by Kelly, Diane
The coffee began to burble as I replied back to Morgan Walker: Sounds great! I suggested a location in Lewisville, one of the many smaller cities that surrounded Dallas. Lewisville was actually several miles from my real home and I didn’t know anyone who lived there, so the location reduced the chance that I’d inadvertently run into someone I knew at the restaurant. See you then!
I sat back in my seat. Funny, I’d realized the other day that I was ready to settle down with Nick, yet here I was planning a first date with someone else. Ironic, huh? I stood and snagged a couple of mugs from Nick’s cabinet. “Morgan Walker winked back at me. We’ve made a date for Wednesday night.”
Nick cut a grin my way. “You really think you should be dating other guys after what we did this morning?”
“And last night.”
“You realize you’re only proving my point, right?”
I set the mugs on the counter and retrieved the hazelnut creamer from the fridge. “Uh-oh. Someone’s getting jealous,” I teased.
“I’m not jealous,” Nick said. “This guy isn’t after you. He’s after your bank account.”
“Gee, thanks.” I scowled as I poured a dash of creamer into each of our mugs.
Nick stepped over and ruffled my hair, which was already still ruffled from the bed. I had a strict I-do-nothing-until-I-get-my-coffee policy, so my hair hadn’t yet been brushed this morning. “Once this guy lays eyes on you,” Nick said, “he’ll probably fall in love and change his ways. A good woman can make a man do all sorts of things he’d never thought he’d do. You know, like let her sleep over and keep a toothbrush in his bathroom drawer and drink his coffee.” He punctuated his words with a wink of his own and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re saying I’ve changed you?”
“Hell, yeah. But all for the better.”
Had Nick changed me, too? Had our relationship caused me to evolve in some way? I mulled that over for a moment as I waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Hm-m …
Yes, I was different now than I had been before Nick. My previous boyfriend, Brett, never quite understood why I’d take on such a dangerous, demanding job when I could have stayed at Martin and McGee and worked my way to a partnership and cushy corner office. Nick, on the other hand, knew how much I loved my work. He loved the job, too, and for the same reasons. It was a great feeling to be understood and accepted. On a more personal level, Nick made me feel attractive and feminine and sexy, despite the fact that I was in no way built like a Victoria’s Secret model and he saw me most often dressed in boring, conservative clothing for work. Nick could have had his pick of more fashionable women who were built like centerfolds, but he’d chosen me instead. Yep, Nick loved me as-is, and that had made me infinitely more confident.
The instant the coffeemaker expelled its last burble and a final gasp of steam, I snatched the carafe and filled the mugs, handing one to Nick and keeping the other for myself. He let Daffodil back inside, fed her a can of dog food for breakfast, and joined me at his kitchen table.
“Keep a close eye on this catfish guy,” Nick said. “If he realizes you’re law enforcement there’s no telling how he might react. He could grab a knife.”
“True,” I said. “Or maybe he’ll beat me with a breadstick.” Those things were delicious. There’d be much worse ways to go.
Nick skewered me with a pointed look.
“I’m only joking. I’ll be careful.”
“It would be better if you had some backup. I wish I hadn’t promised my mother I’d come over for dinner that night. Maybe I should reschedule.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I said. “You know how much your mother enjoys your visits.”
Nick enjoyed them, too. His mother was one heck of a cook. Besides, she was a widow. Nick’s father had passed away years before, and Nick was an only child. It wouldn’t be right for him to cancel.
“I’d be more comfortable if someone was there, keeping an eye on you.”
As usual, the part of me that was bad-ass special agent felt annoyed at the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself. I always carried my gun and was one of the best shots in the IRS, if not the entire federal government. Another part of me, the girly part, felt warm and fuzzy and appreciated Nick’s protective instincts. Not only would I have to compromise with Nick; I’d have to compromise with myself, too. Besides, even the toughest federal agents were smart to enlist backup.
“I’ll see if Eddie can get a sitter for his girls.” Eddie and his wife, Sandra, lived in Plano, one of the northern suburban cities not far from Lewisville. Between school and soccer practice, their twin girls kept them running nonstop. They probably hadn’t had a date in months. Surely they could use a night out.
Though it was clear he’d prefer to provide the backup himself, Nick acquiesced. “All right. I know I can count on Eddie.”
I knew it, too. The guy had once saved me from an angry man with a box cutter who’d tried to slash me to bits. Eddie had leaped onto the bastard’s back and ridden him like a rodeo bronc until I’d shot the blade out of the guy’s hand and taken him to the ground. Fond memories.
After a healthy swig of coffee, I made banana pecan pancakes for me and Nick and a plain one for Daffodil. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Also the only one where you can get away with eating something for your main course that virtually amounted to dessert.
As Nick washed his last bite of syrup-drenched pancake down with a swig of coffee, he eyed the clock on the microwave. “I better get cleaned up. My appointment to get fitted for my tux is at eleven. Why don’t you come with me and help me pick one out?”
While I much preferred to undress Nick rather than put more clothes on him, it couldn’t hurt for me to tag along and give him a woman’s opinion. Otherwise he might end up in something powdered blue and ruffled. “Count me in.”
An hour later we pulled up to the men’s formal wear shop. The window featured contemporary faceless mannequins sporting a variety of tuxedos ranging from a classic black tux to a more modern style with a white jacket and black lapels. We went inside and checked in at the counter.
“I’m Nick Pratt,” Nick told the older man behind the counter. “I’m here for my fitting.”
The man looked from Nick to me and smiled. “You two getting married?”
“No,” I said.
“Not yet, anyway,” Nick added, cutting a glance in my direction.
Though my heart was performing a happy dance in my chest, I rolled my eyes casually at Nick and returned my attention to the man. “He hasn’t proposed. And if he did, I’m not even sure I’d say yes.”
What a lie. Of course I’d say yes! Nick knew it, too.
He turned back to the man as well. “I’d get a ‘yes’ out of her eventually. No matter how much begging and groveling it took.”
“Smart man,” the clerk said. “Never give up on the one you want. It took me two years to convince my wife to marry me, but we’ve been together thirty-nine years now. We’ve got three children and five grandchildren. Also arthritis and bunions and cataracts.”
“How wonderful,” I told him. “I mean, about the kids and grandkids. Not the health issues.”
He raised a shoulder. “That’s life, eh?”
Nick looked down at me. “If you get bunions I’ll rub your feet.”
“Good to know.” I turned back to the man. “My best friend is getting married. It’s a black-tie wedding.”
“Gotcha.” The man cocked his head and looked Nick up and down as if visually taking his measurements. “Forty-six long coat. Thirty-six long pant.”
Nick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You nailed it.”
The man waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve been in this business as long as I have, you get good at sizing people up.” He placed a binder on the counter and opened it. “Take a look at the options. Let me know what you like.”
Nick flipped through the pages. They contained photographs o
f attractive men in a wide variety of tuxedos, everything from a classic gray tux with tails and a matching vest to a skinny-style tux trimmed with shiny satin. When he reached the end, he shrugged. “They all look pretty much the same to me.”
Good thing I’d come along, huh? I turned to the clerk. “Let’s try a classic tux with a red vest and bow tie.”
“No cummerbund?” Nick asked. “Good. I can never remember whether the flaps are supposed to go up or down.”
“Up,” the man said. “Think of them as crumb catchers.”
“Ah,” Nick replied. “Good to know.”
The clerk stepped out from behind the counter. “Your dress is red, too, I assume?”
“Yep.”
He led us over to a rack loaded with vests and pulled out several in varying shades of red. “Is your dress an orange-red?” he asked, holding up one in a vibrant shade, “or candy-apple red?” He held up one in a darker shade of red bordering on burgundy.
“Somewhere in the middle,” I said.
He returned the two vests he’d held up to the rack and together we went through the others until I found the right shade. “This is it.”
After selecting a jacket, pants, a bow tie, and shoes for Nick, the man took him back to the dressing room. I waited on a padded chair for a few minutes until Nick emerged.
“What do you think?” he asked.
What did I think? I rose reflexively from the chair. “Wow.”
Nick looked gorgeous, somehow appearing refined and elegant while losing none of his masculinity and animal magnetism. While he was undoubtedly more at home in his boots, jeans, and Western shirts, Nick could pull off this look like a professional GQ model.
The man put his index finger in the air and twirled it, directing Nick to spin. Nick complied, turning to give me a view of all sides.
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Good,” Nick said. “Can I get out of it now?” He wriggled inside the tux like a little boy who’d been forced to wear an uncomfortable suit to church.
“Not yet,” I said. “Can I get a pic?”
“Be my guest.” The clerk stepped back to get out of the shot.
While I snapped a series of photographs, Nick hammed it up, performing a series of poses that included arms crossed over his chest, a casual hands-in-pockets stance, and looking up and off in the distance, as if pondering life’s eternal questions. Finally, he turned back to face me. “Are we done yet?”
“Fine.” I sighed and pointed into the dressing room. “Go.”
* * *
My parents arrived at my place in the early afternoon.
As usual, Mom was all hugs and kisses and exclamations of how cute I looked in the sundress I’d thrown on. “I’ve missed you to pieces, Tara!”
I gave her a hug in return. “Right back at ya, Mom.” I’d also missed her blueberry pie, peach cobbler, and pecan pralines. Fortunately, she had a large tin and two foil-covered pie plates in her hands. Looked like I wouldn’t be missing them for long.
As I took the pies from my mother, Dad stuck his hand out to shake Nick’s. “Good to see you, Nick.”
Nick took it, simultaneously grabbing my father’s shoulder with his other hand in an amiable yet manly welcome. “Good to see you, too. Ready to head out to the lake? We’re burning daylight.”
“It’s June in Texas,” my mother said. “The sun’ll be up till nine o’clock.”
Dad raised a hopeful brow. “Then you won’t expect us back until ten?”
Mom pointed a finger in Dad’s face. “I’ll expect you back by suppertime, and I’ll expect you to bring the supper with you.”
My father raised his hands in surrender. “All righty then.”
With that, Dad and Nick headed out to the driveway. Nick’s bass boat was hitched to the truck, his fishing poles and tackle box in the bed of his pickup next to a cooler of ice-cold beer. The both waved good-bye as they backed out and headed off.
Mom watched them go. “Those two are peas in a pod.”
I might be more disturbed by the thought that I’d picked a guy so much like my father if my dad weren’t such a great guy. He and Nick were both hardworking, loyal, and down-to-earth. I could do much worse.
While a day on the lake could be enjoyable, Mom and I had more girlie things planned. We parked the pies and pralines on the kitchen counter and headed out to find my mother a pair of shoes to go with the dress she’d bought to wear to Alicia’s wedding.
We returned to my town house at six, having scored a pair of cute open-toe pumps with satin trim. As Mom and I dragged out the cutting boards, cornmeal, and pans to prepare the kitchen for a fish fry, the men returned.
“We’ve got dinner!” Dad called from the foyer.
Mom and I went to view the catch. Instead, we found Nick and Dad wearing sheepish grins and carrying take-out bags from the Italian place around the corner.
Mom shook her head. “How you two can spend an entire afternoon on a lake, not catch a single fish, and think it’s fun is beyond me.” She took the bag from my father’s hand and carried it into the kitchen.
While I adored my mother, I had no idea how she could think spending hours in a kitchen could be fun, either. I much preferred to eat food that someone else had prepared.
A few minutes later, the four of us were seated around the table in my kitchen.
I passed the basket of garlic bread to Nick. “What do y’all do out there when the fish aren’t biting? Sing seafaring songs? Swab the deck? Twiddle your thumbs?”
“We talk sports and politics,” Nick said. “Among other things.” He cut a glance at my father, a knowing look passing between them.
Hm-m. Just what were those “other things?”
My mother took a bite of her pesto fettuccine and moaned in delight. “I’d had my heart set on fried catfish,” she said, “but this isn’t bad at all.”
We chatted as we ate, sometimes debating, sometimes laughing, but all the while enjoying one another’s company. Nick was right at home among my family. He’d fit in from the first day they’d met.
When we’d finished dinner, Mom stood from the table. “Who wants pie and who wants cobbler?”
“You mean we’ve got to pick?” Nick lamented. “That’s like asking a man to pick between his girl and his dog.”
“Quit your bellyaching.” I stepped over to the counter. “You can have both.”
We topped off the Italian food with generous servings of desserts. After Nick helped me with the dishes, I saw him off with a kiss at the door.
Mom stepped up behind me. “You coming back for my biscuits and gravy in the morning?” she called after Nick.
“Heck, yeah!” he called back. “I’d be a fool not to.”
As I shut the door behind him, I turned to my mother. “Sometimes I’m not sure whether Nick sticks around because of me or because of your biscuits.”
“Either way,” she said, “he’s not going anywhere.”
* * *
After a late breakfast Sunday morning, my parents headed back to Nacogdoches, my mother leaving a dozen biscuits and a pint of cream gravy in the fridge, God bless ’er.
Nick and I spent the rest of the morning at his place. We moved his coffee table aside, covered the floor of his living room in couch cushions and pillows, and pulled up martial arts how-to videos on YouTube, trying out the moves on each other.
Nick crouched and wiggled his fingers at me. “Come on, Tara. Show me what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”
“You asked for it. Don’t blame me when you end up in the ER.” I got into position. “Hi-yah!” I shrieked, throwing a kick at him.
He grabbed my foot and held it up in the air, forcing me to hop around to keep from falling.
“No fair!” I cried.
“You think Morgan Walker is going to fight fair?” Nick asked. “Try again.”
I went for a fake this time, pretending I was going for a kick but throwing a punch instead. His arm swung upward, e
asily deflecting my blow.
“Dammit!” I snapped.
I tried a third time, putting my back to him and attempting to elbow him in the gut.
He tackled me from behind, rendering the blow ineffective and taking me down to the pillows. He rolled me onto my back, pinned my arms to the ground, and straddled my thighs. He looked down at me. “I’d be really turned on right now if I wasn’t so worried that Walker’s going to hurt you.”
Hell, I felt the same way. I might be a virtual sharpshooter, but I was no karate kid. If Walker was a black belt, he’d probably chop me in two before I could get to my gun. At the very least he’d break my arm. How was I going to aim if my radius and ulna were flapping around?
Seeing us on the floor, Daffodil yanked her leash off the hook in the kitchen and carried it over to us, insisting we get off our butts and take her for a walk. Woof!
Nick stood, ruffling her ears as he took the leash from her mouth and clipped it on to her collar. “Seems there’s always some female bossing me around.”
“Hush,” I said, rising from the pillows.
“You’re proving my point.”
We took Daffodil for a long walk, allowing her to stop and sniff the thousands of mailboxes in the neighborhood, to exchange nasal to anal introductions with other dogs out for walks, and to give a squirrel a thorough tongue-lashing for daring to enter her domain.
Later that afternoon, Nick and I climbed into his pickup. There was the matter of Carl’s chair and desk to attend to.
Nick aimed his truck for Carl’s house and we arrived fifteen minutes later. Carl stood waiting on the porch of his gray wood-frame home, an eager smile on his face. He waved us down. As if we could miss him in his royal-blue polyester slacks and shiny white shoes.
“Hi, Carl!” I called as I hopped out of the truck in the driveway. “Ready for your big move?”
“Sure am!” He pushed an errant strand of his comb-over back up onto his head. “Y’all come on in.”
We followed him into his house. Like Carl, everything in it was out-of-date but nonetheless functional and cheerful.
Carl stepped up behind an easy chair covered in threadbare navy velveteen. “This is the one.”
