First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

She shot to the other side and fumbled with the door handle. "I am not staying in this car with you! You're a pig!"

  He sighed and hit the lock button.

  She shot him a Death Stare and hit unlock.

  He grinned and hit lock again. "I may be a pig, sweetheart, but you sure did wanna play with my curly little tail, didn't you?"

  "Let me out of here, Anglin, or I will see your ass in court for aggravated kidnapping!"

  "Naw. You came willingly and we have witnesses to that effect. All I'm doing now is taking you back safely."

  "Let. Me. Out."

  "You open that door and you'll get squished by oncoming traffic. Don't you want to learn to drive? How can a grown American woman not know how to drive?"

  Viv clenched her jaw. She was starting to think that her mother was onto something with the voodoo dolls. If only she had some modeling clay and a little yellow yarn in her pocketbook If only!

  "Tell you what," J.B. said in the most generous of tones. "If you will agree to a driving lesson, and you can get us all the way back into Fredericksburg, I'll allow you to run me over in the Marv's Motor Inn parking lot. How's that for fair?"

  " Deal ." She said it through gritted teeth.

  "Okay, then. Now: That short pedal on the left is your clutch. Put your left foot on it. You're going to push that in every time you start the ignition, and every time you shift gears. Got that?"

  She nodded.

  "The long pedal on the right is your gas. You will use only your right foot on that. Do not confuse it with the other long pedal in the middle, which is your brakes."

  "Okay."

  "Put your foot on that one now and get a feel for it. Now put it on the gas. Good. Okay, right foot on the floor. Push all the way in on the left pedal, the clutch, with your left foot."

  "That's hard."

  "Get used to it. Are you as far as you can go?"

  She nodded.

  "Then turn the key to start the ignition." J.B. popped the gearshift into neutral. "And very lightly, step on the gas."

  Viv tried to follow directions, but the roar of the engine as she hit the gas distracted her, and she re-leased the clutch. The truck choked, shuddered and went dead.

  "Well, that was a good start," J.B. said after a wince.

  "It was a terrible start!"

  "I meant, it was a good start to a start," he amended. "Okay, let's do it again. Clutch, a little gas, and turn the key."

  The truck roared, shuddered, grumbled, but stayed running this time.

  "Good! Take it a little easier on the gas. Okay. Let the clutch out slowly. Now, these are your lights, your windshield wipers and your hazards. This is the steering wheel, Vivvie."

  "No, really?"

  "And if you turn us right into oncoming traffic, you'll kill yourself as well as me, so why not pass on that idea? You can murder me some other way."

  She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, pretending to think about it. Finally she nodded.

  "Now," J.B. said. "Push in the clutch again. And fondle this joystick right here, baby." He grinned. "Now put it forward, into first gear. Good. Now step on the gas pedal, just a"

  The truck roared, lurched forward as Viv yelped, and then stalled.

  "little," J.B. finished, with a sigh. "And let out the clutch. Okay. Let's try that again, too."

  "I don't think I'm very good at this," Viv told him.

  "It's all practice, honey. Push in the clutch, put it in first gear, now a little gas"

  She finally got the truck moving in first, and then second. J.B. clapped. "There's hope for the City Girl after all! Next thing you know, I'll hook you up with a job driving a turnip truck."

  Viv gunned the engine at that. "Can I try third gear?"

  "Absolutely."

  Unfortunately, what she thought was third turned out to be fifth, and she stalled them out again.

  Finally they were bumping along the shoulder of the road at a pretty good clip. "See that double yellow line?" asked J.B.

  "The one in the middle of the highway?"

  "Yep. That one. Do you think you can stay on the right side of it?"

  She gave him a long-suffering look. "Well, dang, how's this wheel thang work agin?" she said, in an exaggerated hick accent.

  "Okay, then, smart-ass. Let's go."

  "You want me to actually put your life in jeopardy on the interstate? And me without a license?"

  "Do you have to phrase it quite like that?"

  She shrugged.

  "When you see a red light, stop. When you see a yellow light, start stopping. Poke me when we get there, because I think it's a real good idea for me to close my eyes."

  "Yee haw!" Viv yelled into the wind. If only Schmidt and Belker could see her now, in command of a bona fide pickup truck! This driving thing was fun. She glanced into the rearview mirror and scanned the bed of the vehicle. You know, there's room for a lot of dogs back there

  She tried to push the thought aside. Yeah, great idea, Vivver. You just buy a pickup to tool around Manhattan in. Throw on a gun rack and rifle, too. Wear a red bandanna around your neck .

  Maybe she should attach some spurs to her black Prada stretch boots. She got a good chuckle thinking about Belky's expression if she walked into the firm in spurs and a bandanna.

  "The fiendish laughter is making me nervous," said J.B., his eyes still closed. "We are still on the right side of the double yellow line?"

  "Yup."

  "And our speed is below eighty?"

  "Definitely."

  "You're watching out for animals in the road, too, aren't you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  J.B. jolted upright and opened his eyes. "Cattle or deer sometimes venture onto the highway. HellI can't believe I'm sitting as a passenger in my own truck while a novice driver holds my life in her hands. You know, maybe you should pull over and let me"

  "No way," said Viv. "I'm hitting my stride. I'm just starting to have fun here!"

  "Which means I should be very afraid." But J.B. smiled.

  She tried not to melt at the sweetness and affection in the curve of his mouth. Look at the road, Viv. Not at the man . She could get used to him looking at her that way

  Stop it . Viv did what came naturally to her: She went on the offensive as a defensive measure.

  "So, Anglin. Now that I've got you held hostage in your own truck, you can tell me why you think all divorce attorneys are snakes in the grass. That was not a nice thing to say."

  J.B.'s smile vanished. "I don't like divorce attorneys," he said tersely.

  She raised a brow and waited for him to add to that statement. He didn't. "Why not? Why are we more evil than the rest of the population, J.B.?"

  "It's what you stand for: the dissolution of unions. Marriage is meant to be sacrosanct, Shelton. And it's become a mockery. A friggin' mockery. What happened to marriage as a commitment? Huh? People these daysthey go through a rough spot and call 1-800-DIVORCE." J.B. stared out the window, his mouth grim.

  Vivien tried not to get angry. So her job made her the cause of the problem? Wasn't that a little simplistic? She asked in even tones, "And what if they're not happy?"

  "You have to work at happiness sometimes! You have to fight for it. Ever hear of this phrase: 'What God has joined together, let no man put asunder?' Where the hell did that go? Huh? Marriage is a test of character and faith sometimes, and I don't see a whole lot of either these days. When I got married, I did it for keeps ." J.B. slammed his fist down on the dashboard.

  It's what you stand for: the dissolution of unions . Viv gripped the steering wheel hard. "Nice speech, J.B. I'd give you a round of applause but it's hard to do that and drive at the same time."

  He turned and gave her a look that would have turned a lesser woman to stone.

  She didn't blink. "I don't see a wedding ring on your finger, Anglin. If you got married for keeps, you must still be married. Were you somebody's husband when you slept with me in New York?"

  * *
*

  Chapter Twelve

  J.B. froze, and white-hot anger flashed through him. "I can't believe you're asking me that."

  "Well, I am," said the Ball-Busting Bitch.

  "Would it bother you if I said that I was married that night? After all, given the wham-grrrr-thank-you-sir treatment you subjected me to, you may find it easier to screw married men. No emotional entanglement that wayhey! Slow the hell down!"

  "I do not have anything to do with married men," she said through clenched teeth.

  "Unless you're helping to get them divorced, and making tons of money off the whole procedure."

  She cast him a look of loathing. "I happen to know that you're not a widower, J.B. So why don't you tell me all about how you got divorced, even though you got married for keeps. Even though you're maintaining your balance on your damned soapbox."

  "I'll tell you if you slow down. Do you hear me ? The long pedal in the middle! Hit the friggin' brakes, woman. You're going ninety miles an hour."

  She finally slowed down. "So? Let's have it."

  He took a deep breath. "I married my high school sweetheart, who had become my college sweetheart. I wanted to spend my life with her. I thought she felt the same way. I had an offer from the Cowboys to play wide receivera good offer. Two games into the season I took a direct hit to my right knee, and that, as they say, was that."

  She waited.

  "I went to law school. As you know, it's tough. Corinne stuck it out, even though it sure wasn't a lot of fun for her. She worked as a manager for an outlet store in San Marcos while I went to Baylor Law School. She went out clubbing with friends while I was studying all the time, and I have to admit we grew apart. We were living in different worlds; we never saw each other.

  "But it wasn't until we returned here to Fredericks-burg and bought a house that things really went to hell. I started a small practice and there just wasn't a lot for her to do. She'd burned out on retail and didn't want to do much else. Some friend of hers wanted to start a nightclub in Dallas, but I didn't see that as a very good use of my money, so I said no. She didn't take it well. I don't think I'd ever said no to her before, but she was talking about a lot of money.

  "She left to go look into real estate anyway, thinking she could change my mind. She couldn't. She left in a huff again, and this time she talked to some fat-cat divorce lawyer there whose eyes lit up with dollar signs when he heard that I'd had a pro ball contract.

  "The rest is history. I lovelovedher, but I couldn't keep her where she didn't want to be, doing what she didn't want to be doing."

  "So why didn't you move to Dallas and go into law there?" Viv asked.

  "I can't leave my mother alone. I won't. Corinne's always known that. I'm all my mother has. She took good care of me when I was growing up, and I intend to take good care of her while she's growing old.

  "So that's my story. But you know what? If Co-rinne had never talked to that damned greedy attorney, we could have worked things out. Instead, she took off with my heart and half my money and started a stupid, failing business.

  "And the irony of it is that she's ended up right back here now, after her second divorce. Same goddamned attorney, wouldn't you know? So now he's got more of my money than she does." He snorted.

  "So it's the divorce attorney's fault that your wife left you, and moreover, he should have taken the case for free?" Vivien's voice was heavy with irony.

  "You can take the sarcasm right out of your tone, darlin', because the answer to the first question is yes. Corinne is one of those people who's easily influenced."

  "She knew she wasn't happy, right?"

  "No. She knew no such thing. She was bored. Ever hear the saying that idleness is the devil's workshop?"

  "But it doesn't sound like you were happy, either. Come on, admit it."

  "Every marriage goes through rough spots. That's all it was."

  "Hmmmm. What does Corinne like to do?"

  "She's a social person. Loves people and parties and football games and action. She's got a lot of nervous energy. Adores fashion and makeupher favorite city is LA. I don't know why she doesn't move there. I think she's scared to go alone."

  "Sounds like you still keep in touch with her."

  J.B. shrugged. "Only now and then." Though it's funny how all kinds of things seem to keep breaking at her house. Things that she wants me to fix .

  "You're unusual," Viv said, her blue eyes evaluating him. "Most men don't keep in touch with their exes. Then again, most men don't take their marriage vows too seriously."

  "I guess I'm not most men. What am I supposed to do, pretend Corinne doesn't exist? Pretend she was never a part of my life? I spent years dating her and then married to her. I can't erase that."

  Viv shrugged.

  "So what about you? Why haven't you ever been married?"

  She laughed, but it was a brittle sound. "Oh, I just haven't had time."

  "Had time or made time? Or do you just treat all men as sex toys, to be discarded after a couple of hours?" He knew he shouldn't have said it, but it still rankled.

  "Oh, Christ." Her foot got heavy on the gas pedal again. "Haven't we had this discussion? Can't we be done with it?"

  "We can be done with it once I've gotten some answers." His truck hurtled forward at an alarming speed. "Vivvie the speed limit is fifty here. We're getting close to town."

  She shot him an exasperated glance. "Oh, please. There's nothing out here but"

  "Oh, shit!" As they rounded a bend in the road, a trooper clocked them at roughly eighty-nine miles per hour. "Brakes, Viv, brakes!"

  The roof of the squad car lit up like Christmas, and the trooper squealed off the road after them.

  "Pull over," J.B. ordered. "Let me handle this."

  Viv downshifted, not very smoothly, and rolled onto the shoulder. Her chin came up, and her shades came down. She lowered the window as the trooper ambled up.

  "Do you know how fast you were going, ma'am?" He peered into the car. "Oh, hey, big guy. I thought this looked like your truck."

  "Around the speed limit, I thought, Officer," said Viv brazenly.

  The trooper snorted. "I clocked you at eighty-nine miles per hour, ma'am."

  "Hi, Wesley," said J.B. "How's tricks?"

  "And how do we know that your equipment is in proper working order?" asked Vivien, belligerently. She sounded just like a damned Yankee attorney.

  "Good, good, J.B. How's your mama?" Wesley Taunton said, breaking off to frown at her. And then, "Ma'am, are you arguing with me?"

  "No," said J.B., elbowing her.

  "Yes," said Vivien, ignoring him.

  "License and registration, ma'am."

  "Well, you see, I live in Manhattan. You know, New York?" she said to the trooper's expressionless face. "And I left my license in the City."

  Wesley wasn't all stupid. "Then how did you get on the plane, ma'am? You must have a passport at least. May I see that? I'll use it to track down your New York license. In the meantime, do you understand that driving without a license is illegal?"

  J.B. interrupted. "Wesley, can I talk to you for a minute in private? Man-to-man?"

  Vivien looked outraged. "Man-to-man?" she repeated. "What is this, the nineteen fifties?"

  "Shut up, Vivvie," J.B. said pleasantly, "and don't be stupid."

  He swung out of the truck and took Wesley by the arm while steam began to shoot from Viv's ears.

  "Wes-Man. We've known each other a long time."

  Wesley sighed as if he knew what was coming. "Yes, J.B., we have."

  "And you do remember that my mama makes the best King Ranch Chicken in the entire Southwest region?"

  "Yes, J.B., she most certainly does," Wesley said fervently. "Oh, man. I can taste it right now. I used to think it was so unfair that your mama and Alex's mama could cook, and mine burned water"

  "Wes, what if I was to promise you that Mama would make you two King Ranch casseroles, a meat loaf and a couple of batches of her
homemade macaroni and cheese? You could freeze 'em and eat like a king for a month." J.B. prayed that his mother would take pity on him and follow through with this little piece of bribery.

  The trooper began to salivate immediately. "Oh, man. Oh, man! Her mac and cheese, too?"

  "You got it," J.B. said.

  "That little spitfire don't have a license, does she, J.B.?"

  "Mama makes those frickin' amazing enchiladas sui-zas , too, Wesley."

  Taunton looked as if he might orgasm on the spot. "Tell you what. I hate to be a son of a bitch, but can she throw in an apple pie and a key lime cheesecake, too? I'm awful tired of takeout and fudge bars."

  "Deal." Oh, hell. It looks like I'll be learning how to cook this weekend .

  "Then I never saw you today, or that mouthy little Yankee that's uh driving away in your truck."

  " What ?" J.B. spun around as Viv gunned the engine and took off.

  Wes looked sympathetic, but then crafty. "That would be grand theft auto, is what that would be. You want me to report it, or do you want to go back to the bargaining table?"

  "Uh"

  "I always did like your mama's Hershey pie."

  Viv did it just to see the looks on their man-to-man faces. How dare J.B. tell her to shut up? And call her stupid? Unbelievable. He may as well have beat on his hairy chest and thrown her barefoot into a kitchen.

  She would have handled it just fine. Challenged the working order of the clocking device, challenged his eyesight if necessary, and gone to court to beat the ticket. Except for that tiny problem of not having a license or insurance. She bit her lip.

  So maybe J.B. had been right to call upon his friendship with the man and make some kind of closed-eyes-for-beer deal. She supposed it was only right that she supply the beer, if that's what it was.

  And now that she'd made her point, she should go pick him up. Viv waited for a break in the traffic, and then performed a highly illegal U-turn in the middle of 290.

  As she approached J.B. he was getting into the trooper's car. He froze and turned his normally pleasant face to her. He was almost purple with rage.

  She pulled up and eyed him with a little trepidation.

  J.B. slammed the passenger door of Wesley's car, gave him a brief salute and stalked to the truck. "Get out."