First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

He cast the box a dismissive glance. "Never seen anything so useless in my entire life."

  "They'll look beautiful on the tables at the reception," she said, though privately she agreed with him. Still, they'd be a pretty and very Julia-like touch.

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. "You know what people will be focusing on at the reception? Julia and liquor, in that order. And then within an hour, the focus will all be on the liquor. Things may start out elegant, but the party will degenerate into a hoedown."

  Viv found herself wondering what J.B.'s own wedding had been like, but didn't dare ask him. "If the wedding is at the vineyard, won't the focus be more on wine than liquor?"

  "Yeah, I suppose." He flashed her a grin. "Depends on how many pocket flasks make an appearance. Not everybody around here is a wino like Roman. We tease him and call him the Grape Ape."

  Speaking of Roman, Viv had still not found a way to get Julia to sign a prenup. As she sipped her mar-garita, she reflected that she'd have to go for the "protect your children's inheritance" angleif Julia didn't kill her for bringing up the topic again.

  Their food came, and it was a little spicier than she'd bargained for. Viv broke out into a sweat at the first couple of bites, while J.B. laughed at her, his even white teeth flashing in the sunlight.

  She dove for more margarita, fanning herself with -a napkin, and this became a trend for the rest of the meal. The Riverwalk started to achieve a pleasant blurriness which only added to its charm.

  Feeling fat, relaxed and happy, she allowed him to take her hand and walk her along the banks of the river until they got to La Villita, an absolutely charming area full of tiny shops, galleries and restaurants. J.B. smiled at her delighted expression as they walked along Villita Street and King Phillip V Street, poking their heads in here and there on a whim.

  Viv loved the colorful rugs at Village Weavers and admired paintings at the River Art Group and Little Studio Gallery. She looked at silver concho belts and a bracelet of running greyhounds at another shop. And J.B. talked her into trying on a beautiful, hand-embroidered turquoise Mexican dress at a little boutique.

  She came out of the dressing room barefoot to model it for him, laughing self-consciously.

  J.B. looked at her for a long time without saying a word.

  Disappointed, she said, "Well, it does look a little like a big blue sack on me."

  "No." He shook his head. "It doesn't. You look gorgeous. It matches the color of your eyes. And you should never wear shoes"

  He turned to the saleslady. "We'll take it. She'll wear it out."

  "J.B., you can't just buy this for"

  He took out his wallet.

  "J.B., I'm not going barefoot along the Riverwalk! And I can't wear these shoes"

  The saleslady held up a pair of natural leather thong sandals. "These are perfect."

  "Yes," he agreed. "They are. We'll take a pair of those, too."

  "No"

  "Don't listen to her," he told the saleslady, who beamed and was only too happy to obey. "What size, Vivvie?"

  "No."

  "Okay, she's not being cooperative. I'd say she's about a seven? Let's take a seven."

  "Eight," called Viv, deciding it was hopeless. She came out of the dressing room with her clothes and pocketbook to find him signing the credit card slip. The lady handed over her new shoes and packed her belongings in the store's shopping bag.

  "Thank you," she said to them. "Y'all come back, now. You are such a cute couple. Enjoy your time in La Villita."

  "Did you hear that, Viv?" J.B. took her by the hand again and steered her back outside. "We make a cute couple."

  "You can't just be buying me things," she said, ignoring that statement.

  "What you mean is, Thank you, J.B., you sex god and all-around great guy. I'd like to kiss you all over now ."

  She eyed him, with her hands on her hips. "Thank you, J.B. That was very sweet."

  "And?" he asked hopefully.

  "And you get one kiss."

  "Stingy," he sighed. "But I'll just have to make the best of it." And so saying, he backed her right up against the wall of Villita Stained Glass and swooped down on her.

  His mouth was hot on hers and he still tasted of margarita, his lips tinged with lime and salt. Though her impulse was to push him away, she couldn't find the willpower, and she melted into him.

  A throng of middle-aged women clucked and giggled as they exited the shop and came down the three little steps. "Makes you remember when, doesn't it?" said one. "How romantic," said another.

  "I'd like to hike this dress up around your hips and take you right here," said J.B., tearing his mouth from hers. "But it would be a tad exhibitionist."

  "Just a tad."

  "I'll have to wait till later." His tone was regretful.

  They went on to El Mercado, the marketplace at

  Commerce and Santa Rosa, where he bought her some duke de leche , or Mexican candy. It reminded her a little of butterscotch.

  She had a ball wandering through the stalls with him and looking at the huge variety of goods: pottery, ceramics, turquoise jewelry and blankets. Here, among the hustle and bustle of people, jokes and laughter, they saw more embroidered dresses and peasant blouses, colorful striped blankets, rugs and leather goods. Viv also saw shellacked frogs drinking beer or playing musical instruments. They reminded her of Belker, the little toad.

  She averted her eyes. She didn't want to think about work. She just wanted to enjoy herself and the limited time she had left with J.B. When would she return to Manhattan?

  She was surprised at the level of resistance she felt toward going back. Not only was she adapting to the heat and the casual, friendly people in Texas, but she loved the open space, the vast blue sky and the sense of possibility here.

  New York was electric, alive and exciting but New York was also demanding, exhausting and unforgiving, at least in her circle.

  She didn't know when she'd return to the City. And if she got too used to J.B. and that killer smile of his, she might not return at all.

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  J.B. couldn't keep his eyes off Vivien in her embroidered Mexican dress. She looked like an entirely different being than the one who terrorized Manhattan -courtrooms. She'd tucked her dark hair behind her ears, and it hung loosely down her back. Her eyes held the warmth of the sun and top-shelf tequila, not coolness and wariness.

  He was seeing a glimpse of the real woman inside her professional shell. The question was when she'd snap the shell closed again, don the suit and the eyeglasses with the heavy, rectangular black frames. They sat on her delicate nose like a big bird of prey, a symbol of her readiness to hone in and snatch whatever advantage she could from an opponent. And as far as he could tell, with the exception of Julia, pretty much everyone was an opponent to Vivien Shelton, even her own mother and father.

  But now, as they left El Mercado and headed back toward the truck for the ride home, she appeared lighthearted and sexy. The leather sandals and loose, pretty dress lent her a festive, carefree attitude that suited her. He could actually see some skin: pale and curiously vulnerable, unused to the Texas sun. He noticed the tiny blue veins along the tops of her feet and the delicacy of her exposed elbows. Her ears were just a little too large for her face, something he'd never noticed before. This gave her a sweetly goofy appearance that held enormous appeal.

  He'd picked up another gift for her while she waited in line for a cappuccino, and he was tempted to give it to her but decided to wait.

  They drove back to Fredericksburg in companionable silence, the little crystal swans nestled at Viv's feet. As they approached the town's outer limits, J.B. turned to her. "Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?"

  Her lips twitched. "Does that mean you're going to show me your etchings?"

  "Nope. I don't etch. But I do make furniture. I could show you that." He smiled.

  "You make furniture? What kind?"

  "My kind.
You'll just have to see it."

  "Okay. We do have to tell Julia she's lost her band, but I guess it can wait until later."

  J.B. turned onto the road that led to his little country estate, as his mother called it. When he'd bought it only a simple three-room cabin stood on the property. This he'd expanded, and then he'd added a large separate studio for his woodworking, a three-car detached garage and finally a little guest cottage. To him it was paradise. An old stock pond now func tioned as a tiny lake with a rock-waterfall, the sound of which he loved. He'd fashioned some unusual benches and a stone-topped table nearby where he often drank his coffee and read the paper in the mornings. He'd also rigged a hammock for truly lazy days.

  Viv exclaimed as they turned down the gravel drive. "You have your own little compound here. And it's beautiful!"

  J.B. had to agree. He'd had a professional land-scaper come in to help him xeriscape and set the atmosphere. The result was total charm. The one thing that he and the landscaper had disagreed on was the ivy that climbed up the trellis on the main~ house and was working its way around the back wall, too.

  J.B. loved the ivy in spite of the man calling it an awful weed. He loved it even though ants and other pests used it to crawl up onto his roof.

  "It's all so picturesque," Viv said.

  "It should be. There wasn't much out here when I bought the place. This is the result of four years of weekends and not much social life."

  "You did all of this yourself?" She gaped at him.

  "I had some structural help pouring foundations and putting up walls. But the rest I did, yes."

  She pointed to the little benches and table by the water. "Those?"

  "Yes, I built those."

  She got out of the truck and wandered over to them, running her hands over the stone surface of the table, then the bentwood legs that supported the slab. "J.B., this is wonderful! I knew from what you'd said that you built out the shelves in your office, but this you're an artist!"

  He laughed. "No, I'm just a craftsman."

  She shook her head. " A craftsman builds other people's projects. You conceived of this, too. And it's gorgeous. Can I see the rest?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. But first" He bent his head and kissed her, kissed all that was good and light and appreciative in her. This was the Viv he'd somehow seen, even through the suits and the heavy glasses and the mocking sarcasm. She was the woman he'd made love to there in New York, until she'd done the about-face and kicked him out.

  Viv's lips were soft and yielding under his and she responded wholeheartedly. Her arms came around him, hands kneading his back. God, he wanted to pull up her dress and have her right there on his outdoor table There was something about her that was addictive and touched a part of him nobody had ever touched. This woman, who'd essentially been betrayed at an early age by the man who should have loved and protected hershe needed him. He broke the kiss and gazed at her beautiful, flushed face, finally understanding that.

  It undid him and he fell the last 20 percent of the way in love with her. He'd already been 80 percent gone, stupid or not.

  She needed him in a way that cosseted and adored

  Corinne never had. Viv might challenge him, verbally toy with him and never admit her vulnerability but it existed.

  Something inside him needed to nurtureit was just who he was. And something inside her needed to be nurtured.

  Viv needed, on some very basic level, to be adored and cherished and comforted as she never had been. The question was, did she realize this? It saddened him. Because he wasn't at all sure she'd ever let anybody close enough to do that.

  "Show me your house," Viv said, before she lost her mind, whipped off her simple cotton dress and dragged him down into the grass. J.B. once again had turned her personal switch to ON. How did he do that with a single kiss, a simple gesture?

  He took her hand and walked with her to the door of the main living space, which was unlocked.

  "You leave your door unlocked?" She tried and failed to imagine anyone doing that in Manhattan. It would be criminally stupid.

  "Yeah. Everybody around here knows everybody else. Nobody's going to come in and take anything."

  A series of cheerful barks sounded from the back of the house, followed by scrabbling claws on the wood floors. A large black Lab came bounding to the door and leaped on J.B., who patted him and ordered him down. He then leaped on Viv instead. He was all happiness and slobber and big paws.

  "Hi, there!" she said, hugging him. "What's your name?"

  J.B. laughed as the dog wagged his tail so hard that his back legs almost fell from under him. "This is Harley. He doesn't understand that his name calls for him to be more badass. He's irrepressible."

  Harley slurped her face, almost knocking her nose off with his enormous pink tongue.

  "Get down, critter. You trying to kill her?" J.B. physically hauled the dog off her.

  "He's fine. My dogs are the same waythey just have less hair." She grinned and brushed at the mass of black fur on the new dress. Harley kept all four feet on the floor but continued to wag his entire body and tried to shove his nose into her crotch.

  "No!" J.B. told him. "Sit, varmint." Harley obeyed reluctantly, and Viv finally had a chance to look around.

  The interior of J.B.'s home took her breath away. It was utterly simple, with the emphasis on the richness of the natural wood everywhere. There were very few sharp angles, which pleased her; even the built-in shelves weren't the normal rectangular sort. They were natural, undulating shapes, no one shelf the same as another.

  The space inside was full of light and air, thanks to the placement of skylights everywhere and few solid walls. It was very masculine, yet very warm. Books and turned-wood bowls populated the shelves, and vibrant rag rugs punctuated the rooms with color, as did the light apple green walls.

  But it was J.B.'s rough-hewn furniture that stole the spotlight. A sofa, love seat and chair gathered around a low coffee table had all been fashioned out of trees. Literally. Not wood that had been cured and smoothed and turned, but heavy, raw branches that he'd notched and placed carefully almost sculpted together. Then he'd stained and shellacked the wood, sealing its natural beauty. He'd had overstuffed, shaped cushions upholstered in a textured beige fabric and placed them onto the seating areas.

  Viv fell in love with it immediately. She ran her hands over the wood, loving the feel of it and the duality of rough and smooth. She sank into the cushions, which had to be some combination of down over foam because they were like heaven. Harley eyed her, obviously wanting to join her.

  "Don't even think about it," J.B. said to the dog.

  "I'm speechless," she told him. "This is stunning. How do you do it?"

  He shrugged. "Some simple power tools and a whole lot of messing around."

  "But who taught you?"

  "Nobody really taught me. I learned how to use the tools from my dad when I was a kid. Took shop in high school, and learned some more. After that it was just talking to some local furniture makers and looking at books. A lot of trial and error." He was modest about it, but she could see the pride in his eyes. J.B. might be a lawyer by profession, but this was his true love.

  "These pieces could go into galleries, J.B."

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don't want them to be in galleries. I want them right here."

  "You've never made pieces to sell?"

  He shook his head. "No. I've made things for friends. For my mother. That's it." He started toward the back of the house. "Come on. I want to show you my bedroom."

  She chuckled. "Oh, that's subtle."

  "No, really. I want you to see it."

  His bed was massive and spectacular. Again, rough-hewn branches made up the frame, headboard and footboard. The walls were midnight blue and the spread was a handmade quilt large enough to cover a village.

  "No, I don't belong to a sewing circle," J.B. said in answer to her unspoken question. "I commissioned that from a local artist
."

  But he had made the large armoire that stood against one wall, as well as the dresser. She tried to imagine the hours these pieces must have taken him.

  Instead of curtains he had fashioned shutters out of wood from an old barn. He'd stained everything the same rich honey color of the furniture in the living room.

  "You'd better get away from my bed before I throw you into it and have my wicked way with you, darlin'," he told her. "Do you want to see the studio?"

  She nodded, although J.B. having his wicked way with her sounded tempting. She followed him through the kitchen, which was another work of art in itself: granite countertops, modern appliances and glass-fronted cabinets.

  "Did you make those, too?" she asked.

  "No. I don't have the patience for doing that kind of workthey're factory made."

  "I think you have more patience than anyone I've ever met." He had it with her, with furniture and ugh. With his ex. Now there was a path she didn't want to go down.

  "It's not really patience," J.B. told her. "I'm just really damn stubborn. I refuse to give up."

  His studio was scrupulously clean, even the bare concrete floor. Two walls were lined with waist-high cabinetry with big tools bolted to it, and one full wall was floor-to-ceiling cabinetry. A huge dust collector dominated one corner. J.B. explained to her how dangerous it was to breathe sawdust, and that it was also combustible. One spark from a big power tool and you could have an instant fire on the premises if you didn't clean up.

  She loved the smell of the place, the essence of raw wood and machinery. It was the scent of nature and creativity, the odor of a man and his urge to produce things of beauty from simple materials.

  In contrast, the smell of her law firm was all about money, leather and strong disinfectant. The place gleamed oppressively, Belker's dour minor-master paintings surrounded by six-inch gilded frames that took away the focus from the art and put it on the price tags.

  She'd been proud to get their offer, proud of the names on their letterhead. They hired only the best, like her. Now she wondered what her pride had been all about.