“That’s a silly superstition,” Paige protested, but Libby was adamant.
“It’s bad luck,” Libby insisted.
Paige merely shook her head.
Julie smiled at Libby, so happy for her sister that she thought she might burst. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride ever,” she said.
The antique dress rustled as Libby hugged her.
Libby paid for the dress, and she and the store owner set up an appointment for the first of several fittings.
Next, the three sisters had lunch in a favorite Mexican restaurant.
“You don’t really believe in bad luck, do you?” Paige pressed, over guacamole and chips. “That’s just an old wives’ tale, you know—that something terrible will happen if Tate sees you wearing the dress before you walk down the aisle.”
Libby considered the question, shrugged slightly. “I’m not taking any chances,” she said.
“Good idea,” Julie said, smiling across the table at Libby. “Better safe than sorry.”
Paige gave a small snort of laughter. “Since when have you lived by that motto?” she asked, turning to look at Julie, who sat beside her in the restaurant booth.
“Since Calvin,” Julie answered.
The mood shifted.
“When is the big supper-and-sex date?” Paige asked, her dark eyes tender now, and luminous with affection.
“Garrett suggested tonight,” Julie said, squirming a little.
Libby’s eyes rounded.
“Yes!” Paige said, punching the air with one fist.
“I didn’t say I agreed,” Julie pointed out reasonably.
The waitress came and they took their orders—the three of them would share a plate of nachos, heavy on the goop.
“I’m bringing Calvin home with me tonight,” Paige decided. “We’ll take in a movie, the big guy and me, and go out for pizza. I’ve been working so much—this is the first weekend off I’ve had in months.”
“I thought Calvin was going to stay with Tate and the girls and me,” Libby said.
“I haven’t said yes,” Julie reiterated.
“But you’re going to,” Paige reasoned. “It’s written all over you. You’re hot to trot. Ready to tango.”
“Stop,” Julie pleaded, blushing.
Paige and Libby both giggled.
“What are you planning to cook?” Paige asked.
“What will you wear?” Libby wanted to know.
Since both of them had spoken at once, Julie took a moment to untangle their words.
“It’s more about what she’s not going to wear,” Paige observed, in the gap.
“I thought I’d cook something very simple,” Julie said, her cheeks burning now. “And I will be fully dressed, thank you very much.”
“That’s only important if you’re frying something,” Libby said. “Otherwise, cooking naked can be—”
Both Julie and Paige stared at her, grinning.
Now it was Libby who blushed.
The nachos arrived, and the waitress refilled their ice tea glasses.
Libby started picking off hot peppers and setting them aside.
The food was delicious, fattening and delightfully messy to eat. The three of them clowned around a little, Paige karate-chopping a long strand of cheese stretched between the plate and the loaded chip she raised to her mouth.
Libby accidentally got a slice of hot pepper and drank from all three of their water glasses in turn.
Julie laughed and shook her head. She loved spicy food—the hotter, the better. “Wimp,” she said, with love.
“Food,” Libby sputtered, after filling her mouth with ice and sluicing it around before chewing and swallowing, “should not be painful.”
After lunch, they returned to one of the bridal shops they’d visited earlier, to take a second look at a bridesmaid’s dress that had caught Libby’s eye.
It was way too ruffly, and tied in a big bow at the back.
What was it, Julie wondered, that drew otherwise sensible brides to dresses seemingly designed to please Little Bo Peep?
“It comes in a lot of colors,” Libby mused, studying the tag.
“You’re my sister, and I love you,” Paige told her. “I’ll do anything for you, Lib. Dance barefoot over hot coals. Donate a kidney. Throw myself in front of a train. Anything but wear that god-awful dress.”
Libby looked so discouraged that Julie slid an arm around her older sister and gave her a quick squeeze. Naturally, the wedding meant a lot to Libby, and she must have been feeling pressure to tie up all the loose ends.
“You found the perfect wedding gown,” Julie reminded Libby. “That’s progress.”
Paige nodded in agreement. “The right bridesmaids’ dresses are out there somewhere,” she put in, “and we’ll find them.”
“Just not today, probably,” Julie added gently.
Libby smiled and nodded, and her whole face seemed to light up. “Let’s go,” she said.
They stopped at a supersize discount store on the way back to Blue River—Libby wanted a big bag of dog food, Paige planned to pick up some toiletries and Julie was in the market for a play jacket for Calvin.
“Is this geeky-looking?” she asked, holding up a blue and beige coat, when Paige wheeled her cart up alongside Julie’s.
“Everything looks good on Calvin,” Paige replied. Then, after a beat, “So what’s on the menu for the romantic rendezvous with Garrett?” She leaned in a little way, lowered her voice. “Besides you, I mean.”
Julie swatted at her. Of course, on some level, she’d been rifling through her mental recipe collection since the night before, considering one dish, then deciding against it and moving on to another.
Her specialty was lasagna, but that took hours to prepare, and she didn’t have that kind of time. Besides, Garrett had already eaten his lasagna, albeit as leftovers.
“Why did I agree to make dinner for him?” she whispered to Paige. “I could at least have given myself some time!”
Paige grinned. “Come on, relax. You’re a great cook—everything you make is delicious.”
“Help,” Julie pleaded miserably.
Libby showed up then, with a huge bag of kibble filling up her cart. “Are you two about finished with your shopping?”
Paige rammed Julie’s cart with her own, though gently. “Our sister is on the horns of a dilemma,” she said, turning to Libby. “She promised Garrett a dinner, and she can’t decide what to serve.”
“Meatballs,” Libby said helpfully. “You make the best meatballs.”
“Too messy,” Julie said, imagining herself up to her elbows in a mixture of ground beef, spices, onions, bread crumbs and raw eggs.
“Fried chicken?” Paige suggested. “Most men love fried chicken.”
“Esperanza made that last night,” Julie replied.
“The man’s not thinking about food, anyway,” Paige said. “Why don’t you just buy a frozen entrée and nuke it in the microwave?”
Julie made a face and pushed between Paige’s cart and Libby’s, rolling on into the aisle, and headed for the grocery section. At that moment, she almost wished she hadn’t told her sisters anything about her plans for the evening.
Paige and Libby trailed after her, whispering and giggling between themselves the way they would have done back in high school.
Cowboys liked steak, didn’t they? Julie wondered, reaching the meat counter and peering at the selection of beef.
For all she knew about Garrett McKettrick, she realized, he could be a vegetarian.
That didn’t seem likely, given that the McKettricks were cattle ranchers and had been for more than a hundred years, but still.
“Your chicken spaghetti,” Libby said, selecting a package of poultry and tucking it into a plastic bag, “is bound to be a hit.” She dropped the works in Julie’s cart, taking care that it didn’t land on Calvin’s new jacket.
Julie’s gratitude was all out of proportion to the favor L
ibby had done her. She felt teary and overly sentimental. Why hadn’t she thought of chicken spaghetti on her own? She’d won prizes for the stuff, and she knew all the other ingredients she’d need were in Esperanza’s pantry back at the ranch.
“What?” Paige asked, plucking a tissue from the little package she carried in her purse and handing it to Julie.
Julie dabbed at her eyes, sniffled, shoved the crumpled tissue into her jeans pocket. “This is crazy,” she said.
“Come on,” Libby said, pulling at the front of Julie’s cart while pushing her own forward at the same time. “If we hurry, we can beat the weekend traffic.”
“What’s crazy?” Paige asked, squeaky-wheeling it alongside Julie as they all moved toward the checkout counters at the front of the store.
Julie made a face. “My plans for the evening,” she said primly, aware of other people, all of them strangers, crowding in around them. Possibly listening.
Paige’s eyes twinkled. She’d probably considered responding with something like, Your plans? Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re going to sleep with Garrett McKettrick. Fortunately, she didn’t.
They were in the parking lot, stuffing their purchases into the trunk of Paige’s car, when Libby spoke up.
“You were crying in there,” she said to Julie, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Definitely hormonal,” Paige commented.
“What if you’re ovulating?” Libby wanted to know. “You could get pregnant.”
“Will you lower your voice?” Julie demanded, annoyed. “And while you’re at it, give me credit for the sense God gave a goose.”
They all got into the car, spent a few noisy moments juggling their purses and fastening their seat belts.
“What if you get pregnant?” Paige insisted.
“I’m not going to get pregnant,” Julie snapped.
“That’s what you said when you and Gordon hooked up,” Libby reminded her. “And, presto!” She snapped the fingers of both hands. “Heeeeeere’s Calvin!”
“Will you stop?” Julie begged.
“Are you on the Pill?” Paige asked, ever the nurse. She was busy navigating the crowded parking lot, working her way toward one of several exits.
“No,” Julie said, after a few moments of internal struggle.
“Some other form of birth control?” Libby pressed, popping her head between the seats again.
“Don’t you think this conversation is getting a little personal?” Julie countered. “Even for sisters?”
“We’re just trying to help,” Libby said.
Julie closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out again. “Unlike some people I could name,” she said evenly, “I happen to know exactly where I am in my cycle at all times. And, anyway, I’ve decided to call the whole thing off. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to such a thing.”
“Do I still get to keep Calvin for the rest of the weekend?” Paige asked.
“Yes,” Julie said. “And if he thinks the coat I bought him is ‘geeky,’ I’m going to tell him you picked it out.”
After a few more minutes of sisterly banter, the Remington women were all talked out. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Paige tuned the radio to an easy-listening station.
There was still a little light when they reached the out-skirts of Blue River, and the cottage was just two streets over, so Julie automatically glanced in that direction, expecting to see the giant exterminator’s tent looming against the darkening sky.
It was gone.
“Drive by the cottage,” Julie said, turning to Paige. If the tent had been taken down, she and Calvin could move back in, at least until the place was sold.
Paige signaled and they left the main highway.
Sure enough, the tent had been deflated, but not removed. It bulged and rippled all around the little house, like a garment on top of an open heat vent.
Julie had barely taken that in when Paige nudged her. “Look,” she said, pointing.
It was then that Julie spotted the real estate sign. Suzanne Hillbrand had scored—there was a big, red Sold sticker plastered across the other information.
“Sold,” Julie whispered, her heart sinking. She guessed she hadn’t really believed it would come to this.
“They can’t just kick you out,” Paige said quickly, and a little angrily as well. “You have a lease. Your landlady has to serve adequate notice.”
“I thought it would take a while to sell the cottage,” Julie said, as though her sister hadn’t spoken. “You know, with the market the way it is and everything. And I don’t have a lease—it’s month to month.”
Libby reached forward from the backseat to place one hand on Julie’s shoulder and squeeze lightly. “Were you planning on making an offer yourself?” she asked, very quietly.
Julie sniffled, shook her head no. She felt bruised and somehow bereft.
For all intents and purposes, she and Calvin were homeless.
They couldn’t stay on the Silver Spur forever, and the house she and Libby and Paige had grown up in was under renovation.
By tacit agreement, they headed for the ranch.
At Tate and Libby’s, they were greeted by a crowd of eager children and yipping dogs. Audrey and Ava flung themselves at Libby, wrapping their arms around her waist, making her laugh.
Calvin, Julie noticed, hung back a little, keeping to the fringe of things. It made her heart hurt.
“Don’t get mad, okay?” he said, when Julie approached her small son and drew him close for a hug, there in the yard.
“Okay,” Julie said cautiously, looking him over more closely now, in the light spilling from Libby and Tate’s front porch, and the tall, wide windows on either side of the door.
No casts. No stitches. No bandages, blisters or burns.
Calvin’s chin wobbled as he looked up at Julie. “I was down at the creek by myself,” he blurted, “and I fell in.”
Julie’s heart nearly stopped. The creek wasn’t particularly deep, nor did the water move especially fast, but it had been cold all day.
Automatically, she checked his forehead for a fever, but his temperature was normal. His clothes, though wrinkled, were dry.
“Garrett was here and he waded in and got me,” Calvin hastened on. “I had to take a warm shower and wear one of Tate’s shirts until my clothes came out of the dryer. And I had a time-out.”
Tate appeared, shooing kids, dogs and women toward the house. There was no sign of Garrett.
Tate hung back, once everybody was inside, and Julie paused, too, both of them standing just inside the threshold. He shut the door and spoke quietly.
“I’m sorry, Julie,” he said. “The kids were playing soccer in the yard, after we got back from the stock sale this afternoon, and, well, Calvin chased the ball right into the creek.”
Julie sighed. Obviously, Tate expected her to be angry with him. Instead, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
“Calvin’s okay,” she reminded her future brother-in-law, the man who had already brought her sister so much happiness. “That’s what’s important.”
Tate nodded, looking relieved. Beyond, in the kitchen, Libby and Paige and all three of the kids seemed to be talking at once.
“Did she find the dress?” he asked. Often, when Tate spoke of Libby, a note of hoarse reverence came into his voice. It happened then, too.
Julie smiled. “Yes, and it’s fabulous,” she answered.
Tate’s grin was as swift and as lethal as Garrett’s, though it didn’t have the same effect on Julie as Garrett’s did. “Libby’s fabulous,” he said.
“No argument there,” Julie replied.
Paige appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. “It’s okay for Calvin to come home with me, right?” she asked. Calvin was pressed up against his aunt’s side by then, clinging to her and gazing hopefully at his mother.
Calvin loved to spend time with either or both of his aunts, but he and Paige had a special bond.
Julie folded her arms, frowned a little and tapped one foot. “I don’t know,” she said, pausing to run her teeth over her lower lip. “There was that whole creek incident, requiring a time-out.”
Paige ruffled Calvin’s hair and made a face at Julie.
“Oh, all right,” Julie relented, as though making a great concession.
By then, she’d decided to tell Garrett she’d changed her mind about everything but making supper.
Julie loved cooking, and she was good at it.
For tonight, Garrett McKettrick would just have to be satisfied with food.
CHAPTER TEN
AUSTIN, CLAD ONLY IN FADED BLACK SWEATPANTS and a shit-eatin’ grin, turned from the refrigerator in the main kitchen to give Garrett an idle once-over. After a low whistle of exclamation, he plucked a can of beer from a shelf and shut the door, popped the top on the beer and raised it in a mocking toast.
“Dressed like that, big brother,” Austin drawled, “you’re either announcing your candidacy for something, or fixing to charm some woman into the sack.”
Considering that he’d gone to some trouble to strike a casual tone, Garrett was not pleased by this observation—particularly since it struck so close to the bone. After he’d gotten back from Tate’s place an hour or so before, he’d showered, dressed in moderately new jeans, a long-sleeved Western shirt open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and donned a pair of decent boots.
He glared at Austin’s beer, then at Austin.
“If anybody around here is a candidate for anything,” he replied, “it’s you. You’ve been elected the resident lunatic by a landslide.”
Austin, suffering from a bad case of bed-head—on him, even that looked good, dammit—gave a companionable belch and took a long swallow from the brew. “So it’s the woman, then,” he said. “Julie Remington, I presume?”
No comment, Garrett thought.
“How about making yourself scarce?” he said aloud.
Austin mugged like he was wounded to the quick and pretended to pull a blade from his chest. He was scarred where a whole team of surgeons had put him back together after a bad turn with a mean bull on the rodeo circuit earlier that year, but that probably appealed to women, rather than putting them off.
McKettricks of Texas: Garrett Page 15
