A Bachelor For The Bride (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #2)

by Mindy Neff

  “Jordan!” Lydia Grazer rushed out, her arms replacing Bess’s. “Are you okay, honey? Are you injured? We’ve not eaten or slept since this whole, horrible mix-up.”

  Jordan frowned, her attention on her father, who sat silently in a wheelchair at the open doorway. He looked old and frail—something she’d never before associated with her daddy. Dragging her gaze away for the moment, she asked, “What ‘mix-up,’ Mother?”

  Lydia frowned as though she was convinced Jordan had misplaced her good sense. “The wedding, darling...and you being taken away on that—that motorcycle.”

  Jordan glanced at Tanner. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, masking his emotions. His body language spoke volumes, though. Slouched on the bike like a cocky hoodlum, he didn’t intend to cut anybody any slack. He obviously expected the worst from her family and had decided to act accordingly.

  But Jordan knew him, had touched and looked upon every inch of that body. She knew his heart...and his vulnerabilities that bordered on shame over the cards that had been dealt him at birth.

  As she stood beneath the portico, she felt torn. In the doorway sat her father, who was in poor health, whom she hadn’t seen in well over a week. Yet, on the other side of her was Tanner, proud and aloof and unsure of his welcome. She didn’t know which of them to go to, which one needed her more.

  The almost-imperceptible shake of Tanner’s head made up her mind. He didn’t need or want his hand held. Her father, however, did need the attention.

  Strain showed in the lines of Maynard’s rounded face. He wore a bathrobe and slippers, which told her just how poorly he was feeling. Maynard Grazer was finicky about his appearance.

  To him, it was a measure of acceptance, and anything less than perfect was unacceptable.

  She knelt beside the wheelchair and leaned into his open arms. Steel-gray whiskers snagged in her hair and the pulse at his neck beat faster than she would have liked.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  His green eyes were liquid with emotion that he rarely allowed. “Nothing for you to be sorry about, sweet pea. I’ve been worried damn near into my grave.”

  “I know. And that’s what I’m apologizing for. All things considered, we thought it would be best to keep a low profile until things blew over.” She fussed with his robe, worried over the florid hue of his cheeks. “But let’s not talk about that now. I’m safe...thanks to Tanner.”

  “Caldwell?” He said the name as though it stank to high heaven. “I knew there was something familiar about him. You go on in the house, now. We’ll call the sheriff.”

  Jordan sucked in a breath. “Daddy! No, you misunderstood. Tanner saved me from being kidnapped. Didn’t you see the van follow us out of town? I explained—”

  “You didn’t explain diddly. For all I knew, some madman had a gun to your head making you say those words.”

  “No. No madman. But if someone had gone to the trouble of trying to take me right from my wedding, they could have easily tapped your telephones. Until Sonny knew—”

  “Sonny?”

  Jordan sighed, feeling as though she’d walked into the middle of a play where the entire cast didn’t have a clue about the plot or their next lines. “Sonny works with Tanner.”

  “You mean that son of a B lied to me?”

  “Daddy, this is a long story and we don’t need to get into it on the front porch. Besides, you need to be resting. Let’s get you back inside.” She gripped the handles of the wheelchair, and glanced at Tanner.

  He inclined his head and gave her a silent salute. A farewell.

  Her stomach felt lodged in her throat. Don’t go, she wanted to plead. But she knew he wouldn’t push his presence on her father—not when Maynard was in poor health. He wouldn’t approach without an invitation.

  But Maynard wouldn’t even acknowledge Tanner’s presence; the few feet of distance between them might well have been a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon. The solid, equal ground she and Tanner had shared for one and a half glorious weeks had shifted.

  Not on her part—never on her part. But her family hadn’t changed a bit. Lydia and Bess flanked her; Maynard sat front and center, looking weak, yet still the lord of the manner.

  And Tanner sat alone. Always so alone.

  “We owe him a lot, Daddy,” she said quietly, her throat raw with the ache of repressed emotions. “A thank-you at the very least. He kept me safe and saved us a loss of money. There was a ransom note.”

  “So you said. Who’s to say he didn’t write it himself?”

  Shock and anger stole her breath. “Oh, the two of you are so much alike it’s scary!” When Tanner had accused her father, he’d claimed he’d just been grabbing at straws. Now she had to wonder if it wasn’t pure rivalry between these two stubborn men.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Maynard demanded.

  “Never mind.” Feeling embarrassed by her father’s lack of gratitude toward Tanner, she forced a smile and called softly, “Thank you, Tanner. Will you stay for lunch?”

  Even from this distance she saw the twin dimples that crept slowly into his cheeks. The thrill that shot through her was swift and incendiary. And terribly inappropriate, flanked as she was by her family.

  But, oh, he was so...so male. With him, she could be a little wild, a little carefree. And a whole lot feminine.

  “Maybe another time, Blackie. But thank you kindly for the offer of hospitality.”

  “Blackie?” Maynard echoed in disapproval. The address was leveled at Jordan, and if he’d picked up on Tanner’s subtle sarcasm, he didn’t give any indication. Before she could think of an appropriate platitude, a pricey sedan came barreling down the lane.

  Her spirits hit rock bottom. “Did someone call Randall?”

  “Damn straight, somebody did,” Maynard said. “I did. Have you already forgotten that you were supposed to be married to him by now?”

  Not forgotten entirely. Just dismissed. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d vowed to think about it tomorrow.

  Well, tomorrow had just arrived, driving a champagne-colored Mercedes-Benz.

  And although Randall didn’t normally go in for public displays of affection, she decided not to take a chance. Right now, she couldn’t think of anything more uncomfortable than being swept into the arms of another man in front of Tanner.

  Even if that other man was her intended husband.

  Releasing the wheelchair brake with a jerk, she quickly backed Maynard over the front-door threshold.

  JORDAN PLEADED exhaustion, and it worked on Randall. She’d answered as many questions as she could—not that she had all the answers she wanted. The whole affair still puzzled her, made her edgy.

  Randall hadn’t insisted on hanging around or hand-holding, even though he’d only been there for a half hour. Although he wasn’t one to fuss or get mushy and maudlin—a trait she’d appreciated about him—he could have at least shown a little more concern; jealousy, at the very least, over the fact that she’d spent time—alone—with another man. But he’d simply dismissed all that, kissed her lightly on the cheek and said that it had all worked out for the best, and now that she was home safe and sound, the town’s name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud in nasty headlines.

  Piqued, Jordan figured she ought to have rated at least a little higher than the price of real estate in the eyes of her fiancé.

  Now, with Randall headed home and her father forced into bed rest—a combined effort of nagging from the Grazer women—Jordan was chomping at the bit to check on her horses.

  And to meet the famous Mr. B.

  Frankly, Jordan thought as she made her way out to the stables, she’d been mortified to learn that her father had assigned the man Sonny’s room in the bunkhouse.

  Millionaire Samuel Bartholomew in the bunkhouse, for pete’s sake!

  Daddy must have assumed Mr. B. was merely a hired hand—sometimes her father’s judgment of folks was seriously flawed. She’d always known he was crusty and arrogant.
He had a good heart, though. Even if he didn’t show that side of himself to others very often, Jordan knew it was there.

  Grabbing a lead rope someone had left hanging on the fence post, Jordan entered the corral and whistled softly to Bleu. He trotted over, snorting and tossing his head, hanging back a few feet as though to punish her for having left him in the hands of strangers.

  “Come on over here,” she chided, yet closed the distance herself. Sometimes she could swear the stallion had human thoughts. Arrogant, male human thoughts. “Pretend all you want, champ. You know dam well you’ll always love me.” She slipped the rope around Bleu’s powerful neck. “Besides, didn’t I leave you in good hands? Tanner claims Sonny’s the best.” She gave the horse a kiss on the nose—a gesture not many could get away with. Bleu could get ornery, and liked to bite. He’d nipped her a time or two in the early days, the days before they’d bonded.

  Now she trusted him completely. He would never intentionally harm her. Maybe step on her foot a time or two, but that was her own fault for not staying out of the way.

  As they neared the cool, shadowy interior of the stables, Jordan’s heart lurched. Tanner’s Harley was parked off to the side.

  So, he hadn’t left, after all. She was happier about that than she should have been. Especially since her fiancé had just driven off, fully under the impression that everything about their relationship was still status quo.

  And wasn’t it?

  The loan was still pending; no one had spoken about promises being broken. After explanations had been handed out all around, the attitudes in the Grazer household were the same. She’d been granted time to settle, then the wedding plans would be resurrected.

  Curiously, her mother was the only one—besides Jordan herself—who’d been less than enthusiastic, graciously changing the subject when it had arisen, so subtly that no one had noticed.

  Except Jordan.

  Maybe there was an ally there, in her mother.

  Bleu butted her with his nose as though he’d read her thoughts and was determined to remind her of her place.

  And it worked. Oh, what was she thinking? She had no business lining up allies. She had obligations to uphold.

  “Don’t worry, Bleu,” she murmured. “We won’t lose the ranch or the stables.” Her hand tightened around the lead rope. “I won’t lose you.” The weight on her shoulders felt like a ton.

  Tanner had his back to her when she led Bleu into the wide aisle of the barn where stalls flanked both sides. Horses snorted greetings and munched on hay, most with their beautiful heads hanging over the stall gates.

  The man deep in conversation with Tanner lifted his head and gave a beaming smile. Dark hair shot liberally with gray was combed straight back from a face lined with plenty of character. He was a tall man, his body in good shape, though she estimated his age somewhere in the mid- to late-sixties. Probably a home gym, state-of-the-art, she figured. If this was Tanner’s Mr. B., he could afford the best.

  He didn’t look like a millionaire. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. A suit? Fingers dripping in gold? A Rolex winking beneath a starched cuff?

  Instead, he wore a simple polo shirt in cottoncandy pink, gray slacks and high-top sneakers.

  “Jordan Grazer, I presume?” he asked, smiling, stepping up to her. As gallant as you please, he lifted her free hand and kissed her knuckles.

  Jordan was charmed right down to her boots. And amused. The Rolex she’d expected was actually a whimsical wristwatch sporting a Tasmanian Devil.

  Grinning, she sketched a slight curtsy. “And you’d be Mr. B.?”

  “Ah, Samuel to you, surely.”

  “Samuel, it is.”

  Tanner stepped up beside his friend. For a second she thought he was going to reach for her. Instead, he extended his hand to Bleu.

  “Careful,” Jordan warned. “He’s been known to bite.”

  “Mmm. And I’ve been known to bite back.”

  Jordan felt her face flame. He wasn’t talking about horses. And oh, the remembrance of his brand of biting was so powerful, so thrilling, she was sure her thoughts showed on her face.

  She spared a quick glance at Samuel. The man winked and her face grew even hotter.

  Holding Bleu steady, she waited to see how beast and man would size each other up. Bleu jerked his head, pulling against the lead rope, his nostrils wide. Eerie eyes that appeared more human than animal took Tanner’s measure.

  In tune to Bleu’s every nuance, she felt him settle, watched in amazement as he turned into a pussycat right before her eyes. If the stallion could have purred, he’d have done so as Tanner stroked his neck, between his eyes and down to his nose, giving him plenty of opportunity to register his scent.

  And why wouldn’t he purr? Jordan thought. Tanner’s touch had that effect.

  And it thrilled her to see these two males who both meant so much to her, becoming friends.

  “Fine piece of horseflesh,” Mr. B. commented. “You interested in selling?”

  Jordan’s hand jerked on the rope, startling the stallion. He did a sidestep shuffle, then swung his massive head around in what appeared to be accusation.

  “Sorry, boy. Easy, now.” Patting the horse’s neck, she unconsciously took a step closer to his side. To Samuel, she said, “Never.”

  “Sure? I’ll offer a damn good price. Honor Bleu would make a fine addition to my stables.”

  “Positive. No amount of money could get me to part with this horse.”

  “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

  “No. You have excellent taste.”

  Tanner watched as she settled her horse in his stall. The love she had for the animal was so evident. Swiftly, and irrationally, he felt jealous of a horse. What would it be like to have someone so devoted to him? To have someone care so deeply?

  Once she was finished with her task, she came out of the stall, checked the latch, then wiped her palms on her jeans and turned toward him.

  He thought he might drown in those green eyes. There was longing there, but there was also worry. His protective instincts rose. Then he realized that worry was for him.

  He tried to turn away from it, didn’t want it, but she spoke before he could find a civil way to excuse himself.

  “I’m sorry for the way my family treated you, Tanner.”

  He shrugged. “No big deal.” The shame of nonacceptance was still there, but not as strong as it might have been. This time, when confronted by Grazer’s snub, Tanner wasn’t alone. He’d had Mr. B. to give him balance, to remind him that there was someone who cared. To remind him that he wasn’t that poor-white-trash kid who’d left town all those years ago.

  And one of the things he appreciated about Samuel, was that he didn’t butt in indiscriminately—he understood about a man’s pride. What he did do was simply provide strength through his quiet presence alone.

  Jordan, however, didn’t appear to think about pride, and she had no compunction about jumping in and defending.

  “It is a big deal,” she insisted. “You saved Daddy a lot of money in ransom. You might even have saved my life. My family owes you gratitude and hospitality, not a cold shoulder.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Blackie. I’m a big boy and I can handle it when somebody doesn’t want to share the toys or play with me.”

  He heard what could only be described as a growl deep in her throat. She was working up a head of steam—on his behalf.

  He nearly grinned but thought better of it.

  Samuel, however, wasn’t as smart. The man threw back his head and gave a booming laugh. Jordan’s head whipped around, and Tanner had enough sense to take a discreet step back.

  “Do share the amusement, Mr. Bartholomew.”

  “Ah, the deb’s back,” Tanner murmured.

  “Shut up, Tanner.” But she smiled through the words, still waiting for Mr. B. to explain his hyena imitation.

  “For a minute there, you reminded me of someone I met in town.”

&nb
sp; “Who?”

  “Agatha Flintstone. A fine woman, that. Owns the Book Nook.”

  “Agatha?” Jordan said weakly, clearly astonished. “‘A fine woman’?”

  “Absolutely. You know her, my dear?”

  “Well, yes.” She glanced at Tanner as if to question the sanity of his friend.

  “The woman’s got spunk. Claimed you’d been hauled off on a snorting beast of a motorcycle and how it was terribly romantic. Just like a Norman conqueror of old.”

  “Uh...yes, she does tend to think in terms of her romance novels.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Samuel said. “A woman who reads romance shows excellent sense and taste. I read ’em myself. Gives a man plenty of good advice...and some wonderful guidance. Why, I just might give some thought to that Norman-conqueror thing:”

  Tanner nearly strangled on a swallow. His head whipped around so fast his own untied hair slapped him in the face. Good God, if he wasn’t mistaken—and he doubted seriously that he was—Mr. B. had just subtly stated his intention to fulfil Agatha Flintstone’s wildest fantasy.

  Noticing that Jordan, too, was making a womanly effort to keep her jaw from dropping, he stepped into the breach. “I think this is a good time to make a dignified exit.”

  Mr. B. sniffed. “There’s not one undignified thing about what I said. Those of us in our golden years are entitled to have fun, too, you know.” His brows drew together—as though he’d forgotten something vital—then shot upward. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Jordan. I see now that my friend is gently trying to remind me that I might have offended your sensibilities. I’m a romantic old fool, and I have a tendency to forget myself at times. Please accept my apology.”

  Looking thoroughly charmed now, Jordan reached out and gave Samuel’s arm a squeeze. “No need to apologize. I assure you, my sensibilities are fairly unshakable. And you are absolutely right, Samuel. Romance is timeless. I, for one, will be rooting for you.” She cleared her throat, sounding suspiciously like she was strangling a chuckle. “And for Agatha, of course.”