Bride Quartet Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “I’m not as brave as you.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” Lucia wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulders in a hug. “Very wrong. But now it’s new, isn’t it? New and bright and happy. Enjoy it.”

  “I am.”

  “And bring him to the party.”

  “All right.”

  “Now, I’m going home to let you get back to work. Do you have a date?”

  “Not tonight. We had a long consult today—the Seaman wedding.”

  Lucia’s eyes danced. “Ah, the big one.”

  “The big one. And I have paperwork, ordering, planning to get to tonight, and a full day tomorrow. He has a business thing tomorrow night, but he’s going to try to come by after and . . .”

  “I know what and is,” Lucia said with a laugh. “Get a good night’s sleep tonight then.” She patted Emma’s knee, rose.

  “I’m so glad you came by.” Standing, Emma wrapped her mother in a hard hug. “Kiss Papa for me.”

  “For you and for me. I think he’ll take me out to dinner tonight, and we’ll share wine and pasta and intimate conversation. To show we haven’t lost our touch.”

  “As if ever.”

  Emma leaned on the doorjamb, waved her mother off. Then instead of going back into work, left the door open to the spring air and took a walk around the gardens.

  Tight buds, fresh blossoms, tender shoots. The beginning of a new cycle, she thought. She wandered back to her greenhouses, gave herself the pleasure of puttering. Seeds she’d planted over the winter were now young plants, and doing nicely. She’d begin to harden them off in the next few days, she decided.

  She circled back around, stopped to fill the bird feeders she shared with Mac. The air had already started to cool by the time she went back in. When the sun set, she thought, it would be chilly.

  On impulse, she got out a pot. Then minced, chopped, poured, tossed in cubes of herbs she’d frozen the summer before. With a kettle of soup simmering, she went back up to finish her orders.

  An hour later, she came down to stir, then glanced toward the window as she heard a car. Surprised, pleased, she hurried to the door to greet Jack.

  “Well, hi.”

  “I had a meeting, and managed to wrap it up early. I left my jacket here again, so I thought I’d swing by on my way . . . You’re cooking?”

  “I took a walk, and it started cooling off, which put me in the mood for kitchen sink soup. There’s plenty, if you’re interested.”

  “Actually, I was . . . There’s a ball game on tonight, so—”

  “I have a television.” She stepped in, straightened his tie, with a secret smile. “I allow it to broadcast ball games.”

  “Really?”

  She gave his tie a little tug. “You can taste the soup. If it doesn’t appeal, I’ll get your jacket and you can watch the ball game at home.”

  She strolled off, went back to stirring. When he followed, she glanced over her shoulder. “Lean over, open up.”

  He did just that so she held the tasting spoon to his lips.

  “It’s good.” His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s damn good. How come I never knew you could make soup?”

  “You never stopped by to get your jacket after you wrapped up a meeting early. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “It needs about an hour more. Why don’t you open a bottle of cab?”

  “Okay.” Now he leaned down, kissed her. Paused, kissed her again, softly, slowly. “I’m glad I swung by.”

  “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE MEXICAN AND AMERICAN FLAGS FLEW THEIR PROUD colors as Emma’s Mexican mother and Yankee father combined cultures to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.

  Every year the expansive grounds offered games, from lawn bowling and badminton to moon bounces and waterslides. Friends, relatives, and neighbors played and competed while others crowded at picnic tables, diving into platters of pork and chicken, warm tortillas, bowls of red beans or chilis, guacamole or salsa hot enough to scorch the throat.

  There were gallons of lemonade, Negra Modelo, Corona, tequila, and frosty margaritas to put out the fire.

  Whenever he’d managed to drop by on the fifth of May, Jack had always been amazed at the number of people the Grants managed to feed. And the choices of fajitas and burgers, black beans and rice or potato salad. Flan or apple pie.

  He supposed the food was just a symbol of how completely Phillip and Lucia blended.

  He sipped his beer and watched some of the guests dance to the trio of guitars and marimbas.

  Beside him, Del took a pull on his own beer. “Hell of a party.”

  “They pull out all the stops.”

  “So, is it weird being here this year with the hosts’ baby girl?”

  Jack started to deny it as a matter of principle. But hell, it was Del. “Little bit. But so far, nobody’s called for the rope.”

  “It’s still early.”

  “Brown, you’re a comfort to me. Is it my imagination or are there about twice as many kids as there were last year? Year before,” he remembered. “I couldn’t make it last year.”

  “Might be. I don’t think they’re all related. I heard Celia’s pregnant again though.”

  “Yeah, Emma mentioned it. You’re here stag?”

  “Yeah.” Del smiled slowly. “You never know, do you? Check out the blonde in the blue dress. Those are some nice pins she’s got.”

  “Yeah. I always thought Laurel had great legs.”

  Del choked on his beer. “That’s not . . . Oh,” he managed when she turned, laughed, and he got a better look. “Not used to seeing her in a dress, I guess.” Very deliberately he turned in the opposite direction. “Anyway, there are a bevy of sultry brunettes, cool blondes, and a sprinkle of hot redheads. Many of whom are unattached. But I guess the days of scoping the field are over for you.”

  “I’m dating, not blind or dead.” The idea put an itch between Jack’s shoulder blades.

  “Where is Em?”

  “She went to help somebody with something food related.

  We’re not joined at the hip.”

  Del lifted an eyebrow. “Okay.”

  “I have friends, she has friends, and some of them happen to be mutual. We don’t have to walk in step at a party.”

  “Right.” Del took another contemplative sip of his beer.

  “So . . . would the guy she’s currently kissing on the mouth be her friend, your friend, or a mutual?”

  Jack swung around, caught the end of the kiss between Emma and some Nordic god type. She laughed, and her hands gestured expressively before she grabbed one of Thor’s and pulled him over to a group of people.

  “Looks like he’s not one of yours,” Del commented.

  “Why don’t you . . .” He cut off the suggestion he had in mind as Lucia stopped in front of them. “You two should be eating instead of just standing here looking handsome.”

  “I’m considering all options,” Del told her. “There are big decisions to be made, all the way down to apple pie or flan.”

  “There’s also strawberry shortcake and empanadas.”

  “You see? Not to be taken lightly.”

  “You should sample each, then decide. Look here!” She beamed smiles and threw out her hands as Mac and Carter walked to them. “Mackensie, you made it.”

  “Sorry we’re so late. The shoot ran a little longer than I hoped.” She kissed Lucia’s cheek.

  “You’re here, that’s what counts. And you!” Lucia threw her arms around Carter for a hug.

  Carter lifted her an inch off the grass in a gesture of long-term affection.

  “It’s been years since you came for Cinco de Mayo.”

  Carter grinned. “It’s bigger.”

  “Because there are more of us. Your mama and papa are here, with Diane’s children. Sherry and Nick are here, too,” she said, speaking of his younger sister. “Diane and Sam should be here soon. Mac, you
r future mother in-law tells me the wedding plans are going well.”

  “They’re clicking along.”

  “Let me see your ring again. Ah!” She twinkled a smile at Carter after examining the diamond on Mac’s hand. “Very nicely done. Come, Celia hasn’t seen it yet. Carter,” she called as she pulled Mac away, “get food, get drink.”

  Instead, Carter stood where he was. “I haven’t been back for one of these in . . . it must be ten years. I’d forgotten. It’s like a carnival.”

  “The best in the county,” Del commented. “The Grants either know or are related to everybody. Including, it seems, our mechanic and poker buddy. Hey, Mal.”

  “Hey.” In dark shades, worn jeans, and a black T-shirt, he strolled over. He carried two beers by the neck. “Want one, Maverick?” he said to Carter.

  “Sure. I didn’t realize you knew the Grants.”

  “They’ve been bringing their cars in for service or repair for the last six, eight months. Before you know it, you’re telling Lucia your life story, eating her corn bread and wishing she’d dump her husband and run off with you to Maui.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Jack said.

  “She said I should come by after work, backyard deal for Cinco de Mayo. I figure a cookout, maybe on the fancy side, considering, some Mexican beer, tortillas.” He shook his head. “Is anybody not here?”

  “I think they covered everybody.”

  “Sorry that took so long.” Emma hurried up, a margarita in her hand. “There were circumstances.”

  “Yeah, I saw one of them.”

  After giving Jack a puzzled smile, she turned to Malcolm. “Hi, I’m Emmaline.”

  “You’re the Cobalt.”

  “I . . .” Her eyes widened, then filled with contrition. “Yes. You must be Malcolm.”

  “Mal.” He gave her a long, head-to-toe scoping out. “You know, it’s a good thing you look like your mother, who I hope to marry. Otherwise I’d replay the ass-kicking I gave your partner when I thought she was you.”

  “And I’d deserve it. Even though I learned my lesson, and I’m being much more conscientious. You did a great job. You have serious skills. I wonder if you’d have time to service my van if I bring it in next week.”

  “You don’t just look like her, do you?”

  Emma smiled as she sipped the margarita. “You need a plate,” she told him, “and a great deal of food.”

  “Why don’t you show me where—” Mal cut himself off when he caught the warning in Jack’s eyes, and the casual and proprietary stroke of his hand down Emma’s hair. “Right. Maybe I’ll just go graze awhile.”

  “I’ll do the same,” Carter decided.

  Del’s lips quirked. “Looks like I’m empty.” He jiggled the beer bottle. “Em, who’s the long brunette? Pink top, skinny jeans?”

  “Ah . . . Paige. Paige Haviller.”

  “Single?”

  “Yes.”

  “See you later.”

  “He should’ve asked me if she had any brains,” Emma said as Del strolled away. “He’ll be bored in thirty minutes or less.”

  “Depends on what they’re doing for thirty minutes.”

  She laughed up at him. “I suppose it does.” She slipped a hand into his to squeeze. “It’s a good day, isn’t it?”

  “I can never figure out how they pull this off.”

  “They work for weeks, and hire a platoon to help set up the games and activities. And Parker helps coordinate. Speaking of which, I—”

  “Who was the guy?”

  “The guy? There are a lot of them. Give me some hints.”

  “The one you were kissing a little while ago.”

  “Bigger hint.”

  That crawled into his spleen. “The one who looked like the prince of Denmark.”

  “The prince of . . . Oh, you must mean Marshall. One of the circumstances why I was so long getting back.”

  “So I saw.”

  She cocked her head, and the faintest frown line formed between her eyebrows. “He was late getting here. With his wife and their new baby boy. After he came out to get me, I went in to fuss over the baby for a while. Problem?”

  “No.” Idiot. “Del was yanking my chain, and I walked into it. And the mixed metaphor. Let’s rewind. Speaking of which?”

  “We dated a little, a few years ago, Marshall and I. I introduced him to his wife. We did their wedding about eighteen months ago.”

  “Got it. Apologies.”

  She smiled a little. “He didn’t grab my ass like a certain crazy artist grabbed yours.”

  “His loss.”

  “Why don’t we mingle, be sociable?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Oh,” she said as they started to walk, “speaking of which, I had a thought. Since I have several errands in town tomorrow, if I stayed at your place tonight, I’d be in town. Parker rode in with me, as we both needed to get here early to help, but she can ride back with Laurel. It would save me from going back and forth.”

  “Stay at my place?”

  She lifted her brows, and the eyes under them went cool. “I could bunk on the couch if you don’t want company.”

  “No. I just assumed you’d need to get home after this. You usually start pretty early in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow I’m starting in town, not quite as early. But if it’s a problem—”

  “No.” He stopped, turning her so they faced each other. “It’s fine. It’s good. But don’t you need some things—for tomorrow?”

  “I put some things in my car when I had the thought.”

  “Then we’re set.” He leaned down to kiss her.

  “Looks like you need another beer.”

  Then jerked back at her father’s voice.

  Phillip smiled. Casually, from the looks of it, Jack thought. Unless you were the one who’d just made arrangements to sleep with his daughter.

  “Negra Modelo, right?” Phillip offered one.

  “Yeah, thanks. Great party, as always.”

  “My favorite of the year.” Phillip laid an arm around Emma’s shoulders. Casually, affectionately. Territorially. “We started the tradition the spring Lucia was pregnant with Matthew. Friends, family, children. Now our children are grown and making families of their own.”

  “You’re feeling sentimental,” Emma said, and tipping her face up, brushed her lips over his jaw.

  “I still see you running on the lawn with your friends, trying so hard to win prizes at ring toss, or to break one of the pinatas. Like your mother, you bring the color and the life.”

  “Papa.”

  Phillip shifted his gaze, directly into Jack’s. “It’s a lucky man who’s offered that color and life. And a wise one who values it.”

  “Papa,” she repeated, but in a warning tone now.

  “A man only gets so many treasures,” he said, and tapped her on the nose with his finger. “I’m going to check the grill. I don’t trust your brothers or your uncles for long. Jack,” he added with a nod before he walked away.

  “Sorry. He can’t help it.”

  “It’s okay. Did I sweat through my shirt?”

  Laughing, she hooked an arm around Jack’s waist. “No. Why don’t we go show those kids how to break a pinata?”

  LATER, THEY FLOPPED DOWN ON THE GRASS TO WATCH SOME OF the teenagers in an impromptu game of soccer. Parker joined them, slipping off her sandals, smoothing down the skirt of her sundress.

  “Night soccer,” Jack commented. “Not your usual.”

  “Do you play?” Emma asked him.

  “Not my game. Give me a bat, a football, a hoop. But I like to watch.”

  “You like to watch anything where a ball’s involved.” Mac dropped down beside them, tugged Carter down with her. “Ate much too much. It just kept being there.”

  “Oh, that’s just pitiful,” Emma muttered when the ball was intercepted. “Does he think it has eyes, radar?”

  “You like soccer?”

  She
glanced at Jack. “Girls’ Varsity at the Academy. All-State.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Cocaptains,” she added, wagging her thumb between herself and Parker.

  “They were vicious.” Laurel knelt on the grass beside Parker. “Mac and I would go to the games, and pity the opposition. Go on.” She elbowed Parker. “Go on out and kick some ass.”

  “Hmm. Want to?” Emma asked Parker.

  “Em, it’s been a decade.”

  Emma boosted up to her knees so she could slap her hands on her hips. “Are you saying we’re too old to take those losers and weak feet? Are you saying you have lost—your—edge?”

  “Oh, hell. One goal.”

  “Let’s score.”

  Like Parker, she slipped out of her sandals.

  Fascinated, Jack watched the two women in their pretty spring dresses approach the field.

  There was discussion, some hoots, a few catcalls.

  “What’s up?” Mal sauntered over to study the two groups.

  “Emma and Parker are going to kick some soccer ass,” Laurel told him.

  “No kidding? This ought to be interesting.”

  They took position on the grass in the floodlights, with Emma and Parker’s team set to receive. The women glanced at each other, then Emma held up three fingers, then two. Parker laughed, shrugged.

  The ball sailed through the air. Emma two-fisted it to Parker, who took it on the bounce, and dodged her way through three opponents with a blur of footwork that had the earlier catcalls turning to cheers.

  She pivoted, feinted, then bulleted the ball cross-field to where Emma sprang to receive. She scored with a blurring banana kick that left the goalie openmouthed.

  In unison, she and Parker shot up both arms and screamed.

  “They always did that,” Mac told the group. “No modesty at all. Go Robins!”

  “Girls’ soccer team,” Carter explained. “State bird.”

  When Parker started to leave the field, Emma grabbed her arm. Jack heard her say, “One more.”

  Parker shook her head; Emma persisted. Parker gripped her skirt, held it out, and whatever Emma said in response made her former cocaptain laugh.

  They took defense against an opposing team who had considerably more respect now. They fought, blocking, rejecting, pushing their opponents back.