All Trey knew was that not for all the money in the world would he try again to convince his mother that he and Cinda really, weren’t married. The woman had loved her “daughter-in-law” and “grandbaby” on sight. There was only one thing to do. If things didn’t work out between him and Cinda, Trey knew he would have to stage a divorce and set up fake child visitation privileges. The thought made Trey’s stomach hurt. Damn, it would just be easier to marry Cinda for real—and kiss the ground she walked on for the rest of their lives for having him—than it would be to explain to his mother that he had always been telling the truth.
But Dorinda Sue Cooper wouldn’t hear it, believe it, or accept it. Besides, she’d already made up the pointedly double bed in what she now called her guest room—Trey’s old bedroom—for the two of them and had bought a crib for the baby. One big happy family in a room the size, no doubt, of Cinda’s walk-in clothes-closet at her home in Atlanta. And yes, of course, he’d gotten The Look from Cinda when she’d seen his mother’s plans for their sleeping arrangements. Her expression had clearly conveyed that he’d be sleeping on the floor for the next two nights.
No more than he deserved, he supposed. Trey set the plates on the table and, in his continuing effort to keep his scalp by being a gentleman, he turned to Cinda and held his hands out. “Here, let me have those.”
“With pleasure.” She handed over the three cold cans of soda and the plastic forks and spoons she had clutched in her arms.
Trey set them all down and then again held out a hand to her. “And the diaper bag.”
“It’s all yours.” She had it slung over her shoulder with her purse. How such a small woman could tote all that without falling over, he’d never know. But she gave it to him, too, and then they settled into their chairs and began arranging their places.
Within seconds, a group of Trey’s rowdy friends from high school exploded out of the milling crowd and accosted him. Loud craziness prevailed. High fives. Old memories. New families. Who was bald, who wasn’t. Who’d put on weight, seemed shorter. All the have-you-seens and where’s-old-so-and-sos were interspersed with handshakes and bear hugs. Trey loved every bit of it. He hadn’t seen some of these guys for years. And he was more than proud, as well as a bit guilty, knowing the truth of his “marriage,” to include Cinda and call her over to be introduced and to show off Chelsi.
As Cinda excused herself to go sit with his mother at the table while he relived old times with his friends, every nerve ending in Trey’s body was on red-alert for trouble. After all, here he was with his “wife” and “daughter” and mother…and Bobby Jean Diamante was nowhere in sight.
Trey kept a close watch out for the firebrand troublemaker. No matter who he was talking to, he was looking over their shoulder or his own. Bobby Jean was not the type of person you’d want to have sneak up on you. So where could she be? What could she be planning? A grand entrance? That was her style. Everyone knew she was in town and took great pains to tell Trey so. On just the one trip across the crowded room, he’d been pulled aside countless times by friends who had whispered in his ear that Bobby Jean had blown into town earlier this afternoon. In a black stretch limousine, no less, the excited conspirators had told him. A limo. You know what that means. The mob. Trey wasn’t so sure that’s what it meant, but he was relieved to learn she’d come to town alone.
Just then, Trey’s arm was grabbed by the one man here he really wanted to talk to. Southwood’s police chief, Bubba Mahaffey, pulled Trey away from his waiting family as the milling crowd closed between him and them.
“Bubba, you old son of a gun,” Trey greeted him. “How you doing, boy? Damn, look at you. You still growing, or what?”
The police chief, dressed in a suit and cowboy boots, was a six-foot-five florid man with a barrel chest, a quick smile, and big hammy fists that no one challenged. A former classmate and football-team member of Trey’s, he clasped Trey to him in a back-pounding hug that nearly deflated Trey’s lungs. “Trey, you dog, you. How the hell are you, old son?”
“Never better. Still on the race circuit. How about you? How’s crime?”
“Can’t find none to speak of. Got a nice new jail I’m just itching to try out, though, if you’d care to break a law or two. But what about you? I heard you got married and had a baby girl.”
“Yeah, that’s the rumor,” Trey answered. “They’re back there at a table with Mama. I’ll take you around and introduce you in a minute.” Trey grinned gratefully at his friend. Bubba was playing this to the hilt. Of course Trey had called last week to tell the sheriff what he was doing and why. It never hurt to have the law on your side. And he’d also asked Bubba to check up on that husband of Bobby Jean’s. “So, Bubba, how are Marlee and the kids?”
“Sassy as ever. Just the way I like ’em. They’re up front somewhere filling their plates. They should be along directly.” Then suddenly the man was serious and quiet. “You know Bobby Jean’s already in town?”
Trey sobered right along with him. “I’ve been told a couple hundred times already this evening.”
“I bet you have. I called up to New York City and checked that ole boy out that Bobby Jean married. The police there haven’t heard anything about him. Don’t have him in their system. There could be a lot of reasons why not. It could be that he’s really high up. Or he could be small-fry, a new player, someone they just haven’t caught in their net so far.”
“In other words, Bubba, nothing can be proved or disproved, right?”
“That’s right.”
“That damn Bobby Jean,” Trey fumed, shaking his head.
“That’s the truth. I swear that gal’s got the whole town in an uproar. The wife says Bobby Jean put in an appearance at Ramona’s Salon of Beauty this afternoon and told everyone she was separated from her husband and said how she’d told him he couldn’t compare to one Trey Cooper.”
Feeling knotted up inside, Trey grimaced at Bubba’s broad grin. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Bubba?”
“I sure as hell am. Anyway, your old girlfriend caused quite the scene, Marlee says, when the ladies told her you were a married man and a daddy.”
Trey nodded. “I knew I could count on Mama to do a good job of telling everyone in town that bit of news.” A married man and a daddy. Only temporarily and by design. What upset Trey was how bad he felt that it was so. Or maybe he just felt bad about lying to everyone. At least Bubba knew the truth.
“She sure did,” Bubba was saying. “Now, Bobby Jean, according to Marlee, said that made no difference to her because everyone knows you’re hers. Then she flounced out, telling them to just stand back and see if she didn’t have her way with you.”
Feeling like death warmed over, Trey ran a hand over his chin. “Man, Bubba, what the hell. I’ve got to set that girl straight before she messes around and gets me killed.”
“That’s no lie, buddy. Listen, after Marlee told me about the beauty shop set-to, I paid Bobby Jean a visit at her daddy’s hardware store. And damned if she isn’t as beautiful as ever. Still has that stop-you-in-your-tracks figure of hers. And all that red hair. Hard to think of her as conniving. But anyway, I told her I didn’t want no trouble this weekend.”
“How’d she take that?”
Looking sheepish, Bubba scratched at his head. “She pretty much told me to mind my own business and stay out of hers.”
Alarm spread through Trey. “So, of course, you told her that keeping the peace here is your business, right?”
“I did.” Then Bubba, his expression desperate, moved in close to Trey. “Damned if she didn’t tell me that if I messed with her she’d tell Marlee and my mother about that time in the eighth grade—before you and Bobby Jean were together—that she and I got caught by the coach in the locker room after football practice….” Bubba’s voice trailed off, his face turned red.
“It’s cool, Bubba. I knew about that. I was on the team, too, remember?” This was why Trey didn’t live in Southwood. Being h
ere was like being back in high school. In so many ways, his friends had never moved on. Trey shook his head over this Bobby Jean silliness that could easily turn into seriousness. “Go on. What happened then?”
“Nothing. We left it at that. And now I’m telling you that I don’t want any trouble this weekend.”
Trey pulled back sharply. “Wait a minute. You’re warning me now?”
“No, no, not warning, buddy. Just asking you to try to keep a lid on things, if you can. Otherwise, the Fourth of July celebration won’t be the only fireworks we have.”
Bubba was clearly out of his league here. Bobby Jean had that effect on people, Trey knew. Even someone as big and as official as the sheriff wasn’t immune to her scheming. Trey didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Bubba, I’ll do what I can. After all, this mess is partly of my making. I’ve ignored Bobby Jean’s maneuverings when I should have told her but good to lay off. Maybe I can do that this weekend. And out of earshot of everybody else.”
Obviously relieved, Bubba cuffed Trey’s arm playfully. “I’m glad for your help is all I’m saying.”
Trey nodded. “I tell you what, though, Bubba. It’s a boneheaded thing I did bringing Cinda and her baby here. This could be a real disaster. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
“You weren’t thinking with the right part of your anatomy is the problem.” Bubba clapped a big hand on Trey’s shoulder with such friendly force that Trey nearly went to his knees. “The good thing is Bobby Jean’s here alone, and I don’t expect she’ll do much more than make a scene. Marlee says all Bobby Jean needs to settle her down some is a baby.” A wicked glint came into Bubba’s eyes and pulled his grin up suggestively.
“Don’t you even say it, Carter Raymond Mahaffey,” Trey warned. “You might have five inches and about fifty pounds on me, you old tin badge, but I’ve beat up on that thick head of yours more than once when we were growing up. And I can do it again.”
Bubba’s good humor was unfazed. “Take your best shot, friend. But Marlee says Bobby Jean wants a baby. And she wants her high-school sweetheart to be its daddy. Now who could that be? Let me see. Oh, I know. The captain of the state-champion football team his senior year in high school. One George Winston Cooper the Third. You know him?”
His eyes narrowed in warning, Trey crossed his arms over his chest. “Never met the man.”
“Is that so? Well, if you do meet him, give him some advice for me, will you?” Bubba pulled Trey in so close to him that their noses almost met. “Tell him he’d better marry that little blond girl of his for real because Bobby Jean has her sights set on him. And what Bobby Jean wants, Bobby Jean gets.”
How well Trey knew that. Dread washed over him as he stepped back from Bubba. “Look, I’ll worry about Bobby Jean. You worry about her husband showing up and looking for her.”
“I’ve got your back, Trey. You can count on me,” the police chief said as he moved away through the crowd.
“I always do, Bubba,” Trey called out, wondering when the next shot would be fired.
He didn’t have long to wait. A commotion at the front of the meeting hall captured his and everyone else’s attention. He heard loud greetings and happy feminine shrieks of recognition and reunion. Then, a tense, suspenseful silence rolled like a wave through the crowd. When all was dead quiet, everyone turned Trey’s way. He swallowed. As long as he lived, he would swear that the crowd parted—to a man, woman, and child, half on either side of the room—until there was nothing but floor space between him at the back of the hall and Bobby Jean Diamante at the front.
And then, she caught sight of him. Grinning evilly, she vamped his way. Trey exhaled softly in a low whistle. Here comes trouble.
“WHAT’S WRONG? What’s going on? Why did everyone get so quiet?” Cinda craned her neck and looked toward the small stage area where the awful little trio was, or had been, playing. “Is some sort of program going to start?”
Dorinda Cooper handed Chelsi off to Cinda and stood up, looking around. “Lord above, honey, it’s not a program. More like a spectacle, I’ll warrant.”
Cinda knew immediately what, or who, Dorinda meant. Her heart rate picked up, and she knew a moment of fear. “Bobby Jean’s here, right?”
“In all her radiant glory, honey. And she’s alone.” Dorinda, a small woman with stiffly styled brown hair and thick eyeglasses, turned to Cinda. “Give me that baby back and you go save your husband.”
“I don’t have a—oh, my husband. Trey. Of course.” Cinda died a thousand times in the next few seconds before she realized, with tremendous relief, that Dorinda Cooper had apparently not registered Cinda’s confused yet honest response. As her “mother-in-law” pulled Chelsi out of Cinda’s ams and held her, Cinda cleared her throat and tried again. “What am I supposed to do to save him?”
Dorinda Cooper’s expression was stubborn. “You’re a woman. You’ll think of something, honey. You just go out there and stake your claim, girl. And don’t you take any guff off Bobby Jean, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cinda heard herself saying, even when she had no idea yet what exactly was expected of her.
“Good. Now, I need to tell you something, just so’s you’ll know. I used to think Bobby Jean and Trey were meant for each other. But not anymore. He’s a married man now, and my allegiance is to you. So you listen to me. Bobby Jean is a sweet child, but she can also be like a little animal. If she smells fear, she will turn on you in an instant. Takes after that lazy mother of hers. Got a tongue like a viper, and she’s not afraid to use it.” Dorinda tugged at Cinda’s arm, wanting her to stand. “Come on now. You’re burning daylight here. You’ve got to go out there right now and stop her.”
Dear God. Shaking with the fear that she was actually going to have to do something here, something possibly humiliating if not downright dangerous, Cinda stood and tugged at her stylish denim dress. “How do I look?” She smoothed her hair back, feeling more like a prizefighter in her corner of the ring with her trainer than she did an allegedly jealous wife at a potluck dinner.
“You look fine. No. Wait.” Wearing a blue polyester skirt and pink cotton blouse, and holding Chelsi on her narrow hip, Dorinda Cooper used her free hand to fluff and primp Cinda wherever she felt she needed it. “Look her in the eye, honey, and smile. Hang on to Trey’s arm and just out-charm her. Use your Southern graces. You live in the South now. So act like it. At least you look like a graduate of a finishing school, so go with that. Ooze sugar and molasses and manners. That brassy girl won’t know what hit her.” She shoved Cinda forward. “Now, go get her, champ.”
No one in the course of human history had ever felt less like a champ than Cinda did. A chump, maybe. With her knees all but knocking together, she walked the gauntlet of wide-eyed smirking bystanders who happily parted in front of her as if at the passage of a pro-wrestling upstart. Clearly, they couldn’t wait to see what happened next. Pride had Cinda raising her chin and smoothing out her stride. She may not be the hometown favorite, but she was a finishing school graduate. No, actually, she wasn’t. But she was a transplanted Southern lady full of grace and charm. Soft-spoken and feminine. Demure. Quiet. Mannerly.
Then she saw what everyone else had already seen. Her shocked and disbelieving senses tried valiantly to take in the garbled mess that presented itself for consideration. There stood Trey Cooper’s feet and legs facing toward her. But above them, and as if the result of some horrible genetic experiment gone awry, was the butt, back, and long and curling red hair of what had to be a woman. Apparently a female octopus had her tentacles—no, her arms and legs—wrapped around Trey’s neck and waist. And apparently she was kissing him. Hard. Judging from the noises, it was a face-sucking kiss of no uncertain lust and yearning.
It was a bit frightening to witness. And infuriating. And humiliating. After all, everyone here thought Trey was married to her. So here she was, Cinda told herself—the wronged wife. The wronged and very jealous wife. I don’t like th
is one bit. She didn’t like the competition, either. Titian hair. Milky white skin. A spaghetti-strapped sundress hiked up to her behind. Strappy spiked heels. Well-muscled, firm legs that probably went all the way up to her neck. Fine. The woman is a knockout. So she’d make a superstar underwear model look like a loser at a dog show. So what?
The important thing here, to Cinda, was this Bobby Jean Diamante creature had herself wrapped around Cinda’s “husband.” Even if she and Trey weren’t actually married, the potential existed between them. And that was what Cinda realized she really wanted to preserve here. Not an actual marriage or relationship, but the potential for one.
Thus fired up, Cinda figured her first course of action should be to disembowel—no, to disengage the female sucker fish from Trey’s face. She had to save his life. And from where she was standing, it certainly looked as if his life, if not his reputation, needed saving.
Cinda exhaled. This was going to require some courage, some adrenaline…some psyching up. Cinda gave herself over to the only thing she had going for her at the moment. Jealous anger. She curled her hands into fists. What with everyone’s heads whipping so fast from her standing there by herself…to the embracing couple…and back to her alone…and then the kissing couple…and then to her standing there solo, why, there was enough of a wind created that it ruffled Cinda’s hair.
She moved into the arena. So, okay, she was going to do something. She didn’t know what yet…but something. If only she didn’t feel like a plucked chicken trying to compete in a beauty contest with an Arabian mare. But she did, and this situation was awful, especially so because the entire population of Southwood was present to witness her betrayal, her humiliation—and her revenge. All of that implied a plan that Cinda didn’t have. Nevertheless, she was determined to rely on inspiration and to see this soap opera through to the bitter end.
She stopped beside the still embracing couple. Screwing up her courage with another deep breath and a lift of her chin, she tapped the encroaching female on her bare arm. “Excuse me.”
Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife Page 11