Taffeta sighed. “I just don’t want you to jeopardize your job for me.”
“I won’t, so stop fretting about it.” He crumpled a soiled napkin in his hand and hoop-shot it into the sack. “I still haven’t lost my touch.”
“You must have played basketball,” she observed.
“Oh yeah. Football and wrestling, too. My dad believes in encouraging teenage boys to stay busy to keep them out of trouble. With sports and horses, I was a pretty active kid.”
Taffeta looked at the clock again and knew he needed to leave. She didn’t want their time together to end. “Were you good? At sports, I mean?”
“Honestly?” His lips tipped into a sheepish grin. “I was barely good enough at basketball to make the team, and I totally bombed at football, mostly because colliding with guys on a field never made sense to me. But I kicked ass in wrestling. Placed second in the state my senior year of high school. I hoped to wrestle in college and did for a couple of years until the wrestling program was cut.”
“Second in state? You must have been something!”
“I still am. Knowing how to take a man down and pin him is helpful in my line of work. I practice with my little brother Jonas whenever he’s home. He’s better on the mat than I am, but I still hold my own.” He pushed back his hat, leaned forward, and startled her with a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll show you some of my best moves sometime.”
Taffeta’s heart was still racing as he strode out the door. She rested her fingertips over the spot where his lips had touched.
• • •
Five o’clock on Saturday morning came early for Taffeta. She dozed through her alarm, and when Barney rapped on her apartment door, she still had sleep in her eyes and was washed but not dressed. She threw on her robe to let him in, and when he saw her, he rocked back on his heels, grinned, and touched the brim of his hat.
“Top of the morning to you,” he said with a fair rendition of an Irish brogue. “I thought you were an early riser.”
“I normally am, but I had trouble sleeping and then didn’t hear my alarm.”
“Troubling thoughts? That’s usually what keeps me awake.”
Taffeta had been thinking about Barney showing her some of his best moves, but never in a million years would she tell him that. “I normally stay open on Saturday, and I got to worrying about being closed today.” She hurried back to her room. Two stuffed suitcases and a large box sat at the foot of her bed. They held clothing she intended to take with her to Barney’s house. She bypassed the containers and went to stand in front of her closet again. What did a bride wear to a Reno chapel wedding? “Oh God,” she muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“What is?”
Barney’s voice came from the doorway behind her and startled her half out of her wits. “Excuse me,” she said with strained patience, “but I’m about to dress.”
“The latch didn’t catch, so the door swung back open.” He leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “I have two sisters. When a female stands in front of her closet, whispering about disaster, it normally means she doesn’t know what the hell to wear.”
Taffeta folded her arms at her waist and turned to face him. “It’s not just any old day. Even if it’s only for show, we’re getting married. I’ve never had to pick a proper outfit for a wedding.”
“What did you wear the first time, nothing?”
Taffeta realized that he was enjoying her discomfiture. “My mother-in-law and a dressmaker chose everything I wore. In Erickson, Phillip’s marriage was a big event.”
“Ah, well, think along more casual lines than that. Look at me. I’m not dressed up. It’ll be a Reno wedding. People gamble in a casino, suddenly decide to tie the knot, and go get married. I don’t think there’s a dress code.”
She took in his attire. He wore a tan Stetson instead of the usual chocolate brown one, and he looked wonderful in fresh Wrangler jeans that skimmed his muscular legs, polished brown riding boots, and a blue western-cut shirt with pearled snaps instead of buttons.
She resumed staring helplessly at the few remaining clothes that hung on the rod. “Nothing I haven’t packed is appropriate.”
He chuckled, and she felt the vibrations of his footfalls crossing the ratty old carpet. He stood behind her, bent his knees to be at her eye level, and said, “The brown shirt is definitely out. What’s that flowery thing, a sundress? That won’t work. You’ll freeze your ass off.” He reached past her to finger the pink knit top she’d worn to the dumpy Italian restaurant. “This will work. It looks awesome on you, especially with that itty-bitty black skirt you paired with it.”
“The skirt is packed to go to your house.”
“Oh. Well, do you have a pair of jeans that fit?”
“Of course. I wear jeans a lot down in the shop.”
“No, I don’t mean denim tents. I mean jeans that actually fit.”
She gnawed the inside of her cheek. “Tight ones, you mean?”
“Not tight, just snug.”
“I have a few pairs that I wore in Erickson. They were snug at the time, but I’ve gained a little weight since moving here. They may be skintight now.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Squeeze into them, add the top, find some sensible walking shoes, and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll have coffee waiting.” He moved toward the door. Before exiting into the living room, he added, “And today, can you ditch the schoolmarm hairdo? Pretty please, with sugar on top? Wear it down, or I’ll be afraid to say ain’t all the way to Reno in case you reprimand me for poor grammar.”
“In all the times we’ve talked, I’ve never once heard you say that word.” She cast him a blistering glance. “You’re telling me how to dress, and we’re not even married yet.”
“Oops. Can I deduce from the resentment I hear in your voice that Phillip told you how to dress?”
Taffeta stiffened her shoulders, unwilling to answer that question. He might never understand the pressure that she’d been under during her marriage to measure up to the standards set for her. The wives of the attorneys in such a classy law firm dressed to the nines, and Taffeta hadn’t known what to wear then, either. Phillip never hesitated to criticize when her choice in attire failed to please him. “Out. I can’t squeeze into jeans with you watching.”
He left and closed the door. She had showered already, so all she had to do was dress, wash her face, and brush her hair. Easy, she assured herself. Only when she stood in front of the dresser mirror, she didn’t like what she saw and spent twenty minutes with makeup and a curling iron.
When she appeared in the front room, Barney rewarded her with an appreciative whistle.
• • •
Barney had gotten coffees and pastry to go from the Jake ’n’ Bake. Jake hit the deck early every morning to make pastries, and he’d opened up for Barney as a special favor. Taffeta sipped from her sugar-enriched java as Barney’s truck rumbled from Mystic Creek on an eastward highway. Her jeans hugged her belly and thighs like a girdle and were so tight around her waist that she could barely take a deep breath. All she could think about as she consumed more calories was how much weight she’d gained since moving to Mystic Creek. Too much comfort food. All those grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner had taken a toll.
Needing to fill the silence between herself and her soon-to-be husband because she felt unaccountably nervous, Taffeta asked, “Was it a hassle getting the weekend off?”
He chuckled. “Adams looked shocked, not because I ask all the time, but because I seldom do. I’m a believer in building up my sick days and vacation so I can have important times of the year off to spend them with my family. I work a lot of weekends, covering for people who want off, to add to my cache.” He lifted his hands briefly from the steering wheel to shrug. “Why not cover for them? I’ve got no family, so it works for me.”
“Having
long stretches off, even if you had a family, might be lovely,” she suggested. “Trips to Disneyland or somewhere else would be nice for a wife and kids.”
“Careful, there. Trips to Disneyland are expensive, and I’m existing on a deputy’s wages.”
“Don’t you get paid by the hour and make more money for the extra time you put in?”
“Nope. I get a salary. But when I work an extra shift, I earn another vacation day, and saving them up is, in my opinion, better than putting money in the bank. I enjoy doing simple things that don’t cost very much—long horseback rides into wilderness areas to camp at high-mountain lakes to fish. I also like to work on my house. It was dilapidated when I bought it. I save up to make improvements and then try to do most of the work myself when I take vacation.”
Taffeta relaxed in the bucket seat, trying to picture Barney’s life. She decided that she was much like him. Expensive vacations didn’t matter to her. She would have loved to have a family like his, large and close-knit, and to know that they loved her enough to always be there. Barney might not make a lot of money being a deputy, but he loved his work, he owned a house, and, far more important, he could spend time with people he loved whenever he wanted. On Sundays, Taffeta watched television, read, or studied online to become a licensed herbalist. She missed having human contact and could barely wait for Monday morning.
As if Barney sensed that the silence between them made her edgy, he turned on the stereo and tuned in to a station that featured a variety of music genres. The instant that Tony Bennett’s voice filled the cab, crooning about San Francisco, Barney started singing along. He had a deep, rich voice, and he could carry a tune, which was more than Taffeta could boast.
He glanced over at her. “Come on. Get into it with me.”
“I can’t sing,” she confessed. “I sound like a bullfrog and only do it in the shower.”
He leaned his head back and laughed. Then he turned the music up. “Sing! Who cares if you sound like a bullfrog? With it this loud, who’ll hear you?”
Taffeta tentatively joined in, and when he didn’t cringe, she raised her voice. Soon she was belting out lyrics as if she were a rock star, with Barney harmonizing with her. Or at least trying. She wasn’t very good at carrying a tune. He didn’t seem to care.
Then, to her mortification, the Rolling Stones came over the airway, and she was confronted with “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Barney winked at her. Then he started shouting the lyrics.
She couldn’t help laughing because if any man on earth could find satisfaction, it had to be this incredibly handsome deputy with those seductive and intoxicating amber eyes.
She couldn’t resist joining in, yelling the words at the top of her lungs. Pretty soon they were laughing so hard that they had beads of sweat on their foreheads. And then “She Loves You” by the Beatles burst from the speakers. Who could resist that?
They sang for over an hour. Taffeta was slightly hoarse when Barney turned off the stereo so they could talk. He told her funny stories about his childhood. She particularly loved the one about him and his brothers painting their black Lab yellow. Taffeta had no funny tales to tell about her childhood. Maybe lots of kids had good experiences in foster homes, but she hadn’t been so lucky.
Barney said he didn’t care whether her stories made him laugh. He just wanted to know her better. Taffeta relented and discovered she did have some funny stories, after all. She recounted the time her foster brother put baby powder in a hair dryer and laughed until he wet his pants when their snotty foster sister came out of the bathroom screaming. The boy got in trouble and had to clean the bathroom, but that didn’t stop him from sealing the top of the commode with plastic wrap the following week. Their foster father went in to use the toilet and splattered urine everywhere.
Barney laughed and sent her a warm look. “I’ll bet that incited his wrath.”
“He threw Rodney against the wall. He had a bad temper, and his wife never tried to stop him when he got mean.”
Keeping his gaze on the road, Barney said, “You must have had at least one nice foster parent.”
Taffeta’s heart twisted. “Once there was an old lady. She’d been taking in foster kids for years with her husband. They’d never been able to have children. When he died, she was going to quit taking in kids, but she made an exception for me.” Taffeta glanced over at him. “I felt like she really cared about me. When she got the monthly checks, she gave me a portion of the money to spend however I wanted. I didn’t feel as if I was a meal ticket. Her name was Mrs. Brassfield, but she let me call her Emma. One Saturday a month, she drove me to the mall. While I shopped, she sat in a mall café sipping tea, and she seemed really glad when I found something special to buy.”
“Uh-oh. You’ve got the Sarah look in your eyes.”
Taffeta questioned him with her gaze. “What is the Sarah look?”
“Sad. I see pain in your expression. Something bad happened to Mrs. Brassfield.”
“She died,” Taffeta pushed out. “We were doing dishes together. She seemed perfectly fine, and suddenly she hit the floor. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to wake her up. Then I called for an ambulance, but it took forever to get there. For a while, I could still feel her pulse, but then it just stopped.”
“My God. How old were you, Taffy?”
“Thirteen.”
“Now I better understand why you bundled Sarah in a blanket and drove her to the emergency room yourself.”
Her chest ached as the memories moved through her mind. “You never forget watching somebody die, especially when it’s a person you care about.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” he agreed. “I’m sorry you lost her that way. A kid shouldn’t have to witness something like that. But as badly as it ended, I’m glad you got to be with someone who cared about you for a while.”
Taffeta nodded. “She taught me how to love.” A smile curved her mouth, and she glanced sideways at Barney. “Emma would approve of you.”
“Oh yeah? What would she like about me?”
“She spent most of her adult life trying to help kids who were in bad situations. She would admire you because you’re so willing to go the extra mile to help a little girl you don’t even know.”
• • •
Barney drove through the outskirts of Reno, trying to imagine Taffeta’s life as a kid, and it was beyond him. He’d grown up with so much love surrounding him, and all she’d ever had as far as positive memories of her childhood went was a short stint with a caring old lady.
He used the navigation application on his phone to find the casino hotel where he had booked two rooms last week. The place had looked halfway decent online, but the instant they walked through the revolving glass door, he knew he’d made a mistake. The place reeked of cigarette smoke and vomit. Never believe what you see in pictures, he decided. “We can’t stay here. This is awful!”
Taffeta giggled. “And I’ll bet you paid in advance.”
“Yes.”
She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “It’ll be better upstairs. Casino floors always stink of cigarettes and stuff. People get sick from consuming too many free drinks.”
Barney couldn’t wait to check in and find an elevator. On the way upstairs, he said, “I hope the rooms don’t stink.”
As he got Taffeta settled in her suite, which was next to his, he thanked God that he’d asked for smoke-free accommodations. Unfortunately the room wasn’t much better than downstairs.
“This whole place is a dive,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Taffeta ran her fingertips over a battered dresser. “It’s fine, Barney. We’re only staying one night.” She turned to smile up at him. “I’d like to reimburse you for the rooms. You’re doing this for me and Sarah. That only seems right.”
“I’ve got it covered,” he said.
“But
you can’t afford this. You’re a deputy.”
Barney laughed. “I can afford it. I’m not poor, Taffy. I make a decent wage.”
“Which you like to spend on your house. Please, let me cover the cost of this.”
He shook his head and turned for the door. Then he hesitated. He didn’t want her to feel guilty because he was paying for everything. He swung around to look at her. “If you really feel obligated to—”
“I do!” she interjected.
“Okay, fine. I’ll keep all the receipts, and when we get home, we’ll split the cost down the middle. Does that sound fair?”
“No. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Sarah.”
Thinking fast, Barney shot back, “That is so not true. You see before you a man who loves to gamble. Once we tie the knot, I plan to have one hell of a good time at the blackjack tables. If I don’t pay for half of the rooms and food, I’ll feel guilty and won’t enjoy myself as much.”
She studied him dubiously. “Okay, we split it down the middle for the rooms and food. But I’m covering the wedding costs, no arguments.”
Barney didn’t like the idea of allowing her to pay for anything. She had lawyer fees lying ahead of her. Even though Bryan planned to give her a break, the hit might still hurt her financially. “I will pay for half of the chapel costs, too.”
“No,” she said with adamant firmness. “A bride’s family traditionally pays for the wedding. It’s my bill.”
Barney couldn’t argue the point. He decided to let her pay for their wedding. Later when she felt the pinch, he’d help her out.
“Fine, then. You pay.” He flashed her a grin. “But don’t think for a minute that you’re going to cover my gambling costs. After we’re hitched, we’ll sniff our way back to find a casino that doesn’t stink.”
• • •
Considering his poor choice of hotels, he was glad he’d waited to choose a chapel with Taffeta. After getting settled in his suite, he rang her on her cell and asked if he could bring his laptop to her room. Minutes later, she opened the door and let him in. They sat on the stained and worn sofa to peruse the places where they could be married. He half expected Taffeta to say it didn’t matter where they tied the knot, just as long as they tied it. He sure as heck didn’t care. It wasn’t as if the nuptials would mean anything.
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