. I mean I loved the dress with its ballet neckline and the way it flowed down my body accentuating what little curves I had. It was just the damned slit was the tiniest bit too high, venturing into the oh-god category whenever I took a normal step forward.

  And I was doing a lot of walking. Mainly because I’d taken on too much. Was way too overloaded in order to perform all the jobs I’d said I could and would do for Phoebe’s wedding. But as I was quickly starting to discover, I could either be a bridesmaid or manage the catering.

  There was no flipping way I could do both.

  Not with any sort of dignity, anyway.

  I mean, how was a person supposed to oversee the hors d’eourves table, the hot food buffet and the temperamental fondue station? Especially while constantly being pulled away from my duties for yet another set of formal photos or out onto the dance floor to join my girl
s for the mandatory line dances.

  Impossible!

  And the worst of it was, my employees as well as the wait staff I’d hand-picked to make Phoebe’s wedding reception amazing, were noticing my splintered focus. At how I was split between being a member of the wedding party and yet trying to oversee the food stations from afar.

  After nodding towards the other dancers with a forced grin, I raced towards the bar and grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins, turning away from the crowd so I could dab at the sweat beading my forehead, upper lip and cleavage in some kind of stealthy fashion. Tony, my on-again, off-again, sort of, kind of boyfriend caught me. He was playing bartender and, yeah, I’d gotten him the job.

  Well, forced him actually. Because Tony seemed to have a certain allergy—one to anything having to do with work of any sort. And more than explained why we had problems in our relationship. While he had an aversion to doing anything that didn’t include a remote or a game pad, I couldn’t sit still.

  I was too driven for his taste.

  And he was too laid back for mine.

  But Tony was what my sister Maizie would call a ‘better than nothing’, a phrase I didn’t necessarily like, but was an apt label. He was just a ‘filler’ until something better came along. Or at least that was what I told myself.

  Although the knowing look he gave me as I dabbed at my skin and he slap-dashed a couple of drinks together made my flesh crawl. He’d told me I was getting myself in way over my head when I’d told him I’d offered to do the catering for Phoebe and Ryker’s reception.

  “Babe,” Tony interrupted when I’d first told him. And I even remember his position, sprawled out on my sofa, one foot on the floor, the other (still in shoes) inelegantly draped along my long sectional. Waiting for me to get ready to go out for a dinner I knew I’d be paying for since that was just how it went in Tonya-and-Tony land. “You can either be a bridesmaid or a caterer, but there ain’t no way you’ll be able to do both.”

  As BTN boyfriends went, Tony was definitely on the low end of the scale.

  So his knowing, I-told-you-so glance put some steel into my spine as I tossed the damp napkins into the trash on his side of the bar before determinedly setting off to check on what was going on at the different stations.

  The sound of a constant clicking had my eyes searching out the source. Although I knew who I’d find even before I spied her. Vonnie. Camera tilted my way as she held her expensive piece of equipment, aiming it my way as I used my long legs to eat up the steps between the bar and where my food resided. “Haven’t you got enough? Geez, Vons. I know you wanna fill Coco’s album, but hell, girl.”

  “Phoebe wants candid photos, Ya-Ya. And you working your stuff, looking awesome as shit in your glad-rags is about as candid as it gets,” my tiny foster-sister shot back with a rueful grin, which was punctuated by a couple more clicks. And found me sputtering to a stop. To get a compliment from Vonnie was amazing in and of itself, but to have her actually explain what she was doing and why? Jay-sus.

  Flicking my eyes to the behemoth hunk of male gorgeousness clad in a tux standing behind her, I nodded at Rio. They’d been a pair for a while, him doting on the one sister-of-my-heart I never thought would be a part of a couple. The kind of duo who contrasted sharply with me and my man-of-the-moment.

  I’d assigned all the girls from Diane’s house an herb to best describe how I saw them, although I probably would never admit it to their faces. For Vonnie, it was rosemary. Hearty, spiky and unbelievably aromatic. And wouldn’t you know, her to-die-for dress was a perfect complement to her alabaster skin and dark eyes. Although Vons in a dress was a major occasion by anyone’s standards. “You’re looking pretty damn awesome yourself, short stuff.”

  After receiving a single fingered salute in reply, I got back on course, aiming my body to the far corner of the room while wondering if we’d made enough mini-empanadas to satisfy everyone. The fact my girl Pheebs chose to go with Mexican food was a challenge. Especially when her mother-in-law Maggie kept insisting she’d help with the food prep. An action I wasn’t on board with in the least. But the woman had insisted—to the point I’d finally just given in and put her in charge of the taco bar.

  And the biggest thing I’d discovered about a Latino themed reception was there was a lot of ‘bars’…and not just of the taco variety. There was also the marguerita one as well. Which even I had to admit was kind of cool and wasn’t half as complicated as the name suggested. A simple mixture of a standard marguerita but blended with whatever fruit a person chose? Genius.

  “Chef?” I turned my eyes to Sarah, the latest addition to my kitchen staff at the Roses. As a line cook, she was way over-qualified. But I had an eye to moving her up to sous-chef as soon as Bertrand, my rival and co-head at the Roses ended up firing our current one. Since Stefan was also Bertrand’s lover and everyone could tell the death-knell was already ringing over their relationship, I knew it was only a matter of time.

  Time when I could slide Sarah into Stefan’s slot.

  Never let it be said a chef’s knives weren’t the only sharp thing in the kitchen. Politics were politics no matter what the arena. And a restaurant had its own special brand of infighting to move up in the ranks or establish a power base.

  “How’re we doing, Sarah? Everything okay?” My eyes ran over the different trays sitting above the cans of the portable warming fuel. I’d put her in charge of the fajita bar and I had to admit, her display was the bomb with its multi-leveled offerings of meats, peppers and onions. Then there were the crock pots used to keep the different tortillas warm.

  “Yeah, but we’ve had a complaint.” The younger woman shook her head as if to shift her bangs out of her eyes. “That guy over there,” she pointed to a tall, well-built blonde guy standing next to one of Phoebe’s new brothers-in-law. “He made a big deal about the fact we had no gluten free option for the tortillas.”

  Seriously? I mean, we tried to offer something for everyone’s dietary guidelines, but this was a a wedding, for hell’s sake. Pickers couldn’t’ be choosers at private social events in my opinion. “I’ll handle it, Sarah. Thanks for the head’s up. Your station looks amazing by the way.”

  She colored prettily as her eyes roamed over the different dishes. “Those of us from the restaurant kind of have a competition going, each of us putting in a fiver on which station Maggie deems the best.”

  My eyes shot to Ryker’s mom who was yucking it up my foster mother Diane over by the selection of salsas. Yeah, that’d be right up the woman’s alley to pit my employees against one another just to win a prize for the best of ‘whatever’.

  Just what I needed to add to the stress I was already under.

  Then I heard it.

  A voice cutting through all the others as people filed into the room Phoebe and Ryker’d chosen their reception in one of the conference rooms at the Grantham hotel. I’d fought for the Roses, but had to admit defeat when Bill Wellington, the owner and my ultimate boss, priced the restaurant out of the running.

  Which only had to do with his goddamn Michelin rating. Big whoop.

  But the voice I overheard was very specifically running through his list of complaints.

  About my food.

  My choice of menu within the confines of Maggie’s requirements. And since she was the one paying for it, definitely had a say in its concept and execution.

  “The amount of grease alone is alarming, Max. I mean, look at this stuff.” The man waved a hand to indicate all the different stations. “Alcohol, fried crap, hardly any vegetarian alternatives and nothing noted as gluten-free? It’s a freaking heart attack waiting to happen.”

  Oh god, the man was one of those.

  The kind of person who chose health over the smell, texture and amazing taste of blended spices and herbs. Who counted calories instead of wallowing in the deliciousness of savory versus sweet. A guy who was so regimented he couldn’t damn well enjoy the food at a wedding reception without complaint.r />
  In other words…an asshole of the first order.

  I slid up next to the two men so I could overhear exactly what was being said. I mean, if the blonde guy was just a complainer, okay. But if Max, as Ryker’s brother, agreed then I was gonna have to make some changes.

  “Don’t you think you’re being kind of harsh, Eryk? I mean, this is my brother’s wedding dinner, not a study of what to eat when training.” God love Max and his level head. I’d only been around the man on a couple of occasions and although he was gorgeous as all get out, (as well as a total catch since he co-owned Black Ice Security with his brothers), he seemed pretty level headed.

  “Maybe,” the blonde admitted. “But then again, how many people with dietary needs stayed home knowing they wouldn’t be able to comfortably eat?”

  Oh no, he didn’t!

  Blaming the low turn-out on my food or the choices Phoebe and I had agonized over for months?

  “Hi, Max,” I ground out, trying for a light note as I greeted Ryker’s oldest brother. “Like the tux.”

  The gorgeous black-haired man ran a hand over his dark-aqua patterned vest. “Thanks, Tonya. Have you met Eryk?”

  I forced a smile as I slid my gaze to the blondie by his side. Although the guy didn’t hold as much of a physical presence as Max, I could definitely feel him working a vibe…one that told me he was a force to be considered. “Hello, Eryk. I’m Tonya Myers. The—”

  “Oh yes, one of the bridesmaids,” he interrupted, shooting out a hand my way as his eyes went back to the other people filling the room. “Nice to meet you.”

  No it wasn’t. And I knew he’d already relegated me onto the list of ‘just another one of those’.