The Best Man in Texas

by Tanya Michaels

  An undignified bark of laughter escaped Brooke. So that was Megan’s big concern? “Meg, the last guy you went out with for more than a week swallowed swords and juggled fire at the Texas Renaissance Festival. Compared to that, anyone’s bound to seem dull. Giff isn’t boring, he’s dependable.”

  Meg wrinkled her nose, looking closer to twenty than thirty-five. “Another word for predictable.”

  If I’m lucky. Despite herself, Brooke had once fallen for a guy outside her comfort zone—a fellow writer she’d met during her college years in Austin. Her tumultuous on-again, off-again year with the gorgeous brooding poet had reinforced her belief that she didn’t need any more spontaneous types or “artistic temperaments” in her life. Now she had a gorgeous businessman who always called when he said he would and would never forget her birthday. Nothing could make her happier.

  “Don’t confuse me with you,” Brooke said gently. “I’m the one who doesn’t like surprises.”

  With a sigh, Meg flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. “All right. But at least tell me that you two celebrated with a night of wild—”

  “What did I miss?” Kresley asked, returning to the table and waiting patiently for Meg to slide back to her own chair. Kresley was adorable in a tie-dyed maternity top, and her thick blond hair was shampoo-ad shiny; she credited the pre-natal vitamins.

  Once her coworker was seated again, Brooke felt like the token brunette at the table.

  “Just in time,” Meg said, her voice full of mischief. “I was about to get the down and dirty details of Brooke’s sex life. I mean, now that you’re engaged, you did finally—”

  “Meg, he’s going to be the father of my kids. Your brother-in-law. This isn’t some sordid one-night stand.”

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Meg teased. She herself was not shy about details. In her early twenties, she’d traumatized her sister with explicit firsthand descriptions of what sexual positions offered the best orgasms. It had taken sixteen-year-old Brooke a week to get the unwanted images out of her head.

  Brooke resisted the urge to point out that rushing into bed had never gained Meg anything lasting and meaningful. Not my place to judge. After all, Meg had never craved something permanent the way Brooke did.

  But passion wasn’t everything. Brooke had shared incredible physical chemistry with her long-ago poet, and that relationship had been a fiasco. By the time they’d broken up for good, she’d been such a mess that she’d almost lost her university scholarship.

  Apparently not even Kresley understood Brooke’s inclination to take it slow, to prioritize the emotional bond over sex. Her pale eyebrows were arched in disbelief. “So does that mean you guys still haven’t—”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Brooke pointed out, “but we decided it would be romantic to wait until our wedding night.”

  Meg snorted. “At least now I understand the rush to get married this summer.”

  When Giff got back from California this week, they were going to look into different venues and date availability. But they agreed that late July or early August suited them both. He was already scheduled to travel during much of September and, as he’d reasoned, now that they’d found the person they each wanted to spend forever with, why delay? Besides, they wanted at least a year alone together before they started building a family. The risk of pregnancy complications went up significantly after thirty-five, and not everyone was lucky enough to conceive as quickly as Kresley and her husband, Dane.

  Brooke shot a wistful glance in Kresley’s direction. The lifestyles editor was one of those blue-eyed, blond, former cheerleaders who’d been beautiful all her life, but in Brooke’s opinion the woman had never looked lovelier than she did now that she was expecting. Of course, Brooke might be biased because she herself had always wanted to be a mom. Every time she’d felt shocked or embarrassed as an adolescent, she’d resolved to do things differently with her own kids. Those imaginary kids had gradually taken shape in her vivid imagination. She wanted to be ridiculously domestic, cooking them spaghetti and meat loaf instead of asking them to try wasabi brownies; she wanted to help them with her homework and sew silly costumes for school plays.

  Granted, she’d never actually made a meat loaf and didn’t own a sewing machine. But these were minor technicalities.

  Kresley interrupted Brooke’s fond plans for her future family. “I for one am relieved that you’re looking at July for the wedding. It’s bad enough that I’m going to be a pregnant bridesmaid, but by September, someone would have to roll me to the front of the church.”

  Brooke laughed. “You’re not that big. Besides, you should be happy you’ve gained weight.”

  For the first trimester, Kresley had been sick as a dog. Unable to hold down foods or liquids—hell, she’d barely been able to hold down air—she’d lost a few pounds.

  “It is nice to have my appetite back,” Kresley admitted with a sheepish look at Brooke’s empty plate. After Kresley had demolished her own salad, she’d finished Brooke’s nachos.

  “Speaking of food—” Meg rose “—I should do a once-around, make sure no one’s in the weeds.”

  When the three women had first agreed to celebrate Brooke’s news and discuss wedding plans over dinner, Megan hadn’t been scheduled to work on Monday. But another waitress had called in sick, and Buck himself had promised them free food if Meg would be on the premises as “just in case” backup. Brooke had to admit her sister was a popular waitress; even with the minimal amount of work she’d done tonight, she’d made good tips. Meg’s last waitressing job had been at a four-star restaurant but required skirts and pantyhose. Meg had ditched that in favor of wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt to work.

  Once Meg had left to make her rounds, Kresley flashed an evil grin. “Brave move of you, asking your sister to be your maid of honor. You’re not worried about bizarre ceremony surprises or a bachelorette party that gets so out of hand the police are called?”

  Valid concerns. In theory, the sooner they had the wedding, the less time Meg would have to plan something outrageous. But the truth was, Meg wasn’t much of a planner. She’d never had a problem manufacturing last-minute outrageousness.

  “She’s my sister,” Brooke said by way of resigned explanation. “I couldn’t not ask her. Especially since you’re in your second trimester and—”

  “I was only giving you a hard time,” Kresley assured her. “I’m not hurt that you didn’t ask me.”

  “Promise me that if she tries to draft you for something insane, you’ll remind her that I don’t like surprises?”

  Kresley’s eyes twinkled. “If you think that’ll do any good.”

  Brooke traced the rim of her glass. “Do you think it’s rushing to get married in just a few months?”

  “Not if you keep it simple. You said you both wanted a small, intimate wedding, right? Rushing would be if you two crazy kids had up and eloped.”

  “No. That is emphatically not for me.” Her stomach clenched at the thought. For someone who wanted a marriage so different from her parents’, kicking off the marriage in the exact same way seemed like a bad omen. “Besides it would break Grace’s heart if she wasn’t there.”

  Giff had told her he’d shown his mom the ring before he’d taken Brooke to dinner last Friday; they’d gone to see her afterward to share the happy news. The woman was as warm and caring as her son, and Brooke knew she’d make a wonderful mother-in-law.

  “We’re having Sunday supper with her this weekend,” Brooke said. “Giff offered to take us all out somewhere, but she said she has to cook to properly welcome me into the family.” Grace probably knew a great meat loaf recipe.

  “She’s his only family?” Kresley asked.

  “Pretty much. He has an uncle in Dallas, some cousins he’s not really close to that I’ll meet eventually. But next to his mom, the most important person to him is a guy he grew up with. They were apparently like brothers—I’m supposed to meet h
im Wednesday. If Giff loves him, I’m sure I will, too.”

  “Whoa.” They heard Meg’s return before they saw her. She launched herself back into her chair, fanning herself dramatically with what looked like a magazine. “You guys should really go play pool.”

  “Um, I tire pretty easily these days,” Kresley admitted. “I was considering going home to bed.”

  “But you’re missing out!” Meg dropped what she was holding on the table, and Brooke realized it was actually a calendar. “There are three seriously hunky firemen in the next room. I refilled a drink for one, and we got to talking about these calendars they did as a community fundraiser. He gave me this one at a discount since the year’s half over.”

  Brooke laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a calendar at your apartment.” Meg’s only concession to structured time management were a few clocks, but the one in her living room had been stopped for months. Brooke always wanted to sneak in with batteries and reset it.

  “Trust me, sis, this calendar I will be hanging up.” She began flipping through it so they could all see the pictures.

  January’s photo featured a man with a great smile who was leaning across an old-fashioned fire engine, his hand on the gold bell. The caption read Ringing in the New Year. Overall, it was a politically correct calendar that no one would be embarrassed to have in their kitchen. A couple of female firefighters were included, and no one was posed in a bright red thong. But the men who’d been chosen for the summer months were all shirtless, and Brooke’s breath caught when she noticed Mr. July.

  The man on the page had chiseled cheekbones and a jawline dusted with dark stubble. His light brown hair was cropped close, extremely short on the sides but long enough to be tousled on top. His arms were amazingly well defined without making him look like a professional weight lifter. It was his eyes that captivated her, though. She wasn’t sure if it was their unusual clear green color or something in his gaze that—

  Meg snapped the calendar closed. “A few of these guys are actually in the next room! Come on, we can go ogle the life-size versions.”

  Brooke cleared her throat, self-conscious over just how intently she’d been ogling already. Was he one of the three men in the billiards room? She squelched her flare of curiosity, calling Giff’s face to mind. “No thanks. You forget, Kres and I are both in happy, monogamous relationships. And we both have to be at the office for a staff meeting at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “She’s right,” Kresley seconded. But that didn’t stop her from casting a wistful glance in the direction Meg had indicated. “I need to get going.”

  Pressing a hand to her forehead, Meg mumbled, “I can’t believe I’m related to someone who would voluntarily pass up this opportunity. Are you sure you weren’t adopted?”

  “You tell me,” Brooke said with a laugh. “You were there first.” Being adopted would certainly explain why she usually felt like an outsider among her own family.

  But that would all change soon. Once she and Giff were married, they’d build the life she’d always wanted.

  Chapter Three

  It occurred to Jake Wednesday evening as he walked through the stone archway and inhaled the smell of peppers and grilled meats that this was as close as he’d ever come to that elusive home sentiment. Though it might be no more than a hole-in-the-wall, to Jake the family-owned Comida Buena was heaven. Assuming angels ate garlicky guacamole.

  Giff was already inside, waiting for his turn at the hostess podium. His face broke into a wide smile when he spotted Jake. “McBride!” They leaned forward, each slugging an arm around the other man’s shoulders. If people were surprised to see two former football players who topped six feet hugging, well…Jake didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “Glad you could make it,” Giff said.

  “My pleasure.” Jake pointed at the uniform he wore. “But I’m on call, so no cerveza for me. I promised to bring back tamales for the guys at the station.”

  They followed the hostess past a large black velvet painting of a rooster and brightly decorated sombreros hanging on the wall to a booth in the back. A busboy moving with superhero-like stealth tossed a basket of chips onto the table, then disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived; Jake knew from experience not to touch the fiery house salsa until glasses of water had been poured.

  Once they’d been given their drinks and had placed their orders, Jake got straight to the point. “So, Mr. Mystery, what’s the big news?”

  Giff leaned back against the padded bench, managing to look at home in the shabby interior despite his dress shirt and slacks—a designer suit minus matching blazer and tie—probably costing close to what Jake had paid for his first car. At least, what he’d paid to own the hunk of junk. He’d poured a ton of money into rebuilding it.

  Responding to Jake’s bluntness with his own, Giff announced without preamble, “I’m engaged.”

  Engaged?

  Engaged to be married?

  Jake had been peripherally aware that Giff had a girlfriend. He had not known it was so serious. “That does qualify as good,” he said distractedly, trying to process the news.

  “I certainly think so,” Giff drawled.

  “What…when?”

  “I proposed to her last Friday, before I left town. And we’d like to be married by late summer.”

  Her. Some faceless stranger was about to become Giff’s future. Surreal. “Her name’s…” Jake searched his memory. River? Lake? “Brooke, right?”

  Giff nodded. “Brooke Nichols.”

  “And you’ve been dating since…?”

  “We met on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been about two months.”

  Jake couldn’t prevent a wry chuckle. Even back in the fourth grade, faced by jealous punks from less privileged families, Giff had seemed oblivious of his own wealth. He was generous and unpretentious, but the fact remained some men would have needed to save up for the ring for longer than Giff had actually known his fiancée.

  “Two months, huh? That’s—” Unlike you. “Bold.”

  Companies around the country hired Giff to consult because of his analytical mind. He liked to study a problem from every possible angle before he recommended a course of action. This Brooke must be quite a girl for him to move so fast.

  “I think I was channeling you,” Giff confided with a grin.

  In what universe could anyone associate Jake with betrothal? The most stable, permanent thing in his whole life had been his friendship with Giff. Although Jake didn’t think of himself as commitment-phobic—definitely not one of those pitiful fools trying to pick up a different woman every weekend—he hadn’t sustained many relationships, either. He couldn’t picture himself married.

  He couldn’t even picture himself proposing.

  “I’m not sure I get the comparison,” Jake admitted. “I’ve never been close to asking someone to marry me.”

  “No, but you’re fearless. You don’t hesitate to rush in headlong. You’ve often told me ‘life is short.’ And this thing with Mom being sick…” Giff glanced away.

  “She’s better now, though?” Jake’s flare of anxiety belied the “fearless” label. Grace Baker had been a second mother to him, loving him wholeheartedly. Since his return to Texas, he’d made more of a point to visit her than his own family. Although his mom had assured him that his father had quit drinking, for good this time.

  “She insists she’s fine.” Giff shook his head as if to physically dislodge his own worry. “She even fussed at me last month when I asked how she was. She told me to stop driving her crazy with concern and go live my own life. That’s what I’m doing. With Brooke.”

  Vague uneasiness rippled through Jake. In both the military and in his service as a firefighter/paramedic, he’d seen people cope with life-and-death situations. Sometimes coming face to face with your mortality or that of a loved one led to knee-jerk reactions. Giff had no siblings, had lost his father and had lived under the threat of losing his mother. Was he so wo
rried about losing his family that he was trying to throw a new one together? An understandable motivation, but one that might not lead to a smooth future and the happiness Giff deserved.

  Jake hesitated to voice that thought. Instead, he said cautiously, “So tell me about Brooke.”

  “She’s terrific—smart, gorgeous, supportive. Her only possible flaw is being a Longhorn,” Giff joked. A&M’s Aggies had a long-standing rivalry with the University of Texas. “But I’ve decided to forgive her that. She’s going to be a fantastic mother. She works at a newspaper for now. I think she wants to stay home after the kids are born, at least for their early years.”

  The kids? Once again Jake found himself disoriented. How had they zoomed straight from popping the question to parenthood? It seemed so rash, so uncharacteristic of Giff, that Jake couldn’t help wondering if Brooke had been pushing the idea. Was she one of those women whose biological clock was ticking like a time bomb?

  The cynical part of him couldn’t help thinking that if they had kids right away, she’d be able to quit work even sooner. Was she swayed by Giff’s wealth and the idea of a more leisurely lifestyle?

  “The two of you have a lot in common?” Jake prodded. “Does her family hail from River Oaks, too?”

  Giff laughed at his friend’s exaggeration in mentioning one of Houston’s most affluent communities. “I couldn’t even afford a place in River Oaks. But, no, she doesn’t come from money. You of all people know that’s not important to me.”

  For a moment Jake was ashamed of himself for even asking. “Yeah, I know.” But just because it was unimportant to Giff didn’t mean it was equally inconsequential to a prospective bride.

  Suddenly Giff’s gaze went past Jake, and the man smiled. “Surprise. Here’s your chance to find out about Brooke for yourself instead of just listening to me babble.” He stood, signaling.

  Following suit, Jake rose and looked behind him, curiously scanning the restaurant. He only had an impression of a dark-haired woman wearing yellow. His view was blocked by a waiter who carried a tray of fajitas that were still audibly sizzling.