First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

  "No way. You might leave me stranded."

  "Get. Out."

  Viv unbuckled her seat belt and slid over to the passenger side. She buckled herself back in so he couldn't push her out the window.

  He sent her an ominous stare and swung himself in. "Nice of you to stop back by."

  "Don't ever tell me to shut up. And don't call me stupid."

  "I was trying to save your ass back there!"

  "I am fully capable of saving my own ass."

  "Not when you pull your rude, obnoxious Yankee crap on local law enforcement, you're not. You would have ended up behind bars. And now!" He was starting to turn a dark eggplant color, most interesting. " Now I get to spend my entire weekend swinging my dick over a hot stove."

  She choked. "Excuse me?"

  "Do you know what I had to promise to keep you out of trouble?"

  "Beer?"

  "Three King Ranch Chicken casseroles, two meat loaves, three pans of macaroni and cheese, two trays of enchiladas suizas , an apple pie, a key lime cheesecake and two friggin' Hershey pies!"

  "No-you-did-not." She stared at him.

  "I did! I pretty much had to double the original deal when you added grand theft auto to the list of things Wes had to ignore! You'd better be a good cook, Shelton."

  She was quiet for a long moment. Not only had J.B. given her a driving lesson, but he'd bribed the trooper for her with his home-cooked food. How sweet was that? Her heart did a slow roll and collapsed into a puddle of useless sentiment. That's all it was. She was getting a little soft when it came to J.B., and it was dangerous Had he just asked her if she could cook? Not even .

  "I, um, am superb at cooking little plastic pouches in the microwave on HIGH." Then she started to laugh.

  "I'm glad you think this is funny," he growled.

  "I'm very sorry" She tried to make her voice sound penitent. "So when did you learn to cook?"

  "I didn't. Wes thinks Mama is making all of this! And she's going to shoot me."

  Her jaw dropped. "You volunteered your mother for me?" Oh, God, that's even sweeter. Except the woman's going to want my head on a pike !

  "Well I figured I'd help. Or just get her recipes. How hard can it be to follow a recipe?"

  "Uh-oh. From my experience, very hard." Viv chuckled. Then she put her hand on his knee. "I'm sorry that I drove off and left you. Really. Especially now that you're my knight in shining oven mitts."

  He groaned.

  "What can I do to make it up to you?"

  "Nothing."

  "Take you to lunch? A bar, so you can get staggering drunk?"

  J.B. cast an irritated glance her way. "What makes you think," he asked, "that I want to spend any more time in your company?"

  "Oh." She said it in a small voice. "Well, there is that. With me being a snake in the grass and a greedy corrupter of family values."

  "I never said that."

  "Yes, you pretty much did. You're heavy on the implications, J.B."

  "Oh, hell. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Viv-vie. That's assuming you have those, like regular people."

  "Just because I'm tough and call things like I see them does not mean that I don't have feelings."

  "That's good to know."

  Silence reigned for the next couple of minutes.

  Then Viv asked, "Is your mother going to hunt me down and set fire to me with a flare gun or something?"

  His lips twitched. "Probably."

  "That's very comforting, J.B. Thank you."

  "Ain't nothin' but a thing."

  If someone had said that to her in New York, she would have thought he was an idiot. But coming out of this big, blond Texan's mouth, it sounded just right. Even quite civilized.

  They turned down Main Street and soon were at Orange, where Marv's Motor Inn was located. J.B. pulled into the parking lot and put the gear in neutral. He looked over at her.

  She looked right back.

  He put a finger under her chin. "See ya later, Tough Girl," he said.

  "Like I told you, I can't cook. But I can buy all the ingredients, if that helps."

  "Ah, the guilt is getting to you."

  She nodded, with a wry twist of her lips.

  Suddenly he said, "I know what you can do to make it up to me."

  "What's that?"

  "You can take me upstairs and let me have my revenge."

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vivien gave J.B. a long, level look. "Revenge? Does that include kicking me into the hallway naked?"

  "Of course not," he said. "I wouldn't do that to you."

  She exhaled in relief.

  "What I had in mind," he said in thoughtful tones, "was actually to fashion a harness out of the bed-sheets and hang you out the window naked."

  Viv opened her door and slid out.

  "But before that, I'd make you feel real, real good." His teeth flashed white and his eyes deepened, his glance a caress.

  Should she take him upstairs? Lie with him among the mustard and brown flowers? Fall with him onto the burnt orange, spongy carpet?

  It was extremely tempting: to see those magnificent shoulders and biceps shirtless again; to feel him on her, under her, all over her.

  A muscle twitched in his cheek and J.B. looked amused as she considered his request. She didn't like the implication that she "owed" him sex. That made it too much of a bargain, made her body a commodity. She needed to turn this situation around and get control of it.

  "I should at least buy you lunch before using you for sex again," she said. "Don't you think? Is there any decent food in this walnut-sized town?"

  "Walnut-sized it may be, but you'll be surprised and impressed by some of the eateries. You've already experienced Cuvee." He thought for a moment. "Hop back in unless you want to walk four blocks in this heat?"

  She got into the truck, since it was 101 degrees. Texas was a sauna with a sky.

  "I'm going to take you to the Lincoln Street Wine. Market, where we'll have a little of this and a little of that, since you've got to try everything. They've got wines from all over the world, and the food will wipe "that smug look right off your face, Miz Manhattan."

  They drove four blocks down Main Street and turned right on South Lincoln, pulling up to a charming, rustic little cottage with a large trellis-covered patio in back, filled with tables and chairs.

  It was far too hot to sit outside this afternoon, though, so they gratefully escaped into the small but cool interior, where mingled voices and laughter greeted them immediately.

  The Lincoln Street Wine Market featured a scuffed cement floor which had been given an old-world treatment in shades of beige, black and taupe. The interior walls and ceilings were plaster, hand-rubbed in warmer tones of yellow-beige, and bordered by a smoky taupe that tied in with the floor.

  A long,, dark wooden table, flanked by simple chairs, dominated the length of the main room and functioned as an arrow toward the bar in the back.

  Every available wall hosted a black iron wine rack, stocked with every conceivable variety of wine. The curtains were a pleasing deep red velvet and the screen door stood open in welcome.

  Viv noticed one private room, separated from the main area by French doors and furnished with two cozy sofas and tiny tables. J.B. glanced inside, saw that it was empty, and suggested that they take it over. She sank down on one of the sofas, which embraced her like a lover.

  The air inside was seasoned with a not unpleasant aroma of good cigars, which the black ceiling fans circulated with other scents of fresh bread, unusual cheeses and general good cheer. She liked the place immediately.

  Some of the wine racks were strung with amusing little bunches of artificial grapes, and the narrow hallways leading to the bathrooms and bar area had been decoupaged with newspaper and book pages. A green-and-burgundy-striped tie marked the entrance to the men's room; a little handbag marked the one to the ladies'.

  The tiny marketplace seemed to have been lifte
d straight out of Tuscany by a benevolent tornado and spun into the Texas Hill Country.

  J.B. came back with a printed list from which they could make selections for a gourmet tray to enjoy with their wine. Since he was starving, he ordered a pastrami sandwich in addition to their complimentary fruit and fresh baked bread.

  Viv chose Camembert, Gruyere and a triple cream St. Andre cheese from the list, and then in the spirit of adventure a chipotle pesto, the international olive mix, some prosciutto, and a chicken pate with black truffle mousse to be served with cornichons and mustard.

  Her mouth started to water in anticipation of the feast. J.B. took her by the hand and tossed her pock-etbook on the sofa. "Come on, now let's choose some wine."

  She cast a glance over her shoulder at the purse.

  His lips twitched. "Viv, honey, this ain't New York. Nobody will snatch it."

  The owner of Lincoln Street Wine Market was friendly, knowledgeable, and possessed the most unpronounceable surname. Viv laughed as she saw that his business card proclaimed him the HEAD CORK SUCKER. He talked with them for several minutes about what they preferred and helped them make a couple of selections from his over two hundred wines-by-the-glass. The only thing he didn't stock, curiously, was any Texas wine. He had too many friends in the local wine business and couldn't show partiality to anyone. He found it simpler to let visitors explore the local wineries on their own by taking a wine-tasting tour.

  The owner gave them a brochure for the Texas

  Wine Trail, and pointed out that the third weekend in August featured the Harvest Wine Trail, a tour through the newly picked vineyards to the various wineries, which were filled during that time with the smells of new wine. Viv was surprised to see seventeen wineries on the tour.

  "The last one is Roman's," J.B. told her with pride. "He's really making a go of it at Sonntag Vineyards."

  Viv grimaced. "Yeah, and I'm sure a capital infusion from Julia or Daddy Marv would be most welcome."

  The corners of J.B.'s mouth turned down. "Let's agree to stay off that topic, Vivvie. Okay? For now, peace and wine and good eats."

  She nodded.

  Since it was hot outside, she chose a white to start with, the Clay Station Viognier. A California wine, it was so fragrant that it almost reminded her of a light cologne. It was also delicious.

  Viv sank down into the wonderful sofa again and J.B. folded into it, too, holding a glass of the 2002 Kahn Syrah. He crossed one booted foot over another and savored the wine in his mouth. "Mmmmm. I do prefer a cold beer most days, but this hits the spot right now."

  "This place is so not what I expected to find in Texas."

  "There you go stereotyping again. I'll take you out to a place called the Salt Lick for barbecue sometime, though. It's much more Texan." He took a sip of his wine and eyed her over the rim of his glass. "Assum ing you behave yourself. You should be horsewhipped for stealing my truck like that."

  Viv crossed her legs and smiled. "I only borrowed it for a few minutes."

  "Yeah. When you borrow something, it's customary to ask the owner. By the way, I'll be picking you up at eight o'clock sharp on Saturday to go grocery shopping. Wear gym shoes, because you're gonna be doing a lot of vegetable chopping, sweetheart.

  "And keep in mind that Mama may not even let you in her kitchenshe's very territorial and it's smallso you may be chopping out on the picnic table in the backyard. Think your manicure can handle that, Vivvie?"

  She blew out an unenthusiastic breath. "Yes."

  "I'll hose you down with mosquito repellent, but you may get some chigger bites out there."

  She squinted at him. "What exactly is a chigger?"

  "Don't you have those in Manhattan?"

  "No, just rats the size of city buses."

  "A chigger is a little insect that gnaws on you and even burrows under your skin. They itch like a m uh, they itch pretty bad."

  "What do I have to do to be allowed to stay inside the kitchen? Sit under the table? Why is it so small?"

  His eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. "I offered to buy her a big new house, but she wanted to stay in the one she and my dad lived in. The kitchen is a closet, but she won't let me open it up and build it out for her."

  "You can do stuff like that?" Then she remembered his office.

  "Yeah. It's pretty easy. And no, I can bet you that you won't be allowed to stay in there with her. First of all, she won't be pleased about all the cooking, and that's if she agrees to help. Second, when she hears that you're the reason for it, you're pretty much toast. She wouldn't let you sit under the cabinet with the garbage."

  "There's Texas hospitality for you."

  "Quiet. With your cold-fish Yankee stare and your thousand-dollar suits, not to mention your little dose of prizefighter attitude, you are not qualified to make any judgments about that topic."

  Viv raised a brow and thought about being insulted. Then she laughed. The wine mellowed and relaxed her, and soon she'd kicked off her sandals and tucked her feet up underneath her on the couch.

  "So what do you Texans do for fun around here?"

  "Any number of things. You can go kayaking or tubing nearbyNew Braunfels is a good spot. You can visit the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, or Wildseed Farms and Market Center, both of which are stunning. You can hike at Enchanted Rock, or check in for a stay at the Double B Ranch and play golf at the Hidden Springs Golf Course. Book a treatment at Serenity Day Spa. Shop. Go country-western dancing in Gruene or Luckenbach. Go pick your own peaches at Hallford Orchard. Want me to go on?"

  "What's tubing?"

  "I'll take you over the weekend if we ever finish cooking for Wesley Taunton. You sit your hiney in the middle of a huge tractor inner tube and float it down the Pedernales River."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. And generally you drink a lot of beer while doing it."

  "How do you bring the beer?"

  "You rent a tube just for the cooler and tie a rope between it and you."

  "You've got to be joking."

  "Nope. And that settles it: We're going. Just so I can send the photo to the New York papers."

  "I don't think so."

  Their host brought their tray in, a smorgasbord of goodies. While Viv dug into the crackers, cheese and pate, J.B. inhaled his pastrami sandwich.

  "J.B., I didn't think food like this existed in Texas," she said blissfully.

  He just grinned and kept munching.

  She savored the taste of the rich, musky Camem-bert, chased it with some wine and then popped a kalamata olive into her mouth, the deep briny taste spreading over her tongue.

  Sean came over to ask if everything was okay, and both of them nodded silently, mouths full, in great appreciation. They were on their second glass of wine when J.B.'s cell phone rang.

  He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the number and frowned. Then he answered. "J.B. here. Hi, Corinne."

  Viv froze at the mention of his ex-wife's name. She had absolutely no right, but a sneaky green coil of jealousy snaked through her belly, turning the appetizers sour.

  "Well, call the sprinkler guy," he said. Then he sighed. "No, we wouldn't want your roses to die. But I'm tied up in a meeting right now. Can this wait a few hours? Okay. Fine. Bye."

  Viv carefully didn't meet his eyes when he hung up, concentrating on the chipotle pesto instead, and how it sank into the airy little crumb-crevices of the Italian bread. She put the piece in her mouth and found the smoky, twangy flavor delicious.

  "My ex," he said.

  "Mmmm," she responded in the perfect noncommittal tone.

  "Wants me to fix the timer on her sprinkler system. It's not coining on."

  She just looked at him.

  "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, but it's not that way at all."

  "I didn't say a thing."

  "Don't you have any exes that you're still in touch with?"

  She pursed her lips. "There's a guy from law school who'll call me every once in a
while to get an opinion on a case. And one other onehe's part of a greyhound rescue I work with."

  "And I'll bet that both of them are more interested in getting into your pants than they are in opinions or dogs." .

  She didn't deny it. "Tell me that your wife can't get someone else to fix her sprinklers."

  He sighed. "Probably. But I want you to know that it's only the outdoor plumbing that I touch."

  Viv tilted her head and tossed back some more wine. "And why would you want me to know that?"

  "You know why." He reached out and slipped a hand into her hair, caressing her scalp and then her earlobe, stroking down to her neck. "I want my revenge, Vivvie."

  She shivered under his touch, the cool air-conditioning contrasting with his warm hand.

  "Cold?"

  She shook her head.

  "Let me warm you up. Hmmm? Finish your wine." His hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, alternate waves of bronze and pale gold. His eyes held the cool, deep color of the Pedernales River and his skin was the color of saddle leather. But it was his mouth that drew her the most, with its wicked curves" and sinful cushion of a bottom lip, contrasted with the angelic golden stubble along his narrow cheeks and firm jaw.

  J.B. plucked an olive from the tray and tossed it into his mouth, where he held it on his tongue, rolling it and savoring the tiny fruit. With a quirk of his lips, he watched her watch him. Finally he bit into the soft flesh of the olive and separated it from the hard pit.

  She couldn't look away from his mouth, even as he covered it with a fist and discreetly disposed of the olive pit, swallowing its fruit with great enjoyment.

  "You got to use me for sex in New York," he said softly. "It's only fair that I get to have you here in Texas."

  It was only her second glass of wine, it wasn't even dark outside and she couldn't say her judgment was clouded. But she felt inclined to agree with him.

  She tried to wrap her mind around her feelings for him, but they weren't tidy. Since she'd arrived in Eredericksburg only a few days ago, J.B. had saved her life, publicly humiliated her, trapped her against his office door and kissed her. He'd fondled her breasts in a bridal salon dressing room, given her a driving lesson and rescued her from certain jail. He'd forgiven her for stealing his truck and he made her heart sing.