by Maggie Wells
Laney wasn’t entirely sure what Darla had done to earn Brooke’s scrutiny, but in a show of solidarity, Laney gave the curvy brunette a squinty-eyed stare of her own. “What? Did Darla try to put the moves on Brian? Ask him if he wanted extra sauce on his smoked sausage?”
Rolling her eyes, Brooke tossed a wad of red-streaked paper napkin into her decimated basket and tore open the tiny package tucked into the side of the basket. She unfolded the moist towelette with the utmost care, then meticulously wiped each of her fingers, a frown gouging a line between her fine blond brows.
Laney plucked the last rib from her basket and pointed it at her friend. “Keep scowling and your face will freeze that way.”
“I don’t think he’s the one.”
The rib fell back into the paper-lined basket with a thunk. She took in her best friend’s preternaturally serene expression, then let her eyes drop to the oh-so-perfect Art Deco diamond ring glittering on Brooke’s slender finger, denial rising up from deep inside her. True, she hadn’t always been Brian’s biggest fan, but she’d never seen her friend as happy as she’d been since he blew back into town. They fit together like a pair of gloves. Or a pair of geeks. This little bombshell had to be a blip. Or the first sign of an aneurism. Either way, she wasn’t about to let Brooke torpedo her future. Not over what had to be no more than a harmless flirtation with Darla Kennet.
“Now, listen, I tease about Brian’s smoked sausage, but I can tell you there’s no way in hell he’d ever look twice at any woman who isn’t you. Certainly not the likes of Darla Kennet.”
Of course, the hyper-efficient waitress chose that moment to pop up.
“She’s right. He barely even looked up when I smeared Bubba’s best all over my titties and did a little lap dance for him.” Darla snatched both their baskets from the table but steadfastly ignored their nearly empty glasses. “Nothing else for you ladies? I’ll bring your ticket.”
“Darla, I—” Brooke began.
Embarrassment burned hot and deep, but as always, Laney tilted her chin up, pulled out the tattered Tarrington pride, and brazened it out. “That’d be great. Thanks so much.”
“Laney!”
Brooke ground her name between her gnashing teeth, but Laney refused to be derailed. “What do you mean you don’t think Brian’s the one?” she hissed. “Of course he is!”
“Brian?”
Perplexed by Brooke’s airhead act, Laney reached across the table, snatched up her friend’s tea glass, and took a sniff. Satisfied there’d been no tippling or tampering with the tea, she abandoned the cup and turned her full attention back to the subject at hand. “Yes, Brian. He is without a doubt the one for you, and you are marrying him.”
The line between Brooke’s brows reappeared. “Without a doubt,” she echoed.
“Good.” Panic eased its chokehold on her throat. “For a second there, I thought you’d lost your ever-lovin’ mind.”
“No, but now I think you have,” Brooke said with a laugh. “Did you think I was saying I thought Brian wasn’t the one for me?”
Losing patience with the conversation and regretting the loss of her last rib, Laney reached for Brooke’s used towelette since Vengeful Darla had taken hers away with her half-eaten lunch. “What the hell were you talking about then?”
“I don’t think Harley Cade was the one who fathered Darla’s baby.”
“Of course Harley isn’t Darla’s baby daddy.” The defense popped out of her mouth. Unfortunately, her brain hadn’t fully processed the speculation.
Brooke’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “Huh. Funny.”
“What’s funny?” Laney asked, eyes narrowing.
“He’s been everyone’s prime suspect for the better part of a dozen years, and now you’re all, ‘Of course he isn’t’?” Brooke’s nostrils flared as she propped her elbow on the table—careful to avoid any saucy spots—and leaned in. “I seem to remember a time when you referred to her sweet little girl as Harlette.”
Laney tried not to rise to the bait. Tried as hard as she could, but it was no use. She bit. “I was a stupid eighteen-year-old girl who thought she knew everything.”
Now she was a stupid nearly thirty-year-old woman who refused to talk to the same man because she was too scared to risk being left again.
“You were calling her the same name years later.”
Huffing, Laney fell back against the booth. If a woman was going to get nailed to the cross with pesky little things like facts, there was no point in worrying about good posture. “Fine, you’ve got me. I’m the world’s most horrible woman.”
“And you had a very definite opinion on the matter. Is it based on knowledge or wishful thinking?”
“Neither.” The denial came automatically, but there was nothing to gain by trying to avoid the question. Brooke loved it when her probing made people squirm. And no one knew better than Laney that the one-time Pulitzer nominee was the most single-minded woman on Earth once she caught the barest whiff of a story. “I just...” She blew out an impatient breath, ready to move off the subject of the frustrating Mr. Cade once and for all. “Anyone who has seen how good he is to his own mama would know Harley Cade would never abandon his child.”
Instead of the argument and skepticism Laney expected, Brooke met her eyes and smiled the smile that could have taken her straight to the Miss America Pageant. “Exactly.”
Brooke tore a napkin from the dispenser and used the thin scrap of paper to clean a spot for the notebook she’d set aside when their food arrived. Darla reappeared holding their ticket and Laney watched in awe as Brooke toned down her smile enough to make it breathtakingly sincere.
“Darla, I’m so sorry Delaney was so bitchy a little bit ago. This is the first full meal she’s had in a week.” She gently removed the check from the waitress’s grip and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll take it. Her daddy lost all their money, you know. Poor thing’s broke.”
Darla smirked down at them. “Yeah, well, at least she didn’t get knocked up, right?”
“Exactly,” Laney drawled, mimicking Brooke’s earlier ass-kissing tone.
“And she hasn’t eaten dessert in almost a decade,” Brooke persisted.
Heaving a sigh, Darla rolled her eyes. “You two never change.”
Brooke took full advantage of what appeared to be a moment of weakness. “But it wasn’t Harley Cade, was it?”
The girl they’d known since the first grade simply quirked an eyebrow, then pulled her order pad from her back pocket and turned to wait on the table behind theirs.
“Damn, she’s a tough nut,” Brooke muttered.
Laney nodded, a grudging admiration overtaking the flash of annoyance the non-answer from Darla ignited. “Not many women could keep a secret for so long.”
“Hell, you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for five minutes.” Brooke flipped through the pages of her notebook. When Darla tried to bustle past, Brooke caught her arm without looking up. “Double your tip for refills on the tea.”
Darla glanced at the line of customers waiting at the door. “Add a piece of pecan pie to your tab and promise not to take more than fifteen minutes. I have to turn this table.”
“Deal,” Brooke answered with a nod.
“Sucker,” Laney sing-songed as their former classmate sashayed away.
“You know she’ll time us, so let me recap. As Mrs. Oliver mentioned, there is a thriving market for this type of cottage industry. As much as I hate to say it, cancer—really, any illness, acute or chronic—is big business. There are other gowns out there, but let’s face it, yours are more attractive. I ordered a couple I thought might be closest to yours.” She waved a hand at the plastic shopping bag she’d carried into the restaurant. “The fabric isn’t as nice as yours, and the finishing isn’t what it should be. I’ll give them to you and you can take them home and tear them apart.”
Laney took the bag, wrinkled her nose at th
e insipid print patterns, and knotted the handles of the bag. “Thank you.”
“The crux of the problem is working capital. We need to tap a few sources to get the seed money for supplies. First, you need to meet your commitment to Horizons. I noted approximate costs and comparable prices on this page.” She flipped the sheet and turned the notebook so Laney could read the column of numbers. “All of this is doable. I don’t think there’s any question.” She closed the notebook with a flick of her hand, slid it from the table, and thrust the plan at Laney as Darla returned with their tea and dessert.
Brooke reached for it, but Laney snatched the revised check from Darla. “We’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”
“Y’all have a nice day,” Darla replied, then moved on.
Picking up her fork, Brooke plunged the tines into the candied top of the pecan pie. “You know I’d give you anything I could, but—”
Laney held up a hand to stop the unnecessary explanation. Brooke had quit her newspaper job to freelance. At the same time, Brian sank a good chunk of the money he’d earned as the Earth Channel’s new Jacques Cousteau into an independent research laboratory he was setting up with two fellow marine biologists.
Brooke’s voice softened as she started to toy with the hapless pecans atop the slice. “I talked to Daddy. They put a new roof on the lake house and Mama’s after him to retire.”
What her friend left unmentioned were all the thousands of dollars the Hastings’s had loaned the Tarringtons with no questions asked the moment they heard of Camille’s diagnosis. Money that had gone directly to Laney’s father, Brett, then to God only knew where. They both knew local banks would laugh her right out of their marble lobbies, and every credit card Laney’d managed to hold onto had a balance flirting with its upper limit. If she was going to get someone to invest in this idea, she’d have to look outside the box.
As if on cue, her phone began to vibrate. A snapshot of Harley Cade wearing a tuxedo and caught in the throes of a full-throated laugh filled the screen. Both women stared at the photo as it jitterbugged across the scarred and sticky tabletop. They continued to watch the damn thing long after it stopped humming. A second passed, then the voicemail alert chimed. Laney didn’t need to play the message. Though she hadn’t seen him since the night he came to her apartment, at least once a day, at some random moment, he called and said the exact same thing:
Hello, Delaney. Wanted to let you know I’m thinkin’ about you.
When she looked up, Brooke’s eyes were locked on her face.
“No,” Laney said.
The answer was instinctive. A defense mechanism. True, Harley might be the most obvious solution to her predicament, but he was also the most dangerous. Surely Brooke understood. Or not.
“Why not?” her friend demanded.
Laney closed her eyes, sending up a silent thank you to the gods of telepathy even as she hid from her friend’s probing gaze. “I can’t.”
“You keep saying you can’t, but you never say why.” For the first time since Brian Dalton came back to town and rattled her cage, Brooke’s frustration flashed through her cool demeanor.
Laney reared back, but her friend didn’t let up on her.
“For God’s sake, the man is a businessman. If nothing else, ask for his advice. If you don’t want to take his money, he may have someone he can put you in contact with who would like to invest.”
“It’s easy for you to make it sound so simple,” Laney snapped.
“You think I don’t know how hard it is for you to ask for help? Particularly from him?” Brooke jabbed the screen of Laney’s phone with her fingernail. “Hell yeah, it’ll be hard. It was hard for me to choke down my pride and ask Brian to work with me.” This time, she pointed an accusing finger directly at Laney. “You, of all people, know how hard it was. But when something is important, you do what you need to do.” She reached for her handbag. “Do what you need to do, damn it. Use him if that’s what it takes. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”
Setting her teeth on edge, Laney eyed the cell phone. “What if...”
She paused and Brooke cocked her head, waiting for her to finish. When she didn’t, Brooke dropped her voice and said, “He won’t say no to you.”
Lowering her lashes so her friend wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes, Laney picked up the phone and tapped a button to return the call. Pressing the cell to her ear, she shoved the check for their lunch across the table. Brooke took the bill and, drawing a deep breath, Laney forced herself to meet her friend’s worried gaze as the line began to ring. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
* * * *
Laney resisted the urge to straighten the seams of her dress before hauling open the heavy door. Saûs had only opened six weeks earlier but it was already Mobile’s hottest restaurant. She’d been dying to try the “elevated Southern cuisine” everyone was raving about. When Harley mentioned the name, she leaped at the chance.
So far, it wasn’t at all what she expected. The interior was a shade beyond dim. Perhaps it was merely the contrast between the bright noonday sun outside and the dark paneled walls, but Laney had to blink several times until she could clearly see the hostess’ anticipatory smile.
“Welcome to Saûs.” The blonde was tiny and sleek. And she pronounced the name of the restaurant like ‘saws’ rather than the Frenchified ‘sous’ Laney imagined in her head.
Laney rolled her shoulders back, unconsciously edging one foot in front of the other. It was a pose Brooke’s mama, Emmaline, had taught them when they were young, and more than anything, Laney wanted to present herself to her best advantage as she swept the restaurant’s muted interior for any sign of Harley Cade.
“Hello, Delaney.”
She jumped, pressing her hand to her heart as she whirled to find he had somehow come up behind her. “Oh! You’re here.”
Idiot. Of course he was there. He was the one who suggested they meet at the restaurant. She let out a little laugh, then waved her own observation away. Unfortunately, she forgot about the slim leather portfolio Brooke had loaned her for the meeting, and ended up slapping her would-be investor square on the arm with it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush.
He chuckled as he glanced down at the weapon. “Not your usual accessory,” he commented as he pried the binder from her grasp.
She tried not to notice how warm his fingers were, or the way he stood way too close. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tipped her head up to accept a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“You look incredible.” He slid his hand down her arm then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then again, you always do.”
She gulped her nervousness like a shot of whisky, then looked him in the eye. “Hello, Harley.”
He smiled, dimples flashing and eyes twinkling with mischief. Hell, his hair even picked up what little light there was in the room, those almost-curls swirling at his ears and nape gleaming a deep, burnished gold.
“Did you make this?”
Laney cocked her head. It took a half a minute for her to realize he was asking about her dress.
“Oh!” She glanced down at the garnet wool, then skimmed a hand over her stomach, pride warring with modesty as a flush of pleasure warmed her skin. “It’s a copy.”
A copy of a dress she’d found in her grandmother’s trunks when she cleaned out the house and fell head over heels in love with the stunning lines of the design. The discovery of the dress and the hours she’d spent recreating it provided much-needed respite.
She’d planned to wear a more businesslike suit but Brooke had poo-pooed the idea, saying she knew what Harley wanted and if Laney was going to seal this deal, she needed to give the man a little thrill. At last, the temperatures had cooled enough for her to even consider wearing lightweight wool. Brooke also decreed the bold scarlet-color fitting, since Harley’d been pursuing her like a bull turned loose in the streets of Pamplona.
His sharp intake of breath when she turned to follow the hostess told her the outfit was an unquestionable winner. She could sense his hot gaze roaming over her as they made their way to one of the dimly lit tables in the back of the long, narrow room. She might have added a little extra sway to her hips, but he’d never be able to prove it in a court of law. She could almost feel his hands on her. Those rough, talented fingers tracing the line of her spine, peeling the sleeves of the dress over her shoulders. Hot, wet kisses trailing along the exposed skin.
“Is this okay?”
The question jolted her from her little daydream. She glanced down at the table, barely registering it was set slightly apart from the others packed into the space, and nodded. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to. Her mouth had run dry the minute she’d envisioned his hands on her.
He placed her leather folder at the edge of the table and pulled out her chair. She slid into the seat, hoping none of her previous thoughts showed on her face.
Harley unbuttoned his suit jacket and claimed the chair across from her. His tie was silk. If she wasn’t mistaken, his suit was Hugo Boss. A heavy stainless steel watch peeked out from beneath one perfectly turned French cuff. Laney tried to envision the type of cufflinks a man like Harley wore. Hammered silver? Some kind of stone like onyx?
The possibilities boggled her mind. She wanted to reach across the table, shove the sleeve of his possibly, most likely, Hugo Boss jacket, and see for herself. For some reason the thought of this man, of all men, owning jewelry beyond a watch and maybe, one day, a wedding ring, both intrigued and infuriated her. Where the hell did a guy like Harley Cade get off owning cufflinks? Did he wear one of those copper bracelets, too? Was he pierced somewhere?
She almost gasped aloud as the last notion struck. Snatching the printed menu card from her plate, she tried to decide if she was excited or repelled by the thought. In truth, she was both.
