by Jennie Marts
Finished with his best man duties, he escaped the table and circled around to the back of the room, giving high fives and handshakes as he passed Rock’s teammates.
The town’s ancient librarian, Lola Carter, patted him on the arm as he approached the buffet table. “Don’t worry, honey. The right girl is out there for you. I’m sure we’ll be celebrating your wedding next.”
He tried to smile through his grimace.
He wasn’t worried. In fact, the only thing he was worried about was that he might strangle the next person who told him he was next or that a special girl was out there waiting for him. He knew Lola meant well. Just like the multiple other well-meaning neighbors, friends, and various elderly women who had told him essentially the same thing over the course of the party. But dang, he was so tired of hearing the same old racket.
“I’m sure you’re right, Miss Lola,” he said, patting the papery-thin skin of her small hand.
“I usually am.” She gave him a small chuckle and a wink. “And don’t forget about my niece, Kara. She’s still single too. I can give you her number.”
Seriously? All he wanted was a chocolate chip cookie. “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am. But I’m okay for now.”
She shrugged and turned her attention to the food. “You know where to find me.”
He snagged a couple of cookies and made his escape. Letting out a sigh, he dropped into the seat next to his great-aunt Sassy. “How you doing, beautiful?”
Her real name was Cassandra, but he and his brothers had called her Aunt Sassy from the time they were little, and it was a well-earned nickname. She was his grandmother’s sister and had always been important in their lives. She didn’t take bullshit from anyone—or offer it either. That was one of the things Mason loved about her.
“I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse,” Sassy said. “My joints are killing me, and my girdle must have shrunk in the dryer ’cause it’s digging into my gut. But your brother doesn’t look like anything is killing him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy.” His aunt winked at Mason. “And I thought you gave a real fine toast.”
He offered her a shrug and a murmured, “Thanks.”
She held up a tiny square of bread. “Speaking of toast, who in the hell decided a piece of cucumber and a sliver of nut constituted a sandwich? Your mother probably paid top dollar for these. In my day, a sandwich was ham or bologna on white bread. And if we wanted to get fancy, we’d slap on some Miracle Whip and maybe cut the crust off.”
He grinned. There were a lot of things they’d done differently in her day. “Don’t worry. Those are only the appetizers. Mom’s got plenty of barbecue coming out, and you know she’ll have all the fixin’s to go with it.”
His mother, Vivienne James, would make sure every detail was attended to. She’d successfully run the Triple J Ranch and raised three boys on her own. She could easily handle a shindig for a few hundred people—especially with Rock’s bank account funding the whole thing.
“You need anything?” He gestured to Sassy’s half-empty glass of iced tea, its condensation leaving a dark ring on the teal-blue tablecloth. “You want me to get you some more tea?”
“Nah. I’m fine, honey. I’m getting ready to switch to beer anyway.” She pointed toward the drink table. “But you might want to try to find a mop. That penis ice sculpture is melting all over the floor.”
Mason choked on his swallow of tea. “That what?”
Her wrinkled finger stabbed at the air. “I might be an old woman, but I do remember what they look like.” She shook her head and added a couple of tsk’s for effect. “Personally, I think it’s in poor taste, and I’m surprised your mother allowed it, but who am I to say?”
He tilted his head at the sculpture, then stifled a laugh. “Aunt Sass, it’s supposed to be a hockey stick and a couple of pucks.”
She squinted her eyes. “Ah. I thought it was weird to have the centerpiece symbolizing an erection. But it is a men’s hockey team, and you never know these days.”
He let out a chuckle. “Yeah, I can see how you might think that.” He could also see the puddles forming on the floor where the ice was melting. “I’ll go find a mop.”
* * *
Tessa slipped into the back door of the lodge, clutching the clean shirt to her waist. She spied the ladies’ room door at the end of the hall and hurried toward it, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Dang it.
She waited a few seconds, then checked the other doors in the hallway. The first one was locked, but the second opened into an odd combination coat closet and storeroom, and she slipped inside. One half of the small room was carpeted and had a rod of hangers along part of the wall, while the other side was tiled and had a tall shelf that held assorted books and cleaning supplies.
The door didn’t have a lock, but it would work in a pinch, and she wouldn’t need long to change.
She quickly unbuttoned the stained silk blouse and let it fall to the floor, her mind preoccupied with how she was going to get into the party without Mick. This wasn’t how her day was supposed to go—especially the part about locking her keys in the car—but after a quick round of cussing followed by a swift bout of self-pity, she’d rallied, giving herself the kind of pep talk she imagined Mimi would have offered.
This might not have been the original plan for the day, but she was improvising and moving on to plan B.
Shoving her arms into the sleeves, she noticed the shirt felt odd but didn’t realize what the problem was until she tried to pull the lapels together. What the heck?
She pulled at the sides again and felt the material stretch across her back.
No. I couldn’t have.
She looked closer at the shirt, and her shoulders fell.
I did. She’d grabbed the wrong white shirt from the dryer. Instead of removing her roomy, stretch-cotton shirt, she’d taken her grandmother’s blouse. Her petite, five-foot-nothing grandmother.
Well, shit. She wanted to weep as she looked down and realized there was no way she was squeezing her ample chest into that blouse.
Plan B ruined by a double-D cup!
Dammit.
Please fit, she prayed as she tried again, squashing her chest and working to squeeze the small button into the opposite hole. She cursed the extra weight she’d put on, knowing this wasn’t the first time lately she’d tried to squeeze into apparel that was just a smidge too small.
She let out a tiny shriek as the door to the utility closet suddenly opened, then froze as she took in the ridiculously handsome cowboy who filled its frame. The hinges of his chiseled jaw must’ve been broken because his mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide at the sight of her.
Par for the course of her day, the button on her shirt picked that horribly inopportune moment to work free, and her shirt popped open like a can of biscuits.
“Oh dang. Sorry,” the cowboy muttered, his eyes widening further as his gaze dropped to the black lacy bra for just a moment before he turned his back and shimmied out of his suit jacket. He passed it back to her. “You all right there, miss?”
No, she was not all right. She was definitely not all right.
She wanted to cry and stamp her feet and run home to Mimi’s house to curl up on her grandmother’s outdated chintz sofa and stuff her face with marshmallow cookies.
But that wasn’t an option because Mimi’s cupboards were bare, and she may not have her house—or the chintz sofa—for much longer. Tess held back a sigh as she slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket, careful not to damage the red rose pinned to the lapel.
It was time to admit defeat. To give up on this stupid plan and try to come up with another way to raise the money. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of stress. Maybe she should rethink Mimi’s lemonade-stand idea or see if she could get a job as a waitress.
“I’
m fine. Mostly. Except that a bird pooped on my shirt, and the one I was trying to change into must have shrunk in the dryer.” She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted out the bird-turd fiasco, and she couldn’t bring herself to admit the added stupid mistake of grabbing the wrong blouse. “I just need a minute.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he answered, turning his head slightly and offering her a tip of his hat. She noticed a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he backed away from the door.
She pulled one side of the coat over the other, thankful the suit jacket covered her exposed chest.
Hmmm. She skimmed the satiny petals of the rose. Boutonnieres were typically reserved for the bridal party. This guy must be one of the groomsmen.
“Wait,” she called as the cute cowboy started to walk away.
Plan B had just turned into plan C.
Chapter 2
Tess sucked her bottom lip under her front teeth and tried for her best damsel-in-distress voice. “I realize you don’t know me, but I could really use your help.”
The cowboy turned back and arched an eyebrow before glancing down at her now-covered chest. “It seems like we’ve passed formal introductions. I may not know your name, but I feel like we’ve already made it to second base.” His tone was teasing, and he offered her an impish grin. “Which is further than I got on my last date.”
She doubted that.
He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Lean and broad shouldered, with jet-black hair and traces of a five-o’clock shadow already smudged across his jaw, he couldn’t have to work that hard to get dates. And with that panty-melting grin, she suspected women would be lined up to not just get to second base, but also to slide into home with this charmer.
She grinned back—dang it, she couldn’t help it; he was just so cute—and held out her hand. “I’m Tessa Kane, but you can call me Tess.”
“Mason.” He reached for her hand, and the feel of his warm, callused palm against her skin sent a shiver of heat down her back. His voice was deep and rich and melted over her like butter on a pancake.
She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Nice to meet you, Mason.”
Forget the damsel-in-distress ruse. Hell, forget about the stupid story. She should just say “Screw it” to this terrible day and pull this cowboy into the closet with her. She was already halfway to undressed—all it would take would be to drop his jacket and step out of her skirt and painful party pumps.
Or, on second thought, she could leave the heels on and just step out of her skirt. What came next would be worth the pain.
His eyes narrowed, almost as if he could read her thoughts, and a slow smile turned up the edges of his lips. Dang, he had great lips too.
He seemed to have a great everything. Even his jacket smelled amazing—like expensive aftershave with hints of musk—and she wanted to lift it to her face and inhale his scent.
But she couldn’t because she couldn’t move, could barely breathe as she stood frozen, captured by the heat of his stare. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as his gaze dipped to her lips.
The air around them fairly sizzled with energy. Neither of them spoke. He seemed to drink her in, as if feasting on her with his eyes, and her body heated with the intensity of his gaze.
What the heck was happening?
Was she seriously considering yanking this guy into the closet and having her way with him? Her body tingled at the thought, even as the heat of a blush warmed her neck.
But there was something about this man—maybe the way he’d chivalrously offered her his jacket, the deep timbre of his voice, or just the fact that he was a ridiculously hot cowboy. Whatever it was, it was turning her brain to mush and robbing her of all sane thought.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something reckless and foolish, and her inner vixen was cheering her on.
Do it. It’s a wedding. And he’s a hot cowboy named Mason. What could go wrong?
Wait.
Mason?
Her inner vixen sighed as her brain suddenly reengaged. And she remembered Mason was the name of Rockford James’s younger brother.
Maybe it’s another Mason, her vixen cajoled. A seriously hot Mason, with lots of muscles and hard abs and a sexy smile.
Yeah, right. Another guy named Mason who was so close to Rock that he’d made him one of his groomsmen. Sure, that could happen.
Maybe her luck had turned and this was her chance to get an introduction to Rock.
Dammit. Her inner minx sulked, realizing Tess’s luck might have turned but their chances of actually getting lucky had just faded away.
Oh well. There were more important things she needed to be doing than steaming up a utility closet with a cute cowboy.
“Any chance you know where I could find another shirt?” she asked, tamping down her desire. “I have another one, hopefully one that didn’t shrink, but it’s locked in my car, along with the keys.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “Man, you are having a bad day.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered, then looked down at the jacket pulled across her chest. “I do know I can’t very well go into the party wearing just this.”
His grin widened. “You could, but you might steal the show from the bride-to-be.”
A flirty smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “You certainly seemed to enjoy the show.”
He let out another low laugh, and she swore she saw a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. Another flash of heat surged down her spine. Why it seemed ridiculously sexy that she’d just made this cowboy blush was beyond her. But she liked it.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Guilty. But before I get myself into any more trouble, I do think I can help. Stay right there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He shut the closet door, and she sagged back against the wall, her feelings warring between the hope that she could actually get her story and despair at the thought that she’d just missed out on something she had a feeling would have been toe-curlingly amazing.
* * *
Mason shook his head as he pushed through the back door of the Masonic Lodge and headed toward his truck. What in the heck had just happened?
He blinked against the bright Colorado sun and tried to regain his bearings. He felt like he’d just been through a tornado—a dark-haired, gorgeous, half-naked tornado—and his mind couldn’t seem to process the effects of the storm.
He couldn’t have been more surprised when he’d opened that closet door in search of a… Hell, he could barely remember what he’d been looking for. But what he’d found had been a curvy woman in a snug skirt and a black lace bra, with legs that seemed to be about a mile long. A woman who had quite literally taken his breath away.
He still didn’t feel like he could catch his breath.
Opening the door of his truck, he grabbed the blue button-down shirt he’d taken off earlier when he’d changed into his dress shirt and suit, and headed back to the lodge.
Stopping outside the closet door, he hesitated, wondering for a moment if he’d imagined the whole thing. Imagined the beautiful woman, the suggestive grin, and the feeling that if he had stepped into that closet, he would have walked back out with a big dang smile on his face.
The thought of running his hands over those curves had his heart racing, and he tugged at his collar before reaching for the doorknob.
Please still be there.
A smile broke out on his face as he pulled open the door and saw the dark-haired beauty straighten from where she’d been slumped against the wall. The lapels of his suit coat gaped, and he caught a glimpse of her creamy skin and the sumptuous cleavage spilling over the top of the lacy bra.
He averted his eyes, drawing them up to her face as he handed her the shirt. “Try this. It might be a little big, but it’ll cover up your…er…
I mean, it will cover you up.” Heat flamed his neck as her lips curved into a grin. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” She clutched the shirt to her chest. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
He stood in the doorway, unable to tear his gaze from her, then realized she probably wasn’t planning to change in front of him. Idiot.
“Well, I’ll let you get changed. I’ll wait for you out here.” He took a step back and closed the door.
A minute later, she stepped out, his shirt buttoned up and tucked into her skirt.
“That shirt looks a heck of a lot better on you than it ever has on me.” And it would look even better lying on the floor next to her skirt. Images of her pale skin against black lace filled his head, and a flurry of heat swirled in his gut.
“I doubt that,” she said, smoothing the shirt across her waist, then offering him a flirty grin.
Or maybe it was just a grin, and he was hoping it was flirty.
Dang. He hadn’t had a woman affect him like this in… He couldn’t even remember how long. Maybe that was because he was used to seeing the same women all the time. In a town this small, the dating options were slim. But he didn’t think so. There was something about this one. Something that made him notice how long her eyelashes were and the navy-blue color of her eyes.
It made his brain turn to mush, and he couldn’t seem to form a reasonable sentence. But he needed to say something. He couldn’t just stand there staring at her. Except that he couldn’t think of anything to say. She had rendered him speechless.
“Do you think we should head back to the party?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course.” Dang. One minute he couldn’t talk, and the next his tongue was tripping over his words. A sudden thought had his back teeth clenching as he realized she might be anxious to return to the party because someone was waiting for her there.