The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  Spencer sighed and chugged down his drink.

  “We’ve been watching you, young man.” The creaky old voice coming from right beside him startled him, and his head jerked down to stare at two of the four old ladies who had been glaring at everybody from the comfort of their sofa all evening. The one who had spoken looked likely to keel over any second; she was hunched over, holding onto a cane with a gnarled, shaking hand, and glaring up at him through Coke-bottle lenses. Spencer had heard about Daisy’s aunts from his brother and knew that nothing good could come from this confrontation. He peered over at the sofa, where the other two old women were avidly watching the exchange.

  “Hello,” he ventured tentatively, but she merely sniffed—a disturbingly wet sound—before carrying on with what she’d been saying before.

  “We’ve been watching you lurk in the shadows like a thug. Am I going to have to tell Millicent to count the good silver after you leave?” Insulted, Spencer glared at the horrid old woman and said nothing. “Strong, silent type, are you? That won’t get you anywhere in this family. You’ve got to speak up for yourself.”

  “Maybe he’s a little . . .” The other woman spoke up for the first time. She did little loops at her temple with her index finger and crossed her eyes. This woman was even shorter and older than the one with the cane and sported a few impressive dark whiskers on her jaw. Even her wrinkles had wrinkles. She cackled, showing off her ill-fitting, startlingly white dentures. “Hit your head a few too many times, didn’t you, boy? Bless.”

  Spencer frantically scanned the room, searching for an escape route, but the other two women had left the sofa to join their cohorts and Spencer was surrounded by gray-haired little old ladies. How the fuck had they managed to ambush him like this?

  “Why aren’t you married and making babies yet?” one of them—he didn’t know which—demanded in an obnoxiously loud voice. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. And the older you get, the more your sperm loses its motility and desire to swim. I read that on the Google.”

  “I, uh . . . I think my brother’s calling me,” Spencer prevaricated desperately.

  “Nonsense, he’s too busy making cow eyes at our Daisy. So why aren’t you talking to anyone? You’ve been standing in this corner all evening, barely sparing a word for anyone.”

  “That’s not true.” The most fairy-godmother-ish of the quartet spoke up in a sickeningly sweet voice that perfectly matched her snow-white hair and rosy apple cheeks. “He spoke with Daffodil.” She graced Spencer with a beneficent smile before adding, “She’s single, you know.”

  Oh hell no!

  “I really have to go,” he lied, trying very hard to keep the desperation from his voice.

  “Where to?” Glasses asked.

  “I wanted to tell Lia something.”

  “She’s single, too,” Fairy Godmother offered.

  “But she’s fragile.” This from Dentures. He looked at the other one with the hairy white eyebrows. She hadn’t said a word so far, and it made him hope for some kind of merciful intervention, but she merely gave him a measuring look in return, telling him not to hope for much in the way of help from her.

  “She is fragile, so if all you want from her is sex, then stay away from her, mister,” Dentures warned him, and Spencer swallowed back a groan.

  “Spencer, I see you’ve met my great aunts.” Daisy’s very welcome voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to face her with a relieved smile.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said. They’d been too busy haranguing him to bother with social niceties like introductions.

  “Oh, well then, allow me,” Daisy said, her eyes alight with mischief and laughter. “These are my aunts Ivy”—Glasses—“Helen”—Dentures—“Mattie”—Eyebrows—“and Gertrude.” Fairy Godmother.

  “Nice to meet you all,” he gritted, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was run for the hills.

  “Aunties, I hope you don’t mind, but Spencer has promised me a dance.” She didn’t wait for a response but took his hand and dragged him away from the four old women and onto the dance floor.

  “Oh my God, I think I’m in love with you,” he muttered fervently, and she laughed.

  “That bad, was it?” she asked sympathetically, and he groaned.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, trust me, I have an inkling.” The song playing was romantic and dreamy, and she stepped into his hold, fully prepared to slow dance with him. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away from him in order to achieve what he felt was maximum safe distance between their bodies. She laughed at him and wriggled under his arms to snuggle close against his chest.

  “Daisy, I may be older and taller than my brother, but he was an elite soldier and is fully capable of kicking my ass if he thinks I’m getting too touchy-feely with you.”

  “We’re just dancing.” She laughed. “Keep your hands off my butt—he’s possessive over it—and you should be okay.”

  Spencer sighed and acquiesced. She was a nice armful, and once again he applauded his brother for spotting this gem when the rest of the town’s male population had been stupidly blind to her charms.

  “So what did my aunts say to you?”

  “Warned me not to steal the silver, asked me why I wasn’t married and producing babies, and then advised me that these are my best sperm-producing years. Kind of reminded me that both your sisters are single, but also cautioned me against hurting Lia. She’s very fragile right now, you see?”

  “Jeez, they couldn’t have been talking to you for more than five minutes and they managed to offend you in how many different ways? That may well be a new record for them.”

  “Awesome,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled.

  “Don’t take it too personally, Spencer. We’ve all fallen victim to their so-called pearls of wisdom. They think because they’re older than time it gives them special license to say whatever they like.”

  He was about to respond when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He sighed and removed his arms from around Daisy’s waist and turned to face his steely-eyed brother.

  “Hands off my woman, Spence. Go find one of your own.”

  “You’re being silly.” Daisy laughed. “I’m enjoying my dance with him.”

  “Were you going to do the chicken dance with him?” Mason barked, narrowing his eyes at her as she grinned unrepentantly.

  “I was considering it.” Spencer rolled his eyes when Mason growled and grabbed her against him. This weird thing the two of them had about that ridiculous dance was completely unfathomable.

  “Thanks for sending her to my rescue, bro,” he said as he stepped away and allowed Mason to take over the dance.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Mason said, his face like granite while his eyes shone with repressed laughter.

  “Sure you don’t,” Spencer retorted as he swiveled on his foot and strode away, making sure he was heading in the opposite direction of the old ladies. He wondered how long he’d have to stick around before he could leave. They’d already finished dinner—surely that meant he could make his escape without looking too obvious. He was tired after a long day at work, and while he was happy for his brother and Daisy, he’d had about all the family togetherness he could take with the McGregors.

  He cast a discreet look around the room. Everybody was laughing and drinking and chatting. Daisy and Mason were so completely wrapped up in each other he doubted anybody would notice if he left now.

  He edged his way toward the doorway of the large room and stepped out into the relative quiet of the big old house’s foyer. Nobody was out here, and he wondered where his coat had disappeared to. He didn’t have a clue and decided to get it from Mason in the morning. He made a beeline for the front door before anybody could come out of the other room and spot him. He gratefully stepped outside into darkness, relishing the cold, fresh air on his overheated skin.

  There were way too many
cars parked all over the lawn and front yard, but thankfully Spencer had had the foresight to park his 4x4 outside the farm’s front gate. It was a short walk to the gate, but at least he wasn’t blocked in. He didn’t even mind the sluggish drizzle, just happy to be away from all those people.

  The farm was situated about three and a half miles outside Riversend, and the short dirt road that connected the farm to the main road was unlit. Because it was so dark, Spencer jumped and then cursed out loud when his headlights picked up a single slender figure walking briskly in the dark ahead of him. The cursing became more potent when he realized who it was.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She was literally the last person on earth he wanted to see right now, but he couldn’t in good conscience let her continue to walk into town alone. He slowed his car down when it was abreast of her, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and continued to walk, ignoring him as he kept pace with her. He let down his passenger window.

  “Daff?” At the sound of his voice, she finally stopped, her pale face lit only by his dashboard display.

  “Spencer.”

  “Why the fuck are you walking out here alone in the dark?”

  “My car was blocked.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “Don’t you live at the farm?”

  “No, I’ve been renting Daisy’s house since she moved in with Mason.”

  “Get in, I’ll drive you,” he commanded reluctantly.

  “That’s fine, it’s not far.”

  “It’s a fifty-minute walk. Probably longer in this weather and in the dark. Get in.”

  “Spencer . . .”

  “Get in the goddamn car, Daff!”

  “Hey, watch it! You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

  “I do when you’re being an idiot.” Her perfectly arched brows puckered into a frown as she glared at him. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her slender frame and continued walking. His car crept along beside her.

  “Leave me alone, Spencer,” she huffed a few moments later.

  “No. If you won’t get in, I’ll damned well keep driving beside you to be sure you get home safely. Of course that’ll take about fifty minutes when I could get you there in, what? Five? Less?”

  She stopped again and, with a muttered curse, yanked the passenger door open and clambered into the seat.

  “I’m only doing this because I’d rather not deal with you for longer than I have to,” she seethed, and he shook his head.

  “No argument from me,” he agreed. “Fasten your seat belt.” He watched her do that before gunning the engine and heading toward town.

  God, she smelled really, really good. He couldn’t quite place the fragrance; he wasn’t very good with stuff like that. Honeysuckle, maybe? Or was it vanilla? Did those two things even smell the same? He had no clue, but he couldn’t get enough of it. It made him want to lean toward her and bury his nose in the elegant, silken curve of her neck and just inhale her.

  “For the record, walking down an isolated dark road in the middle of the night is a dumb thing to do.”

  “It’s safe enough. I’ve done it heaps of times.”

  “Have you forgotten what happened to your sister last year?” he growled, infuriated by her blasé response. Daisy had been ambushed and attacked on a similarly dark road.

  “It’s safer here,” she pointed out, and he scoffed at that.

  “You never know who could be out there lurking in the dark, Daff. Don’t do it again.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do, Spencer.”

  “Somebody has to. Might as well be me.”

  “Why did you leave the party?” she asked. She was staring out the window while her hands fidgeted in her lap. Her restlessness was contagious, and he found himself tapping nervously on his steering wheel.

  “Not my scene. Why did you leave?”

  “I’m tired. I have work in the morning, and I didn’t feel much like socializing.” It was a more detailed answer than he’d been expecting, and he mulled over it for a moment.

  “I didn’t really know anybody there,” he admitted. “And I wanted to avoid being ambushed by your aunts again.”

  Her head swiveled, and a grin lit her face. Spencer cursed the lack of decent light in the car because he couldn’t see every nuance of that smile.

  “They can be a little overwhelming.” Understatement of the century.

  “No shit. The mean one with the thick glasses—”

  “Ivy.”

  “Yeah. She accused me of making off with the silver. And I swear to God, the one with the toothache-inducing voice—”

  “Gert?” There was no disguising the blatant amusement in her voice by now.

  “She was trying to set me up with you or Lia. Possibly both of you.”

  “Oh hell no!”

  “My sentiments exactly. But I should probably consider settling down, because apparently my sperm are losing their will—and ability—to procreate by the second.”

  She laughed. The sound was so unexpected and completely charming that Spencer’s hand jerked on the wheel and the car swerved for a microsecond before he righted it. She didn’t notice but continued to chuckle quietly to herself.

  “Welcome to our world. Daisy, Lia, and I have been hearing about our various shortcomings all our lives.” The words, while light, were laced with an undercurrent of bitterness. “I love my aunties to death, but they can be a bit . . . trying sometimes.” The turnoff to the main road into town came moments later, and Spencer focused on negotiating it before glancing at her again. The streetlights allowed more illumination into the car, and he was struck by the absolute sadness on her face. It intrigued and disturbed him. He’d always considered Daffodil McGregor a pretty, pampered princess. What did she have to be sad about?

  He drove through their quiet, tiny town. The only places that were still open at this time of night were the local pub, Ralphie’s, and the more family-friendly eatery, MJ’s. Everything else was dark and closed, and there were no other cars on the road. It didn’t take long to reach Daisy McGregor’s tiny house, which was situated just on the edge of Riversend. It was a quaint little place and resembled something out of the book of fairy tales he’d secretly hoarded when he was a boy. A sweet little gingerbread house, with a picture-perfect lawn.

  “Why did you move here?” he asked after drawing the car to a stop outside the gate, and she shrugged. For a moment he thought that was the only answer he would get until she unexpectedly elaborated.

  “I’m thirty-two, and still living with my parents was just sad.”

  “The farmhouse is huge—it’s not like you guys are all up in one another’s space.”

  “It was starting to get claustrophobic. I felt smothered.” Another startlingly candid revelation.

  “I see.” He didn’t. Not really. For as long as he remembered, it had always been just him and Mason, with their parents coming and going whenever the hell they pleased. He didn’t know what it was like to feel smothered by family. To him it sounded like paradise to be surrounded by people who cared about you.

  “Anyway, thanks for the ride. Sorry I gave you grief about it.” She hopped out of the cab without waiting for a response from him, and he watched as she rounded the front of the car and kept watching until she made her way to the front door and then into the house. It was only after the interior lights switched on that he drove off.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’ve never been so grateful for a half day.” Daff sighed while she was locking up the shop. Saturday was Daff’s favorite day of the week—she closed the shop at one, with an entire day and a half of rest stretching seemingly endlessly ahead of her—and Lia had popped around for the last half hour to gossip about the previous night’s festivities.

  She’d had a grand total of two customers that day and had been bored out of her mind for the most part. Lia showing up had been a godsend and had kept her from ruminating over her ride home with
Spencer Carlisle. The dark interior of the car had created a disturbingly intimate setting, and she’d found herself revealing way too much about herself to Spencer—literally the last person to whom she wanted to expose her vulnerabilities.

  “Grab some lunch?” Lia asked as Daff tugged down the security shutters, and Daff nodded.

  “Yeah, I’m starving.” MJ’s was a minute down the road and they both picked up the pace, knowing that the place would be packed at lunchtime on a Saturday.

  “Ugh, looks like the whole town came out today,” Lia observed as they stepped into the noisy interior of the restaurant. At first glimpse it seemed filled to capacity, and Daff knew they’d probably have to wait for a table to free up.

  “It’s the weather,” Daff said. It was a rare sunny late-winter day. The whole town would start blooming over the next couple of weeks with the advent of spring, and before too long the tourists would start flocking back, turning their sleepy town into a tourism mecca. Business would pick up and Daff would hopefully get over her debilitating bout of boredom. She couldn’t remember it ever being this bad before.

  “Hey, guys, join us?” Daisy called from halfway across the room. She, Mason, and Spencer were seated at one of the larger tables in the middle of the floor. Daff stifled a groan at the thought of having to keep company with Spencer again, but Lia was already making her way toward them, so Daff sighed before following reluctantly.

  Spencer was sitting opposite Mason and Daisy, an empty chair on either side of him. He looked like he was about to slide over to the chair on the end, but of course, Lia—ever accommodating—sat down on his left before he could move. Daff fought back a glower and sat down gracelessly on his right. Immediately aware of the big, hulking presence beside her, she bit the bullet and offered him a perfectly insipid smile of greeting.