by Dani Collins
Hustled to the Altar
By Dani Collins
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Copyright
8:17 a.m., Friday
Greenbowl, Montana
Nowhere in Renny O’Laughlin’s Guide for a First Time Bride did it say, “On the day before your wedding, visit your old boyfriend in a pool hall.”
So much for doing things by the book.
On the other hand, the author would probably condone her behavior, if he understood the circumstances. Maybe. Okay she was rationalizing, but she was here to lift a weight off her conscience, not add to it.
Reaching for the worn door handle, she paused when the voice of reason, her fiancé’s, said, “Respectable women don’t enter pool halls unescorted.”
Renny tensed. Sometimes Jacob was so old-fashioned it was— No, it was nice, she affirmed to herself, but couldn’t resist trying to lighten him up.
“I’ll be sure to remember that when I become one,” she teased.
It didn’t work. He continued to frown.
Renny couldn’t blame him. She had left the sensible woman he knew on her bedroom floor with her housecoat. But explanations would take time she didn’t have, so she conjured her “of course there isn’t a problem, officer” smile and patted his arm. “It’ll be better if I see him alone. I’ll be five minutes. Tops.”
Tugging open the heavy door of Shakey’s Billiards and Bar, she entered. She could have played the proper lady and brought Jacob with her, but she wasn’t sure how Con was going to react to her news. Rather than set herself up for humiliation in front of Jacob, she opted for speaking to Con in private. So here she was, unescorted, taking in the scents of stale popcorn and fresh coffee drifting on the air.
She heard the clatter of an adding machine and waved toward the bar where Shakey sat tallying last night’s receipts. He was a paunchy man with a gray beard and a seaman’s hat.
“I need a word with the Prince of Play,” she explained.
“Number five table.” He pointed.
It wasn’t necessary. The place was a tomb, dimly lit but for a slant of sunshine through the open back door, empty but for Indiana Jones slouched over a pool table wearing ancient jeans, a bed-head haircut and a pretense that he wasn’t waiting on adventure.
Pressure built in her throat as she walked toward Conroy Burke.
He tapped the cue ball. It kissed the seven, sending it whispering at an angle. His concentrated expression relaxed into satisfaction as he straightened.
“You want a word with me?” He spoke in a genial tone, almost indifferent. “What happened to waiting until hell froze over?”
Show no fear, she reminded herself. “It only took six months. Who’d have guessed?”
“I did. Looks like I won the betting pool.”
“You expect me to believe you turned our breakup into a game? You’re not that shameless.”
“Cookie, I take pride in being that shameless.”
She’d give him that, but he wasn’t cruel. If there was a game going on, it was between the two of them and it was going on right here.
She drummed her nails on the rail of the pool table. “You’re trying to score the first point.”
“I’m not trying.”
“You’re the most trying individual this close to the Rockies.”
“Flattery isn’t necessary.”
“I had you at hello?”
His mouth twitched and that made her chuckle, not so much from amusement as relief. After six months of silence, she had wondered if he would speak to her at all. Sparring with him was tricky, risky even, but familiar.
They locked gazes.
For a few seconds, she let herself bask in the tingling self-awareness she always felt around him, the way her hair felt softer when she brushed it off her face, the way her heart beat a little faster, the way each breath felt lighter. She had missed him, she realized, and glanced away in mild alarm.
“How’s the play value?” she asked. It was a question she would ask of any game he was designing.
“On our breakup? Until now, lousy. The rules weren’t clear and it dragged on too long.”
Interesting attitude, considering the most competitive man in America had given up after a handful of unreturned texts. Sure, he’d been busy selling his company, but if he had cared enough, he would have fought for her. Still, he was giving her something with the admission, so she gave back.
“I didn’t mean to avoid you this long. It’s just you weren’t around to talk to.”
“I don’t get to the Mediterranean as often as I’d like.”
Okay, so she had hidden in Europe with his grandmother. She resisted the urge to apologize. She had been home for weeks and he hadn’t made an effort to see her—not that she’d noticed.
“We expected you back sooner. Where’ve you been all week?” she asked.
“Driving. Enjoying my freedom.”
“Mmm. I saw the Spitfire outside.” That’s how he’d been located. Even though he’d promised to come home this week to take over from her with his gran, no one had seen or heard from him until his housekeeper had spotted his car on her way to work.
Renny wanted to lecture him for neglecting Mona over the last few months but didn’t have the heart. She knew, from what he’d told Mona over the phone, what kind of pressure he’d been under and how conflicted he’d felt about selling his company. She still didn’t understand why he’d done it.
He paused in re-chalking the tip of his cue stick. “You look good, Renny.”
Despite the bright coral color, her dress was more understated than the clothes she had been wearing while they were dating. The “M” of the bodice wasn’t as close fitting as she usually liked and, despite the perky row of frills around the hem, the dress lacked the sassiness of the tassels and short skirts she used to prefer. Still, she was a sucker for a compliment, so she smiled.
“Thanks. I bought this in Deception Springs last weekend. Your gran thought we deserved a break from planning the wedding.”
“The wedding. Why would that have slipped my mind?” He bent to nudge the cue ball. It clicked against another and drifted toward her.
“I don’t know. Because you don’t believe in it?” she offered. “It’s not like Santa Claus, you know. It’s an institution that exists.”
“One of many I’ve always feared winding up in.” He moved close and gave her a stare that asked if she wanted to make something of it.
It was the reason for their breakup: her desire for a secure future and his refusal to commit to one. She stood her ground and lifted her brows, silently asking him if he really wanted to go there.
He settled his hand on her hip, exerting light pressure.
She felt each of his splayed fingers, felt his heat, felt an internal detonation of electric tingles beneath his caress. She refused to give ground but blushed because his touch affected her.
Amusement softened his expression. “I’d like to take this shot.”
“Oh.” She knew that. Pivoting, she slipped out of his sight line and walked to the opposite side of the table, then turned to face him. Speaking to his back would have made for an easier confession, but it wasn’t her style. She waited until he’d taken his shot and straightened before saying, “It’s Deception I came here to talk about, actually. I’m sorry, Con. I messed up.”
“Is Gran all right?” His hand tightened perceptibly on the cue stick.
“Fine. A little upset,” she conceded. “See, there was this guy there. I warned her he didn’t look right, but he got to her when I wasn’t with her and I would have told you sooner, but she just told me half an hour ago—”
He rolled his wrist, urging her to get to t
he point.
Renny took a deep breath and blurted out, “She bought five thousand dollars’ worth of fake health insurance.”
After a few heartbeats of silence, he said, “Fake. How do you know?”
“I called the number on the card he gave her. It’s a florist in Detroit. Nice, huh? His victims can order a pick-me-up bouquet after they realize they’ve given their money to a criminal.”
“And Gran’s upset? Her heart—”
“Is fine. She’s okay, really. I’m more upset than she is.” Renny folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. Mona didn’t blame her, but Renny blamed herself.
Renny had tried to cover the loss, but Mona wouldn’t take money from anyone, not even when Con tried to pay for things like medical bills. She had flat-out refused Renny’s offer. Mona took pride in her independence and Renny admired her for it, but Renny also knew that because of that independence, the theft of five thousand dollars had had a significant impact on the old woman’s finances. Granted, Con would never let his Gran’s quality of life suffer, but it would be a blow to Mona’s self-esteem if she had to take Con’s money.
Con tilted his head. “I don’t understand why she bought it. She doesn’t need the coverage.”
“You know what she’s like when she decides someone needs encouragement to turn their life around. He spun her a yarn about how he was starting over after being downsized. I’m sorry I didn’t stop her, Con. I know it’s my job to keep her from—”
Con interrupted her. “It’s your job to be on hand if she needs anything, not curb her from making decisions. If she wants to spend her money on health insurance she doesn’t need, that’s up to her, but if it’s been stolen, we should call the police.”
“I did. They can’t do anything without physical evidence. He insisted on cash, walked her to the bank even, and said the policy would come in the mail.”
“There’s nothing else we can do, then?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh.” He bent over the table.
She waited.
He studied the table, moved to stand near her and took another shot.
“Who are you and what have you done with Conroy Burke?”
“What?”
“I expected a Tarzan yell and a leap for a vine.”
“Maybe later. I’m kind of busy here.” He indicated the table.
Wow. Ditching Performance Games had mellowed Con out to near comatose. She almost checked for fever but reminded herself he was always obsessed when he was deep into game design. A woman could be giving birth on the pool table and he’d say, “We’ll save that for expert level.”
“I’ll leave you to your game, then.” She was not disappointed and she was not looking for excuses to hang around. Even so, she snuck a peek at this game that had him so enthralled and noticed all the balls were bunched up at one end. Con broke better than that. Intrigued, she started to walk around him for a closer inspection.
He dropped his cue stick like a gate in front of her.
“You’re always so protective when you’re doing R&D. I just want to look.” She lifted the stick and continued to the end of the table. He had used chalk to draw a sailboat on the felt and was filling the outline with snooker balls.
“The object of the game is to keep them out of the holes and put them inside the picture?” she guessed.
“So far it’s a one-person game. I’m trying to figure out how to introduce competition.”
“This is the reason you sold the company, isn’t it? You want to concentrate on designing games.”
“There’s no adventure in selling them.” He spoke from directly behind her. “What do you think?”
She turned, not sure if he was asking for her opinion on the game or on his decision to sell. Before she could form a response, her bones melted at the sight of him. She reminded herself it was perfectly logical to react this way. Just because they were moving in divergent directions didn’t mean Con had lost the qualities that attracted a woman. He smelled good, like men’s shampoo and fresh air, and looked good in a bad boy way. His chin was fuzzed with a couple of days of beard and, even though he could afford Armani, he wore a disgraceful denim jacket with a frayed collar.
Her gaze roamed down the front of his white T-shirt—clean but with a pinhole near the collar—to where it draped over his waistband. A rivet must have fallen away from his jeans because a corner of his pocket was dangling. Lower, the faded denim clung to his thighs before coming apart in loose threads at his knee.
When she got back to meeting his eyes, he was grinning. “Like what you see?”
“Crude. But there’s potential.” Oh, he was dangerous. One minute in his company and she was making leading comments, behaving as recklessly as ever. Time to leave.
He set the cue stick aside and hooked a finger in the shoulder strap of her dress to lightly tug her closer. “Potential?”
“You could do a putting-green version for golf,” she suggested, veering the conversation back to impersonal topics, decelerating her heart rate back to the speed limit.
“I’ll give it some thought. I have other ideas I’d like to hear your opinion on. Now that we’re talking.”
“Hell hasn’t completely iced over, handsome.” She placed her palm in the middle of his chest, forcing him to release her. She had to get away from him before he overwhelmed her. She had hoped this meeting would provide closure, but this wasn’t closure. This was an addict getting a last fix before going into rehab.
“And I don’t have time,” she added, pointing at her watch.
Wicked woman, it wasn’t her watch she wanted him to see. He caught her hand and stared at the diamond on her third finger.
“It looks real.” It made his chest feel tight.
“Of course it’s real.” She tugged her hand out of his grasp and adjusted the ring on her finger as she considered it.
The way she extended her arm made him think of the way the Ring of Reversal card was played in his best-selling game Orion’s Rings. It had the power to ward off all sorts of trouble and Renny appeared to be wielding hers against him. Interesting, since he was pretty sure she had searched him out so they could get back together.
He’d been counting on her coming to him. That way, he could take her back without losing ground. Sure enough, the day before she would have to go through with this marriage she was supposedly planning, here she was. He wasn’t going to gloat, though. He didn’t need to make someone else feel like a loser to enjoy the invincible feeling of winning. He wouldn’t force her to concede. He’d let her play out her hand, intrigued as always by her strategy.
“Is he Italian?” He recalled Gran had first mentioned the engagement when she had called from Italy.
“We met in Venice, but he’s American,” Renny said.
“So you’ve only known him a few weeks?”
“Doesn’t matter. He wants marriage, a house in suburbia, and two-point-three kids, just like me. You might think marriage is the equivalent of going directly to jail without collecting two hundred dollars, but I value it.” She gave him a hard stare for a moment then lowered her gaze. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t get into this with you. There’s no winner or loser, right? We chose different leagues, that’s all.” She shrugged.
There were moments in any game when the play shifted, when an opponent’s move took you off guard and forced you to re-think from square one. Con had that feeling now.
“If we’re okay over your gran, I’ll get going. I really do have a lot to do. Bye, Con.” Her voice went weak and so did his knees.
“I call bullshit,” he said.
She paused three steps into her exit. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re bluffing.” Please, God.
“Bluffing what?”
“All of it. The engagement. Gran and the con artist. Walking out. You’re hoping I’ll ante up with a diamond ring as big as that one. You want me to marry you.”
“I’ve always admi
red your optimism, Con.”
And he had always admired her ability to make him laugh while she tugged the rug from under his feet. She wasn’t really getting married, was she?
“Other women have done crazier things, hoping I’d marry them.”
“They don’t know you as well as I do.”
Yeah, she was a laugh riot. Or would have been, if he knew she was joking. He was starting to think this was serious, though. He hated serious.
“Is he rich?”
“No. He’s not particularly poor, either. He’s quite average in all respects.” Her voice thinned; she was insulted.
So was he. Losing never felt as good as winning, but it was easier to take when the competition was worthy.
“You’re getting married—the dullest, most predictable rut anyone can fall into—and you pick a man best described as ‘average?’”
“Yes, Con. Congratulations on escaping my evil trap. I was hoping you’d be happy for me.”
Happy for her? That was the hand she was dealing him? It was as good as a fold, but maybe that’s how he should play this. He was the Prince of Play. He had long ago passed on the game of white picket fences. Apparently, though, it turned Renny’s crank, and he shouldn’t expect her to stay in a relationship where it wasn’t an option. But he hadn’t believed she was serious. About any of it.
Something else occurred to him.
“Are you telling me Gran really got rooked?”
The corners of her mouth dropped like the value of stock in Performance Games after his departure.
“Are you going to yell at me now?”
“Hell, no. I’m going to enlist you. Gran needs that money, Ren. Let’s get it back.” He caught her wrist and started for the door.
Renny jerked him to a stop and broke free of his grip. “She isn’t my only concern right now. Jacob’s waiting for me.”
“Who?”
“My fiancé, Jacob.”
“He’s here?” He pointed toward the front door. “Outside? Right now?”
She folded her arms, instantly defensive. “Yes, outside, right now. I figured I owed you a face to face, since the scam happened on my watch. Now that I’ve told you, Jacob and I can finish preparing for our wedding.”
