by Beth Andrews
Connie crossed her arms. “I can pour my own, thanks. What’s going on between you and Aidan?”
“I’m so sorry,” Yvonne said, adding cream to her cup, “but I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Well, then, let me explain it to you.”
Yvonne had just finished meeting with Brady to discuss the text of the brochure she was working on for the upcoming bridal show. She had the finished copy in her purse and had been heading back to her car when she’d been lured into the kitchen by the smell of coffee. And since this was the first time she’d been in the renovated farmhouse, she’d opted to grab a cup and maybe look around.
Sipping her coffee as Connie stalked across the room like a cat ready to pounce, she sincerely wished she’d skipped the caffeine.
Connie stopped in front of her. “It’s my business because Aidan and I are friends. Close friends. We’ve been through a lot together. I picked up the pieces after you walked away.”
Yvonne merely lifted an eyebrow. I have no regrets. “Whether you and Aidan are close friends,” she said, adding air quotes with her fingers for good measure, “is irrelevant. What does or doesn’t happen between me and my ex-husband is no one’s concern but ours.”
With that, she brushed past Connie, fully intending to take her coffee and and get out while she was ahead. And before her bubbling temper boiled over.
“You are some piece of work, you know that?” Connie asked in a low tone. “You think you’re something special because your daddy makes boatloads of money.”
Yvonne turned back stiffly. “Is that so?”
“Is everything okay in here?” Brady asked from the doorway.
“Stay out of it,” Connie snarled, without so much as glancing at him.
“How about I stick around?” he asked in his husky, slow way. “In case one of you needs medical attention.”
But Connie just closed the distance between her and Yvonne. Without her heels, Yvonne was a good two inches shorter than Connie, but that didn’t stop her from meeting the other woman’s gaze.
“You’re a spoiled little rich girl,” Connie said, “who thinks she can have whatever she wants just because she wants it. Except you already had Aidan, and you were foolish enough to throw him away because Jewell wasn’t exciting enough for you, your house wasn’t fancy enough. There were no shopping malls or country club dances.”
Yvonne set her cup down hard on the kitchen table. She was hot, her silk shirt clung to her lower back, and she felt as if she were about to explode. “You think I left my husband, ended my marriage, because Jewell doesn’t have a shopping mall?”
“You were bored. Too good for the likes of a tiny town like this and a man who actually had to work for a living, so you—” Connie flicked her hand “—threw him away. And now you’re back because…well, who knows why you’re back? Maybe you’re lonely. Or you’ve blown through your daddy’s money and need a fast way to make a few bucks.”
“I’m back,” Yvonne said through gritted teeth, “because Diane called and offered me a job.”
“You’re trying to worm your way back into Aidan’s life, but it’s not going to happen. He sees through you now. And if he didn’t, there’s no way I’d let you hurt him again.”
I want you to be real. To prove you’re human.
But he didn’t see through her. He didn’t see her at all. He was just like everyone else.
“You won’t let me hurt him again?” Yvonne asked, taking a few steps forward, barely registering that for each step she took, Connie took one back. “As if he even gave a damn the first time.” She jabbed a finger at Connie’s chest, stopping less than an inch from making contact. “I couldn’t stay, but that doesn’t mean walking away from him wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done. So don’t you dare tell me how hurt he was.”
A pair of warm hands landed gently on her shoulders. “Let’s move back,” Brady said as he pulled her away from Connie. “Before you drill a hole in her chest.”
Yvonne’s body vibrated with anger. “And you know what else?” she said to Connie as she wiggled free of Brady’s hold. “You were right the other day—I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. You’re rude and abrasive and selfish.”
Connie’s eyes widened. “Selfish?”
“You heard me,” Yvonne snapped. “When Aidan and I moved to Jewell, all I wanted was to be accepted by his family, to have you all like me. But you were so rude and superior in your place with the Sheppards.” Her anger suddenly drained away, leaving only an emptiness in her chest. “I wasn’t welcome here.” She shook her head. “All I wanted was to belong.”
Feeling raw, Yvonne clamped her lips together before she could expose any more truths. She wanted to groan, to curl up in a ball and pretend she hadn’t lost control, that she hadn’t admitted how much the Sheppards had hurt her.
Instead, she flipped her hair off her shoulder, picked up her coffee and marched out of there as if she was the princess they all believed her to be.
SATURDAY NIGHT YVONNE stepped inside the Empire Bar and Grill and immediately wished she’d stayed at the cottage. Clutching her handbag to her chest, she stood in the archway as the heavy wooden door shut behind her. The building was dimly lit by colored lights hanging from the ceiling, most of them sporting beer names. There was a long bar against the far wall, a pool table to the left and a jukebox in the corner playing some twangy country song.
From what she could tell, most of the establishment’s clientele wore jeans and either T’s or flannel shirts. The place smelled of beer and whiskey and deep-fried food. And she was as out of place in her dark, designer skinny jeans, flowing silk top and spiked-heel, over-the-knee boots as a biker would be at a cotillion.
She nibbled her lower lip, tasted the lipstick she was chewing off and stopped.
Pam, the gift shop manager at the Diamond Dust, waved from a doorway to the right of the bar. Yvonne glanced behind her before realizing Pam was waving at her. She lifted a hand in return, and then, feeling the weight of more than a few blatantly curious stares on her, she wound her way around the small, square tables toward her coworker.
“Hey,” Pam said over the music. “Good to see you.”
“Thank you.” And how pathetic was it that out of the fifty or so people in the room—some dancing, most just sitting or standing as they chatted—Pam was probably the only one who was happy Yvonne was there?
What was even more pathetic was how much it bothered her.
The song changed. Still country, but with decidedly less twang. “Oh, I love this one,” Pam said as she motioned Kathleen and Janice, two women who worked with her at the store, onto the dance floor. “Want to join us?”
Yvonne gaped. Join them? On the dance floor? Trying to move to the heavy, driving beat of the song? She’d make a complete fool of herself. “No, but thank you so much for asking. I think I’ll just go find the guest of honor.”
Already on her way to the dance floor, Pam waved.
Yvonne glanced around the room. Thankfully, Connie, with her spiky hair and long, willowy body, was easy to spot. She sat at the end of another bar, all the way across the room. Pulling her shoulders back, Yvonne kept her head held high as she made her way toward her nemesis.
Several men, including Mark Michaels, stopped what they were doing to watch her. Yvonne smiled and kept going, as if her face wasn’t burning from them all checking her out. By the time she reached Connie, all she wanted was to go home.
“Happy birthday,” she said to her.
Connie raised her eyebrows. Matt stood to her right, and seated to her left was a very unhappy looking, very sexy and slightly rumpled Aidan. Yvonne glanced at him only to jerk her gaze away when she met his eyes. He looked…hard. Angry.
They hadn’t spoken more than a few times since he’d taken her for that tour of the vineyards. Which was fine with Yvonne. Being with him that way, seeing him relaxed, smiling, made it too easy to forget why she’d left him in the
first place.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” Connie said.
Yvonne’s face heated. “I appreciated your gracious invitation so much, how could I resist?”
Actually, it wasn’t Connie’s invitation, which went something like, “Matt’s throwing me a birthday party at the Empire tonight. You should come.” It was the fact that she’d bothered to include Yvonne at all. Even if she hadn’t called her about the party until late this afternoon.
“You invited her?” Aidan asked.
Both women ignored him. “Relax,” Connie said with one of her sharp grins. “I’m glad you came. I just wasn’t sure you would.” And she sent a sidelong look in Aidan’s direction.
Yvonne couldn’t bring herself to look at him, though she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. “Yes, well, I do like to keep people guessing.” She smoothed her hair behind her ear. Remembered the present in her purse. “And I…well, I got you a little something,” she said, pulling out the small, brightly wrapped box. “Happy birthday.”
“You already said that,” Connie noted, taking it.
Yvonne blinked. So she had. “Do you want that present or not?”
Connie’s grin was razor sharp, but not without humor. “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know after I open it.”
Yvonne had to force herself not to fidget while Connie tore off the wrapping. She shouldn’t have gotten a gift. It wasn’t as if they were close. Or even friendly. Although after their argument earlier in the week, Connie hadn’t been as overtly hostile. Still, that didn’t mean she deserved a gift….
“Wow. These are great,” Connie said, holding up the silver, filigree drop earrings. “You didn’t have to get me anything—but I’m glad you did. Thanks.”
Relieved, Yvonne smiled. “You’re—”
“J.C.,” she continued, calling someone behind Yvonne’s shoulders as she held up the jeweler’s box. “Look what I got.”
J.C. Jane Cleo, Brady’s new wife.
“Pretty,” said the very pregnant brunette with a round, open face and incredibly curly hair. She leaned forward to get a better look at the earrings. “You must be Yvonne,” she said with a warm grin. “And these must be from you.”
“Yes.” Wincing at how defensive that one word sounded, she added, “I found them at a little store on Main Street.”
“Bijou?”
She nodded. “It’s a lovely shop.” And not something she’d expected in Jewell.
Dear Lord, she really was a snob.
“Brenda—that’s Brenda Howard, the owner—only sells unique pieces. She’s been pretty successful so far, too.” J.C. rubbed her stomach and Yvonne had the strongest urge to touch it herself. What did it feel like? Flabby? Hard? What was it like to have a living being growing inside you?
A middle-aged woman diverted J.C.’s attention. Feeling awkward and unsure, Yvonne searched for an empty seat. A bar stool or chair…a nice dark corner where she could hide. Someplace she could have one drink before politely making her excuses.
She shifted, switched her purse to her other hand. “Well, I’ll just…leave you all to enjoy your evening.”
“No need to rush off,” Connie said as the song changed to something slow and seductive. “You can have my seat.” She slid to her feet. “Matt’s going to dance with me.”
Matt’s mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. “That so? I must be a lucky man.”
“True,” Connie said, taking his hand and tugging him toward the dance floor. “So very true.”
Yvonne watched them as they reached the small dance floor. Matt pulled Connie into his arms and they swayed to the music, her head on his shoulder, his hands pressed against the small of her back.
“They look good together,” Yvonne murmured, surprised by that. Connie was so cynical and abrasive, while Matt was all flash and charm.
“She deserves better,” Aidan said, but without heat. “But, yeah, they’re both happy. For now. You going to sit down?”
“Excuse me?”
“You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. Sit down. Have a drink.”
So much for acting as if she was relaxed and happy to be here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly, sitting on the stool Connie had vacated. “I’ll have a glass of the house white,” she told the bartender.
“No, she won’t,” Aidan said. “She’ll have the pinot gris.”
She set her purse on her lap, her fingers tense. “I’m capable of ordering for myself,” she said when the bartender left to fill her order. Make that Aidan’s order.
“I realize that. But the Empire isn’t known for its wine selection, and the house white isn’t worth drinking.” He held her gaze. “Trust me.”
She nodded slowly, her breath backed up in her lungs. When the bartender set her wine down, she opened her purse and pulled out her wallet.
“I’ve got it,” Aidan said.
“Oh, that’s not necess—”
“I insist,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she gushed. “That’s sweet of you.”
“Don’t.”
She forced a smile and took a sip of her wine. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t pull that Southern belle act on me. If you’re offended or pissed because I want to buy your drink, say so. Don’t pretend. Not with me.”
She took another sip, this one longer. “You were right,” she said, changing the subject. “This wine is lovely. Thank you for suggesting it.”
He studied her intently. She lowered her eyes.
“Glad you like it,” he finally said.
She traced her fingertip around the rim of her glass. “Is the selection here the reason you’re not drinking wine?” she asked, referring to the tumbler of what looked like Scotch in front of him.
“No.”
That was it. No explanation, no reason for his drink choice or why he sat in this corner by himself when he was in a room surrounded by his family, friends and coworkers.
She swiveled in her seat to look at him. “Is…are you all right?”
He cupped both hands around his glass. “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t. She could see it. She laid her hand on his wrist. His skin was warm; the muscles under her fingers flexed. “Are you sure?”
For a moment she thought he was going to answer her. His gaze went from her hands against his skin, up to her eyes. And in them she saw something that told her he was suffering. It wasn’t anger, or at least not just anger, but pain. Fear. And underneath it all, desire. Hunger. Need.
For her.
She slid her hand away.
His mouth curled at her cowardice. “I’m fine,” he repeated.
“Good. That’s…good.” She reached for her wine, but bumped the glass.
“Easy,” Aidan murmured, catching it before it tipped over.
“I’m nervous,” she blurted, soaking up the drops of spilled wine with a paper napkin.
“You don’t say?” His tone was low and amused, his eyes watchful. “And why is that?”
Because he was looking at her differently. Because he was acting strangely. He was making her feel a mixture of anticipation and want and heat that she’d never felt before. Not even when they’d been together.
“I…I know it sounds silly, but I feel like everyone’s staring at me,” she said, unwilling to confess the rest. “Everyone is staring at you.”
“Wonderful. So glad to know I’m not suffering from paranoia.”
He sipped his drink. “You command attention, whether you want it or not. And they stare at you because you’re beautiful. Sometimes I think you’re the most beautiful thing this town has ever seen.”
Her mouth went dry. He sounded sincere. Unfortunately, he didn’t sound happy about her.
She took another drink. “I don’t see Marlene,” she said casually. “Is she meeting you here?”
“No.”
Yvonne tapped her toe against the rung of the bar stool in agitation.
You’d think the man didn’t know how to give any other answer to a simple question. “Is she working? Or does Connie dislike her as much as she does me.”
“Connie likes her just fine.” Of course she did. “Marlene and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
Yvonne’s heart seemed to stop beating. In any other situation, she’d be worried that she was experiencing some sort of medical emergency, but now all she cared about was hearing what Aidan had to say. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, the lie sounding smooth and sincere, she almost believed it herself. “You two seemed…well suited.”
“We were. But it wasn’t fair for me to keep seeing her.” He lifted his glass but didn’t drink. “When I kept thinking about you.”
Yvonne had to grab a hold of the bar to keep from falling off the stool. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
“Hi, Yvonne,” Mark Michaels said, walking over from his spot at the front of the bar. His gaze took her in. “You look great…. Hey, Aidan.”
She pasted on a smile. “Thank you. Enjoying your evening?”
He leaned an elbow on the bar and grinned. “I’d enjoy it a lot more if you’d dance with me.”
Another fast song started. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good dancer.”
“Now, I don’t believe that for a minute,” Mark said lightly.
He was right. She knew how to dance. Years of ballet had taught her grace and balance, and her mother had insisted she take dancing lessons as a preteen to master the waltz and other formal dances she’d performed countless times at country club events. But to get out on a dance floor and move to the music without a plan or guidelines on where to step, how to sway? She couldn’t.
Had never let herself.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can teach you a few steps. It’ll be fun.”
Fun.
Why don’t you just let loose a little? Maybe you’ll even have fun.