by Ann Evans
She introduced him to Louise and Amanda. He had impeccable manners, an easy way of engaging a person in conversation when he chose to, and a wonderful laugh. In less than five minutes he’d won them over.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
She held up the pan of unidentified food and a plastic fork. “Tell me what this is. Does it go with the desserts or the main dishes?”
He allowed her to poke a good-size chunk of it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment. “Chicken,” he claimed. A few more chews, then he grimaced. “And some sort of…marshmallow topping. Tell me this isn’t what we’re having for lunch.”
“Not unless you get in the food line last,” she told him. “Come on. We’ll get you a beer to wash the taste out of your mouth. And you’ll want to meet the family.”
She headed in the direction of a small group of men watching two of her cousins fire up the barbecues. Not surprisingly, her father was among them, offering unsolicited advice.
Walking beside her, Mark gave her a sideways glance. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them about Petey and J.D. calling prospective husbands—no point in lying about that since neither of the boys can be trusted to keep a secret—and that since you were in town, anyway, we agreed to meet. You were all alone for the weekend, so I took pity on you and invited you to the party.”
“You think they believe that?”
She shot him a tight smile. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
PETE LOOKED DOWN at the hamburger on his bun and thought he was gonna barf. His mom’s burgers were big, thick and juicy, but cousin Larry had cooked this one. It looked like a burned-up Frisbee. No way could he eat it.
Seated at one of the tables under the picnic shelter, he kept staring at the burger, wondering what to do. All around him bowls were being passed back and forth, but he wasn’t interested in potato salad and yucky deviled eggs. He just wanted a good burger. But his mom was still busy at the food line, making sure everyone got something to eat while her own son starved to death.
He felt a nudge against his shoulder. “Try this one, instead,” Mark Bishop said from beside him, and before Pete could blink, the man had switched his own burger for the burned one.
While Pete watched, Mark topped the burger with enough ketchup to choke a horse, added lettuce, tomato and cheese, then took a big bite.
“Is it gross?” Pete asked, frowning up at him.
Mark shrugged. “It sure beats chicken with marshmallows.”
Pete didn’t know what that meant. Probably some grown-up thing. Relieved, he started in on his own burger.
Everything was going pretty good today, and he knew it was ’cause of him. Calling Mark Bishop had turned out okay. He had a cool car, even if it was a rental. He didn’t seem to mind J.D. yammering about Cyberlons all the time. Even Grampa and the uncles seemed to like him, although maybe not Uncle Chris so much. Being a detective, Uncle Chris was suspicious of everyone.
His mother finally showed up at the table with a plate of her own. It didn’t have much food on it. Finding an empty place on the other side of Uncle Chris, she smiled over at him.
“If I’d known I was going to be drafted for kitchen detail, I’d have brought an apron. How are the burgers?” she asked as she wriggled her hips to make room on the bench.
“Great,” Mark said, and when he caught Pete’s eye, he winked.
“Thanks for watching the boys for me.”
“No problem.”
“Mom,” J.D. piped up, “Mark knows Captain Treadway. Honest! Can I be excused?”
“May I be excused,” their mother corrected automatically, and nodded.
J.D. hopped up from the picnic table and headed toward the end of the pavilion where the clown, with a little monkey sitting on one of his arms, was entertaining a bunch of people.
“You told him you know Captain Treadway?” Pete’s mother asked. Her raised eyebrows said just how little she believed that claim. Captain Treadway was really a famous movie star, and how many people got to meet movie stars?
“Some of the last Space Warriors movie was filmed in Orlando,” Mark explained. “I met him at a party. He seemed more interested in the open bar than in tracking down Cyberlons.”
Pete, who considered himself much too old to still believe in the space adventures of Captain Treadway, tugged on Mark’s sleeve. “Don’t tell J.D. He thinks those movies are real.”
Mark frowned. “And have him think I’m a traitor to the Federation? No way.”
They laughed, and he noticed that his mom was watching them in a funny way. He wondered why.
People were starting to head back to what they’d been doing before lunch. Pete would probably get stuck playing softball, which he hated because he sucked. Maybe he’d hang out at the dunking booth. Everyone wanted to see that.
He glanced across the table at Uncle Chris, who was now holding hands with Amanda while he finished off the last of his soda. “Are you or Uncle Trent gonna take a turn in the dunking tank?”
His uncle shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“All the money raised goes to a worthy cause,” his mom reminded Uncle Chris.
Beside him, Mark Bishop looked at Uncle Chris and said, “Write a check. It’ll be easier on your wardrobe.”
Pete had the feeling his mother didn’t really like that suggestion. She turned her head to stare at Mark Bishop. “Anyone can throw money at a problem. I think Aunt Penny was thinking it would mean more and produce better results if everyone had some personal involvement.”
Her voice sounded okay and she didn’t look mad, but Pete knew better. He glanced up at Mark, but the man just kept on eating the last of his burger. Pete guessed he wasn’t so good at telling what his mom was thinking.
Across from them, the clown was coming down the row of tables. Pete noticed that, instead of the monkey, he now had a big snake wrapped around him like an old lady’s shawl. Lots of people had come up to touch the monkey, but no one looked like they wanted to get near the snake.
The clown stopped in back of Pete’s mom. “Hello, folks,” he said. “Meet my friend, Cricket. Cricket, meet the nice lady.”
Before Mom could turn around, the clown lifted each end of the snake over his head and put it on her shoulders. His mother went real still and white, and Pete felt suddenly sick to his stomach. His mom hated snakes. Even little ones they found in the backyard.
“Cricket is a Burmese python,” the clown explained. When Pete’s mother still didn’t move, he added, “Go ahead, pet her. She’s very friendly.”
Pete didn’t know what to do. His mother looked like she was hardly breathing. He should do something to help her, to protect her, but what? The snake was almost as big as he was, and Pete was a little afraid of it himself. He glared at the clown, wondering if anyone would be mad if he jumped up and…and what?
Mark Bishop stood all of a sudden and went around the picnic table. “Mind if I take a closer look?” he asked Pete’s mother, and without waiting for an answer, he lifted the snake off her.
She barely nodded. She didn’t say a single word, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was glad it was gone.
Mark made a big fuss over the snake, petting its head and looping it around his arm. Then he handed it back to the clown, who wandered in the direction of a group of silly McNab girl cousins who squealed and made faces as the snake got nearer.
“You all right?” Mark asked Pete’s mom, bending toward her so that nobody else at the table except Pete could hear him.
His mom looked okay now. She nodded again and turned her head to look at him. “How did you know?”
He glanced across the table at Pete. “When Pete interviewed me as a prospective husband and father, he said you liked animals. Except snakes.” He grinned. “Besides, it was pretty obvious. You went white as a sheet when that idiot put it around your neck.”
His mother laughed in sort of a shaky, uneven way and thanked Mark. H
e didn’t act like it was any big deal. Pete looked at the man and thought for the first time that it might not be so bad to have someone like him around. Someone who could look after his mom in ways that he couldn’t.
He wasn’t Daddy. But he was here.
AFTER LUNCH Mark got corralled into playing horseshoes with a bunch of old coots who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He hated horseshoes. He hadn’t played the game since he’d been a kid at camp, and he hadn’t missed it. It was boring and, as far as he could tell, didn’t require much skill. Which made it really irritating to be losing by such a big margin to guys who didn’t look like they could pick up a horseshoe, much less throw one.
He tossed his second horseshoe. It thudded so far from the stake that all the old fools watching him laughed until they were wheezing.
Jenna’s uncle Toddy clapped Mark on the back and shook his head sadly. “Son,” he said, “the horse that wore those shoes could throw better than you.”
Mark just smiled. He wished Jenna would come and rescue him, but she’d deserted him in favor of indulging in a gabfest with a bunch of the women. Probably on purpose, just to avoid him. So far today she’d been pleasant, but he suspected she was still feeling fragile about his offer of marriage. Scared, maybe. Ready to fight if she felt cornered. Ready to break under the burden she carried.
He looked around, trying to spot her. Instead, he saw Lauren Hoffman just getting out of her car. Since the other two partners of Fairy Tale Weddings had grown up in the same neighborhood and knew so many of the McNabs, Jenna had told him that Lauren and Vic had been invited to stop by and say hello. As Mark watched, the photographer for the magazine greeted several members of Jenna’s family, stopping eventually beside Jenna’s brother Trent.
Mark tensed. This could be trouble. Lauren might not know about the baby yet, but Jenna had told him her friend knew they’d been intimate in New York. How much might she divulge to Trent McNab, or anyone else, for that matter?
He forced himself to continue interacting with the older men, his movements mechanical and distracted. He was probably overreacting. The male members of Jenna’s family were understandably protective of her, but they’d been cordial enough today. Well, with the possible exception of her brother Christopher. Maybe all those long silences and close looks came with the territory when you were a cop. Trent, on the other hand, seemed easygoing, big, but nonthreatening. In the cutthroat, dog-eat-dog world Mark inhabited, challenges like Trent McNab didn’t scare him much.
And then, ten minutes later, Lauren detached herself from Trent’s side and sought out William McNab. Trent frowned in Mark’s general direction and began walking toward him.
Take it easy, Mark told himself. Stay cool.
He stepped away from the horseshoe game and pulled a cold beer from one of the coolers. He took a couple of swallows and nodded at Trent as the man came up beside him.
“Enjoying yourself?” Trent asked.
Mark motioned toward their surroundings. “It’s a beautiful day. The beer’s cold. Everybody’s friendly. What’s not to like?”
“You probably don’t go to many of these, do you?”
“Picnics? Or family reunions?”
“Both. Not exactly your usual stomping grounds.”
Mark turned toward Trent. He could feel the hostility coming off the guy in waves. Big brother had some ax to grind, but he wasn’t willing to just come out and say it. “I’m more comfortable in a boardroom, if that’s what you mean,” Mark replied. He gave the man a twisted smile. “But I’ve been adept at social conversation for several years now.”
Trent inclined his head toward an old man seated in a folding chair that appeared to have swallowed him whole. “You might want to avoid Uncle Fred over there. He never stops talking about the war years.” Then he motioned toward a trim, older woman fanning herself with her sun hat. “And don’t let Aunt Wanda get you cornered. She does astrological charts as a hobby, and she won’t rest until she’s told you every gruesome detail of your future.”
“Good to know,” Mark said, trying to keep the conversation light. “Although I could use a little insight about the future.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence then. From the corner of his eye, Mark watched the man rock back and forth on his heels. He had a feeling that subtlety wasn’t one of this guy’s strengths. Growing impatient, Mark took another swallow of beer, then turned to look at Jenna’s brother again. “Have I done something to upset you?”
Trent got out a sound, vaguely annoyed. “Not yet. Are you going to?”
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Good.”
“You seem a little uneasy.”
“I was talking to an old friend of the family earlier. Lauren Hoffman.”
At last, Mark thought. Now out with it, big guy. “I noticed she was here.”
“Yeah, she’s tight with my sister. They watch each other’s backs.”
“Nice to have a friend like that.”
“Uh-huh. She told me something interesting. She said you and Jenna actually met in New York. That you were the one my sister was supposed to interview several weeks ago.”
“That’s true. Jenna and I spent a few hours together. We seemed to hit it off.”
Trent McNab’s jaw went steel-tight for a moment. “Was that before or after your fiancée threw her diamond ring in your face? Just for the record.”
“Just for the record?” Mark said with a raised brow. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. He knew he had to be careful. Very careful. “I wasn’t aware I was being interviewed.”
Trent made a dismissive motion with his hands. Mark couldn’t help noticing that they were big, too, big enough to crush a man’s windpipe, no problem. “No need to get defensive. Just talking guy to guy, it must have been rough to lose a high-profile woman like Senator Winston’s daughter.”
“Shelby would be a catch for any guy.”
“So would my sister.”
“There’s something we agree on,” Mark said, his tone placating.
Trent moved closer, ready to get to the point. “Seems like you went pretty quickly from Shelby Winston to my sister. You know, I’m not sure I like the idea of—”
“Trent McNab!” a high-pitched female voice broke in. A moment later the family soothsayer, Aunt Wanda, had pulled Trent around. “I had a vision about you last night. Very dark stuff, let me tell you.”
And she did, rushing into dire predictions and mysterious suppositions that left no room for interruptions. Mark almost felt sorry for Trent, who listened patiently and nodded in all the right places.
Mark excused himself, wondering if he’d have any more bullets to dodge before the day was through.
“YOU DON’T HAVE to do this,” Jenna said for the third time.
“Sure I do,” Mark replied. “You made it pretty clear how you feel about charity and cold, hard cash.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to take a turn in the tank.”
Mark, Jenna and Pete were standing beside the dunking booth. Mark was getting ready to climb onto the ledge. He’d made the decision to do it suddenly, egged on by the men in Jenna’s family and the memory of her face as she’d told him just what she thought of his usual method of making charitable contributions.
“Relax, Jenna,” Mark said with a grin. “I’ve seen most of your family play softball today. They can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Pete squinted up at Mark. “Uncle Chris throws good. He coaches me on my pitches.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he told him. After sidestepping Trent McNab’s aborted grilling, he was feeling lucky.
Pete moved back toward the pitching line. When he was out of earshot, Jenna turned toward Mark.
“You’re doing this just to annoy me, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“Being agreeable. You’re just trying to prove a point.”
“What point would that be?”
“That y
ou can fit into my world.”
He laughed. “I’m not from another planet, you know. I have been to functions like this before. Once I even made an appearance at a company picnic.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
He considered lying, then decided against it. “Actually,” he said, “no. But only because I didn’t have someone like you to make sure I had a good time.”
“I don’t care if you have…” She stopped and stared at him, clearly frustrated. At last she said, “Fine. Think what you like. Do what you like. When you end up soaking wet, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Before she could turn and walk away, he grasped her forearm, squeezing lightly as though testing the muscle. “Think you can knock me off that seat?”
She shook her head. “As attractive as that idea sounds, I’ll leave it to the rest of the family. I figure I owe you one since you saved me from that monster.”
“He was just a harmless clown,” Mark said, pretending not to understand that she meant the snake. She laughed at that, a light, tinkling sound that floated away on the breeze. Then he added, “I suppose having you in my debt is one way to jump-start our relationship.”
“Trust me,” she replied with a skeptical look, “it’s not going to help.”
He made a scornful sound deep in his throat, but he suddenly thought he finally understood what Madison Avenue admen tried to convey with their multimillion-dollar beauty campaigns. In the afternoon sunlight Jenna was all peaches and cream. That thought slipped past the unguarded part of his mind, and all he wanted to do was prolong this moment forever. Forget carnival games and nosy relatives and burned hamburgers. Damn, his blood had turned to hot oil.
She left him to return to the others. He toed off his sneakers and socks, then climbed the short ladder to the ledge. If he was unlucky enough to go up against a McNab who could actually throw, he was relieved to see that the water was no more than chest high.