Wedding Bell Blues

by Meg Benjamin

  Pete Toleffson didn’t look like he was reveling in much of anything. His upper body was impossibly rigid, as if he wore a solid steel jacket that kept him from bending at the waist. He held his arms stiffly in front of him in a parody of a waltz position. Apparently, his partner wasn’t cooperating. As he passed beneath the reflected street light, his face looked pinched and tense, like he expected something very painful to happen at any moment.

  Olive sat beneath a lawn chair watching him, her head canted to one side. After a minute, she got up and trotted to his side, then jumped away quickly as his feet brushed against her. Pete ground to an immediate halt.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, girl.” He bent down and rubbed her ears.

  Janie cleared her throat.

  Pete stood straight, his back rigid. After a quick glance at her, he fastened his gaze on the back fence. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you didn’t see anything.” His voice sounded oddly choked.

  Janie opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. “You didn’t look as if you were enjoying yourself.”

  “That, as they say, would be an understatement.” Pete sighed and finally looked her way. “I’m a total non-dancer, but you and I are supposed to dance at the reception. I’m trying to remember enough about waltzing not to cripple you for life.”

  Janie grinned. “I’m pretty agile. I think I can deal with a dance.”

  She wasn’t sure what was wrong with what she’d said, but judging from Pete’s expression, she’d just made the whole thing worse. “I’m hoping agility won’t be needed,” he said stiffly.

  The music on the radio changed to Lyle Lovett and “If I Needed You”. Janie extended her hands. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Pete sighed, but he moved toward her, taking her hands. “This isn’t a waltz.”

  “No, it’s not.” Janie smiled. “It’s just beautiful.” She swayed back and forth lightly, letting the music move into her bones.

  After a moment, Pete began to move with her in a sort of tentative way.

  Janie shuffled lightly to the left and back again, taking the rhythm from the music and pulling Pete gently in her wake.

  He stumbled, half-catching himself, but Janie kept hold of his hands, sliding back and forth easily, humming along with Lyle. The tension began to fade in his arms.

  On the radio, Emmylou Harris started singing “Cattle Call”. Pete stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”

  Janie laughed. “C’mon, it’s a waltz. Dance with me.” She extended her arms.

  Pete pulled her closer, one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand out rigidly. After a moment, he began leading. Emmylou’s sweet soprano yodeling followed them around the yard. Janie found herself emphasizing each downbeat, enjoying herself immensely as Pete’s arms began to loosen slightly.

  The music slowed and shifted to another slow one. Without thinking, Janie moved closer, letting Pete slide his feet alongside hers. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulders beneath her fingers, flexing slightly as he moved her in careful circles. She let him push her along, keeping her spine straight but moving steadily closer until their bodies finally touched.

  She hadn’t meant it to happen, really. Pete came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders stiff again. Janie started to move, but his hand at the small of her back held her in place. Then he began to dance again, more slowly this time. Another waltz began to play. Apparently, the DJ was psychic.

  Janie could feel the smooth plane of his body pressing against her breasts. An ache had started low in her body that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with Pete Toleffson. She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest for a moment, feeling warm skin and smelling faint hints of sweat and aftershave, letting herself relax against the hard muscles of his chest and thighs.

  One muscle was very hard indeed.

  What the hell was she doing? Janie’s head popped up abruptly. Pete Toleffson was staring down at her, his eyes obscured in the dim light. “Something wrong, Ms. Dupree?” he murmured.

  Janie shook her head, feeling a weird bubble of panic rise in her chest. This was just a dance, after all. She danced all the time.

  Pete’s fingers spread against the small of her back, nudging her closer as their bodies moved slowly back and forth. Her hips brushed against him, and she was aware again of the hard shape of his erection.

  Okay, she wasn’t imagining it—something was definitely going on beyond a quick turn around the backyard.

  The music faded and changed to a muted commercial. Pete stopped moving.

  Janie felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down. She could step back. Or she could leap over the edge and fly.

  Pete’s hand moved from the small of her back to cup her cheek, and Janie stood very still, looking up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the backyard, but she could see the fire behind them as he moved closer. Then his lips touched hers.

  For a moment, she tasted traces of beer and salt before heat blossomed in her belly, burning away the ache of the dance. His tongue moved across the seam of her lips, touching, teasing. She opened for him, winding her arms around his neck so that she could feel the heat of his chest against hers.

  His tongue touched her lightly, rubbing against her teeth, her mouth, her own tongue. Janie rose against him, her legs opening against the warm heat of his arousal, trying to find the right spot as her head swam.

  Trying to find the right spot? She was losing it—she needed to pull away, right now. But she didn’t.

  She moved closer, slipping up onto her toes until the V of her crotch fit across his groin. Pete groaned, his arm fastening tight around her waist, pulling her flat against him.

  And then he raised his head to stare down at her. “Janie Dupree,” he said softly, “you are lightning in a bottle.”

  The world whirled around her for another moment, and then the genes of several generations of Texas ladies yanked her back to reality. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh my goodness.” She stepped back from him, staring wide-eyed.

  One corner of Pete’s mouth curved up in a dry smile. “I take that to mean the dance lesson is over for the night.”

  “I…yes, I guess I’d better get on home. I mean, I was on my way when…” Janie stuttered to a halt, swallowing hard.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Pete said, swinging the gate open.

  Janie shook her head. “It’s just one block over. You don’t need to.”

  “Yes.” Pete’s voice was firm. “I do.”

  They started up the darkened street, a warm night breeze shivering through the live oaks in the yard next door. Janie hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to him. At least she managed to keep quiet rather than babbling.

  Pete walked beside her with easy grace. Why couldn’t he dance like that?

  “Why don’t you like dancing?” Janie blurted.

  She saw his grin in the streetlight. “Because I’m a lummox. Lummoxes don’t dance.”

  What to say to that? Janie saw the porch light her mother had left burning ahead to her right. She turned in front of Pete and extended her hands.

  After a moment, he took them. Janie looked up into his warm brown eyes, feeling the soft night air envelop her. “You’re not a lummox, Pete Toleffson. Your inner dancer is longing to get out, believe me. Just give him a chance.”

  Without pausing to think, Janie reached up and brushed her lips lightly across his. “Thank you for dancing with me. We’ll do it again some time.” She turned and started toward the front porch.

  “Have I ever told you what a knock-out you are, Janie Dupree?” Janie glanced back at him. He was grinning. “Night, ma’am.”

  Janie smiled, then slipped through her front door.

  Long after he should have been asleep, Pete still lay staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Beside him, Olive snored happily, oblivious to all of his moral struggles.

  Pete grimaced.
He refused to be envious of a retired greyhound, no matter how uncomplicated her life might be.

  His mind wandered to Sherice and Lars and how difficult it would be to get Mom to give up on the whole Sherice-in-the-wedding thing.

  Thinking about the wedding reminded him he had to talk to the bartender at the Dew Drop about the bachelor party he and Lars were supposedly hosting tomorrow night. He hadn’t discussed it with Lars since he’d left Iowa. Right now, Lars didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk about anything relating to marriage, even somebody else’s. Pete sighed. He was going to be designated driver since he doubted either Lars or Cal planned on staying sober, and a DUI arrest would definitely put a chill on the evening.

  He tried not to think about Janie Dupree. And failed miserably.

  He couldn’t really explain what had happened in the backyard. One minute they’d been dancing and he’d been worrying, as usual, about stepping on his partner. The next minute, he’d been overwhelmingly aware of that partner’s perfect breasts and sensuous hips pressed up against him.

  His body had responded in a completely predictable way by immediately going rigid. His brain was still counting steps and suddenly his cock was urging him to pull Janie down into the lawn chair for an extended session of body-bumping boogie. It took all his self-restraint to push his brain back into control again.

  He’d been about to pull back and thank her for the dance, suggesting maybe they could practice again sometime—preferably in broad daylight so that he could put a block on his unruly hormones.

  But when he’d looked down at her beautiful face, her brows shadowed by the streetlight, her full lips slightly parted, his brain had simply gone missing.

  She smelled of jasmine and honeysuckle—warm southern nights that sent his cold northern soul into a daze. Her taste was as exotic as the rest of her, like nothing he’d had before but needed to have again, soon.

  Every cell in his body was screaming at him to keep going, but Janie had ended it. Not a moment too soon. She’d stood blinking in the dim light of the backyard as if she’d suddenly awakened from a weird dream to see a strange man looming in front of her.

  Pete had been ready to categorize the whole thing as an anomaly. One terrific kiss that wouldn’t be repeated because the lady had better things to do. And then she’d turned back at her doorstep, with a quick whispering kiss and a promise. He didn’t know exactly what to make of it all, but he knew one thing for sure.

  He and Janie Dupree had some definite unfinished business. Even if it did put him squarely in Otto Friedrich’s sights.

  Mom hadn’t been waiting up for Janie when she came inside after her dance, about which she was profoundly glad. There were times with Otto when she’d been very grateful for the fact her mother was sitting on the other side of the front door and she couldn’t possibly invite her date inside for anything other than a glass of tea.

  She didn’t exactly feel that way with Pete Toleffson, but she definitely wasn’t ready to introduce him to her mom.

  But of course Mom was sitting at the kitchen table the next morning when Janie went down for breakfast. She had a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and a concerned look on her face.

  Oh boy. Interrogation time.

  “You were late coming in last night, Janie,” she announced.

  Janie sighed. Mom didn’t have to be sitting in the living room to see what went on in the front yard. Her bedroom window faced the street.

  “We had some problems with the bridesmaids’ dresses.” Janie poured herself a cup of coffee, carefully keeping her gaze on the coffeepot. “Then I had dinner with Docia and Cal.”

  “Was that Cal who walked you home?” Her mother’s voice was tense.

  Janie could have laughed with relief. Mom had seen that kiss and drawn her own conclusions. She thought Cal was cheating on Docia with her? And pigs fluttered by regularly!

  “No.” Janie took her seat at the table opposite her mother. “That was Cal’s brother Pete. He’s the best man. All the brothers are sort of the same size. They look a lot alike.”

  Her mother’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but her expression remained guarded. “He’s just here for the wedding, though, right?”

  Janie shrugged. “So far as I know. He lives in Des Moines. He’s a lawyer there.”

  Mom stared out the kitchen window at the backyard where a cardinal circled the bird feeder. “It’s a funny thing about weddings. Sometimes people act like what happens there doesn’t really count.”

  Janie stared at her. She had no idea where her mother was heading with this, but she doubted it would be someplace fun. “I suppose that’s true. I hadn’t noticed.”

  Her mother continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The problem is, once the wedding’s over, things that happened don’t go away. You have to live with them.” She gave Janie a level look. “You don’t want to do anything you’ll end up regretting later.”

  Oh, man, I’ve really got to get my own apartment.

  Janie took another sip of coffee and shrugged. “So far I haven’t regretted much of anything.” Except possibly wasting so many months on Otto Friedrich.

  Her mother reached out to place her hand over Janie’s, giving her a level look. “Otto’s a terrific man, Janie. He’ll be able to support you and give you a good home. And he’s handsome too.” She gave Janie a hopeful smile.

  Janie managed to bite back her immediate response about Otto’s lack of spousal potential. “Mom, I’m not marrying Otto. I’m not even considering it. Neither is he, so far as I know. Like I told you before—it’s not that kind of relationship. We’re not serious.”

  Her mother’s mouth popped open, but then she reconsidered whatever she’d been ready to say. “Why not?”

  Oh lord, how to begin? He doesn’t even know how to touch my boobs right? “We have almost nothing in common, Mom.”

  Her mother made an exasperated sound, tongue against teeth. “Janie, for pity’s sake, you’ll find things in common when you get to know each other better. After you’ve spent a few years together you’ll have all kinds of things in common. That’s how marriage works.”

  Janie took a swallow of orange juice. “I’m not going to marry somebody I can’t have a conversation with, Mom. In fact, I’m not thinking about marrying anybody at the moment.”

  Mom gave her a look, but at least she let it go. She started gathering up the dishes from the kitchen table. “Dinner at six tonight. I’m making lasagna. You be sure and call if you’re going to be late.”

  Janie rinsed her cup in the sink. Maybe she’d ask Docia what her plans were for the apartment over the bookstore once Pete Toleffson went back home.

  Funny how thinking about that event made her heart feel just a little heavier.

  Chapter Ten

  Early the next morning, Pete took Olive for a run in the hills above Cal’s house. She loped along beside him as he trotted down the gravel road, trying not to wear himself out in the first five minutes. In front of them, a roadrunner paused to stare with bright peppercorn eyes, then zipped back into the underbrush. Buzzards circled lazily overhead, riding the thermals on broad black wings, as a hawk cried somewhere in the distance.

  A redbone hound in a yard barked as they passed, then came galloping up to the cyclone fence to yip at Olive. Olive ignored him, turning instead to sniff at a clump of firewheels.

  Pete felt closer to happy than he had for weeks. Texas. It could grow on you.

  After twenty minutes he was slightly winded and more than slightly sweaty—ready to go back and take advantage of Cal’s shower. His cell phone began vibrating as he and Olive approached the back yard. Pete slowed to a walk and pulled the phone off his belt.

  He recognized the number as soon as he saw it. Evan. The Bureau Chief who’d taken over his cases while he was in Texas. He listened to another ring. It wasn’t like he’d called the office—he was just answering. Technically, he wasn’t breaking his promise to Cal. Yeah, right.

  He fli
pped the phone to his ear, leaning down to sit on Cal’s back steps. “Yeah?”

  “Pete?” Evan Hughes’s politician voice boomed from the receiver. Evan was clearly in big-buddy mode. “How’s that wedding coming along? You got ’em churched up yet?”

  “A few more days.” Three actually, but who was counting? Besides Docia, Reba, Cal and the entire city of Konigsburg.

  “Well, hang in there, buddy, just a few more days of that Texas heat, right?”

  Pete tried to remember if Evan had ever sounded quite this obnoxious before. Normally, he kept it in check, but his general asshole qualities were definitely running amok at the moment. “Right, Evan. So what’s up?”

  “Oh, not much, just wanted to check in, keep you in the loop,” Evan continued smoothly. “I filed the motions on Tancredi, and Samuels is taking over the Parsons continuance. I put Larkin on Amundson.”

  A quick spike of acid burned in Pete’s stomach. “Larkin? You mean Claire? The new assistant?”

  “Right. The one who started in May.”

  Pete swallowed hard—his stomach was clenching. “What the hell were you thinking, Evan? She doesn’t have the experience for Amundson.”

  “Don’t worry about it—she’ll be fine.” Evan’s voice was still chipper, but it had begun to take on an edge. “Nothing’s happening on that one anyway. She needs to get her feet wet.”

  “Get her feet wet? With an SOB who almost killed his wife?” Pete shifted the phone to his other hand and stretched his fingers. He’d been holding it in a death grip.

  He heard Evan sigh. “Look, Pete, I know you feel like Amundson’s some kind of big deal, but it’s really a routine spousal abuse case. Larkin can handle it.”

  “Not without help.” Pete spoke almost on top of him. “Put Libby Fineman on it. She knows the case. She was involved.”

  “Libby’s got other things to do.” Evan began to sound annoyed. “I’m telling you Larkin’s fine. Besides, Mrs. Amundson has a restraining order, doesn’t she?”