The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Making you worry even more,” she said astutely, and he glowered at the memory.

  “Hmm.”

  They stepped into the room and gaped. It was reasonably clean, had cardboard shoved into the window to keep the wind out. A mattress had been dragged into the least drafty corner and was neatly covered in a flowered comforter. There were a few cans of tinned food, along with a can opener and a spoon, neatly stacked on a box at the foot of the mattress, a stack of romance paperbacks carefully arranged, in alphabetical order, on the floor at the head. A flashlight was placed on top of them.

  “Somebody’s living here,” Daff whispered, and, grimly taking in every detail of the room, Spencer nodded.

  “Hmm. I think I know who it is.”

  “You do?”

  “This kid, I think she’s new in town. I’ve seen her around a couple of times. Dresses like a boy to disguise the fact that she’s female. I was worried that she was in some kind of trouble.” He shook his head sadly as his eyes continued to sweep from one item to the next. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad.”

  “Should we wait for her?”

  “She won’t come near the house with the truck parked outside. I’ll have to find another way to approach her. I hate the thought of her in this old place. It should have been condemned years ago, and who knows what other itinerants come through here. Girl or boy, they won’t care—she’s young, small, and pretty much defenseless despite her prickly attitude.”

  “Will you call the police? Having her in custody is better than to risk leaving her here another night, isn’t it?”

  “She won’t be here another night.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, confused by his statement. “You’re coming back here?”

  “After the dinner party, yeah,” he confirmed. “I’ll park farther away and walk up to the house.”

  “Won’t that scare her?”

  “We have the cops pick her up and she’s lost to us. They’ll stick her in the system. Maybe Oom Herbert or Father O’Grady can help me find her a temporary home until we can figure something out.”

  “You can’t do this for every lost child, Spencer. You have to use the system and make it work for you.”

  “And I will, it’s just this one . . . it feels different.”

  She considered his strong profile and felt the most overwhelming surge of admiration mixed in with tenderness for the man. He really was quite remarkable. More people should aspire to be like Spencer Carlisle. He had a genuine concern for others that—considering his background—was extraordinary. He could so easily have gone in another direction, could have made different choices, could have allowed his circumstances to engulf him and suck him into the same vicious circle as his parents. But he hadn’t—instead he’d learned empathy, had aimed higher, had taught old-fashioned values to his brother and had pushed them both to want more and be more.

  Daff was starting to feel things for Spencer Carlisle she’d never felt for any man before, and she wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings meant. Or how to cope with them.

  He led her back to the truck, and she remained silent and introspective until they were back on the road to town.

  “So what’s the verdict on the house?” she asked.

  “I don’t think it can be saved,” he said. “Do you?”

  “No, you’re definitely going to have to demolish and rebuild it.” She paused before sighing deeply. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to meet some resistance from a few members on the town council over this, Spencer.”

  “I know. Mason and I will work out a solid business model for the project before presenting it, have all our ducks in a row, so to speak.”

  “You could raise money through charity drives and fund-raisers,” she suggested. “My mother and I are always having dinners and functions to raise money for the animal shelters. It’s small-scale, but we can find a way to do something similar for the youth center. Mom and Dad are in the country club—Dad hates it and rarely goes, but I could ask my mother if she could convince some of her friends to talk to their husbands. There are some very influential people at that club.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “No child should go through what you and Mason did growing up,” Daff said softly, her voice hitching on the words. “And no child should be so alone in the world that they’re forced to sleep on the floor of a condemned building. What you’re trying to do for these kids is amazing. I’m sorry I didn’t know exactly how amazing before today.”

  He’d already parked his truck behind her car outside the boutique and was watching her gravely while she spoke.

  “I don’t want you to pity me,” he growled.

  “Oh, I don’t pity you, Spencer. I admire you.” He looked completely baffled by her words, and she smiled. This guy definitely wasn’t used to compliments.

  “Uh . . . lunch?” he asked, changing the subject quickly, because he was clearly embarrassed by her words.

  “It’s getting late; I think I’ll just grab something at home while I get ready for tonight.”

  “Eat something decent,” he reminded her.

  “Will do.” On sheer impulse, she breached the gap between them and dropped a quick, completely chaste kiss on his beautiful mouth.

  “What was that for?” he asked after she moved away, his voice husky.

  “I just wanted to thank you for today. It means a lot that you value my input.”

  “You’re the smartest woman I know, Daff,” he said, and she laughed dismissively.

  “Come on, you’ve met my baby sister, haven’t you? You know, the vet?”

  “Daisy’s book-smart. You’re intuitive, witty, and street-smart. Exactly what I needed today.” Daff had had so many men compliment her on her looks, commenting on how cute she was, how pretty her eyes or how lovely her hair. None had ever shown any interest in her mind. Her opinion was neither sought after nor welcome. Spencer’s words meant the world to her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or simply wrap herself around him and take comfort and shelter in his arms for days. In the end she did neither, but the warmth blossoming in her chest felt life altering.

  “You don’t look too bad for someone who was at death’s door this morning,” Spencer observed when Daisy let him into the cabin later that evening. She looked cute in a short, flirty dress and with her brown curls allowed to riot around her head. She wrinkled her freckled nose at him before showing off the famous McGregor sister grin. She pushed her heavy, dark-framed glasses up the short bridge of her pert nose and inspected him carefully.

  “You don’t look half bad yourself. Mason told me you were pretty wasted as well last night. I don’t imagine you had an easy time of it this morning.”

  “Hmm,” he agreed, trying not to shudder as he remembered how perfectly awful he’d felt that morning.

  “Not an experience I’d be keen to repeat any time soon,” he said as she led him into the dining and living area.

  “Believe me, I can relate.” She laughed, then waved a hand at the assembled group of people who were milling around and chatting. “Well, as you can see, everybody else is here already. This is Chris.”

  “Yes, of course, nice to finally meet you,” Spencer said, taking the man’s hand in a firm handshake. Even Spencer could appreciate the guy’s charisma and good looks. He was tall and lean, with a muscular physique and angular, dramatic features. Spencer could see how he would have been a sensation in the modeling world, where he’d been quite a big deal. Spencer was more interested in the guy’s cooking abilities. Apparently he was a brilliant chef, and Spencer had been meaning to visit his restaurant.

  “Oui, I am happy to meet you, too. Mason speaks of you often,” Chris said. Congolese, he spoke with a thick French accent, which caused every woman in the room to sigh. Spencer could practically feel the breeze on his back from all the sighs and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He looked at Daff, who was standing with Tilda; both of them were staring at Chris, p
ractically with their tongues hanging out and then whispering to each other like giddy schoolgirls.

  Seeing Daff moon over the guy made Spencer feel a little less charitable toward him, but Chris continued to talk and was so damned likable that it was hard to harbor ill feelings toward the man. After all, the guy couldn’t help it if he was a chick magnet.

  Daff practically swooned when Chris smiled at her, and Spencer gave her another piercing look while reminding himself that he had no right to feel jealous. They were just friends. She could gush over whomever the hell she wanted to. Still, it was hard to convince himself of that when she’d come on his tongue only two nights ago.

  “Hey, how’d it go this afternoon?” Mason asked, handing him a beer. Spencer took it without thinking—having no intention of drinking tonight—and tore his eyes from Daff with difficulty to focus on his brother. It brought his other immediate concern to the forefront.

  “We have a problem.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “What? Yeah, the house is a write-off, but that’s not the problem. That kid . . . the girl from the other night? She’s squatting there.”

  “Shit.” Mason rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck and scowled into his beer. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Somebody’s living there, definitely female if the romance novels lying around are any indication. And it’s so neat and orderly, I don’t know why, but she immediately sprang to mind.”

  “You call the cops?”

  “I want to give her a chance, Mason. You know what will happen if the cops show up. She’ll either make a run for it and wind up God knows where, doing God knows what. Or she’ll get caught and lost in the system.” Mason was too young to remember when they were taken into care, but Spencer did, and while he knew foster care worked for a lot of kids, he and Mason hadn’t been so lucky. He’d spent nights clinging to his brother, terrified that the other kids would hurt them again. Or that an adult would punish them for being too loud, or too slow, or too fucking present. It had only been for a few months, but it was the first time in his life that he’d appreciated his parents and the fact that life could be a whole lot worse.

  “Where do you intend to put her? Finding a place for her at this time of night will be almost impossible.”

  “I’ll call Oom Herbert or Father O’Grady about finding shelter for her tonight, and then we can figure out something more permanent in the morning.”

  “I don’t know, Spence, it seems crazy.”

  “She deserves a chance, Mase.”

  “Maybe the best chance we can give her is to let the system take care of her.”

  “I’m not calling the police,” Spencer insisted. He refused to budge on this issue—the girl needed someone in her corner.

  “Have it your way, but you’re not traipsing out there alone tonight. You know nothing about the girl, she could be part of some gang. There could be others with her.”

  “She’s alone.”

  “You’re irrational. I’m coming with you.”

  “Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt this intense conversation.” Daisy looked at Mason questioningly, and he shook his head abruptly.

  “Later,” he said curtly in response to her look, and she raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips, clearly displeased with Mason for the terse response.

  “Anyway, as I was saying, sorry to disturb, but dinner will be served in just a minute, so if you don’t mind taking a seat, Spencer,” she said with a gracious smile, which disappeared when she looked at Mason. “Your brother and I will bring out the food.”

  She flounced away, and Mason face-palmed.

  “You shouldn’t have snapped at the little woman, there, brother,” Spencer said gleefully. Not in the least bit sympathetic, especially since he was a bit frustrated with his brother as well for not seeing his point of view on the situation with the girl.

  He joined the rest at the long dining room table, making sure he grabbed the seat next to Daff before Chris could, which was stupid, since she had taken a center seat and the other man could easily have sat down on her left. Instead, Chris slanted Spencer a knowing smile and moved to the other side of the table, graciously seating himself between Tilda and Lia and directly opposite Daff, which was still not ideal.

  Mason and Daisy returned from the kitchen, serving dishes in hand; they both looked relaxed and Daisy was smiling, so Spencer assumed that Mason had done some smooth talking in the kitchen.

  “We had something fancier planned,” Mason explained and then directed an affectionate smile at his fiancée. “But Daisy wasn’t feeling too great today, so you can’t enjoy her awesome cooking and will have to be content with my meager offerings instead.”

  “Stop,” Daisy begged, flustered, her cheeks flushed. “I was going to bore you all with a roast lamb. Mason’s beef goulash is so much better.”

  “Your roasts are fuc . . . uh, freaking amazing, angel,” Mason complimented sincerely. Spencer knew he meant it—his brother couldn’t stop rhapsodizing about Daisy’s cooking and baking. Especially her baking. And Spencer had to admit, her breads were pretty good. Daisy looked like she was about to respond, but she was interrupted.

  “Oh for God’s sake! Feed your guests instead of your egos, people,” Daff snarked, and Spencer bit back a chuckle. She was entirely irreverent and had no absolutely no patience with the mushy stuff.

  Daisy shot her sister a look but said nothing in response to Daff’s outburst and merely placed a steaming dish of fragrant goulash in the center of the table, along with a basket of fresh, delicious-smelling bread. Mason added a green salad and a bowl of jasmine rice to the fare and uncorked a couple of bottles of pinot noir. He went around the table filling glasses as required, and after he and Daisy were seated at each end of the table, they smiled at each other like lovesick teens.

  Spencer was reaching for the bowl of salad when Mason spoke, and he sat back with a sigh as he recognized that it was a speech of some sort.

  Fuck.

  “We’d like to thank you all for joining us at our very first dinner party as an engaged couple,” Mason said, his words sounding rehearsed. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat. “I’m no fucking—sorry—no good at this kind of stuff. But Daisy says we should let you all know how much you mean to us. But I think you all know, right? Else we wouldn’t fucking—fuck, sorry—uh, we wouldn’t have you in our wedding party, right? Anyway, just. Thanks.” He looked pained and glanced at Daisy, seeking her approval, and she grinned, throwing him a cheeky thumbs-up and a wink. Relieved that the touching speech had been short-lived, Spencer reached for the salad again. But, of course, Daisy started speaking and he sat back again, feeling like an idiot. He felt a kick against his shin and glowered at Daff, who sneaked a quick eye roll his way. He fought back a laugh.

  “I’d also like to thank you all. I want this to be fun for everyone, and I hope that you all know that even if—when—I go a little crazy over the next few months, I absolutely adore each and every one of you. Just knowing you’ll all be a part of our big day means so much to both of us. We love you guys.”

  Well, that was . . . kind of sweet, actually, and Spencer felt a swell of affection for the lovely woman who had stolen his brother’s heart. Chris lifted his glass.

  “To Daisy and Mason. Your love for each other is truly wonderful to witness, and I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that we wish you the happiest of marriages.”

  Of course, perfect Chris would say the perfect thing. Spencer tried not to be exasperated by that. Nobody expected Spencer to make a spur-of-the-moment toast—it would be an abject failure. He already broke into cold sweats when he thought about the best man speech he’d have to make. So he lifted his glass and added his “hear, hear” to the chorus and touched glasses with everybody at the table.

  Finally, they were able to eat.

  “Don’t know about you, but I was genuinely worried that that would go on for hours,” Daff muttered into his ear after they�
��d both piled their plates, and Spencer chuckled.

  The sound seemed to draw stares from around the table, and Spencer scowled back at them all uncomfortably.

  What the fuck?

  Gradually everybody went back to their chatter and he turned to Daff questioningly.

  “They’re not used to hearing you laugh so freely, that’s all,” she informed him, and he felt his brow lower even farther.

  “Does everybody think I’m some kind of monster?” he asked under his breath. She shook her head.

  “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. They just think you’re serious, that’s all.”

  “That’s not good. Serious people are assholes.”

  “Not true. They’re just . . . serious.”

  “You thought I was an asshole,” he reminded, and she huffed querulously.

  “That’s because I was the real asshole. Trust me, nobody thinks you’re an asshole.”

  “So you don’t think I’m an asshole?” he prompted, and she graced him with an affectionate smile.

  “Shut up and eat your goulash.”

  “You eat. What did you have for lunch today, anyway? Have some more rice, you barely have a thimbleful on your plate.” He reached for the rice and attempted to pile another spoonful onto her plate. She blocked his hand.

  “Jesus, and you have the nerve to call me rude? You can’t just put more food on my—”

  “Oh dear God,” Daisy chimed in dramatically. “Spencer’s the Dick, isn’t he? You’re the Dick?”

  “Daisy, what the fuck?” Mason’s voice was laden with comical incredulity, and Daff and Spencer froze in midsquabble. They met each other’s eyes sheepishly, acknowledging that the jig was up.

  “I’ve been called that on occasion,” Spencer admitted.

  “You know?” Daff asked out of the corner of her mouth, and he smiled at her.

  “That you have me down as the Dick on your phone? Word gets around. And seriously, a penis in a top hat? Can I see it?”

  “Shut up,” she sulked, folding her arms over her chest and turning her focus on her truly horrified-looking sister. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in shit here.”