This chuckle was more genuine. “Nice image, Darcie.”
“Well, it’s true. I don’t suppose you could wear that purple dress. No, no, you’re right. Not for this. Let me think. I’ll come up with something.”
Which is how Jennifer came to be standing in Josh Kincannon’s basement Thursday night trying on dresses.
She’d said absolutely not when Darcie explained that she’d asked Josh if they could try on clothes his designer wife had left behind when she left him and their three children several years ago. But Darcie was driving.
“How could you even ask him, Darcie?” she demanded. “You know how devastated he was when she left, even if he did jump right into Super Dad mode. And how could I think of wearing his wife’s dresses?”
“Why not? He’s over her now. And the clothes are sitting in the basement. He said he’d tried to ship them to her, but she was out of the country or something and they came back. Xena won’t let him get rid of them.” Alexis Kincannon, now nine years old, had been nicknamed Xena practically in babyhood for her warriorlike and commanding personality. “He said he’d love to see the things get some use.”
“And what’s Xena going to say?”
“Are you kidding?” Darcie pulled to the curb in front of the Kincannons’ comfortable brick house. “I’m not stupid. I asked her first.”
So, Jennifer tried on dress after dress that Melissa Kincannon had designed and made, then left behind, along with her family. The dressing room consisted of ducking behind the trio of tall wardrobe-style moving boxes that held the dresses. Instead of a three-way mirror, she checked her image in two precariously stacked mirrors that left the region of her upper thighs a mystery unless she shifted to just the right angle that then blocked a view of her waist. Her panel of judges, seated in two rows on the stairway, was distinguished and varied.
Darcie, of course. Xena, who added expert commentary. Darcie’s mother, whose arrival had surprised Jennifer. And Ashley, who had come with Martha Barrett, and whose arrival had stunned Jennifer.
Darcie had waggled her eyebrows at her to communicate that she’d explain later, and Jennifer had had to be satisfied with that.
Ashley had assumed a veneer of boredom that kept cracking into heated debates with Xena.
“If she’s not going to choose the blue one—” Jennifer heard Ashley say from the far side of the moving boxes, referring to a dress she would never in a million years wear in public, since it had taken décolletage to a new low. Xena had said something about her mother being inspired by the movie Gypsy, and Darcie had muttered that a stripper wearing that dress would have nothing left to lose. “Then this last red one should be it.”
“Blondes can’t wear red,” Xena declared.
“Says who?” Ashley sounded closer in age to Xena than to the thirty-year-old sophisticate who inhabited her daughter’s body all too frequently.
“Everybody knows reds wash out blondes,” Xena declared in eerie imitation of Melissa Kincannon. “Maybe that dark red one from the beginning. The one that’s the color with the other name. You know,” she insisted, impatient, “like your ring, you said, Mrs. Barrett.”
“Garnet,” Darcie’s mother supplied.
“Eeeuw,” Ashley said. “That was an old lady’s dress.”
“That was from Mom’s African Queen period. But she didn’t want to make it in white. She said it had more depth in that other color.”
“Garnet,” Mrs. Barrett repeated.
“Are you ready?” Darcie called.
Jennifer stifled a grin. Darcie had about had her fill of fashion.
“Just a second.” She zipped herself up, and emerged.
The discourse cut off instantly. The four females stared at her.
“Well?” she asked.
They just kept staring. She went to the stacked mirrors, moving forward and back, trying to see if the narrow-skirted black dress looked as good as it felt. She twisted, trying for a view of the distinctive cutout back.
“That’s it,” Darcie said, slapping her thighs. “That’s the one.”
“That’s from Mom’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s period.” In the mirror, Jennifer saw Xena’s pride, as well as a wistfulness quickly hidden.
“I have the perfect necklace for you to wear,” Mrs. Barrett said.
“I have an evening bag that’ll be great,” Darcie said.
“Thank you, thank you both. But what do you think about wearing black in late July?”
“Black is always appropriate for a formal event,” Mrs. Barrett said.
“If I looked like that in that dress, I’d wear it as my wedding dress,” Darcie said.
“Darcie!” Her mother gasped. “Not black.”
“I said if.”
Jennifer turned to her daughter. “What do you think, Ashley?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll have to wear your hair up.”
“Good idea, Ash.” Darcie nodded.
“But what do you think of the dress, Ashley?” Jennifer persisted, not knowing why she did, fully aware that this could backfire into a snippy comment in a heartbeat. “Is this the one I should wear?”
Ashley looked up. For that instant, she was once more the loving, sweet girl she’d been until this past winter. “You look beautiful.”
Then the instant was gone.
“I can’t believe you got Ashley to come,” Jennifer admitted to Darcie in the car on the way home.
“You kidding? A chance to go through another female’s clothes? Did you see the way she coveted that ‘slit to the belly button’ blue number?”
“Please, don’t remind me. But really, Darcie, I was astonished to see her. When I told her I was going to this benefit with Trent—”
“She had a hissy fit.”
“She wasn’t happy. She’s going through a rough time. Plus, she didn’t exactly take to Trent, and then there was the guacamole incident. Even when I explained that Saturday is strictly business—”
Darcie cut her a look that Jennifer ignored.
“—she accepted it grudgingly only when she realized it was the same night as Courtney’s sleepover.”
“I suspect she thinks being rude to Trent somehow upholds her loyalty to her father. Though it’s both parents she’s worried about.”
“Me? There’s no reason for her to worry about me.”
“Right. No way a kid could ever worry that if her mother falls in love with a guy that the kid might lose her, too. But that’s not the most interesting thing. You must be nuts—”
“Definitely nuts,” Jennifer said with an attempt at a laugh.
“About the guy.”
“What?” A surge of panic hit her stomach.
“Yup,” Darcie continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Nuts for Trent Stenner. Otherwise you would have jettisoned him the way you’ve jettisoned other guys at the first sign of disapproval from Ashley. And she always objects if she senses you could really like a guy. “
Feeling as if the car had become a torture chamber, Jennifer forced herself to reason with her best friend. “Darcie, you’re talking nonsense. I told you, this is not a date. Trent made that very clear. It’s business.”
“And that night in his car?”
Heat surged through Jennifer along with memories. When would that stop? “I told you, that was a mistake. One we’ve put behind us.”
“My point still holds, because it has nothing to do with the lies you and Trent might be telling yourselves. For you to go out with Trent—”
“I’m not going out with him. It’s not a—”
“—when Ashley disapproves, there’s something there for sure.”
“Darcie, I’m telling you this isn’t a date. I promise you.”
Chapter Ten
Bad move, Stenner.
It wasn’t the first time Trent had that thought since Tuesday, when he’d invited Jennifer to come to the benefit. The thought had hit almost as soon as the words left his mouth. But he couldn’t undo the in
vitation. Not after his oh-so-clever extolling of the contacts she could make.
Why had he asked Jennifer to be his companion—not his date, just as he’d assured her—to this benefit in the first place?
He had no problem going out alone. He’d even become fairly adept at sidestepping Tracy’s attempts to fix him up when he arrived at an event solo.
He couldn’t claim to have invited Jennifer because he thought she’d enjoy it, either. Some women, he supposed, would get a kick out of hobnobbing with the city’s elite. But that wasn’t Jennifer’s style.
Heck, she’d looked downright pained when she’d agreed. She’d tried to hide it with a smile, but that had made her discomfort even more obvious.
So, maybe he should be asking that question, too— Why had she agreed to come?
If he’d had any brain cells left to work on the problem, he should have been able to solve it. But all his brain cells were devoted to reminding himself that this was not a date.
So it didn’t matter what Jennifer looked like standing across the hotel ballroom with chandeliers sparkling stars in her hair.
He’d nearly been burned to ash when she opened her apartment door. Seeing the back of the dress when he put the wrap around her shoulders had finished the burn. With her hair up, the dress’s low back highlighted the exposed, perfect line of her neck. The drive from Drago to Chicago had tormented him with the desire to lean over and kiss that length.
And the burn was just as hot each time he saw her now.
Not a date. Not a date.
Jennifer shook hands with the silver-haired man, smiled and moved away. The books she’d read said closing a conversation was as important a skill as opening one.
She huffed out a breath, and decided she deserved a break.
She’d done darned well, if she said so herself.
Trent had been the perfect companion. He’d stayed by her side at the beginning, introducing her to Tracy and her husband Ben, Trent’s former teammate. Tracy, in turn, had introduced them to two other couples. Trent had circulated her through the room for another half hour.
At dinner, he’d made conversation easily with their tablemates, naturally drawing her in, too.
After dinner, he’d asked if she wanted to strike out on her own. When she’d said yes, a flicker of something crossed his eyes before he’d smiled and said, “Go get ’em, killer.”
Twice, just as she’d finished a conversation and drifted away, he’d been between conversations, too, and their paths had crossed long enough to check in with each other, to take a few sips from the drink she’d been carting around, and for him to make her smile.
All in all, it had been a perfect evening.
Except for that moment when she’d opened the evening bag Darcie had loaned her to freshen her lipstick and found a key she recognized as the one to the Barrett house glinting up at her from the satin-lined bottom.
Darcie Barrett did not give up.
Jennifer looked around now, not spotting Trent. But she did see her hostess approaching with a determined smile.
“It’s a marvelous party,” Jennifer said, meeting her partway.
“Thank you. Having everyone willing to come and help out is what makes it.” She tilted her head, eyeing Jennifer. “You’re remarkably pretty.”
Jennifer felt herself stiffen. “Thank you.”
Tracy laughed a little. “No need to thank me, it wasn’t really a compliment. I’ve been smiling and handing out compliments so much tonight I think my face will crack if I don’t take a break to just be plain honest and nosy. That’s why I headed for you when I saw you alone. So, definitely don’t thank me. I intend to ignore every one of those signals you’re emitting that you want me to butt out, and to satisfy my curiosity.”
Jennifer froze. She’d had plenty of people corner her and try to pry into her personal life, but that was in Drago, where she knew the person doing the prying so well that she knew exactly which evasionary tactic would work. She didn’t know this woman at all. Except that she was Trent’s friend. Why hadn’t the books covered this sort of situation?
“The reason I remarked about your being so pretty is it surprised me,” Tracy went on. “Trent doesn’t usually date remarkably pretty women. Striking, cute, interesting, attractive, yes, but not pretty. So there must be a lot more to you than being pretty.”
Solid ground came up under Jennifer’s flailing feet and she almost heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, we’re not dating.”
“No?”
“No,” she replied firmly to Tracy’s blatant doubt. “We’re business associates. In his family’s car dealership.”
For a long moment Tracy stared at her. Then her brown eyes widened so much that Jennifer thought her eyelashes were going to meet her hairline. Her mouth formed a circle before it produced a delayed, “Oh…”
“Trent thought this would be a good opportunity for me to meet people who would be good business contacts.”
Tracy waved off business with the flip of one elegant hand. “Omigod! Why didn’t I put that together? I must have been even more crazed about this benefit than I knew. You’re the ex-sister-in-law. The one married to that goon of a brother—Evil Eric.”
She immediately gripped Jennifer’s forearm. “Sorry—sorry. I shouldn’t have called your ex a goon. It’s just that we all think they’ve treated Trent so… Well, we love Trent. He’s family.”
For absolutely no reason, Jennifer’s eyes stung, sharp with salt, but soft with another ingredient she couldn’t identify. Trent did have family. A family that loved him and protected him, the way a family should.
“Oh, God. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Jennifer found herself smiling at the same time she blinked would-be tears into submission. “You’re Linc’s sister. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together.”
“I am. And he says you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Not much experience, but lots of potential—and you have no idea what a compliment that is from my brother.”
“He’s been so wonderful to us. In those first few weeks I must have called or e-mailed him a dozen times a day.”
“He loves it. And he thinks the world of Trent. Why, he even had you—”
“There you are.” Trent stepped in between them, sliding one arm around Tracy’s waist and shifting her to his other side.
Tracy peered around him, grinning at Jennifer. “You get the feeling he doesn’t want us to compare notes?”
“Not at all, not at all,” Trent said. “It’s just that we have a long drive back, so we should get started, and I’m sure your other guests would like to have the pleasure of your scintillating company.”
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Tracy,” Jennifer said. “Thank you for letting me come to this wonderful event.”
“I’m so glad you could come.”
Trent hugged his longtime friend. “I’ll talk to you soon, Trace.”
“You bet you will. And—” she grinned at Jennifer “—I’ll call you, too.”
Jennifer leaned her head back and watched out the passenger window, relaxed to a near-dozing state. Nerves over how she would conduct herself at a benefit in downtown Chicago were behind her. Done. Now, carried by the security of Trent’s capable driving, she could simply be.
Swooping elevated cloverleaf entrances and exits, like some gigantic carnival ride, divided travelers according to their destinations. Interstate signs for Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana and Illinois jostled for position.
All the places. All the possibilities. All the roads she hadn’t taken.
Should she have left Drago, come here to try to find work? Would that have been better for Ashley?
No answers came from the buildings flashing past. Impressionistic layer cakes of gray and tan, utilitarian concrete boxes, odd curves and arches all stating the human need to express individuality. The boxes wider spaced and the trees more numerous. Although no trees could arc
h over these six lanes of traffic the way trees did over the streets of Drago.
Now, well outside the city, suburbs spread wide blankets of houses. But the Interstate outlasted them, diving into the farm-dotted space.
The moon glinted on the surfaces of road, cornfields, barns and trees. An occasional clapboard farmhouse appeared in the brighter glow of security lights; harsh lighting for houses that, more often than not, showed hard usage, like proud old ladies trying to disguise wear on aging silk dresses. She understood the pride and the determination.
Trent steered smoothly onto the exit to Drago, then down the highway.
Her heart thudded hard in her chest as they slipped through the night. This was her land. This was where she belonged. She had made the right choice in staying in Drago. The right choice for herself and for Ashley.
Everything would be okay. They’d work out their mother-daughter differences. The dealership would thrive. They’d have financial security. Maybe get a house.
“Are you awake?” Trent asked quietly.
She rolled her head toward him and smiled. “Yes. It’s been a wonderful drive.”
She saw only the profile of his smile. “We aim to serve.”
“It’s been a wonderful night, too. Thank you for asking me.”
He rolled to a stop at the light on Main Street—its red had a knack for catching solo cars in the dead of night.
He faced her. “Thank you for coming with.”
She knew what he was going to do. She didn’t move. Not as he leaned toward her. Not as his mouth touched hers.
It was a brief kiss. Neither hard nor soft. Neither passionate nor “just friends.” Nothing connected except their lips.
And then he straightened, and eased the car forward.
“Trent—”
“Just let it be, Jen. Believe it or not, you can trust me, including about this. So, just let it be.”
So she let it be. Even though it felt as if a solitary key in the bottom of her purse might burn a hole right through it.
Jennifer sat on her balcony in the early-morning light, sipping water and listening to her town stir, called first by birdsong, then the less subtle exhortation of church bells.
Right Brother Page 16