by Cat Johnson
“He is. As soon as these are safely put away, I’m going to head home and get dressed myself. The photographer wants to take the pictures of the groomsmen early so she can come here and take some pictures of you girls while you’re getting ready.” He smiled. “See, told you. As many details as a military invasion.”
“I guess so.” The thought of what Logan would look like in his tuxedo was a very tempting image. Emma loved a uniform but she had to agree with Becca’s thinking. Having Tucker and Logan in uniform and Tyler and Jace in tuxedos might have looked disjointed for the pictures. It seemed Becca’s obsessive compulsive disorder extended to needing even the groomsmen to match. Uniforms or not, it would certainly be a good-looking group of men.
Emma took the clear plastic box holding two wrist corsages and two boutonnières and rested it on top of one of the six-packs. Beer and flowers. It made for an interesting arrangement.
“Thank you for bringing these over.” She swung the door closed and turned to find Logan much closer than he had been before, his arm braced on the top of the fridge.
“My pleasure.” He smiled, his lips temptingly close. “Can I just sneak past you and grab a pop?”
Emma’s mouth grew dry. She licked her own lips and couldn’t seem to keep from staring at his. “Um, a pop?”
His dimples grew deeper as he smiled. “That would be soda to you northeastern girls.”
“Oh, sure. Of course. Sorry.” She liked right where she was, under the arch of his arm, but she moved out of the way so he could get into the fridge.
He opened the door and grabbed a can, glancing at her over his shoulder as he did. “I already had a cup of coffee, but I could sure use the extra caffeine this morning.”
She nodded. It seemed the closer Logan stood, the less she had to say, and Emma rarely found herself speechless.
“So, I guess I’ll see you later?” His eyes focused on hers.
“I look forward to it.”
He didn’t move. Emma didn’t feel compelled to, either, unless it was to step into his arms and see if his kiss was as good as she imagined it to be.
His gaze moved away from her eyes as he reached out and brushed a piece of hair that had fallen over her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear. The move felt as intimate as a caress. “You’ll look perfect however you decide to do your hair for the wedding, but I think it looks great just the way it is.”
Emma imagined Logan pushing her up against the fridge and kissing her while he tangled his fingers in her hair. She swallowed hard. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The door from the house swung open and Tara stood in the opening. “Logan. What are you doing here?”
“He just dropped off our bouquets. They’re beautiful. Want to see yours?” Emma answered Tara’s questions for him, hoping her thoughts of a quickie in the garage with Logan weren’t written all over her face.
“Sure.” Though her focus never strayed from Logan, Tara moved into the garage. She reached out and looped an arm through his. “You’re so sweet to bring them to us. Isn’t he the best, Emma?”
“Yup, the best.” Emma did her best to tear her gaze away from where Tara touched Logan.
Emma had to remember she had no claim on this man. Heck, she even had another date for the wedding, so who was she to complain if Tara touched him and acted like he was hers, the way she was doing right now as her hands remained clasped around his muscle. Tara and Logan had grown up together, after all. They were friends. They had a history.
None of Emma’s lectures to herself worked. The green-eyed monster still took hold and squeezed.
Logan shook his head. “Not at all. Just doing a favor for Tuck. I, uh, gotta run now, though. I’ll see you ladies later.”
“Definitely.” Tara shot him a wide smile even as he disengaged her hand from his arm. “Remember, Logan, you promised to save me a dance.”
“We gotta get through the ceremony first. I better go. The photographer’s waiting on us.” Logan’s gaze cut to Emma. “See you later, Emma.”
At least Logan wasn’t hanging on Tara the way Tara hung on him. That was something. Emma retracted her claws. “Bye. Thanks again.”
With a nod, Logan departed and for better or worse, she was left alone with Tara. Emma yanked hard on the handle of the fridge. “So yours and mine are the two matching smaller ones. The big white bouquet is Becca’s.”
The door to the kitchen had slammed completely shut behind Logan before Tara would even look inside the fridge at what Emma was trying to show her.
“Oh, nice. Just wanted to get myself a pop. See ya.” Tara reached inside and grabbed a soda before she scampered off with her pop, probably in pursuit of Logan, if Emma had to venture a guess.
Emma was competitive in work. Even in play—don’t get her started in a heated game of Scrabble or the tiles might start to fly—but her love life was a different situation. She was in no mood to compete with Tara for Logan’s attention. Just as she had never wanted to compete with Jace’s ex-girlfriend for his time.
When it came to Oklahoma men, it seemed Emma was routinely too late. There was always a woman from the past. A woman who drank pop not soda.
She would always be the interloper, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
Logan strode across the lawn and into the house as fast as his legs could take him. He’d faced down the deadliest of enemies during his army career, and yet he was running away from a twenty-one-year-old girl.
A man had to do what a man had to do.
How else could he react besides run? He couldn’t tell Tara he could no more kiss her than he could Tuck or Tyler. If it came to it, he’d sit Tara down and explain he felt nothing toward her except brotherly affection, but he’d rather not do it mere hours before the wedding. That’s all he would need—a pissed off or worse, crying Tara ruining Tuck and Becca’s day.
Meanwhile, to complicate things further, just a few moments alone with Emma had made him crave hours more. If Tara hadn’t walked in and interrupted them, chances were good he’d still be there, imagining kissing Emma, and late for the pictures.
Logan cleared the property line between Tuck’s and his own house without being waylaid by Tara again, thanks to his near sprint, but it was only to see Jace’s pickup truck in the driveway. A two-ton reminder that Emma was going to the reception with Jace.
Hell of a fucked up weekend this was turning out to be, and the day had only just begun.
“Logan? Is that you?”
He heard his mother’s voice from inside the kitchen even before he pushed through the screen door.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at him from her position at the kitchen sink. “Your friend Jace is here.”
Logan held back his opinion on that statement and hooked a thumb at the door leading to the hall and his room. “Okay, thanks. I gotta go get dressed.”
“All right. Let me see all you boys once you’re ready.”
Had he been transported back to his senior prom? “Will do, Mom.”
Logan turned the corner and headed into his bedroom and, like it or not, almost into Jace, who was blocking the doorway.
“Admit it, Tuck. You nervous?”
Logan walked into the room just in time to hear the question and see Tuck frown in reaction to it. “No. Not at all. Why should I be?”
“This isn’t your first time.” Jace cocked his head to one side and shrugged.
“No, it isn’t. Which is why this time I’m sure.” Tuck’s tone left no doubt of his sincerity.
Had Jace been raised by wolves? He was seriously bringing up doubts about getting married on the man’s wedding day? Couldn’t he see Tuck didn’t need any more stress right now?
Time for Logan to end this conversation. He wedged himself into the space between Tuck and Jace and reached for his tuxedo, which was hanging from the frame of the wall mirror. “Excuse me.”
“Sure.” Jace had to take a step back or be whacked in the fa
ce with the tux.
Logan glanced at Jace. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Now?” Jace raised a brow and glanced at the digital clock on the dresser. “Do we have to? The wedding isn’t for hours. I figured we could have a drink first.”
A drink? Logan had woken up on the rough side this morning. Thank God he had had the presence of mind to take that ibuprofen and drink a bottle of water before passing out last night or things might have been worse. But there was no way in hell he was starting off his morning with a drink.
“The ceremony doesn’t start for a while yet, but we have to get to the church an hour early to go over things with the preacher.” Logan ignored the drink comment and reviewed the schedule. “And we have to meet the photographer before that to take some pictures of the groomsmen without the girls.”
It never failed. It seemed he always ended up having to be the leader. Didn’t matter if he was in charge of a unit in Afghanistan, or running a training for the ROTC cadets at OSU. Or here and now, herding the groomsmen to get them to the church on time.
“Fine. My tux is in the truck. I’ll go get it.” Jace left with a pout worthy of a child.
Petty as it might be, Logan enjoyed Jace’s displeasure. He glanced at Tuck, too busy trying to put on his cufflinks to have paid much attention to the conversation. “Here, let me help you.”
Logan felt every inch the surrogate older brother as he helped Tuck. Twenty years ago, when Tuck and Logan’s little brother, Layne, had been inseparable and had both been Logan’s shadows, they all might as well have been blood brothers. Back then Logan could never have imagined the grown man standing before him now dressed for his wedding and ready to start a new life and a family of his own with the woman he loved. As much as it made Logan feel old and sentimental, the thought made him smile.
Tuck glanced up and saw Logan’s expression. “What?”
“I’m just thinking about the old days. Back when you and Layne were in little league together. Things have sure changed.”
“Yeah, they have. Unlike in the past I now restrain myself from running down the road after the ice cream truck.” Tuck grinned.
“Thank God for that. You skinned more knees than I could count running after that damn truck.” Logan laughed at the memory. “And now here you are getting married.”
Tuck shrugged. “I’ve been married before, as Jace keeps reminding me.”
“That wedding was . . .” Logan searched to put a name to it.
“A mistake?” Tuck’s brows rose.
“No. What I was going to say was . . .” Logan shook his head. “Okay, maybe it was a mistake. Either way, that time was nothing like this.”
“Yeah, I know. This feels different.” Tuck stood still as Logan continued to wrestle with the tiny cufflink. Was there no invention to make putting these things on easier?
“It is different, Tuck.” Logan finished the job on one of Tuck’s wrists and moved to the other. “And I’m not saying that because the first one was at the courthouse and this time will be in a church. It’s not about where. It’s about who.”
“You’re right. It’s different because I’m marrying Becca.”
“Exactly.” Logan finished with the final cufflink and stepped back. “You two might have started out a little unconventionally, but you did good finding her.”
Tuck adjusted his sleeve and then his gaze met Logan’s. “I’m glad you like her.”
“It would be hard not to. She’s likable.”
So was her sister. Damn, Jace—Logan hated that Jace had gotten to meet her first. Logan fought the scowl threatening to settle on his face.
“I know something you don’t know. Something Emma said to Becca.” Tuck waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna hear?”
Logan broke out into a laugh. “Are we both twelve-year-old girls now?” But dammit, he did want to know. “All right. Tell me.”
“She called you a hottie.”
One look at Tuck’s grinning face told Logan his friend was enjoying this way too much. Meanwhile, he couldn’t deny his heart sped at the revelation of what Emma had said to her sister about him. Logan opened his mouth to reply when the door swung wide.
“Who called you a hottie?” With his usual annoying timing, Jace was back.
“No one.” Logan’s answer came out as more of a warning for Tuck to keep his mouth shut.
Tuck’s grin widened.
Jace frowned. “Come on. Who?”
“My Aunt Matilda,” Tuck answered and shot a smirk in Logan’s direction.
“Your grandmother’s sister?” Jace slapped Logan on the back. “Wow. Good for you, big guy. I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you, Aunt Matilda, and her walker on the dance floor. It might be hard though, while I’m grinding against Emma’s hot little body.”
Logan set his jaw and drew in a bracing breath through his nose.
“Hey, guys.” Tyler came through the door, already dressed for the wedding. “The photographer just called the house and talked to Ma. She’s meeting us at the church in fifteen. Better get a move on.”
Lucky for Jace, though he’d never know it, that Tyler had chosen that moment to come in. Otherwise, after that comment about Emma, there was a good chance Jace would have been sporting a black eye for the wedding pictures.
Chapter Five
“I’m going to cry off all my makeup.” Becca was a vision in white, even with her red eyes.
Emma wiped at her own cheek as a tear slipped down. Good thing no one could see them in the tiny room off the back of the church. It was the perfect place for brides to hide—and cry—until it was time to make their appearance.
“Becs, you have to stop. You’re making me cry, too.” Thank God for waterproof mascara or Emma would look like a raccoon.
“I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t stop.” Becca drew in a shaky breath. “I didn’t even get down the aisle yet. What’s going to happen when I’m standing next to Tucker and have to say my vows?”
“That man waiting for you at the altar doesn’t care if you do sob your way through the ceremony, because he loves you.” Emma’s voice cracked as the sentiment brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. “Oh, no. Now I made myself cry.”
Becca let out a laugh through her tears. She reached for the tissue box the church provided. Pulling two from inside, she handed one to Emma. “Quite a pair we make.”
Emma took the tissue and nodded. “I know. We’re pitiful. And we both had better stash a spare tissue in our cleavage for during the ceremony.”
“Good idea.” Becca pulled two more out of the box.
“This morning I was worried about my hair.” Emma turned toward the mirror. She pointed at her reddened eyes and turned to Becca. “I should have been more concerned about looking like this.”
The door to the room swung open as Tara returned from the bathroom. She stood in the doorway, looking from Becca to Emma. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing.” Becca shook her head.
Emma drew in a long breath, determined to steady herself. “We’re being silly and crying over nothing and we’re going to stop. Right now. Right?”
“Right.” Becca nodded. “I hope.”
“Phew. Okay. I got scared for a second.” Tara stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Emma tried not to hate her as her perky little breasts stood up just fine on their own beneath the sky blue taffeta dress. The halter style Becca had chosen meant Emma had to wear a bra with convertible straps to contain her own C-cups. That strap, and the weight of the breasts it supported, cut into the back of her neck and made the dull headache she’d woken up with—probably from the shots at the bar last night—worse.
It was going to be a long night, but she’d get through it. She’d suffered for fashion before and she was sure she would do so again. Tara, on the other hand, was braless and no doubt far more comfortable. It must be nice to be twenty-something with the breasts to match.
“I peeked i
nside. It’s really filling up in there.” Tara glanced at her own reflection in the mirror.
“Good.” Becca blew out a breath. “I’m ready to get this ceremony going.”
Emma heard the tension in Becca’s voice and glanced at her sister. “You okay?”
“Yes. Fine. It’s just after all Tucker and I have been through this past year, I’m ready to be married to him.” Becca dabbed the corner of her eye with a tissue. “Crap. We better stop talking about Tucker. It makes me cry more.”
“Okay.” Emma smiled and willed the fresh wave of moisture in her own eyes to go away. Becca’s love for Tucker was heartwarming enough to make anyone cry—at least they were happy tears.
She glanced at Tara and saw her flick away a teardrop of her own. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Emma drew in a big, steadying breath, or at least as big as the tight dress allowed. “Should I go out and find someone to tell us how much longer before we start?”
“I guess—“ A knock interrupted Becca. She eyed the door and then spun toward Emma. “Who could that be?”
“The preacher. Mom and Dad. Who knows? Answer it.” It could be any of a number of people, but Emma could see Becca was too flustered right now to reason that out. Not that she could blame her sister. She was pretty flustered herself.
“You’re right.” Becca pressed her hand to her chest. “Come in.”
Tyler’s smiling face greeted them when the door opened. Dressed in his tux with a fresh haircut, he looked like a young clone of Tucker. “Ladies. You all look stunning . . . even you, Tara.”
Tara scowled at her brother. “Thanks.”
“So.” He clapped his hands together. “We all ready? Everyone’s here who’s coming. It’s showtime.”
“Wait. I need my father. He’s supposed to walk me down the aisle.” Becca turned toward Emma. “He’s not here. I knew we needed to have a rehearsal. But you didn’t fly in until so late and Tara was still at school and I didn’t want Tucker to see me this morning—“
“Becca. Stop. Calm down.” Emma took Becca’s hands in hers. “We went over everything. You even drew us a map of the church and put an X on it where each one of us is to stand. And the guys came early and went over their part with the preacher. Right, Tyler?”