CR!93BHZ3MAHS4NVAVVWQG1QCZMZ0ZB

by Unknown

  “Oh. My. God!” Her brown eyes sparkled. “Jo, how could you not have told me this! I could have given you my countdown-to-conjugals calendar.”

  The bubbly young sales rep was getting married in July. For the past year, she’d been planning her nuptials with the kind of single-minded intensity normally associated with the invasion of small countries.

  As usual Delwyn didn’t wait for a response. “It’s been so long since you dated I’d even started to wonder if you’d changed teams. Especially when you got your hair cut so short.”

  Flicking her glossy brown hair back from her face, Delwyn frowned as Kev frantically shook his head.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  Shaker’s Bar & Grill was a Beacon Bay institution on the estuary, only a sprawl of lawn separating it from the sea.

  The yeasty smell of local specialty beer all but permeated the walls. Yet despite that, on a cold day, nothing beat a table near the fire. From there, through the salt-stained window, you could watch the seabirds hovering over the broad sweep of estuary.

  Having spent the morning fending off wedding congratulations, Jo was in no mood to appreciate the view. Dan was so going to pay for this.

  About to go in, she saw her ex Chris Boyle getting out of a Mercedes with CommLink’s financial controller, Grant. The sight dismayed her, not because she felt uncomfortable around an old boyfriend, but because if the company’s bigwig was here, CommLink had wanted the Chronicle badly. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

  Grant looked nervous as they approached. Sandy-haired and shy, he and Jo had gone to school together. He’d introduced her to Chris at Jo’s first publishing conference. Maybe he was feeling the awkwardness of that now. Giving him a reassuring smile, she held out her hand to Chris. “What’s it been … four years?”

  “And you’re still the same.” His smiling gaze slid over her slim curves.

  When she’d finally realized his self-assurance-cloaked arrogance and broken it off—a first for Chris—he’d retaliated by called her a ball-breaker. “Afraid so,” she said genially. “Shall we go in, gentlemen?”

  Grant raised his water glass as soon as they were seated. “So, congratulations! I got your wedding invitation this morning.”

  This bloody joke was losing its humor fast. Jo hesitated. She didn’t want to explain in front of Chris who’d inspired her pact with Dan in the first place. &#s i¡€†x201C;Thanks,”

  she said and retreated behind her menu. She’d tell Grant privately when she got the chance. “The chicken pie is particularly good.”

  “I always thought you and Dan belonged together,” continued Grant earnestly. “Even at school he was the one person you couldn’t man—” Realizing he was about to insult his boss, he picked up his menu. “The chicken pie you say?”

  Manage. Jo finished his sentence. As affable and easygoing as Dan was, he went his own way, not just with her but with everybody. And she’d never worked out how he did it. Which annoyed her. And made her laugh. The wedding invitation extended a long tradition.

  “So, Chris,” she changed the subject again, “how many kids do you have now?” He’d married six months after they’d broken up. Someone sweet and compliant.

  “Two and another on the way.” Proudly, he pulled out pictures of his girls and became a much nicer man. “I remember you always wanted three yourself. You and Dan planning a family?”

  “Still under discussion.” Maybe a bathroom break would kill this subject. “Would you two excuse me for a minute?”

  Ten minutes later as Jo returned through the lunch-time crowd, she heard a familiar drawl. Abruptly, she stopped. For a moment she couldn’t see him, then a gap opened around the bar and Dan came into view, talking to the manager, Anton.

  The desert sun had tanned his skin and lightened his hair to the streaked gold it used to be when they were kids. You could tell he’d been away from civilization awhile—his hair flopped over one eyebrow and curled over the collar of his flannel shirt. Jo became conscious of a deep thankfulness.

  Steve and Lee’s deaths had destroyed her belief that Dan’s crack troop was invincible. Even now the memory closed her throat. And they’d come so close to losing him, too. But now she would never have to worry for him again. Never have to dread the daily news feeds. She forgave him for making their private joke so public.

  Anton gesticulated to make a point and a beer bottle toppled off the counter. Dan caught it, looked up and smiled at her with all the old lazy affection. Of course he’d known she was there. Even in the dimly lit bar, his eyes were piercing.

  “Here comes my bride.”

  “Great joke.” She stepped into his hug. “Really hilarious.”

  His arms tightened. “I told you I’d find you a husband.”

  Jo pulled back.

  Dan’s eyes gleamed. “Miss me?” “No.” She broke free only to be pulled into Anton’s embrace.

  “Congratulations, Jo. Sheesh, you’re a dark horse. Why the hell didn’t you tell your old gang?” “Because it’s a joke.”

  Dan pulled a beer mat out of his jean pocket and handed it to Anton. “I have a contract.” “Give me that!”

  Fending her off, Anton read it with a grin, then returned it to Dan. “Looks legal to me.”

  “If it makes you feel better, Swannie—” Dan repocketed it “—I’d warmed to the idea anyway.”

  Da¡€†=“QMFQF”>“Gee, thanks.” Jo relaxed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Paying the deposit for the wedding breakfast.”

  “You always did like to labor a joke, Jansen. You know I mean in New Zealand. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?”

  “I wanted the element of surprise.” Under gold-tipped lashes, eyes as blue as the Mediterranean sparkled. Oh, yes, she’d missed him. “You know, Jo, it’s kinda humiliating that you’re the only one not taking me seriously here. I’ve already had a dozen RSVPs. Speaking of which.” He held out his hand to someone behind her. “Grant, hey, buddy. And Chris. Long time no see.”

  Jo shifted uneasily as the men exchanged handshakes. She wanted Dan to concede the joke, just not right now.

  “You guys here on business?” Dan looked at Grant.

  “We hope so.” Chris had always liked to answer for other people. “You back farming now?”

  “Trial run … could be permanent. Depends on whether Jo shows up for the wedding.”

  Jo forced a laugh. “Always a kidder.” She put a hand under Chris’s elbow. “Let’s go back to our table. I know you movers and shakers work on a tight schedule.”

  Chris resisted. “I have to say I’m surprised, Dan. I never knew you were interested in Jo romantically.”

  “Obviously I had to wait for her to drop her standards,” said Dan. “Let other guys disappoint her into having more realistic expectations. So I guess I have you to thank in some small way.”

  Jo caught Anton’s eye, saw he was enjoying this as much as Dan. She bit her lip. At any other time she’d have loved having Chris put in his place but not when she was about to reject CommLink’s offer. She wanted the atmosphere amicable. She flashed a quick frown at Dan, who interpreted it correctly.

  “Still, I hear you’re achieving great things in your career.”

  Some of the stiffness went out of Chris’s posture. Jo realized she was still gripping his elbow and released it.

  “Thanks. I hope your farming venture’s as successful.”

  “You and me both. Anyway, I have an appointment so I’d better get going. Jo …? I’ll be at Barry’s when you’re done.” The menswear shop downstairs from the Chronicle. His lips brushed hers and she blinked in surprise.

  Dismissing a prickle of unease, Jo sat down with Chris and Grant over chicken pie. “About the paper.”

  “Always impatient,” Chris said. “But before we present our offer let me tell you why it may be lower than you had hoped.”

  His comment intrigued her. Jo finished a morsel of creamy chicken and flaky gold
en pastry. “Go on.”

  “The situation’s changed since you and I talked.” Grant’s tone was apologetic as he put down his fork and reached for his water glass. “The economic downturn’s decimating revenue for all of us in community publishing.”

  “What my colleague’s saying,” Chris interrupted, “is that the , J¡€†Chronicle’s books showed a sharp drop for the six months ending in December.”

  “And a steady recovery this year,” Jo pointed out.

  “Not to anywhere near the previous year’s levels,” Chris countered.

  Give me time. “How about we skip the preamble and go straight to your offer?”

  “At least let’s finish this delicious lunch first,” he protested.

  “Why, will the offer give me indigestion?”

  Chris laughed, but when their plates had been cleared and he finally gave her the contract Jo did need an antacid to stomach it.

  “You probably have questions,” he said.

  “Only one.” Jo looked at Grant. “Did you have a hostile takeover in mind when you first approached me to sell?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Of course not!” Out of the corner of her eye, Jo saw Chris shift in his chair.

  “I believe you,” she said to Grant. “You know, Chris, I sent you the Chronicle’s accounts in good faith. I guess I should have known that, sensing a weakness, you’d pounce.”

  “That’s a little harsh.” He seemed hurt as he picked up his dessert menu.

  “Order the double chocolate cheesecake,” Jo suggested. “It’ll kill you quicker.” She discovered she was enjoying herself.

  Grant looked aghast, but Chris only laughed.

  “To be honest I was feeling guilty when I came here today,” she confessed. “You see, I’d already decided to decline your offer. How fortunate we’ve both been wasting each other’s time.”

  The two men exchanged glances, then Grant leaned forward. “Jo, you’ve done a great job,” he said earnestly. “In fact, you’ve held out longer than most small independents. But these days publishing success comes from economies of scale, not idealism.”

  Jo looked at Chris. “I’m assuming you’re the bad cop.”

  “Always coming out swinging … well … okay.” He put down the dessert menu. “Here are the facts. The Chronicle’s sixty-year monopoly in the region is no longer unassailable. The local population is more fluid—old loyalties hold less sway. It would be easy for us to set ourselves up in opposition and add value for advertisers.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the puff pieces masquerading as impartial journalism in your publications. The Chronicle reflects the community’s interests, not advertisers’ interests.”

  Chris laughed. “Reports on every two-bit community group hardly make riveting reading, however inflammatory your news pages may be.”

  Grant shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve no wish to see an iconic brand fail. Neither do you, Jo, or you wouldn’t have looked for a buyer. Obviously we’d prefer to negotiate a sale—one that works for both of us—rather than launch a competitive paper and slug it out in the market.”

  “But make no mistake,” Chris smiled, “we will do just that if yiec¡€†ou turn us down.”

  Yes, she was definitely enjoying herself. “Give me your best offer,” she said, “and I’ll consider it.”

  When they’d left, she went to the bar, ordered a double espresso and nursed it in front of the fire. Chris had used Grant like a Trojan horse when Jo had been too beleaguered to smell a rat. The entrepreneur in her could appreciate his cleverness.

  She slipped off the high heels she’d worn for this meeting and stretched her stockinged feet toward the fire. She was really going to enjoy teaching him a lesson. I’m back.

  “Jo?”

  Anton tapped her shoulder. His signet ring glinted in the firelight as he held out a piece of paper. “Dan forgot his receipt. Will you give it to him?”

  Automatically she accepted it, then saw it was for a thousand-dollar deposit on a wedding supper. “Joke’s getting kinda thin, Anton.” Jo ripped it in two and dropped it on the coffee table.

  His brow creased. “I thought the joke was in the way you proposed?”

  She threw up her hands. “Why does everyone assume it’s true?”

  Anton picked up the pieces and handed them back. “Because jokers don’t usually pay in cash.”

  Back in the Soldier’s Arms/Here Comes the Groom

  CR!93BHZ3MAHS4NVAVVWQG1QCZMZ0ZB

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAN KNEW JO HAD REALIZED he wasn’t playing games as soon as he saw her striding down Main Street.

  Through the plate-glass storefront she looked like a gunfighter at the O.K. Corral, purposeful, with a determined set to her delicate chin as she steeled herself to shoot down the buddy who’d gone loco.

  Knowing her so well, he could even see she was a little frightened that he was so willfully destroying the status quo.

  “Earth to Daniel, can we concentrate please?” He returned his attention to Barry, who was rifling through the racks of suits labeled Special Occasions. “I’m hearing a no to the cummerbund and bow tie?”

  “You know me, Baz. A man of simple tastes.” Except in women. “You choose.”

  Dan turned back to the window. Jo stood at the traffic lights, arms folded, foot tapping impatiently as she waited for the green.

  The last time he’d seen her—at Auckland Hospital after the funerals—she’d been recovering from surgery on a rotator cuff injury after a fall on her shoulder. Even shattered by grief Dan had seen she wasn’t well enough to hear what he was going through so he’d said he was coping.

  Barry’s exasperated voice broke into his reverie. “Daniel Jansen, I’ve sto y desaid the same thing three times.” His friend planted his hands on his slim hips. “Black or charcoal gray for the stroller coat?”

  “Charcoal gray.” Outside Jo had been waylaid by a well-wisher. He watched her gesticulate, shaking her head. He smiled. “The color of the bride’s eyes when she’s pissed.”

  “We need a contrasting color for the waistcoat and tie.” Barry flicked through the racks. “Taupe is hot this season.”

  Dan was momentarily diverted. “What the hell color is taupe?”

  “Fawn.” Barry pulled out a waistcoat to show him. “Is the bride going to be in white or ivory? You don’t want clashes on the day.”

  “I think the clashes might be earlier than that.” The anemic sun caught her short auburn curls. The new-look short hairstyle feathered around her cheekbones. It suited her.

  “So the waistcoat … full back or backless?” “Full back sounds more manly.” Barry grinned. “Not secure in your masculinity, sweetie?”

  “Not with my bride bearing down on us. Hide the scissors.”

  The bell above the door jangled and Jo swept in. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

  “We were discussing taupe,” he said mildly.

  Barry glanced from one to the other. “He wasn’t supposed to come without you, was he? The naughty boy. Jo, I like your suit.”

  “Thanks.” She took in the row of tuxedos and narrowed her gaze on Dan. “This farce has gone far enough.”

  “Now, why can’t you just be swept away by the romance of it all?” Dan complained. “Baz, forget taupe. Give me a waistcoat in silver.”

  Jo grabbed the garment first. “Oh, yeah, very romantic. Organizing a wedding without the consent of the bride.” Dan started to reach in his jean pocket. “And if you bring out the damn beer mat again, Jansen, I’ll ram it down your throat.” She handed the silver waistcoat back to Barry. “Of course he’s not serious.”

  Dan raised his brows. “Why aren’t I?”

  “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.” Exasperated, she turned on him. “For one, I’m not interested in marriage and kids anymore. With anyone. For two, you never were.”

  “Groom’s prerogative to change his mind.” Dan reached past her for the waistcoat. “But not
the bride’s.”

  Jo caught his hand in a death grip. “I’m trying to be diplomatic here.”

  He laughed. So did Barry.

  “I’m making a list of aiders and abettors,” she warned and Barry looked to him for guidance. Dan freed his hand from Jo’s and gestured for the waistcoat.

  Barry dithered. “You’re both my friends…. I don’t know whose side to take.”

  “Mine,” Jo ordered.

  Dan crooked one finger. Barry gave him the garment. “Sorry, Jo, he’s brawn. You’re mainly bluster. And, sweetie, he really does want to marry you.”

  “Why are youcau±€† doing this?” Bewildered, she turned back to him.

  Walking over to the mirror, Dan held the waistcoat against his chest. “You want a family—I’m ready to settle down. Who better to marry than the only woman I’ve ever had a halfway decent relationship with? It’s a win-win for both of us.”

  She gave a strangled laugh. “Marriage isn’t a business deal. There’s a little matter of love.”

  “We love each other.”

  “Platonically!”

  “That means it will last.”

  “For God’s sake, Dan, get real. We’ve had fifteen years of being grown-ups when we could have got together and we never have. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “Yeah, that timing is everything.” He smiled at her. “Hit on me again now.”

  A rare blush colored her cheeks. “We don’t talk about that.”

  “We haven’t talked about it.” Dan shrugged on the waistcoat. “That doesn’t mean either of us forgot. Baz, you look like a man in need of a coffee. Give us five minutes, will you?”

  He waited until their buddy left the shop then said, “Funny, isn’t it? At the time I was outraged that my best friend was coming on to me. But I never could get that image out of my head.” His voice grew husky. “The way your breasts looked under that chiffony thing—”

  “Don’t!” She turned away and all he could see was her profile as she began spacing a row of jackets. “Don’t build a future on one drunken pass I barely remember.”

  He did up the buttons on the waistcoat. “You suggested the marriage contract when you were drunk. You hit on me when you were drunk. Maybe your subconscious was trying to tell you something.”