Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  Lydia looked like I’d smacked her in the face. “Embarrassing? We’re not only your friends, we’re your family.” She used an embossed cocktail napkin to dab at my tears. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Fran stepped back, her lower lip jutted out. “I’m going to kill that Jay Carpenter. Worse, I’m going to call every person I know and have him permanently black listed.”

  The idea perked me up a little and I forced a smile. “You can’t do that. His name is bigger than yours.”

  She tilted her pug nose in the air. “Not for long. And once I do a proper smear campaign, no one will want to touch him. Not even his faithful groupies.”

  “Need help?” Susie asked, her angelic face a mask of beautiful fury. “You twitter, and I’ll tackle Facebook.”

  “No one is going to do anything,” I told them, pushing them back toward their barstools. “Even if he is a two-timing whore. Darn, I can’t even call him that. He makes no bones that he screws anyone he pleases, so he doesn’t really cheat. He was honest about it from the start. That makes me stupid, not him.” My bottom lip trembled so I bit it viciously and tasted blood.

  “Don’t you dare stand up for him,” Lydia said savagely. “I don’t care who he screws, as long as it isn’t you.”

  “When I saw him like that—in bed with another woman, I was so filled with disgust—for him and for myself. He’d made it perfectly clear where I stood on his priority list, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like who I was. On the drive home, I came to terms with the fact I’m almost forty. My son is a legal adult graduating from college.”

  I took a deep breath, smoothing my fingers across the bar. “Billy is starting new, too. It’s time I thought about finding someone to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who doesn’t sleep around and who’ll cherish me. I deserve that, don’t I?”

  “You do, Candy,” they said in unison, as if they’d been practicing all week. Who needed a sexy cowboy you could ride all night and leave you cross-legged in the morning, when you had women like these at your back?

  “So selling the Candy Bar isn’t just about the money.” Lydia reached for the almost empty bottle of wine.

  Passing it over, I shook my head. “The neighborhood is going downhill. Just like me.”

  “Will you stop saying that?” Susie frowned. “You are beautiful.”

  “I saw a gray hair this morning,” I answered.

  “So? You just pull them out,” Lydia responded. “Doesn’t mean you’re not hot stuff.”

  “Well, I think you’re one of the most beautiful women, I know,” Fran said. “And maybe tonight some cute guy will walk in, and you’ll find your magic just like we all did.” She beamed. “Why not? Your bar, your turn.”

  The Candy Bar was an old mission inn, built on an ancient Indian burial ground. We didn’t have any factual proof of any mysterious forces at work, but we liked to think that the Indians were up to old tricks. During tropical storms when the skies opened up and lightning crackled in the air, the brick wall behind the bar would begin to sweat. Inside the bar, candles flickered, lights dimmed, and whoever was the lucky or unlucky recipient of this electrical current would get zapped by magic.

  By now, most of the customers knew the routine. I’d shout out “make a wish,” and the lucky recipient would wish for something and it would be granted. Since it’s never happened to me, I’m not sure what I’d wish for. I’d like a husband, but it wasn’t the top priority in my life. I wanted to give back to the people who had once supported me.

  I’d eventually ended up at a women’s shelter, and they had let me stay until the baby was born. Without their nurturing care, I’m not sure if either Billy or I would have survived. So I like to think that if the magic struck me, I’d be a bigger, better person and not ask for love, but a means to help other unwed mothers.

  “It’s not going to happen. I think I’m immune.”

  “Next time,” Lydia suggested, “throw yourself in front of it. Don’t let anyone else steal your wish. It’s your turn for love, girlfriend.”

  “I need a lot of other things first, like a demolition crew to clean this neighborhood up. That’s the only thing that will keep this business alive long enough for me to sell to a solid buyer. If I only have one wish, I sure can’t make it a man.” I was independent and quite capable, and well used to doing things for myself. A man would keep me warm at night, but then so would a blanket. And if I wanted affection, I could always get a puppy.

  “Make it a rich man,” Susie said with a devilish grin. “And a drop dead gorgeous one. Go for the whole enchilada!”

  “Clear skies today, girls,” I said, reaching for another bottle of wine. One of the perks of owning the place was drinking the finest wine with the best friends any girl could have.

  My heart twisted as I thought of somebody else behind the bar. My bar. Had I made my decision to sell too quickly? No…it was time.

  The door swung open, allowing the late afternoon sun to illuminate the dim bar. I tossed my hair back, narrowing my eyes to bring the shape of broad shoulders wearing a suit into focus.

  He paused at the door, surveying the room before finding the four of us in the near gloom. I flicked a switch, softly lighting the area around the bar tables–he could see us, and we could see him.

  He moved forward with a confident stride. Tall—really tall. Perhaps 6 foot 6, with dark hair. His suit was tailored, the fabric expensive even from a distance. Something about him screamed trouble and I wiped my palms on the front of my jeans.

  “I’m looking for the owner,” he said, with a deep rich timber to his voice.

  Trouble, yes, but from where? He was too smooth to be one of the jackasses who’d been after me for protection money for the bar. Maybe he was interested in buying the place, though I’d just listed the property last night with a realtor.

  I came around the bar, with a reserved smile. I was wearing a hot pink tee that read Candy Bar in silver sequins across my considerable bosom. And hot pink cowboy boots. My attire suited the Candy Bar. Suited me. But for some reason, it made me feel ever-so-tacky next to Wall Street Ken.

  I held out my hand. “I’m Candy.”

  For better or worse, that’s me.

  Chapter 2

  He didn’t take my hand.

  “You’re Candy?”

  The girls looked at me, then their heads swung collectively to check out the guy with the velvety voice and snobbish attitude. I noticed, now that he was closer, that his dark hair was slightly graying at the temples. As he crossed his arms, I saw his Rolex flash from under his sleeve.

  Handsome and rich, and not a whiff of magic in the air. Things might be looking up. I decided to ignore his snub and stuck my hands in my back pockets, pushing my best assets forward. “That’s me. Candy Thompson. What can I do for ya?”

  His proper attitude made me want to whistle, smoke, and swear, all at once.

  Susie slipped off her stool and took his arm as if afraid that he might leave. “Hi. Welcome to the Candy Bar. I’m Susie, and, this is Lydia. Fran. You met Candy. And you are?”

  “Harrison Wolfe.” He nodded to my friends, borderline polite, but then his eyes captured mine. Steely gray eyes, that looked instantly wary. “That name mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?” I gave my hair a toss, wondering what I’d done to this guy. It was obvious from his stance that he had a bone to chew.

  “Figured you might have heard it.” He had a tick in his jaw that seemed to want to escape. It was dancing a mile a minute. He scratched his face with a shaking hand and left a red welt.

  Guy seemed nervous about something. Maybe that was why he’d been so rude. Yet my gut recoiled, my instincts on alert. His agitation was affecting me, and I took a step backward.

  “Can we talk? Alone.”

  My heart thudded. It was all so mysterious—this handsome stranger walking into my bar. Like something out of an old movie. Maybe my parents had died, and he was sent here to tell me tha
t they’d left me their miserable estate. A roach-infested house trailer, with saggy couches, dirty stained carpets, and peeling wallpaper.

  Not likely though. The only will my folks had was to drink themselves to death. They hadn’t always been like that. When my younger sister Carrie was a baby, a plump, happy, sweet little girl—life had been pretty good. Then the leukemia snuffed out her young life and took away our happiness. My parents grieved so much that they forgot about me, about taking care of the three of us.

  “Yes. Just a sec.” I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I cry like a she-devil--my eyes were red-rimmed from crying and my nose and face flushed. I reached back behind the bar for my hat, which had landed next to a gin bottle. I plopped it back on my head, dipping the brim low.

  When I turned back I caught his eyes skimming over my curves with a flicker of appreciation, which he quickly banked behind an inscrutable expression.

  I’ve been ogled most of my life, ever since I was a chesty fourteen-year-old who’d wear baggy sweaters to hide the fact. Unfortunately the boys had noticed, and this had made me very popular, but not in the way I’d hoped. At sixteen I was pregnant, homeless, and about to be a single mother. Adapting quickly, I’d used my assets to keep a roof over me and Billy’s heads, and food in our bellies.

  I worked as an exotic dancer for ten years--until I could afford a down payment on this bar and turn it and myself into something semi respectable.

  I flashed Mr. Harrison Wolfe my pearly whites, arching my back the teensiest bit. “You care for a drink before telling me why I should know your name and what you came to discuss?”

  “Scotch. Straight up.” He waited for me to pour his liquor into a Candy Bar shot glass. I slid it across the polished wood and he downed it in a single gulp. I shouldn’t have used the good stuff.

  My brow arched. “Another?”

  “No.” He pushed the glass back toward me, his voice huskier with emotion or the scotch, I wasn’t sure. He glanced at my friends who slid off their stools and moved further down the bar. “Your son proposed to my daughter last night.”

  I heard Fran’s intake of breath, but kept my eyes on Harrison Wolfe’s mouth. Not listening, more like reading lips as he said, “Katie is only twenty-one-years-old. She wants to go to law school and follow in my footsteps.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I watched it fall back into place. “Getting married will ruin everything.”

  “Marriage can do that,” I said, my brain buzzing in denial. Who the hell was Katie? If I moved even an inch, reality would open and I would crash into a million broken pieces. My son…

  “Did you hear me?” The man hissed, and knocked his fist on the bar. “Your son proposed.”

  My stomach lurched. My Billy? Memories of him being born, skinning his knee as he learned to ride a bike. Going to his first dance. A child! My child. Harrison’s daughter? Dear God.

  “Proposed? No--that can’t be. He called me yesterday. Said he was coming home for a visit. He always brings his dirty laundry.” I clutched my chest, feeling myself grow warm, while my heart stampeded around my ribcage like a wild bronc. “I hope she had the good sense to say no.”

  “I’m afraid not. Wouldn’t be here if she did.” The tick in Harrison’s smoothly shaved jaw looked ready to implode. His shoulders were stiff and his troubled eyes were like stormy seas.

  Obviously, he wasn’t any more pleased by this sudden engagement than I. Billy was everything to me, and I wanted the world for him. He’d chosen a business degree to be his own man. No matter how great Katie might be—marriage at such a young age would stifle them both.

  It occurred to me that she might be pregnant. Been there, done that. Except the father refused to marry me. “You think they have to get married?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t believe so.” His throat flushed with discomfort. “I think she’d have told me.”

  “Maybe she told her mother,” I suggested, trying to be the voice of reason, while everything inside of me jumped up and down in denial.

  “Her mother died three years ago. Cancer.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Off kilter, I gripped the counter and studied his face. He looked like a man used to control. A man who got what he wanted. A man who could bend his daughter’s will. Maybe he’d have better luck with Katie than I would with Billy, who was too much like me for his own good. “My son is too young and immature to get married.”

  “So is my daughter.”

  I picked up the bottle of scotch, filled his glass and another one for me. “Excuse me, girls, but we have things to discuss.” My best friends nodded and I could feel their concern and love envelope me as I stepped around the bar and headed toward a dark corner. Harrison followed.

  Out of nowhere, thunder roared like waves crashing against the shore, startling me as I took a seat. Lightning cracked, flashing through the shuttered windows. Heavy rain pelted the red tiled roof, and I hoped the weather wouldn’t keep the customers away. Happy hour was our busiest time during the week.

  “We weren’t supposed to have a storm today,” I said as if the rain was my responsibility.

  “I can’t stay long,” Harrison shouted over the noise. “I have another meeting in the city.” As if to prove it, he glanced at his gold watch.

  “You came to me with this.” I put a hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. My stomach did a flip – unexpected and unwanted twinge of attraction.

  “We don’t want our kids getting married.” I swallowed, my mouth dry. “So, just how are we going to fix this little problem?” As if our children were five and having a fight on the playground that we could mend with a treat.

  Thunder rattled the bar, and I missed his answer. As soon as the noise faded, I spoke again. “Maybe you should reschedule that appointment. Summer storms come in fast. They rarely last more than an hour, though they sometimes flood the streets and knock out the power lines.”

  “I can’t.”

  Another crack, and then the room went black. “Oh, crap,” I said, not afraid of the dark. My apprehension came as I recognized the electric current pulsing in the air. The lightest scent of sulfur teased my nose.

  “I hope you have a generator.” Gruff voice, business-like.

  “Not an industrial one.” I pulled a match from my pocket and lit the candle on the table. The wick flickered and blew out. I tried again, my hands suddenly shaking. This was not the time for magic.

  The candle took flame. As if I had preternatural senses, I heard Susie whisper to the others. “The brick wall is sweating.” My crazy best friends clapped as they cheered me on.

  “Make a wish,” Fran said. “Love!”

  They thought I wanted love with this man? They were certifiable!

  But no way would I waste a wish, not when the magic finally happened for me. “I know this sounds weird,” I said, grabbing Harrison’s hands and leaning forward so that we were eye to eye. I spoke urgently. “Right now. Wish for something. Make it about the kids.” His hands were strong, smooth. Probably manicured.

  “What are you talking about?” He twisted his head around to see what the commotion was at the bar. “Why are those women hooping and hollering—doing some crazy war dance?”

  “They’re celebrating.” I didn’t have time to explain. “It’s the magic. Here. Now.” I closed my eyes and wished all kinds of things. For happiness. That Billy would come to his senses. That I could save the Candy Bar, and restore the neighborhood back to the good old days. That I could help other girls who’d been like me, alone, pregnant and afraid. And love, I did wish for that. Then I ran out of ideas.

  “Wish,” I told Harrison again. “And make it good. Like winning the lottery good.”

  Thunder boomed so loudly it reverberated across the roof, down the walls to the floor. I jumped as the candle went out. Bottles fell off the shelves, crashing to the tile. I closed my eyes, and leapt for Harrison, who, in a purely automatic response, put his arms around me. Rock solid, he ma
de me feel safe–something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Emotions washed over me–love, happiness, desire. Hope.

  “Candy?” the rock asked.

  “Yes?” I lifted my face toward his warm, scotch-scented breath.

  “You’re clinging to me.”

  I moved closer, pressing my breasts into his fine chest, the buttons of his suit poking my ribs–not that I minded.

  “Sorry,” I said, overwhelmed with heat. I linked my hands around the back of his neck, wishing I could get closer still. “I can’t help it.” I had to open my heart to this man. He had to love me. It was the rules. “I guess you can’t wish for something other than love. It’s the Candy Bar magic.”

  “What? I can’t hear you from the racket on the roof.” He tried to pry himself free. “Did you say magic?”

  “Yes.” I tilted my head to look into his gorgeous eyes. “You see, no one else is here but the girls. They’ve already experienced it, so it looks like we took a direct hit.”

  How lucky was I? Not only to be struck by magic, but to find it with this beautiful specimen of a man. I ran my fingers through his thick wavy hair. If he kissed me right now, I would let him. I actually lifted my lips in anticipation.

  “I don’t understand.” He frowned, and shook his head.

  I stopped fingering his hair. “No, you probably don’t, but trust me. This bar is built on an ancient Indian burial ground and a lot of crazy stuff happens.” My voice sounded breathy, my laugh slightly manic. “When the magic sweeps through, whoever is caught up in it—well, their life changes. Forever.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.” I grinned, and ran my hands along his broad shoulders, marveling at my good fortune. His classic looks were undeniable, and that deep, radiant voice could lull me to sleep. Or better yet, we could lie next to each other, and he could read me stories or tell me about his day. I would rest my head on his chest and feel his heart beat, as he told me things that only the two of us would share. I had found my soul mate. We were going to have the most amazing life.