by Nancy Warren
“Oh, like you noticed. My big day and you’ve only got eyes for my bridesmaid. I should be jealous,” she sighed, “but I want you two to get back together so much it hurts.”
“You got any ideas on how I might accomplish that?”
“Look. I can’t give away my best friend’s secrets, but it’s my wedding day so I’m entitled to do a little matchmaking. I can tell you she still loves you. The rest is up to you.”
“Who’s the beefcake?”
“Beefcake?” She blinked. “You mean Andre? He’s hot enough to make me rethink jumping on the back of Mike’s motorcycle for our honeymoon. That is one prime specimen of man.”
“This is not helping,” he said in her ear, but somehow it was. If Caro still loved him, and he had to believe Tess—she wouldn’t lie to him—then it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Caro had dug up the best-looking man she knew to make him jealous. His wife didn’t do things by half measures. Figures she’d find herself an Adonis.
He had to admit it was a damn fine strategy. He was so jealous he was choking on it.
Also, he was being a pig to one of the nicest women he knew, and on her wedding day. He made a conscious effort to slow down, force his gaze away from his wife and concentrate on the bride in his arms.
Tess was already a beautiful woman, but the glow of happiness in her eyes and on her cheeks made him feel extra churlish for his behavior. “I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”
She twinkled up at him. Yes, she did. The woman actually twinkled like a Christmas star on top of a tree, she was so happy. “You own the paper I work for. I forgive you.”
He chuckled and tried to remember he’d been taught manners, once. But while, on the outside, he was a perfect gentleman, guiding Tess around the floor, his attention focused completely on her, inside, some very ungentlemanlike plotting was taking place.
He’d tried leaving Caro alone to come to her senses and she’d gone and got a job with the Star. The Star!
He’d tried enticing her by moving ahead on the animal shelter they’d dreamed of together. Well, she’d dreamed of it, and he’d gone along to keep her mind off her unhealthy obsession with pregnancy. And she’d written an article as she’d promised. For his pains, he now had a backyard full of wildlife while the shelter was costing him a fortune in overtime as he tried to get the damn thing built before his neighbors started picketing.
When he’d manipulated Caro into writing the article, his aim had been to get her to move back home with him. But it wasn’t his wife who’d moved in. It was a squirrel with a missing ear, a hobbling rabbit, which got the peregrine all het up, and a duck that thought Jon was its mother. At least, he assumed that’s why it followed him everywhere.
Caro should be there. She’d make a better mother than he. He felt a small pang of guilt. It wasn’t that he didn’t want kids, he did. But he loved Caro enough to do whatever needed to be done. More tests, adoption, whatever.
He’d planned to spend some time with her at Fanny’s party, but that had blown up in his face and he’d figured she needed some time to calm down before he dare approach her. He’d nearly picked up the phone a dozen times, almost hopped in his car to drive to the house where she was staying more times than he could count. But he didn’t. She’d said she wanted some space and he’d decided to give it to her.
But what the hell was she doing dating another man? They’d started out so happy. Where had it all gone wrong?
“It was her obsession with getting pregnant that started all the trouble.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Tess sighed into his shoulder.
“Don’t be too hard on her, Jon,” Tess said softly. “She’s never failed before.”
It was a lightbulb moment. One of those slap-yourself-upside-the-head-for-being-a-moron moments that made him secretly believe women were correct when they claimed men were insensitive brutes.
“Of course. You’re right. She’s never failed before,” he repeated in a stunned way. “That’s it. And I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
He felt a small movement against his shoulder—Tess was nodding agreement.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She leaned back and stared up at him in surprise. “I thought you’d be smart enough to figure it out.”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m a moron.” He hesitated, making another attempt to gather his manners, but like a dry leaf caught in a windstorm, they were gone.
He gave up. “You know nothing happened between me and Lori Gerhardt, don’t you?”
She paused, a tiny frown appearing between her brows. “I know Mike believes that, and he’s a pretty smart guy.”
“For a guy,” he finished for her in his driest tone.
She laughed. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here. But if I ever hear one word about Caro not being happy, you’re a dead man.”
His heart felt as though it was inflating. A plan so daring and so perfect popped fully formed into his head. “So, you’ll help me?”
She bit her lip. “Help you what? Caro’s my best friend. I have to be careful.”
“I understand,” he said. His mind whirled furiously, grabbing and discarding strategies. He had a lot to do and very little time. “I’m not asking you to do anything, I’m just asking you not to do anything.”
“Pardon?” The music changed. The waltz was over and the band was playing rock and roll. Tess and Jon stood motionless while he debated how much to tell her.
He tried to recall all the duties of a matron of honor and best man. The speeches were done, the toasts drunk, there was only the throwing of the bouquet and the changing of clothes before Tess and Mike took off on their honeymoon. “Look, can you make yourself scarce in about—” he checked his watch “—an hour? Then none of this will be your problem.”
Someone bumped him and he realized the two of them must look really strange standing stock-still in the middle of the floor while every one else was dancing. He spun Tess in time to the music. She spun back and narrowed her eyes at him. “We could go and get changed. Why?”
“I’m not going to tell you what I’m planning, so that you can have a clear conscience when Caro comes after you.”
“But—but…” He stifled the grin as he watched frustration build on her face. Not knowing what he was up to must be killing her since she was both a woman and one of his most inquisitive reporters.
“Come on.” She finally cracked, glancing over to where Caro was still flirting with the beefcake in a manner Jon now saw as calculated and determined. “Throw me a bone.”
He thought for a second. “I’ve got an idea. I’m going to let her know I don’t need her to be perfect.”
She nodded. “And?”
He wanted to kiss Tess for giving him the answer to how to get Caro back. Because it was important to get this just right and any ill-judged blabbing would ruin everything, he said nothing.
One look at his face had her complaining in a hissing whisper, “This is your bone?”
He nodded.
“It’s a toe bone.”
“Thanks for your help. Really.”
“From the baby toe of a mouse,” she spluttered in outrage.
“I think you may have saved my marriage.” And then he kissed her. A big smacker right on her pretty, pouting lips.
“Hey, you making time with my wife?” Mike said in a booming voice from beside him, heavy emphasis on the word wife.
“No.” He shook his head, squeezing both of them on a shoulder and pushing them together. “I’ve got my own wife to make time with.”
Mike glanced over at Caro, who was giggling with the beefcake, and sent him a look of pity.
“Well, I don’t have her right at the moment, but I will. I’ve got a couple of calls to make.”
He spotted Steve circling Harriet around the dance floor. Perfect. Just the man he needed for a favor or two.
Harriet was wearing a sleeveless turtleneck knit dress in soft turquo
ise. She seemed to wear a lot of turtlenecks since she’d stared dating Steve. He almost didn’t recognize the redheaded beauty without a square inch of tartan among her clothing, though she was wearing a thistle pin in case anyone could doubt her Scottish heritage.
Between her cheerleading duties with the Pasqualie Bravehearts and her new relationship with the Standard’s sports editor, Harriet had blossomed. Still, he had to remember she was Caro’s friend—she and Tess and Caro stuck together like three peas in a pod as his mother would say. He’d have to get Steve away from her for a few minutes.
Luckily, Steve was a smart guy. Didn’t take more than a jerk of the head toward the bar and Jon no sooner had a glass of single malt in his hand than Steve appeared at his elbow. “What’s up?”
Jon glanced behind the sports editor. “Where’s Harriet?”
“Looked like you wanted to talk to me alone so I dropped her off with the bride. You know women. They won’t see each other for two weeks while Tess’s on her honeymoon so they’ve got a lot of chattering to do.”
Jon cracked a smile and held out his untouched glass. “Want a Scotch?”
“Isn’t that your drink?”
Jon shook his head. “I’ve got a long drive ahead of me. I need some help. Here’s what I want you to do….”
AFTER SPEAKING to Steve, Jon disappeared to make a couple of phone calls, then slipped out for a couple of errands of his own. When he returned, his plan was in place and anticipation in his belly.
He spotted Steve in the crowd and wandered over. “How’s it going?”
“Got everything on the list. It’s in the trunk of your car. Here are your spare keys.”
“Thanks.” He held out his hand.
Steve shook it firmly. “Good luck.”
Oh, and he needed luck tonight. He checked his watch. Perfect—the hour was nearly up. When Tess and Mike left to change, he’d make his move.
Taking a deep breath, he took a step toward his wife. Step one of Operation Get Caro. He was so focused that he missed the diminutive silver-haired woman stalking him until she poked him in the ribs and said, “I’m going to slap you so hard, when you wake up, your clothes’ll be out of style.”
His heart sank. He didn’t need the lecture he could see burning deep in his mother’s eyes. Not now, he didn’t. “Mother, please.”
But it was hopeless. Once Fanny got started she wasn’t easy to stop. “You had that floozy half-naked in my wine cellar—”
“I didn’t strip her, she stripped herself!” He felt stung and was determined to defend himself, though he wondered why he bothered.
“Do not interrupt me, young man.” His mother fairly bristled with indignation. The silver beads in her hair and matching silver dress sparkled in the light, causing her to resemble a very wrinkled and angry angel. “What is the matter with you? You haven’t even phoned Caro since my party.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“Because I asked her.”
He groaned. “Does the phrase ‘interfering mother-in-law’ mean anything to you?”
“Does the phrase ‘stupider than a bowl of mashed turnips’ mean anything to you?”
He didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help himself. After knowing Fanny all his life, there weren’t many bizarre sayings he hadn’t heard. “I’m doing my best to fix things, Mom. All I have to do is get Caro alone.”
“How do you aim to do that? She’s got company. And he’s sticking to her like a bluebottle to flypaper.”
“You’re my mother. I rely on you to help me get my wife back. Can you distract the beefcake for a few minutes?”
His mother fanned herself with her hand as she studied the bronze god standing far too close to her son’s wife. Her annoyance seemed to melt. “My, oh, my. God must have been in a good mood the day he turned out that boy.”
Jon had no idea how God felt about Caro’s date, but he had a few less than complimentary thoughts of his own. “Mom, will you help me get Caro alone?”
“Why? So you can act like a doofus again?”
He was certain there were men all over the world who had supportive, loving mothers. What on earth had he done to deserve this one? “No. So I can win her back.”
She glanced over at Caro and the boy-toy then back at him. “I’ll do it this once, and you’d better get it right or I will seriously fix your wagon.” She grinned as slyly as an old fox. “I wonder if that boy’s interested in a job down at the Roadhouse.”
He was momentarily diverted from tonight’s plan. “You need another bartender?” His mom usually discussed all her business with him, but he hadn’t heard of any openings.
“I’ve been thinking of adding a male stripper Thursday nights. Call it Ladies’ Night. Be good for business.” And with a wink she turned and strode toward Caro.
Jon shook his head. Other men his age worried about their mothers, he was sure. But he was certain his problems were unique. Male strippers.
Slowly, he followed his mother, waiting until she was already in conversation with Caro and her “date” before he joined the cozy little group. His mother’s idea of opening a conversation with a young man she’d never met turned out to be, “How much can you bench-press with those things?” as she reached up to squeeze the man’s biceps.
To his credit, the beefcake merely grinned at the small woman and said, “I could bench-press you with one finger, little lady,” which had Fanny chortling with delight.
Then she launched into a story about a wrestler she’d once had in her bar. While Fanny kept the muscle machine occupied, Jon turned to Caro, who was staring at him with an odd expression. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She blinked, looking as stunned as a returning time traveler. “Yes. I’m fine.”
There was a pause while he searched her face, sensing something was different but not able to pinpoint what that might be. She squirmed under his gaze and color crept into her cheeks. “It was a beautiful wedding,” she said at last, as though they were newly introduced acquaintances instead of husband and wife.
“Yes, it was. I think they’re good for each other.” But he didn’t want to talk about Tess and Mike, he wanted to talk about Caro and him. “Listen, I was wondering—”
The minute his voice dropped, her eyes widened in alarm. “Did you meet Andre?” She tugged Adonis’s arm much the way his mother had when she was checking out the man’s biceps.
While Caro was doing that, his mother came to the punch line of her story. “And he lifted me like I didn’t weigh any more than a pretzel and twirled me around over his head.”
His mother was staring up at Adonis with speculation, and Jon wondered how he was going to prevent her spinning like a roulette wheel over Adonis’s head. Fortunately the beefcake helped him out by laughing. “I couldn’t do that, ma’am. He must have been some athlete.”
“Andre Giardin,” Caro said, “meet Jonathon Kushner.”
Caro watched the two men shake hands reluctantly and exchange chilly greetings. She had no idea why she found Jon so much more attractive than the gorgeous model who was her escort, but she did. She was tired. Tired of this stupid game she and Jon were playing, tired of pretending. Tomorrow, she was going to phone her husband and suggest they get together. Nothing too rash. Maybe dinner somewhere quiet, where she’d suggest they get some counseling. She wasn’t certain she’d tell him about the baby right away. She loved him and wanted her husband back, but she also wanted a strong family in which to bring up their child.
“Do you live around here?” Jon was asking Andre, every inch the possessive stag looking to fight down his competition. She knew it was small and mean of her, but she rather liked being fought over after the way she’d been publicly humiliated.
“I live in Oregon.”
“That’s not far at all,” said Fanny, earning herself a glare from her son. Bless her heart if she wasn’t willing to make things as tough for Jon as Caro was. Andre seemed to have caught right on and if he
didn’t approve, due to her condition, he was more than willing to take a few verbal pokes at Jon.
“Caro and I knew each other in New York,” he said, sending her an intimate glance. He’d been taking acting lessons recently and, boy, had they paid off. Even she felt as though they’d had a steamy affair, when she knew as well as Andre that they’d never been anything but friends.
She didn’t have acting lessons behind her, but she did have a bruised ego that wasn’t at all averse to making Jon suffer. “I love New York,” she said with a small smile. It was true. She did love the city. If Jon chose to read more into her words, that was his problem.
“New York was a long time ago,” Jon said, smooth as silk. “Before Caro met me. I’m surprised she never mentioned your name.”
Oh, point to Jon. She was amazed how much she was enjoying being the prize in this absurd verbal tug-of-war.
Fanny made a choking sound and turned to grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
Jon grabbed two more flutes and offered her one.
Andre frowned at him. “She shouldn’t be drinking.”
Jon blinked and Caro wanted to hit Andre for his tactlessness. Instead she took the flute from Jon and handed it over to her date. “I took a headache pill earlier,” she lied. “They don’t mix with alcohol.”
“Right,” said Andre, looking ready to mop his brow. “Listen, why don’t we—”
“Dad! Dad!” Two small boys barreled through the crowd, zipping around the dance floor and pelting toward Andre, where they threw themselves against him.
“Hi, boys,” he said, putting his champagne down so he could ruffle the heads pressed against him. “These are my—”
“Orphans!” Caro cried, wishing she’d listened to Tess when her friend had tried to warn her about this being a very bad idea.
“Peter and Alex,” Andre said, with a quelling glance her way. “My sons. What are you guys doing here?”
“Mr. Giardin, you have to come quickly,” the nanny said, puffing slightly as she arrived at the group. “Your wife is in labor.”