by Lynn LaFleur
Abby pressed her lips together and thought how best to sum it up in as few words as possible. Once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
“The dress…the jewelry…the shoes.”
“What about them? They’re lovely. Brett’s a generous man.”
“More like payment for services rendered. Especially when the payee’s a lonely new mutt in town. Rent The Castle and give her a thrill.”
Judy closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “Where did this lonely mutt business come from? Not from the Abby I know, or from Brett for that matter. Spit it out, girl. What happened when you delivered the Kincade flowers?”
“I already told you, Brett blew me off.” With that said, the rest of the story tumbled from her. “I didn’t hear it from someone else, Judy,” she finally wound down. “I heard it straight from him.”
Judy leaned back and softly exhaled a long breath. “I’m not going to argue that Brett didn’t say what you heard, but let me tell you something.”
Abby waited.
“My mother was an obstetrics nurse. She was on duty the night Mr. Quarterback came roaring out of the chute, fists balled, legs kicking, and screaming at the top of his lungs. At fifteen, I baby-sat for him, changed his diaper and watched Lauren Kincade try to break him of sucking his thumb.”
Abby wanted her to stop. She didn’t want to hear about the saintly side of a man she knew in a very different way than Judy knew him.
“I don’t care how long Jordan Ito says she’s known him, my family and I have known him all of his life. Brett Kincade is a decent, caring man. He’s also a single man, and yes, he’s probably given gifts to other women and taken them to Whispers too. Why wouldn’t he? He’s rich, gorgeous, and did I mention, single?”
“Judy, please, you don’t need to defend him.”
“I think I do. I don’t know why Brett said what he did, but he did not invite you to Whispers because he felt sorry for you or because of his friendship with your aunt.” She edged her chair closer. “When I walked into the showroom on Wednesday morning, I saw the way you two looked at each other, and then again that evening.”
“How can you be so sure? Jordan said—“
“I don’t give a damn what Jordan said. She manages the firm of Kincade Associates. Lauren manages Beau, and Brett manages Brett, not Jordan Ito.”
Abby nibbled at her bottom lip. “He asked me to call him. I did, yet he didn’t return my calls.”
“Maybe he left his cell at home, or misplaced it. Maybe he was in meetings all day.” Judy rested her hand on the back of Abby’s. “I don’t understand why you’re so willing to believe Jordan, a woman you’ve known for ten minutes, and so ready to condemn Brett.”
Abby didn’t know how to answer that.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Judy continued. “You refuse to recognize you’re a beautiful, intelligent, charming and talented woman. Pierce Horton is a moron. He not only didn’t recognize what a jewel he had, he made you doubt yourself.”
Abby could not meet Judy’s eyes. She nodded and tightened her grip on the soda can.
“Brett’s not stupid, Abby, nor is he Pierce Horton dressed in eagle feathers.”
Abby looked up. “Eagle feathers?”
“Did you know eagles are monogamous? The male begins his hunt for a mate at a very young age. When he finds her, they mate for life. I guess you could say they’re the classic soul mates. Brett’s an eagle, Abby—strong, majestic, the consummate protector. Once he chooses his mate, he’ll stay faithful forever and fill his nest with a flock of little eaglettes. Family’s everything to him.”
Abby had guessed as much, and that’s what rankled most. She wanted that life too. A husband who loved her and stayed faithful, and as Judy put it, a flock of little eaglettes they’d love and nurture together. Tears still stung the back of her eyes. “Fine, Brett Kincade’s a saint,” she said. “But he’s thirty-six years old, Judy. If he’s so hot to find his soul mate and start a family, what’s stopping him?”
Judy smiled, somewhere between a grin and a smirk. “Maybe the same thing that’s stopping you?”
*
Abby worked the showroom until noon, then climbed into Love In Bloom’s delivery van and coasted into her spot in the ten-vehicle convoy Ronn led aboard his motorcycle.
A few miles later, they turned off of Seaside’s main thoroughfare and onto the quarter-mile drive that led to the Seaside Country Club. Surrounded by sheltering oaks, the antebellum style clubhouse perched on a bluff overlooking the ocean.
A drive led past precisely-manicured greens and fairways, with even the roughs perfect in their own way, and along stands of pines and weeping willows. Nearer the club house, she passed brightly colored spring flowers and budding ornamental fruit trees festooned with their pink and purple flowers. What a contrast to Manhattan, with its dull gray winter skies, slush and snow darkened with vehicle exhaust, grumpy pedestrians and taxis bent on destroying anything or anyone that got in their way.
How would she ever survive another Manhattan February after this?
At a curve in the drive, Abby caught a full view of the club house, with Brett’s black Porsche parked under the side portico. The longest Mercedes sedan she’d ever seen stood in front of his vehicle. Behind it, a small BMW with vanity plates that read: 1ClseLady.
The driver behind Abby blared his horn and forced her to move along before she spat out the expletive on the tip of her tongue. It didn’t take an Army cryptographer to guess who thought of herself as one classy lady.
At the rear loading dock, several SUVs and vans queued up behind an eighteen wheeler from Seaside Party Production. Uniformed men and women moved quickly to unload furniture, scenery and decorations in red and white, the colors of the day. Abby tapped the steering wheel with her fingertips while she waited. This, she guessed, would be the party to end all parties.
Once inside the club, she saw chaos reigned. People scurried about, shouting orders, swearing, waving their arms, and generally doing their best to mimic the floor of a stock exchange. They dressed in work clothes, cutoffs, or anything else that would see them through a long day.
The doors and partitions had been opened on all of the ballrooms to create one massive open space. Abby had attended enough galas and fundraisers to know that when the party guests arrived, they’d walk into a fantasy world of intimate spaces, bars strategically placed so no one waited longer than a few seconds for a drink, probably a string quartet playing in one of the areas, a strolling violinist in another and, of course, a full orchestra in the main ballroom.
Ronn started cracking his whip before Abby had a chance to catch her breath. She’d really grown to like his quirky ways and felt sad that this might be the last time she saw him.
“Move it, move it, move it,” he shouted at their crew while he pranced about. To her surprise, she had already begun doing her tasks even before he turned his attention to her. Amazing, how quickly she’d caught on to things she’d never tried before, and even enjoyed them.
So engrossed in what she was doing, Abby jumped at the screech of the sound system. After a few adjustments by an audio tech, the melodic voice of Jordan Ito trilled through the air.
Abby wiped her damp palms on the sides of her shorts and turned to watch Jordan in action. The dark-haired woman stood on one of the orchestra’s risers, with a large poster board seating chart resting against her hip. The other workers listened a few minutes then went back to what they were doing. Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and stared. With the exterior doors opened wide, the air conditioning couldn’t keep pace. Sweat and grime hung in the air, but Jordan looked cool and in control in a pair of navy linen slacks and a bright yellow jacket that cried out Vera Wang.
Abby’s attention snapped back to Ronn when he urged her to hold still while she tried to steady a huge arrangement packed in netting. She balanced on tiptoes atop a backless barstool smack in the middle of a table top, a round for eight that the wa
it staff eyed warily.
Her raised arms screamed with a burn she hadn’t felt since her workouts with a personal trainer. Not for the first time today, she wished, too, that she stood closer to five-ten than five-eight. She also wished mightily that someone would drag Jordan and her microphone out of the building. If that woman paged Brett one more time…
Abby had been working in stifling conditions for more than an hour. Sticky and sweaty, she knew her cute little outfit now looked like hell. Each time she raised her arms, the tank top rose with them. The sides of her bib-overall shorts were cut low—way low, showing the band of her thong hitched beneath her navel, and exposing what seemed like a yard of bare skin from her hips to the bottom edge of her top.
Worse, the tank top had bunched up and clung to her. If she had to raise her arms even another inch, she’d give everyone in the ballroom a flash of her breasts. She closed her eyes and prayed that Brett had left the property. Otherwise, one look and he’d take off and never stop.
“Got it,” Ronn cried, triumphant. “Let go!”
She dropped her arms and gingerly slid down and off the bar stool. Then she stared up as the arrangement opened above her in a cloud of white angel’s hair, and a fall of red roses and waxy white stephanotis. A gilded Cupid snuggled in the cloud, aiming his golden arrow right at the hearts of the diners who’d sit below—a table obviously reserved for lovers.
“Oh Ronn,” she cried, surprised by the emotion the beauty of the exquisite floral design evoked in her. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I had no idea you and Judy did this kind of work.”
“We’re artists, darling, not just pretty faces.”
“I never dreamed…”
“Talk about dreams, sweet cakes,” he cut off her praise. “Stud Muffin at twelve o’clock high.”
It took her a moment to understand. When she did, her blood pressure plummeted. Ack! She stood atop a table four feet above the floor. No place to hide. What did she do now?
“Ronn, I can’t! Look at me…” She held out her hand.
He ignored it. “Consider it the earthy look. I’m sure The Love Machine will. Tra la.” With that he swished off.
Abby sighed and dared a cautious peek over her shoulder. Her pulse tripped. She gulped. Even dressed casually, in a pair of bright yellow shorts that showed off his tanned, muscular legs, and a navy pullover, Brett looked amazing. Naked, he looked magnificent, but almost better in clothes. He’d been out of football for three years, still the muscles in his forearms were clearly defined, and his biceps strained against the ribbed edge on his sleeves.
Abby’s hands grew damp again and her pussy thrummed. Memories of their night at Whispers raced across her mind’s eye. The air around her heated up, not from the weather but from a surge of hormones with Brett’s name written on it. Uselessly, she tugged at the hem of her tank then slammed her arms against her sides.
Brett wore more than a broad smile. As he strode toward her, she saw heat in his eyes. She shivered in spite of the sweltering conditions. Brett had the same look in his eyes when she’d stepped out of the limousine at Whispers.
Don’t read something into this that might not be there. Remember, he never returned your calls.
A moment later, Brett stood at the table, looking up at her and offering his hand, while he whispered in the sing-song voice of a nursery rhyme, “I see London, I see France…”
Abby didn’t want to laugh, but she couldn’t stop herself. She loved Brett’s sense of mischief. Careful to keep her knees locked together, she stooped down and whispered back, “Keep looking up my shorts, Mr. Kincade, and you’ll be seeing London and France through a black eye.”
She’d heard men laugh like that before—a low chuckle wrapped around the most carnal intentions. Goose flesh rippled across her skin. Especially when he boldly took a second tour of Europe.
This morning, she hadn’t chosen the blue silk thong because she wanted to look sexy. She’d chosen it because it was the only thing she had left in her suitcase. Laundering her clothes had been impossible with the schedule she’d kept.
His eyes caressed her thighs. “You know I prefer a red thong over blue.”
To her utter surprise, he then reached up and circled his hands around her waist. “I presume you’re through climbing the corporate ladder for today.” As if she weighed nothing, he lifted her off the table and set her on her feet.
Abby stopped breathing. If she’d carried a king’s ransom in the pocket of her overalls, she would have paid it for one kiss from him—now!
Unfortunately, he released her instead.
She took a step backward. The edge of the table pressed against her bottom. She tried to calm her breathing, still her heart rate. Useless.
Brett stood with his hands on his hips looking up at the floral masterpiece Ronn had just unveiled. “That’s quite a deal, isn’t it?” The arrangement still swayed a bit above them. “Poor guy sitting under that doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Why? It’s secure. It’s not going to fall on him.”
“Look at Cupid’s arrow.” She followed where he pointed. “It’s aimed straight at the heart of the person who sits there.”
“There are worse things than an arrow from Cupid’s quiver.”
He cocked his head slightly, his eyes probed hers. “If you had the chance, would you sit there, Abby?”
She reached behind to steady herself against the table’s edge. If you sat opposite me, in less time than it takes to breathe. “Would you?”
The moment disappeared with another screech from the sound system.
“Brett Kincade, if you’re on the property, I need to see you—NOW!”
Abby glanced sideways. Jordan stood with her back to them, facing the far side of the ballroom. That’s why she hadn’t seen him. Suddenly, Abby saw something she’d missed before too. Brett and Jordan wore the same colors, their clothes were a matched set.
The warmth that enveloped Abby only moments before, drained away. “Do you two call each other every morning to coordinate your outfits?”
Brett didn’t laugh at that, and like hers, his smile faded. “Hardly. We wore this at one of my mother’s charity events. I grabbed something out of the closet this morning and threw it on.”
Abby didn’t know what to say, what to believe. An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Then she saw his gaze shift slightly to something behind her, and heard a voice she didn’t recognize.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding the lovely Lily?”
Abby turned to see a woman in her early sixties staring at her with appraising blue eyes, arms folded, and a fingertip pressed to the tip of her chin. She wore her chin-length blonde hair casually swept back from her face. Makeup perfectly applied, a white silk blouse with a green sweater draped over her shoulders, crisp tan slacks, and a pair of casual pumps. There was no mistaking the resemblance. She had to be Lauren Kincade.
Brett took Abby’s hand and walked toward his mother. “She’s not Lily anymore, Mom. She’s Abby now, Abby Horton.”
Mrs. Kincade opened her arms. “Well Abby dear, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Rose talks about you all the time. Her little Lily’s all grown up.” She took both of Abby’s hands in hers. “And she didn’t exaggerate one bit. You’re lovely.”
The woman is either blind or lies easily, Abby thought. “Thank you. It’s good to meet you too, Mrs. Kincade.”
“Oh please, it’s Lauren. Mrs. Kincade’s far too formal for a day like today.“
Abby had no time to ask what about a day like today before Jordan’s voice again cut through the air, sharp and impatient. “Brett, I’ve been looking all over for you. Please…now!”
Abby arched a brow but said nothing. The frown on Brett’s face said it for her. “Sorry, Mom, Abby, the boss is calling.” He squeezed Abby’s shoulder and went on his way.
They watched Brett stride quickly toward Jordan. When he reached her side, he draped his arm over her shoulder an
d started leading her toward the lobby.
“Aren’t they gorgeous together?” Lauren Kincade began. “They modeled as a couple in our show last year. Brought down the house, especially as the bridal couple.”
Abby almost choked. “I thought… I mean, he said they wore…” She pointed toward them.
“Sportswear, loungewear, and in the grand finale, wedding attire. Fabulous. Once word got out, two national magazines called hoping to do spreads.”
Abby’s mind swirled, leaving her lightheaded. “Did they?”
“Oh my, no. Brett’s had his fill of the spotlight.” She slipped her arm through Abby’s and led her toward a small table, the only one with two uncluttered chairs. “He refused to do it again this year. My guess is the next time we see them in wedding attire, it won’t be make-believe.” She pointed to one of the chairs and daintily sat down on the other. “Now tell me what Rose is up to these days? She’s so unpredictable.”
Chapter Fourteen
They talked only a few minutes before Lauren’s cell phone interrupted them. Or rather Lauren talked while Abby tried to listen. She hoped she smiled and nodded in the right places because she’d heard nothing after Lauren said, “The next time we see them in wedding attire, it won’t be make believe.”
“I’m sorry, Abby, it’s Chef Warren.” Lauren closed her cell. “I swear that man cannot make a decision on his own.” Abby stood too and held out her hand. To her surprise, Lauren embraced her instead. “I hope we’ll have a chance to visit more this evening.”
“I hope so too,” Abby replied although she had no intention of attending the ball. She plopped back in her chair. She’d known misery during her years with Pierce but nothing he did ever hurt her as much as this.
Lauren can’t be right. How could Brett make love to her for hours two nights ago? Even today when she looked like a train wreck, she saw the desire in his eyes. They shared an undeniable magnetism. Could he really marry someone else with that magnetism drawing him to her? Judy had likened Brett to an eagle but only a world-class cheat made love to one woman while planning to marry another.