She hugged him as he stood impassive.
"Where is it?"
"Behind the stove."
He disentangled himself and made the familiar trek over the polished marble in the foyer, the parquet living room floor and the ceramic tile of the kitchen. Though she'd deliberately dressed for the occasion, Corinne wasn't lying, or she'd have followed him into the room.
Instead she hung back, letting him deal with the rodent. J.B. opened the back door and found a broom. Then he pulled the stove away from the wall and banged at it with his boot so the creature wouldn't run back under it.
After a bit of back and forth, scurrying and sweeping, the small rat made for the open door. J.B. gave it a little help on the way outside. Then he shut it out.
Corinne's voice traveled into the room as he looked around at the same red stand mixer, the same flowered tea cozy and the same bulletin board that had been there when he was. "Did you kill it?" she asked.
"He's gone."
"But is it dead?"
"No." He hunted occasionally, but he didn't like killing for the sake of killing. He ate what he shot.
"Don't tell me you just shooed it out the door? Won't it come back?"
He shrugged. "Not if you get a pest control place out here to make it uncomfortable for him."
"What's the matter, J.B.?"
"I'm just tired."
"You want a beer? A bourbon?" She was already moving toward the refrigerator.
"No thanks."
"You came all the way out hereyou should at least have a drink."
He sighed. "Corinne, what do you want?"
"Nothing." She stood too close to him, though, and her makeup was perfect. Corinne was a beautiful woman, with all that sun-streaked blond hair of hers, and her wide hazel eyes. But she'd lost her charm for him. He just didn't feel anything.
"Are you seein' Mindy Baker?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
"No! You know me better than that. She's a married woman. Besides, what's it to you?"
"Are you seeing that Yankee chick, the attorney?"
Despite his anger at her, his mouth twitched at what Vivien would say if she heard herself referred to as a "chick."
"Why the questions, Corinne? Why the sudden interest?"
She looked at him for a moment in silence. Then she blurted, "I still love you, J.B."
"Corinne"
"Don't say anything. I justI know I was wrong, running off to Dallas like that. I just expected that well, when we got married everything was so exciting. We traveled and we partied and we had fun. And then the whole knee thing happened and it was so tough for both of us. Your law schoolit was so hard on me. I never saw you. Then you opened the practice and I just sat around. I was so bored, and I felt ignored and unimportant to you."
"You were never unimportant to me, Corinne."
"I know that now. I know now that it wasn't you that was boring. It's just life. Life is boring, you know? And we all just have to make the best of it."
"Well. I'm so glad you've decided that I'm not boring." He brushed past her on the way to the door.
"Wait. J.B., that came out wrong. What I meant was"
"Life is what you make of it, Corinne. If you choose to sit around and be bored and not do anything with your time, then you're not going to be happy. There are thousands of ways you can help people or be creative or productive."
"You said once that you'd always love me."
He looked at her for a long time: her lovely face, her earnest expression, those killer legs she'd always had. "I didn't lie."
"Then can we ?"
"Can we what?"
"You said I gave up too easily. What if I said I wanted to try again?"
He'd desperately wanted to hear those words come out of her mouth four years ago. Now they just made him angry. He wanted to hammer and split and twist every letter of every word in that sentence and make her take them back.
God damn it. I must have a sign on my back that says PUPPET, FEMALE'S PLAYTHING. He looked at her levelly. "What if I said it's a little too late?"
He had Mindy chasing him for recreation, Viv there just for sex and now Corinne wanted him to banish her boredom. They could all three just go to hell.
An hour after he'd left, Viv could still smell J.B. in the room. He was on the sheets, on the bedspread and in the bathroom on a towel. Worse, she couldn't even decide if his scent was disturbing or comforting.
If she knew she hated it, she could throw open a window and let the hot Texas air blow every remnant of him out of there.
If she knew she loved it, she could rub her face against the pillow he'd used.
But she did neither, just stared into space and reflected on the irony of the situation. She'd tried to protect herself from getting hurt, only to enrage him into hurting her.
Finally she decided that she didn't want to analyze things any further. She was only making herself crazy.
She went into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and dried off with a clean towel that was so rough it left red marks on her face. As usual, the thing was like sandpaper. She hoped Julia would replace all of the Motor Inn's linens, and fast.
She picked her way over the icky carpet and as usual turned to work, since she wasn't able to sleep. Viv opened her laptop and checked e-mail.
She quickly answered about ten messages from clients, two from Andie that were also work-related, and stalled over one from Belky that made her see red.
It was a quick reminder that all employees of Klein, Schmidt and Belker were to go through Human Resources before using any personal days, and take into consideration the needs of the firm when they did so.
Gosh, how sweet. Belky missed her! The poisonous little prick. She almost hit REPLY to inform him that a fictitious uncle hadn't had time to notify HR before dropping dead of an aneurysm, so sorry. But next time she'd be sure to discuss keeping her dead rela tives on ice until such time as the firm could spare her for a funeral.
Viv decided that it was best to ignore the e-mail, but she spent a pleasant few minutes thinking about quitting, particularly in the middle of an important, publicity-drenched trial, and leaving The Belk high and dry.
She'd leave the hassle of New York behind, buy a ranch out in the middle of nowhere and start her own greyhound rescue. She wouldn't have to see another human being all day long, if she chose not to. No tearful, drunk or psychotic clients, no miserable children caught in the middle of divorce, no negative energy at all whatsoever.
She could grow bluebonnets, work with her dogs and hang dozens of wind chimes on a back porch with a rocker. She could wear cowboy boots and drive a truck! One with an automatic transmission, though.
Viv sighed and scanned her e-mail in-box again. Tabitha wrote that the vet had put Mannie on antibiotics for an ear infection, poor little guy. And there was a note from Mummy.
Subject: Noblesse Oblige
To: vshelton@kleinschmidtbelker
From: AShelton
Darling Viv-Ant,
Regarding the day care for these Displaced Homemaker females: it does seem to be a good tax shelter. But I must tell you, love, that I'm afraid you're carrying the concept of noblesse oblige a bit too far.
It's all very well to be compassionate and to volunteer oneself for a couple of hours per week, but frankly you're a bit obsessed.
Do keep in mind that obsession causes unsightly wrinkles and all sorts of tension headaches. Truly, it can make one's life a misery, so do avoid it.
On other topics, my gentleman friend is too charming! However, on his last visit Paolo positively glared at him from the solarium and insisted on working shirtless out there. You know how he is: "Eet eez too hot, Meesus Anna!" (I do love that accent of his, don't you?)
Pow thought he'd hidden himself behind the orchids, but he was quite impossible to miss. Dear me, he did look a bit murderous with that trowel
Don't you dare tell a soul, Viv-Ant, but his behavior gave me t
he tiniest thrill! Even if he is only the gardener.
Well, darling, must motor. Having lunch with Gisela and Lou I must say that I enjoy this computer contraption, especially when I can dictate to Dolly from the bathtub and don't have to hunt and peck.
Toodles, darling! See Gerald for the day-care funds. He'll work out the details. Xoxoxo, Mummy
Speechless, Viv typed back a quick reply. She told herself to be thankful that her mother was at least human enough to find her gardener attractive.
Subject: Re: Noblesse Oblige
To: AShelton
From: vshelton@kleinschmidtbelker
Dear Mummy,
Thank you so very much for your generous contribution to the Displaced Homemakers' Day Care project. You will have the eternal gratitude of these deserving women. I'll get in touch with Gerald as per your instructions.
As for your gentleman caller, I'm glad that he is amusing you
Paolo is very fond of you and only wishes to protect you. Yes, I like his accent, too.
If you and the G.C. run out of things to talk about, you could always dress Paolo in an animal skin and release a live leopard into the solarium with him. They could go mano a clawo for your entertainment one rainy afternoon while you shriek with laughter
Viv forced herself to erase this last paragraph, though she dearly wanted to leave it in. She wrote instead,
Hope your lunch with Gisela and Lou went well. Please send them my regards and same to Dolly.
Julia asked after you and I told her how fabulous you're looking these days. She's sticking by her "cowpoke," but thanks for offering to introduce her to the B-list boys.
xoxoxo, Viv
She hit the send button and closed her laptop. Her thoughts returned unbidden to J.B., his ex-wife and the supposed rodent in her kitchen. What kind of guy still slew minidragons for his ex? And how could Viv persuade him that she hadn't been kicking him out?
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
The morning brought no change in J.B.'s rotten mood. He went out to the woodshop at five a.m. and finished sanding the pieces of the console table, getting himself good and gritty with sawdust.
Harley tried to join him once he turned off the sander, but ran off again to chase chipmunks as soon as J.B. pulled out the Shop-Vac for cleanup.
The dull roars of the sander and vacuum soothed him they were the sounds he felt like making himself: angry, mechanical, drowning out the world around him. Women!
Dogs make a whole lot more sense. You always know how a dog feels about you. They're loyal and obedient.
He finished sucking up all the sawdust, wiped off the pieces of the console table, and decided to wait on staining them until the next day. He hung his safety goggles back on their peg, threw away the paper mask he wore to protect his lungs and wiped his face on his sleeve. Then he slid the door of the shop closed and went outside, into the gorgeous, blue and gold Texas morning.
Harley ran to him and wagged his tail, lolling his pink Lab tongue out of his mouth.
"You lonely, boy?" J.B. found himself thinking about greyhounds, in spite of his anger with Vivien. They were sweet dogs, they really were. And he did have several fenced acres. They liked to run.
He eyed an old shed a couple of hundred yards away, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward it. He'd been meaning to rebuild it for storage, but he didn't really have all that much to store. Could it serve as a shelter for greyhounds? How many?
He circled it, evaluating the corrugated metal roof, the weathered boards, the lack of insulation and the dirt floor. Pull off the existing roof redo it, lay plywood. Tar paper on top of that, and shingles.
Most of the two-by-four framing was still sound, but the walls had to be rebuilt, an elevated floor put in, decent bedding added.
Ventilation, too; that was important. He'd have to think about that.
Are you nuts, J.B.? Are you really getting yourself into this? Why? To impress some squirrelly New Yorker who don't give a damn about you?
He kicked at a decrepit board on the ground and pulled a disintegrating bag of charcoal out of the shed. Harley danced around, seeming to egg him on. "You'd still be king, buddy," J.B. reassured him.
The Lab sat down and scratched at his ear with a back paw. Of course , he seemed to say. But we have
to do our part for the canine race. No excuses. You've got the land, you've got the means. So have at it .
J.B. drank the rest of his now-cold coffee by the lake on his property and tried to de-grouch a little, but it wasn't working. Where exactly had he gone wrong with his life? Why was it that Roman, and now Alex, by the sound of things, were happily coupled, when they'd been roving tomcats for years? And he, J.B., the stable, family-oriented guy, was divorced and single, living the bachelor life with his dog?
Life just didn't make any sense sometimes. J.B. threw a last stick into the lake for Harley and retreated inside to shower.
The hot, steamy water ran down his body like Viv's hands, the soap felt like her skin and his towel hugged him afterward like he wanted her to do. Hell.
The woman was a witch. A gorgeous, cold, blue-eyed witch who valued dogs over men. While he was beginning to understand what made her the way she was, he didn't have to like it. She aroused his protective instincts as well as his body, which was ironic, since she'd die before accepting a man's protection. This was part of her mystique, part of what drew him to her.
He threw on an overstarched white shirt from the dry cleaners that crackled when he moved. How many times had he asked for light starch? Grrr .
He got dressed in a pair of jeans that Mama had suggested were no longer appropriate for anything but mowing. Who cared? He jammed his feet into his boots so hard that he put his big toe through the seam of his sock, and decided he didn't care about that, either. And of course, his belt was nowhere to be found, so he left without one.
J.B. went to work and squatted over his papers and files like a big, bad-tempered crow.
When his mother buzzed through and told him that Corinne had been trying to get hold of him yesterday, he barked, "She found me."
His mother didn't tolerate that tone from him, not even at age thirty-six. "Well, John Bryan, if you expect me to spend my weekend in the kitchen cooking for Wesley Taunton so he won't arrest your Yankee gal, then you'd best say 'please' and 'thank you.' " -
"I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll buy the groceries and I'll make her help." Not that he wanted to see Viv.
"You don't know the brands of the things I'll need. And she can write me a check for the groceries, but neither one of you is stepping foot in my kitchen. You'll drive me crazy, and she doesn't look like she knows her elbow from a potato peeler. You can just paint the garage for me when it cools off."
He was getting off easy and he knew it.
He also knew it was a bad sign when she buzzed through with Julia Spinelli on the line. Another woman wanting something from him. This time it was errands.
"So," she said in her sunny voice, "since Syd and Alex are out tasting cakes and Roman's not available, I thought I'd ask you again. You don't mind, do you?"
She wanted him to drive Viv to meet with the band for the wedding. She wanted them both to look over the contract. "Because I've heard horror stories about people making deposits with musicians, and then them not showing up. I need you two to make sure they get thrown in jail or something if they do that!"
"Thrown in jail?" J.B. snorted.
"Oh, you know what I mean. Just that there are consequences due to violation of contract, et cetera, et cetera. You're the attorney. And Viv. I just need you guys to lock it up tight and sort of intimidate them. You know, with a little legal muscle."
"Uh-huh." This was a load of
"Roman said you'd be more than happy to do it for us, not only because you're his attorney but because you're our friend."
He was being hornswoggled and he knew it. "Are you sure that Vivien is even available? She mig
ht be bus"
"She is. Can you pick her up at ten? Oh, and I told her that you'd probably show her the Riverwalk and all, en route."
Oh, you did, did you ? "Julia, I can't afford to take another day"
"Gotta fly!" she said. "The other line! A customer! Bye!"
J.B. hung up the phone and stared at it . I wonder if Roman understands just how Machiavellian his bride really is. Maybe I should advise him to sign a damn prenup
* * *
Viv watched J.B.'s blue pickup turn in to the parking lot with mixed emotions. She felt a quickening of her pulse and then a rush of panic, followed by unjustified suspicion. Had he slept with Corinne last night?
It really wasn't her business, and yet it was. She had no claim on J.B., but she hadn't taken him up to her room to use him again, as he seemed to think. Somehow she had to get that through his head.
She left the Inn and walked toward the truck. J.B. emerged, looking unfairly handsome with his blond hair blowing in the breeze. He nodded curtly at her and opened her door. She swallowed. Even when the man was barely speaking to her, he was a gentleman. She got in and said one word. "Julia."
He met her eyes in agreement. "Julia."
"You'd think she'd be busy enough planning her wedding and have no time to interfere in the lives of her friends."
"Why don't you just tell her she's painfully obvious and that it's not going to work?" J.B. eased them out of the parking lot. "By the way, you can write my mother a check for around three hundred dollars," he said. "But she won't let us in her kitchen."
"Is that enough for all of the ingredients?"
"I doubt it, but it's a start. I think she's secretly pleased that her food is in demand." They drove in silence for a few minutes and Viv tried to figure out a way to tell J.B. that she hadn't used him. Unable to think of a decent segue into that particular topic, she asked, "So did the big, stwong man take care of the nasty, evil wat?"
J.B. snorted. "Yes, he did."
"And was he thanked properly?" She knew she was skating close to the edge, but she couldn't help it.
First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03] Page 16