Aubrey clapped her hands and rocked with laughter. The gesture reminded him of Neyland. She sometimes did that.
“I know all about that website! I am so glad that we never got off the ground enough that I got kiss-off jewelry. Let me guess. You tried to buy something from her for some kicked-to-the-curb woman. Probably that little cupcake you had here last summer. And this jewelry girl wouldn’t sell it to you.”
He was getting a little mad. “That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point. I like this girl already. But what has this got to do with me?”
“I know this is short notice, but I want you to buy a piece of her jewelry—with my money. And I want you to wear it on the red carpet in Vegas. They’ll interview you since you’re a nominee. When they ask you what you’re wearing, I want you to point out the necklace and tell where you got it.”
Aubrey twisted her lips into a sarcastic smile. “Including that you bought it?”
“No! Hell, no! She would kill me!” Or more like, bar him from her bed—which would be worse.
“I don’t know, Gabe.”
“Oh, come on. I want you to get the most expensive piece. She names them. Annabelle, this one is called.” He waved his hands. “It’s all heavy and gold. With blue and white stones. It looks good. And you get to keep it.”
“I am so not doing that for so many reasons.”
“Not good reasons.”
“Excellent reasons. First off, I like being one of the few women you ever went out with who didn’t end up with jewelry. Second, my stylist would go nuts if I showed up at this point with a piece of jewelry. Third—and what’s really important—I’m in a relationship, a good one. He would not appreciate me taking jewelry from you. So, no.”
“Don’t tell him. Tell him you bought it yourself.”
Her face went serious. “Did you hear the part where I said good relationship? What about that says I would take jewelry from you and lie about it?”
“Right.” He was ashamed of himself. “I guess I got caught up in the end justifying the means. Bad of me—especially when the means is about you.”
But what was he going to do now? He tore his napkin into tiny pieces and considered. Was there a way to fake a lottery ticket? And if so, could he get her to buy a ticket? How would that work?
As he continued to pulverize his napkin, he lost track of time.
“Add a little water and you’ll have paper mache,” Aubrey said. “You can make a teeny tiny piñata. Maybe shaped like a football.”
He closed his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. On top of everything else, did she have to mention football?
“Okay, Gabe,” Aubrey said. “I’m going to help you, but with a couple of conditions.”
Hell, yeah! He could deal with conditions so long as he got what he wanted.
“Go ahead!” He spread a piece of smoked ham with Mississippi sin dip.
Aubrey shuddered. “One of the conditions should have been that I didn’t have to witness that.”
“It’s good. You should try it.”
She gave him a hard stare and sipped her tea.
“Okay, first of all, I’m going to warn you and you have to listen. This isn’t going to end well for you. Do you know that?”
Gabe shrugged. “I suppose it’s a possibility. But I think I’ve got the details worked out pretty good.”
“Okay. I had to try. So you’re determined to do this foolish thing?”
“I am.”
“Second, I won’t keep the jewelry and I won’t lie to Jason. He has to know where I got it and why I’m doing it. But as soon as I get back to town, you come get that thing from me. I mean it.”
“Okay. Can you make sure Jason doesn’t tell?”
She rolled her eyes. “Tell who? He’s a CPA. He tolerates my lifestyle and career because he loves me. Third condition. If I have to wear it to the awards, I’m not promising that I’ll get the piece you described. My stylist has three dresses picked out. I’ll take her, and we’ll choose a piece that goes with one of the dresses.”
“Does she have to be in on it?” He knew how those industry people talked.
“No. I’ll let her think I’m buying it myself. But that leads me to another question. If you’re only trying to put money in this woman’s pocket, why do I need to wear it on the red carpet and announce it to the world?”
“Publicity for her.”
“If you think that’s going to make people rush to her shop, you overestimate my star power.”
“I don’t. But I hope she does.” Because this was only part one of his plan. He was in the process of hiring actors to buy every single piece Neyland had within a few days of the airing of the ACM awards—though Aubrey was the only one he’d planned to let keep the jewelry. Which brought an interesting question to mind. “Why are you willing to do this, Aubrey? What do you get? Since you won’t keep the jewelry?”
She shrugged. “Why do you always have to get something? I like you, Gabe. You’re a decent man and I think you mean well. Though, for your own good, I shouldn’t do it. Because you are going to get in trouble like you have never seen. And I think you’re going to mind a lot more than you think you will.”
Yeah, yeah. Whatever.
“All right. Let me give you the address. And can you go this afternoon?”
Chapter Twelve
Neyland was alone at Piece by Piece. Nickolai was leaving in the morning with the team, and Noel was upstairs spending time with him. Ora and Bethany were off today, and Hannah wouldn’t be in for another hour, when school was out.
Since she’d finished Nickolai’s commission and turned every last bit of her silver into tourist merchandise, Neyland was out of anything to do. She could do some planning for the chatelaine project, but after figuring out how much silver it would take to make the prototype, some of her enthusiasm had faded. Still, she should be ready when—if—the time came that she could afford to do it.
Her laptop and sketches were in the workroom, but when she went there to retrieve them, she reached for the feather duster instead. Just as she was about to start cleaning, the door opened and two women came in.
They were an unlikely pair. One had a jet-black asymmetrical haircut, multiple piercings, and was dressed like a cross between a biker and a fairy—all black leather, lace, and gauze. The other woman was a walking ad for classic pretty from her smooth, golden ponytail to her leather driving mocs. She also looked vaguely familiar.
Neyland stowed her duster under the counter and pasted on a smile.
“Welcome to Piece by Piece. What can I do for you today?”
The blonde removed her sunglasses and looked around confused. “I’m not sure I’m in the right place. I’m looking for jewelry. A friend told me about some unusual pieces, and I thought this was the address, but this looks like a quilt shop.”
Neyland’s heart began to race. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t looking for the tourist merchandise.
“That’s right.” She stepped from behind the counter. “I’m Neyland MacKenzie. I’m a jeweler and a silversmith, but I share this space with my friend Noel, who is a quilt maker.”
The woman closed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “That would have been a useful detail that my friend could have supplied.”
“What sort of thing are you looking for?” Neyland led them over to the small glass case.
The woman barely glanced at the array of earrings, bracelets, and simple rings displayed on the countertop and zeroed in on the precious ladies locked inside.
“Ah.” She pointed. “This is what we’d like to see.”
“Not we.” The other woman spoke for the first time. “I’m against this.”
“Hush, Pitch,” the woman said. “I told you I don’t want to borrow jewelry for the show. I want to buy myself a little something to help me remember the day.”
“You might want to forget it if you don’t win,” the unpleasant Pitch said.
Show. Win.
It all came together. This was a country music artist nominated for an ACM award, which was coming up soon. Neyland knew that because there had been a lot of talk about Jackson’s nominations and how he and Emory would be in Hawaii.
Suddenly, Neyland knew who this was. “You’re Aubrey Jamison, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Aubrey smiled pleasantly. “And this is my stylist, the very cantankerous Pitch. No last name. Just Pitch. Like Elvis or Cher.”
Pitch tossed her head and made a sound that might have been a greeting or an incantation.
“I’m pleased to meet you both.” Neyland reached into her skirt pocket for her key and wondered if they could hear her heart pounding. “I saw you sing at the benefit at the Ryman last summer.”
“Did you?” Aubrey smiled. “Living here in Beauford you must know Jackson Beauford and his family.”
Neyland nodded hesitantly. Vanessa MacKenzie had laid down the law years ago about name-dropping. She hated it only slightly less than talking about money.
“Family friends, actually.”
“Oh. I recognize you, too,” Aubrey said. “I was at the wedding. You were in the bridal party weren’t you?”
Neyland relaxed some and laughed. “I was, though I’m surprised I stood out enough to be remembered. That dress was a little overwhelming.”
“Nonsense,” Aubrey said. “You’re very striking, even in a dress that—”
“Large?” Neyland supplied the word Aubrey searched for. “Not what I would have chosen, but Emory is like a sister, and that was the dress she wanted, so I was happy to wear it.” And happy to let Gabe throw the skirts over my head in the pantry, happy to take it off later in his rooms. Her stomach turned over.
“Excuse me!” Pitch’s voice came out raspy. “Could you two join the Junior League together on a different day? A day when we don’t have to make some fashion decisions and get Aubrey on a plane in fifteen hours?”
“Sorry.” Neyland fitted the key in the lock. What was wrong with her, thinking about sex when she might have the first real customer that she’d had in a long, long time? If you didn’t count Gabe.
She pulled out the black velvet display mat and, one by one, laid out her lovely ladies—Annabelle, Daisy, Elizabeth, Victoria, and Aphrodite. So many hours of work, so much trial and error, so much love lay on that mat. And this might be the day she would set one of them free. It wouldn’t be hard, not at all. No piece of jewelry could come into its own until it was loved and worn.
“All my pieces are handmade,” she said, “and based on historical designs—though not replicas. They’re one-of-a-kind.”
When Aubrey bent over the mat, she let out a little gasp. “Pitch. Come and look.”
Until now, the holier-than-Coco Chanel, Pitch, had kept her eyes averted, but the smirk on her face died when she was finally forced to look at the ladies.
Pitch ran her fingers over Aphrodite, and then held up Elizabeth. “Lovely, but all wrong for any of the dresses.”
Did she mean all the jewelry or just Elizabeth?
“What about this?” Aubrey picked up Annabelle. “Could this work with the Oscar de la Renta?”
Pitch backed up, tilted her head to one side, and turned her lips inward. “Put it on.”
Aubrey settled the necklace in place, and Neyland’s head began to pound.
After what seemed like an eternity, Pitch said, “Yes. Yes. I think it would. In fact, it might be exactly right.”
Chapter Thirteen
Neyland hurried up the sidewalk of her childhood home. Noel had come down to the shop for some thread and found Neyland standing shocked and motionless, staring at Aubrey Jamison’s bill of sale. After they’d squealed and jumped up and down like eighth grade girls freshly elected to the cheerleader squad, Noel had insisted that Neyland go and share her news.
“But we can’t leave Hannah alone, and you need to be with Nickolai since he’s leaving tomorrow,” Neyland had said.
“We’re going to dinner in a bit, but he’s in the shower now. I’ll stay here with Hannah and lock up. You’ve done more than your share lately. Now go!”
So she had. The person she really wanted to tell was Gabe. She wanted to track him down, wherever he was, throw herself into his arms, and share her news. But she couldn’t. That’s what you did with someone you were in a relationship with.
But her mother was a close second. Though she had been firm about Neyland having a fallback plan—the teaching degree—she would be happy to hear the about the sale. Neyland wasn’t so sure about her father, but she’d deal with that later.
As Neyland reached for the doorknob, Vanessa MacKenzie emerged from the house.
“Neyland, darling! Hello.” As always, her mother looked classy and put together. Today she wore taupe linen pants and a brown silk blouse, accessorized only with pearl earrings and her gold wedding band.
Neyland accepted her mother’s hug. “Are you on your way to show a property?”
“No. Just a little errand. It won’t take long. Come with me and we can have a visit.”
Neyland fell into step with her. “Where are you going?”
She shook her head and laughed under her breath. “I’m running over to practice. It’s time for your father’s medication, and he left it at home.”
Alarm went through her. “Daddy’s sick?”
“Sinus infection. He thinks he’s well, but he needs to finish the antibiotic. He’s meeting with the school board after practice about the progress of the stadium, so he won’t be home for hours yet.”
Great. Football practice. Yet, she was getting in the car.
“Now,” Vanessa said as she started the car. “What did you want to tell me?”
Disappointment washed over Neyland. She had envisioned sharing her news over coffee at the round maple table in the breakfast nook. Maybe she could stall.
“Why do you think I have something to tell you? Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
“Really?” Vanessa gave Neyland a sideways glance as she eased the car down Main Street. “Darling, I always know you when you have news. And from the look on your face, it’s good. Does this mean you’ve heard from Rafe Beauford?”
Rafe? She hadn’t seen that coming.
“Mama, what would make you think I’ve heard from Rafe?” Images of Rafe and Gabe swirled around her head, making her dizzy.
Vanessa smiled. “The two of you were awfully cozy at all the wedding festivities.”
Yeah. Right up to the point I dragged his brother to the woods and practically begged him to screw me senseless.
“Uh, no. We really weren’t. We were thrown together because he was my escort. I haven’t thought about him. Really.”
“Oh.” Vanessa seemed disappointed. “Goes to show I’m not always right. But you do have something to tell me. I know that.” She pulled into the middle school lot and parked beside the field. “Now spill.”
Not how she envisioned this at all, but there was no help for it.
“I sold a piece of jewelry—an important piece. Annabelle. To Aubrey James. She’s going to wear it at the ACM awards Sunday night.”
“Neyland!” Vanessa leaned over to hug her, but was stopped short by her seatbelt. She laughed, unbuckled, and finished the hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
Vanessa opened her car door. “Come on. You have to tell your daddy. He’ll be so glad.”
Oh, no. Hell, no. He’d have to know, but not today. He would not be happy, and she didn’t want to hear it.
“No. I don’t think so. You go ahead and drop his medicine. I’ll wait. Then maybe we can go to the coffee shop? You can tell him later.”
“Neyland.” Vanessa removed her large sunglasses so she could meet Neyland’s eyes. “Please. Come and tell him yourself.”
“I can’t go on that field.” Except on threat of death, one did not interrupt the sanctity of practice.
“Of course not. We’ll just wat
ch for a bit until he comes over.”
“He’ll say something to make me feel bad.”
Vanessa sighed. “He might. Especially if you go looking to feel bad. For the life of me, I cannot understand why two people who love each other as much as you and your daddy do cannot seem to say the right words to each other.”
Yeah, Mama. Good question—one for the great philosophers. Except they’re all dead.
She was doomed. No way out at all.
“It’s a lemon pie day,” Vanessa said as they settled on the bleachers.
“I guess it is.” Neyland looked at the sky and smiled at the childhood memory—or rather memory of a memory. She couldn’t remember the exact incident, only the retellings. When Neyland was three, she’d looked at the sky one day when the sun—like today—looked especially yellow with meringue-like clouds crowning it, and pronounced it a lemon pie day.
“I went right home and made you a lemon pie.” Vanessa said.
“I wish I had some right now.” Neyland returned her mother’s smile.
And I wish I were eating it off of Gabe Beauford’s thigh. No! Did she have to let him corrupt even her sweetest childhood memories? Apparently, since she couldn’t shake the image. Smooth, muscled thigh raised to meet her mouth, twisting to entice her mouth to another place.
“I’ll make you one tomorrow to celebrate your sale.” Vanessa squeezed her hand. “Darling, why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.” Time to change he subject. “When do you think Daddy will come over?”
“As soon as he sees us.” Vanessa looked to the field, and Neyland followed suit.
What? It couldn’t be. But it was.
Gabe was running downfield barking orders at John Luke Crawford as Lance Owens passed the ball. His shirt was too tight, his shorts were too loose, his hair was too wild, and he was dirty and sweaty.
He was so wrong, so perfect. She wanted to taste the sweat on his skin, smooth his hair, bite his neck.
“Why is Gabe here?” Neyland asked.
“Lance and John Luke have been having a little trouble connecting. Gabe’s been helping.”
Reforming Gabe Page 11