Just One of the Groomsmen

by Cindi Madsen

  “Seems like you both have an excess of dollar bills laying around.”

  “They’re for when we hit the strip club,” Addie said with a wide grin. “Naturally.”

  Nonna turned red and clucked her tongue. “Addison Diana Murphy.”

  “Relax, Nonna. He knows I don’t go to the strip club, but man are the rumors gonna fly about you.”

  He laughed again, and her grandmother reverted to muttering Italian swear words as she scolded them both. In the most loving way, of course.

  Addie readjusted the flowers in her hands, since the plastic kept bending weird. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we best get to plantin’. I’d ask you along, but I’m afraid it’d be harder for our lawyer to get us out of jail from the back of a cop car.”

  Tucker snagged her overalls where they crossed in the back as she started past him, reminding her of the downside to the shoulder straps—he’d used that move in football and soccer games before and it drove her crazy. “Maybe I could get my car keys so I don’t have to walk home?”

  “Oh. Right.” She handed him the flowers and retrieved his keys from her purse. “Thanks again for savin’ the evening, although I would’ve been perfectly happy to skip the bridal shower.”

  “How was the hoity-toity restaurant, by the way? Did you scare off all the preppy gentlemen, or did you actually let a few of ’em hit on you before putting the fear of God in them?”

  Nonna paused. “Oh, I’d like to hear the answer to this one, too. Although, aren’t you dating the dentist?”

  “You went on a date with Mr. Beasley?” Tucker asked, judgy-edged bafflement clear in his tone.

  The face of the sixty-five-year-old grandfather type who’d filled one of her cavities flashed to mind. “Ew. No.”

  “There’s a new dentist in town,” Nonna happily provided. “Young. Handsome. Total eligible-bachelor type.”

  “Listen up, gossip girls, my dating life is neither of your business.” That didn’t sound right. “Businesses?” Nope, that wasn’t it, either. “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

  Besides, in order for her to tell them, she’d have to know what was going on with the dentist, and she hadn’t a clue.

  “As for the restaurant, I will say the food was good, even if they were super chintzy when it came to serving size. And that’s all I’ll say.”

  Tucker held up his hands in retreat. “Fair enough, fair enough. Hey, so between all your criminal activities over the next few days, give me a call when you get the chance.”

  “Sure.” It killed her to not pry out the truth right here and now, and she opened her mouth to fish for at least a clue, but Nonna spoke up first.

  “I love you two, I do, but I’m an old woman who needs her beauty sleep.”

  Which was naturally why they were sneaking out to plant flowers at eleven at night.

  Addison took back the pack of seedlings. “I’ll call you soon so you can catch me up on your life and make some plans for after you break me out of the slammer.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, and he even escorted them outside. Then he climbed into his car while she and her grandmother snuck across to the neighbors’ yard and planted a mix of pansies and petunias.

  As you do.

  …

  Tucker felt like a bit of a stalker waiting in his car, but people in town felt very strongly about their second amendment rights, and he wanted to make sure Addie and her grandmother returned home safely.

  He doubted anyone would threaten them once they saw what they were actually doing, plus Addie was good at stretching the truth on the spot.

  They’d had lots of practice, after all.

  Like the time he’d seen one of Principal Pike’s “casual Friday” Hawaiian shirts on the clothesline and had the bright idea to borrow it and make a scarecrow version to display during homecoming week.

  When they’d been caught by the next-door neighbor, Addie spun an explanation about spotting a hole in the shirt, and how her mama was good at patching and they wanted it to be a surprise. The woman bought it hook, line, and sinker (in her defense, she had been new in town and therefore, not yet aware of their reputation), not even bothering to get their names before they’d turned tail and fled.

  Man, the girl could talk her way out of almost any situation—sometimes he’d thought she would’ve made the better lawyer.

  With that in mind, he wondered what he was still doing playing lookout. If anyone did threaten to call the cops, Addie could always hit up Easton for help. But what with his being on retainer, Tucker figured he might as well make sure tonight’s hijinks stayed in the solely ridiculous category.

  Plus, he’d landed her in trouble enough times to feel like he owed her.

  While his logical side knew they’d had to grow up eventually, he’d missed the way she was always down for an adventure.

  These days, he felt a lot less adventurous.

  Even this thing with his job felt more like jumping off a cliff with no parachute.

  And there it was. The other reason he was sitting here, delaying the inevitable.

  He could still see the shock on the partners’ faces as he turned in his two-week notice. Could feel it echoed in his chest, even as he’d tried to hide it.

  They’d offered him more pay.

  He’d wondered if he’d been stupid to turn it down.

  Strike that past-tense version—he still wondered.

  Still fought the urge to tug on that cord and see if the parachute would catch him before he hit the ground.

  Between his parents’ divorce, his mom moving in with a congressman before it was even finalized, and the foreclosure, Tucker had seen how the stress turned his father into a different man. After experiencing the awful instability, Tucker had sworn he’d do whatever it took not to have that threat of losing everything constantly hanging over him.

  Yet here he was doing the exact opposite.

  One of the reasons he hadn’t told any of his friends about quitting his job was because that’d make it real. He’d just let go of his best chance at being secure, financially and career-wise, and… He tugged at the collar of his shirt, his heart beating double-time.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  That was easy. Every thought had circled back to the night in the houseboat.

  Tucker had tried the city thing for two long, hard years. Tried being a lawyer and having the type of high-paying career Dad had always encouraged him to have. He’d made good money and hated every second of it.

  The lake called to him. Small-town life called to him.

  He’d missed his friends and the ability to go to Addie for advice. If anything, talking to her on the phone only made her—and the old life he’d longed to return to—feel further away.

  While he’d done his best to keep up with the gang over the past few years, he hated that he’d become so unreliable for the people who’d always been there for him, no matter what.

  All it took was one night playing poker and he couldn’t stop thinking about returning home, where he belonged.

  Life was too short to be miserable.

  It was also too short to move back, screw everything up, and live with regrets.

  Which was why he would give himself one more minute to think of Addie’s legs in that dress, and then he’d shift back into friendly territory and her in those baggy overalls.

  Where his thoughts were definitely going to stay.

  Chapter Four

  “Addison will know.”

  Her spine straightened as she heard her name coming from the lips of the biggest gossip in town. She wondered what she was supposed to know, since usually she tried to avoid knowing things—knowing things landed you smack-dab in the middle of drama.

  Not to mention she was kind of busy prepping for the soccer match she’d be coaching momentarily, on
e of the highlights of her week.

  Lottie and her group of other baby boomers and middle-aged mothers left the fold-out chairs they’d set up on the grassy sidelines of the soccer field, and as they approached, Addie wondered if playing possum would work. Just flop to the ground, stick out her tongue, and hope the group of women would give up.

  Experience told her Lottie didn’t care about an inconsequential thing like whether or not someone was dead or alive when it came to gleaning gossip.

  So Addie plastered on a smile as she turned to face the question-firing squad, otherwise known as the Craft Cats, since they liked to scrapbook, quilt, and do a variety of other crafts as they plucked items from the grapevine. They also had a fondness for felines. Or maybe just for wearing cat-themed clothes.

  Lottie peered down her sunglasses at Addie. “What did Tucker do to get fired from his big fancy lawyer job?”

  “Fired? I doubt he got fired.”

  “You don’t know?” she asked, all incredulous-like, and the need to defend herself rose, which was absurd. Regardless of what the Craft Cats thought, it was okay not to know everyone’s business.

  Addie tucked a soccer ball under her arm. “He just got into town.” Like day before yesterday, dudes.

  Lottie pursed her lips, disappointment bleeding into her features. “Hmm. I thought you two were close.”

  The thing about this particular group of ladies was the way they could lob implications and casually insult you, their sugary-sweet smiles never leaving their lips.

  Of course they probably had no clue how badly those words would sting, and they shouldn’t. She and Tucker might not be as close as they used to be—and no, he hadn’t told her he was moving back—but he’d let her borrow his car, no questions asked, come over to give her the news about the move, and promised to represent her and her grandma if they got busted.

  That was what counted. They were still friends, the kind that remained unshaken by time apart.

  “Close enough that when you two put a baseball through the window of my craft store, you then tried to tape it up, like I wouldn’t notice. Thick as thieves, and equally as mischievous.”

  And this was why Addie occasionally entertained the idea of moving away.

  Sure, she’d miss her family and the community, nosy or not. But they could recite every bad thing she’d done since birth.

  Yes, she and Tucker had tried to tape together the cracked window that the baseball didn’t go through but simply slammed into. In their defense, they’d been in fourth grade and Lottie was one of the scariest ladies in town. Addie still had a scar on her palm from when the pane had given way and sliced her skin.

  That was when the crack had turned into total glass annihilation.

  When the blood pooled in her palm and dripped onto the ground, Tucker took off his shirt and wrapped her hand in it. Then she’d been embarrassed on two fronts—he’d been shirtless, and he’d had to take care of her, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself!

  Lottie had shown up about then. She’d tsked and made a comment about manners unbecoming of a lady, but failed to remark on Tucker’s behavior, because “boys will be boys.”

  Their parents were called, and they’d had to do Lottie’s yard work all summer to pay for the window. The labor was nothing.

  The constant remarks about how she couldn’t believe Priscilla Murphy let her daughter run around with such a ragtag group of boys had been the real torture.

  “Do you at least know what he plans to do?” Virginia, one of the town councilmembers, asked. “Is he setting up a law firm here? If so, he needs to meet with the board. Certain permits are required, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there aren’t any open office spots right now.”

  Virginia was married to one of the two lawyers in town, so obviously she didn’t want Tucker to open an office and put a dent in her husband’s business.

  The lawyer who’d moved into town about three or four months ago had already done significant damage, in spite of his rep as an asshole who treated you like crap while he took your money. He won a lot of cases, so some people thought it was almost worth dealing with his shitty temperament. He had clients throughout the county, too, which meant out-of-towners coming in and spending money in Uncertainty’s shops.

  “Or is it just temporary, until he finds another job and heads off to the city again?” Nellie Mae asked.

  With the sharks circling, you would’ve thought Addie had cut her hand again. Apparently they smelled blood anyway.

  This week they wanted information about Tucker; last week they’d wanted to know what had happened with the nice new dentist. (One date three weekends ago that everyone somehow managed to crash, what with it being at Mulberry & Maine, the one linen-tablecloth restaurant in town, followed by radio silence. Not that she’d given them that information. Regardless of how many times she’d made it clear she was never going to change, they’d never let up with the “unladylike” comments, and she hadn’t wanted to hear “I told you so.”)

  The sounds of van doors sliding open and girls shrieking as they ran toward the field filtered through—saved by a group of rambunctious, easily distracted eight-year-old girls. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for gossip.” Addie bounced the ball on her knee and caught it. “I have a game to coach.”

  “Doesn’t the dentist’s niece play on your team?” Lottie asked, as if she didn’t already know.

  Addie backpedaled, trying not to think about the dentist’s possible attendance, because she didn’t know how she felt about him besides slightly rejected. “Yes, I would love if you all cheered extra loud for us! Thanks for offering!”

  Her team barreled into her as soon as she turned around, and as they enthusiastically hugged her, she remembered why her daydreams of moving away were only that.

  There was too much here she’d miss, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, her history of being an unladylike ruffian be damned.

  …

  Addie was turning out to be ridiculously difficult to pin down.

  Whoa. Maybe let’s not put it that way. No pinning down. No…just no.

  It was like ever since he’d seen her underneath the hood of that car, his thoughts were no longer safe.

  Since she’d refused to give the tall bridesmaid his number, he’d have to ask Shep to hook him up. Then he could work on ending his recent drought and everything would return to normal. Or at least his new normal.

  He’d spent most of yesterday moving into the houseboat, and by the time Sunday afternoon came around, he went in search of food that didn’t come from a box or can. He’d run into Addie’s mom at the diner, and after exchanging pleasantries, Mrs. Murphy informed him Addie’s soccer game had just started, so he’d driven to the field.

  He hadn’t known that Uncertainty ran adult soccer leagues, and when he arrived, he saw that they didn’t.

  Parents and several of the who’s who in town sat on blankets and lawn chairs, watching the kids running around the field. It took him a few minutes to find Addie’s brown ponytail in the crowd.

  He smugly put on his battered Saints cap, bailed out of his truck, and made his way to the less cramped end of the sidelines.

  Addie gathered her team in for a huddle and gestured wildly with her arms, the same way she used to give him and the guys instructions on the sidelines. They’d all fought to let her play on the boys’ teams growing up, and it’d worked up until high school when the town and school had drawn the line.

  Tucker never had any doubts whatsoever about her athletic ability, whether it be football, baseball, soccer, or basketball. He knew she’d be an asset to whatever team she played for, and while he’d never admit it to her face—he happened to like breathing, non-broken limbs, and not having her pissed at him—that was around the time he’d started to worry she might get hurt.

  Sim
ply because while he and the guys had shot up and begun to fill out, she’d remained scrawny. Then he and the boys would’ve been obligated to retaliate, and it would’ve gotten ugly, no doubt about it.

  She absolutely hated when they treated her like a girl, something he was probably the guiltiest of growing up. Since so many people talked down to her, forever telling her she should be more like her sister, or act more like a girl, or be more of some stupid shit or the other, he’d always felt compelled to defend and protect her.

  Even as she proved time and time again that she didn’t need it.

  And thank God she’d never listened to those people, because if she had, he’d be missing half of his best childhood memories.

  The soccer game burst into action, kids running everywhere—including toward the opposite side of the field where the ball went. Parents yelled and cheered and Addie hugged a clipboard to her chest as she leaned one way and then the other, as if that’d help her team do the same.

  The setting sun lit up the strands that’d escaped her ponytail and highlighted her makeup-free face. She had on a team shirt and soccer shorts, and he couldn’t help taking a quick glance at her legs, toned from all her years of sports.

  Just a matter of fact, kind of like how she’d commented about him being more “jacked” at the houseboat. In his case, he’d been using exercise in an attempt to quash the restless sensation that wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Although clearly that hadn’t worked.

  Addie bent to talk to one of her players, and while he noticed the curve of her butt more than he should’ve, the guy standing a few yards behind her unashamedly gawked at it.

  A burning sensation he didn’t want to examine too closely bit at his gut. She was coaching a kids’ soccer game. Dude needed to keep his eyes to himself.

  Hypocritical? For sure, but he didn’t give a shit.

  She’d always attracted assholes who couldn’t handle her, and this prick fit that category, he could just tell. His stupid-ass smirk also made it clear he was the type who dripped false charm and used it on every lady in his path.