by Sandy James
Amber winked at him. She stood behind Juliana, Mallory’s maid of honor, but they didn’t wear matching bridesmaids’ dresses. In her typical fashion, Mallory had wanted to keep everything relaxed. She’d helped Amber find a new dress, but it was appropriate for any occasion. The wedding was small, tasteful, and exactly what they both wanted.
Ben and Robert had helped the women decorate the Bayside Church gathering area the day before. Mallory, Amber, and the Ladies had turned the large room into a festive haven since both the wedding and reception would happen there. The church hall that had been the place of their first dance was awash in candlelight, crepe paper streamers, and flowers—the perfect site for a marriage to begin.
“And now, by the powers vested in me by the state of Illinois, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister said with a nod, closing his little black book. “You may kiss the bride.”
Ben didn’t give her a chance to react before tugging her into his arms. Then he kissed her, long and lovingly, until the minister loudly cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Carpenter.”
Amber let out a whoop and hurried to them, trying to hug them both at the same time. Her enthusiasm made his heart sing. He kissed the top of her head, glad life was looking up as much for his daughter as it was for him. Sure, Theresa would always be a raspberry seed in Amber’s teeth, but perhaps with Mallory’s guidance, mother and daughter might find a way to make a relationship work. Amber also had a good woman in her life now who loved her and would help her through the changes life tossed her way.
Juliana punched Ben in the upper arm, hard enough to make him wince. “You better be good to her.”
“I will.”
Danielle and Bethany had moved forward to stand at her side, the three of them giving him a hard stare.
Jules refused to drop the subject. “If you aren’t good to her—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I’ll treat her like fine crystal. If I fuck up, I give the three of you permission pound me into the mud.”
“Me, too,” Amber added.
As if he’d ever want to incite that much feminine hostility. “Good thing I love her so much, then, isn’t it?”
“Will you all stop?” Mallory groaned. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. He treats me bad, I’ll make him regret it. Trust me, I have ways of making him pay that you all don’t.” She rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss over his mouth.
“That’s my girl,” Ben said. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies…” He dragged her away to greet more of their guests.
* * *
The time passed in a whirlwind, and Mallory wanted things to slow down. The wedding seemed to whiz by in a heartbeat, and the reception was slipping away every bit as quickly. The guests had been fed. The cake had been cut. All that remained was dancing and socializing until it was time to leave.
Ben’s wedding gift to her had been to plan the honeymoon. As soon as the reception ended, he’d be taking her to Chicago. They’d spend their wedding night at the Drake, and in the morning, they’d be flying out of O’Hare to head to Aruba—her first trip to the Caribbean.
Thanks to Ben, she wouldn’t worry about her appearance anymore. He’d given her the gift of confidence. She could wear a swimsuit, a new yellow bikini, in public. While the idea of sitting on a beach and sipping margaritas with her new husband was appealing, she wasn’t in a hurry. This wedding had been everything she’d hoped for, near to perfect in her mind. They’d made their relationship permanent in the same place it had begun and in the same way—she was in Ben’s arms, dancing in their rather awkward style.
The DJ’s voice boomed through the sound system. “It’s time for the bride to throw the bouquet!”
A squeal rose from the ladies as they scrambled, quickly lining up on one side of the parquet dance floor. Several had kicked off their shoes and were staking out territory with not-so-gentle pushes and glares.
Ben led Mallory to the other side of the dance floor. Amber scurried to the bridal table to grab the bouquet and brought it back to Mallory.
“Thanks, honey,” Mallory said, taking the flowers from her new stepdaughter.
“You better wait ’til I get over there to throw it,” Amber replied, hurrying away.
Ben and the men stood to the side along with the women who’d eschewed the tradition. When Mallory saw Juliana plant herself in the middle of the men, she shook her head and pointed to the group of females elbowing each other for a great place to snatch the prize.
Juliana shrugged.
“Jules… get over there.”
With a dramatic sigh, she dragged herself over to the women waiting on the toss.
Mallory turned her back to the women, gave Ben a wink, and then waited for the DJ to count down from three.
Then she tossed it hard before whirling to watch the results.
Even though Jules had taken a place on the farthest side of the women, the bouquet landed right in her hands. She stared at the flowers, frowned then glanced up at Mallory while the rest of the women dispersed in a chorus of laughter and a few complaints about the toss being rigged.
“It’s fate,” Mallory insisted when Jules came to her. “You’re next to get married.”
Danielle joined them. “That’s how it works, Jules.”
Bethany nodded as she came over to the group.
“It’s ridiculous,” Jules retorted. “And hell will freeze over before I ever marry again.”
When Mallory thought about all her friends—these Ladies Who Lunch—had done for her, fresh tears formed in her eyes. “Thank you all for making this wedding so beautiful.”
“Stop,” Beth ordered, dabbing the corners of Mallory’s eyes with her embroidered handkerchief. “If you start crying, I will, too.”
“Me, three,” Danielle added, sniffing hard.
“I love you all so much,” Mallory said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without all of you.”
The four women gathered together in a group hug that had to look like a football huddle to the other guests. When they broke apart, even Jules had tears in her eyes.
Then her gaze followed a waiter who’d just passed them with a tray of full champagne glasses. “I don’t know about you, ladies, but I need a drink.” She hurried after him.
“Right behind you, Jules,” Danielle said and she and Beth scurried away.
The DJ waved to Mallory and pointed to his watch.
She shot him a curt nod.
“It’s that time everyone,” he said into the microphone. “The bride and groom will dance the last dance.”
Before she could move, Ben came to her and held out his hand. “I don’t suppose you’d… you know… want to dance?”
Hearing the same words he’d used when he’d first approached her filled her heart with joy. “You’re asking me?”
He took her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as he backpedaled until they were on the dance floor. “You and no one else, Mallory Carpenter.”
She hummed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Mallory Carpenter. I like the sound of that.”
“I sure as hell hope so because you’re stuck with it now. You’re stuck with me, too.”
“Glad to hear it.”
As they danced, she laid her cheek against his chest and sighed in happiness. What would her world have been like if Ben Carpenter hadn’t come to her rescue?
Sad and lonely—and she’d still be living in a house that was falling down around her while her heart was in just as bad a state of disrepair. She lifted her head to smile at him. “You know something, Ben?”
“No, what?”
“I remember exactly what you promised me the day we met.”
“And what was that, baby?” He nuzzled her neck.
“You told me the bottom line was that you’d fix things for me.”
Ben eased his head up, letting his gaze capture hers. “What exactly did I
fix?”
“Everything.”
He arched a dark eyebrow.
“Well, just look at my house—our house. It’s beautiful now—all because of you.”
“You helped a lot, and you know it. Plus you have really good taste. In everything.” He gave her an exaggerated growl and wiggled his eyebrows.
She giggled. “You fixed something else, you know.”
His dark eyes were so full of love, she found tears forming in her own. “What else did I fix?”
Mallory stopped dancing and cupped his face between her palms. “You fixed me, Ben. My heart was just like my house—a broken-down mess. But you worked your magic on it.”
“Did you ever think that street runs two ways?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“While I was helping you, you worked a little of your own magic on my life… and Amber’s.”
Her cheeks flushed warm as a tear spilled from the corner of her eye.
Ben kissed it away. “The bottom line is that we’re both damn lucky to have found each other.”
“And now that we’re married, you will be a lot easier to afford.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m kinda expensive.”
Mallory tossed him a sultry smile. “Trust me. You’re worth every penny.”
About the Author
Sandy lives in a quiet suburb of Indianapolis with her husband of thirty years and is a high school social studies teacher. She and her husband own a small stable of harness racehorses and enjoy spending time at the two Indiana racetracks. She has been an Amazon Best Seller and has won numerous writing awards, including two HOLT Medallions.
Please visit her website at sandy-james.com for more information or find her on Twitter or Facebook at sandyjamesbooks.
Turn the page for a preview of the next book in the Ladies Who Lunch series,
Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Chapter One
One more thing.
I dare you, universe. Just throw one more thing at me and…
Juliana Kelley growled as she paced down the brown terrazzo in the hallway of her school, tossing faux smiles at any students she passed, subtly checking their hands for hall passes. Her destination—the mailroom, situated about as far from her special-education classroom as physically possible. As angry as she was, steam had to be pouring from her ears. The click of her heels echoed like a metronome, marking the time she’d spent marching these stark corridors.
I mean it this time.
One more thing gets fucked up today, and I’m walking out the door.
If only it weren’t an idle threat she’d tossed around far too often. She could no sooner leave her teaching job than stroll on the moon. But after thirteen years of teaching, she no longer found joy in spending time with her students.
She was exhausted. Plain and simple. She’d been hired at Stephen Douglas High School right out of college—a wide-eyed twenty-one-year-old with a sparkling new bachelor’s degree and ideas of changing the world of special education. She’d been at the school ever since.
Even though she was only thirty-four, she was the most senior teacher in her department. No matter how much she loved teaching, thirteen years of working with special-needs children was a lifetime, and the burnout of her chosen discipline weighed on her more and more each day.
Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go and no skills beyond her teaching abilities. Who wanted to hire a smart-ass redhead and the volatility she brought in tow? It wasn’t as though switching to a new school would help. Besides, with her years of experience, no other school would touch her. Why hire an exhausted teacher when a fresh-faced kid right out of college could be had for half the price?
One idea plagued her thoughts, put there long ago by her uncle Francis. He’d made a nice life for himself selling real estate. Whenever he cornered her at any family function, he tried to persuade her to move to Virginia, join his firm, and peddle houses. She always listened then politely told him, yet again, that she loved teaching.
Today she’d give him an entirely different answer.
From time to time, usually after a particularly rough group of students, she’d looked into real estate sales as a new career. An online class here. A seminar there. Her overwhelming obsession with HGTV. She’d fantasized more times than she could count of seeing her name proudly pronouncing a house for sale—or, better yet, sold.
But could she really leave the teaching profession—especially for something as risky as real estate, where the salary was never guaranteed?
“Hey, baby,” a familiar masculine voice called. “How you doin’?”
Juliana heaved a sigh, thinking there should be some law about ex-spouses not being allowed to work together. Ever. “I’m fine, Jimmy.” She winced the moment the old nickname slipped out, knowing how he’d react.
“Jim!” He fisted his hands at his sides instead of hitting the wall. At least he was finally learning to control his temper. If he wasn’t one of the best wrestling coaches in the state, the administrators probably would’ve fired him years ago. “It’s Jim now. Only boys are called Jimmy.”
Then grow up and I’ll stop calling you that. “Sorry. Old habits. Blah, blah, blah.”
She dismissed her slip with a wave of her hand. Plucking the pieces of mail from her tiny box, she tried to get the hell out of there before her ex could start a real conversation. She’d had little enough to say to him when they’d been married—a good ten years ago. Now he grated on her already frayed nerves like a loud dentist’s drill.
“Hey, wait.” Jim hurried over and grabbed her elbow. “I wanted to ask you somethin’.”
She glared down at his restraining hand, refusing to respond until he took the less-than-subtle hint and let go.
As always, he was slow on the uptake and pressed on. “Heard you were going to the mixers at Bayside Church.”
“And that’s your business because…?”
He ran his hand over his balding head, a trait that had only developed in the last year but was rapidly overtaking him. “I just… you know… figured if you needed some male companionship—”
She snorted a laugh. “Oh, Jim. I’m not even letting you finish that sentence because you know damn well I’ll slap your face if you say what I think you’re gonna say.”
It wasn’t the first time he offered to service her like some male escort, but in the mood she was in, he was going to be the lightning rod she unloaded all her anger on. She needed to get away from him before he became her “one more thing.”
Robert Ashford stopped at the door, his gaze shifting between the couple.
The cavalry!
“Looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said with a note of laughter in his voice.
“Not at all,” Juliana replied. She tossed him a grateful glance.
Jim left the workroom, huffing and puffing as he mumbled under his breath.
“Thank God,” she muttered, flipping through the mail and tossing almost all of it in the trash. Most were flyers trying to sell teachers overpriced products they didn’t need.
A waste of trees.
“He still hovers, doesn’t he?” Robert fished his own mail out of his cubby.
“My fault for working where he works. After the divorce, I should have left, but…” She shrugged. “I liked it here.”
“Liked?”
Robert was astute. Always had been. He knew people—something that had helped him earn a huge following for the custom homes he built as a second job. Why he still worked as a shop teacher was beyond her. He had to earn a hell of a lot more money moonlighting.
“Yeah, liked. Feeling the burnout bad lately,” she said.
“Kinda early in the year, isn’t it? I mean… we’ve got a while before summer break.”
“I’m not sure I’ll survive that long.”
He leaned back against the worktable. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Um… ask me something?
” The day had held nothing good in store for her, and Robert’s tone made her wary.
Then his smile helped her quickly relax. “Easy, there, Jules. You’re thinking too hard.”
“Probably because Jim just tried to proposition me.”
Robert chuckled but shook his head. “I’m not thinking of asking for a date or anything. I mean… you’re a mighty pretty lady, but… I go for blondes who don’t have quite as much fire as you do.”
“Well, then. Ask away.”
He stepped over to the door and glanced up and down the hall as though he wanted to make sure they had privacy. That action put her right back on edge. What was so shocking he couldn’t ask in front of other teachers or any boss who’d actually taken a moment to come out of his office?
“I’m going to a real estate seminar Friday. Thought you might want to come along. You’re thinking about getting outta here, right?” Robert asked.
“How’d you know that?”
“C’mon, Jules. You’ve got ‘runaway’ written all over you. I’ve been here every bit as long as you have. I’m sick and tired of it, too.”
She leaned back against the table next to him, sagging to the side so her shoulder pressed against his. That comfort she allowed herself. What she really wanted was someone tall, handsome, and warm so she could lay her head against his shoulder and let him take a little of the weight of the world away. Not that she wanted another husband. But she missed masculine attention, hence the singles mixers that had yielded nothing. Not even an interesting date.
Her fault for living in Cloverleaf, Illinois—translated “Nowhere, USA.”
“At least you have something to fall back on if you leave,” Juliana couldn’t help but point out. “What do I have?”
“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve got one really big asset—you’re a born salesperson.”
