And then she came into sight. Giff had said she’d make a fantastic mother, but maternal wasn’t the first thing that sprang to Jake’s mind when he saw her. She was sleek and lush all at once, wearing a canary-yellow silk blouse and black pencil skirt. The clothes accentuated a great figure but were way overdressed for Comida Buena, like the tuxedoed teenagers one saw in pancake houses after prom. Her brown hair, nearly black, was cut in a bob, the jagged layering around her face lending her edge. And her eyes—
Had just gone as wide as two tortillas.
She stopped cold as she reached Jake, her voice so low that he barely heard her words. “Oh, my God. You’re Mr. July.”
Chapter Four
“F-from the calendar,” the brunette babbled, making a wider circle than necessary to sidestep him. She tilted her face upward to absently accept Giff’s kiss on the cheek, but her startled gaze remained on Jake. “My sister has a calendar, and you— The fire department…”
“Ah.” Jake realized now what she was talking about. He glanced across the table to Giff, who looked puzzled. “That fundraiser I told you about at Christmas?”
“My sister, Meg, bought one of them,” Brooke interjected. “I just wasn’t expecting Mr. July to be the best man at my…” Trailing off, she shot Giff an apologetic glance. “Did you have a chance to ask him yet?”
“We were working our way to that,” he said.
“Oh.” She shoved a hand through her hair, somehow without messing it up; every strand slid neatly back into place. Then she turned to face Jake again. “We’re still hammering out the specifics, but we plan to have the wedding soon.”
“That’s what I hear.” Now that he’d seen the bride-to-be, he was even more surprised at the seeming urgency. Impeccably put together, she looked like one of those women who wanted things just so, the kind who would actually enjoy fussing over little details such as seating charts and color-coordinating ribbons with flowers.
“Once Giff and I settle on a date, we’ll let you know ASAP so you can put it on your—” Her cheeks flushed with color.
“Calendar?” Jake supplied with a grin. Was it pre-nuptial nerves, or did she always fluster this easily? His photo had been a pretty tame picture for a good cause, nothing that warranted blushing. Or, for that matter, memorizing. If she hadn’t been his best friend’s fiancée, Jake might have found it flattering that she’d known exactly who he was when July was still two months away.
She was covering her moment of embarrassment with newly squared shoulders and a brisk tone. “Hopefully there won’t be any schedule conflicts for you.”
Before Jake could tell her that nothing would get in the way of his standing up for the man who’d been like a brother to him, Giff chuckled. “I doubt we have to worry about that. Jake likes to keep his schedule wide open, be spontaneous.”
That was true. After years of rigid structure in the Army and, to a lesser degree, the protocol at the fire station, he now used his personal time to experiment with a different way of life. “I like to be free to go wherever the mood takes me.”
“You would get along great with my sister.” Brooke’s expression was neutral, but there was a flat undertone in her voice that made Jake wonder if she got along with her sister.
Giff hit his palm to his forehead. “I haven’t even properly introduced the two of you. Brooke, meet Jake McBride. Jake, Brooke Nichols.”
Jake reached across the table to shake her hand, which she pulled back the instant good manners allowed. Not exactly a warm, gushing bride-to-be. Shouldn’t she be glowing with happiness and proudly displaying the engagement ring or something?
She turned to Giff. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. Will you order for me if the waitress comes back before I do?”
“Sure. You want your usual?” Giff asked.
“Absolutely. The number three, as always.” She gave Jake a tight smile. “Not all of us were born with the spontaneity gene.”
He watched her go, trying to form a first impression. Was her parting shot a jab at him, or an attempt at self-deprecating humor? There was a…starchiness about her that made it easy to believe she wasn’t the spontaneous type. And having seen her briefly with Giff, a man known for his thoughtful analysis of situations, Jake couldn’t say that either of them looked swept away with passion for each other.
So why the rush to get married?
WELL. BROOKE MET HER EYES in the ladies’ room mirror. That could have gone better.
She sighed. Some people, especially Meg, never quite believed her when she insisted she disliked surprises, but tonight was proving her point. When confronted with the unexpected—such as green-eyed Mr. July—she tended to stiffen up as though bracing for impact.
Her life had been peppered with strange announcements and incoming decisions that she’d had no control over. Instead of growing more accustomed to them over time, they’d made her almost brittle. As if the next thing that startled her might send her over the edge. Taking a deep breath, Brooke reassured herself that life with Giff would hold blessedly few surprises.
He planned ahead and always did as promised. Exactly what she needed. Of course, right now, the guy of her dreams was probably sitting out in the dining room trying to explain to his best friend why she’d behaved so awkwardly. Giff had made it clear that, next to Grace, Jake McBride was the most important person in his life. Which meant that Jake would be important in their life.
Damage control time, she decided as she reached for the door. She would go back to the table and make friends with Mr. McBride. She would not be thrown off by the fact that his face—and bare chest—happened to be featured on some calendar of Meg’s. Or that he was, impossibly, better-looking in person than in photograph.
Knock it off. So the guy was attractive. Big whoop. Brooke was engaged to one of the best-looking men in the entire Houston metropolitan area, so there was no reason for her to experience this flutter of…of— Whatever it was, she planned to ignore it.
Newly resolved, she exited the restroom and wound her way back through tables that were starting to fill up with diners as the hour grew later. She had to stop several times in the wake of servers who balanced steaming plates halfway up their arms.
Standing semi-camouflaged behind one such waiter not far from Giff’s booth, she was in position to overhear his friend.
“…just saying, what’s the hurry? Don’t you want time to think it over so you don’t make a mistake?”
“You realize that you’re implying Brooke is a mistake?” Giff pointed out, sounding more exasperated than outraged on her behalf.
“Maybe she is,” Jake pressed. “I—”
The waiter moved away, leaving Brooke exposed. Her horrified gaze met her fiancé’s, and his expression was enough to stop McBride in midsentence.
Oh, hell. She ground her teeth through an unpleasant rush of déjà vu, every moment she’d ever had where she wished the earth would just swallow her whole. Mercifully her humiliation morphed quickly into anger. What did she have to be embarrassed about? Jake was the one who’d been making rude remarks; not even Meg was so uncouth that she’d challenge the engagement while Giff was on the actual premises.
Still, Brooke couldn’t let Jake infuriate her into equal rudeness, not if she was going to befriend him. She refused to start her marriage to Giff feeling like she didn’t belong in his inner circle. Like she didn’t fit in.
Again. She plastered a smile as bright as the Vegas Strip across her face. What was that old proverb, something about killing people with kindness?
Giff was already on his feet. “Brooke. I know you must have overheard—”
“Overheard a lifelong friend expressing concern for your well-being?” she interrupted.
“Thank you.” Jake’s tone was gruff. “I’m glad you realize that, under the circumstances, my question was perfectly normal and nothing against you personally.”
Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Of course it was against her personally, as she
was the only woman in the world engaged to Giff. With effort, she kept her voice so honey-sweet that the kitchen staff could have drizzled it over the sopaipillas. “I’m sure we’ll look back on this moment and laugh.”
Giff nodded gratefully. “Say, on our fiftieth wedding anniversary, when we’ve shown Jake how needless his worrying was.”
“I look forward to it.” Jake raised his glass in their direction, but there was still an assessing glint in his eyes that made Brooke feel as if she weren’t being toasted. She was being challenged.
“SO, APPARENTLY GIFF’S best friend is the devil.” Brooke made this announcement from one of the chairs on the other side of Kresley’s desk.
Since the two of them tended to show up in the small newspaper office earlier than most of their coworkers, it had become their ritual to take turns bringing in breakfast and chatting for a few minutes before officially starting their days. Kresley used to favor strong coffee and pastries she would later work off at her gym. Currently she preferred low-acid orange juice and granola bars. Brooke had felt almost guilty ordering her own cheese danish. Maybe I should consider those granola bars, too. She planned to spend Saturday trying on wedding dresses. The last thing she wanted was to go up a size.
Kresley arched a blond brow. “Dinner last night didn’t go well? Giff’s such a teddy bear that I imagined any buddy of his was a sweetheart, too.”
Sweetheart? Was there a less accurate word to describe the intense and skeptical Jake McBride? “I don’t think McBride approves of the engagement. But he told me not to take it personally,” Brooke added.
“He actually had the gall to say he didn’t approve? Of you?” Kresley’s indignation was comforting. “Who the hell does this guy think he is?”
“Funny you should ask. You remember that calendar Meg showed us Monday night? The firemen?” When her friend nodded, Brooke said, “Giff’s best friend, Jake, is Mr. July.”
Kresley bit her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. “Which one was he? I remember all the summer months featured shirtless hotties, but nothing more specific than that. Blame pregnancy brain. I barely remember what street I live on.”
“Jake’s got brown hair, cut pretty short. He’s…” As she tried to think how to describe him, Brooke squirmed in her seat. She opted for glib exaggeration. “Cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes that could tempt a woman to sell her soul. You know the type,” she concluded with a nonchalant shrug.
“One of those good-looking but cocky guys? I hate him already.”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Yes, he is good-looking. And there was definitely evidence of a little arrogance. But he’s not a completely self-absorbed egomaniac. It’s clear he feels protective of Giff.”
“Protective?” Kresley made a dismissive sound. “Giff’s over six feet tall and a wealthy man. He can take care of himself.”
Brooke found herself wondering if the wealth was an issue for Jake; the only time he’d been prickly with Giff was when the check had arrived and the two macho men had argued over who got to pick up the tab.
“Hell, no, I won’t let you pay,” Jake had said. “This is a celebration. Consider dinner a gift to you and the lucky lady.”
Giff had given up then, smiling down at Brooke. “I’m the lucky one.”
Pulling herself back to the present, Brooke straightened in her seat. “Am I bringing enough to this marriage?”
“What?” Kresley looked confused.
“Me and Giff. As you pointed out, he does have money. And looks. And a heart the size of Texas.”
Kresley set her cup down so hard that orange juice probably would have sloshed out were it not for the plastic lid. “Do not tell me this July jerk is making you question whether you’re good enough for Giff.”
“Not exactly. I just…”
It wasn’t like Brooke to dwell on the past, especially with such a bright future to look forward to, but she recalled the intense emotional highs she’d experienced when she was twenty. Her boyfriend had seemed like her world. She didn’t feel that now. Didn’t a man as special as Giff deserve that kind of devotion, someone who would view him as her world?
You don’t feel that because you’ve matured, dummy. Giff wanted a woman he could build a life with, not someone who mooned over him like an infatuated teenager.
“Never mind.” Brooke scooted her chair back. “I’m not making any sense.”
Kresley grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t always coherent during my engagement, either. I swore I was going to lose my mind before the actual wedding arrived. Of course, I let Dane’s mom and mine talk us into a huge circus of a wedding. You shouldn’t have that problem.”
“Definitely not,” Brooke said, repressing a shudder at the idea of turning her ceremony into a spectacle. “Some people might find it weird that I write about all these gala weddings for a living and don’t want one of my own, but my job’s given me time to really think about it.” People stressed over colors and fabrics and venues…which font to use on the invitations, for pity’s sake!
But those were details. They weren’t marriage. She felt as though 90 percent of her job was writing prologues instead of an actual story. People didn’t seem to realize that the Big Day was nothing more than the once-upon-a-time part; they had years—decades—ahead of them to work toward their happily-ever-after. Maybe she was cynical, but when she typed up stories of horse-drawn carriages and the release of white doves, she found herself wondering if the bride and groom weren’t trying a bit too hard, if they weren’t compensating, substituting storybook-style romance for deeper, truer love. She and Giff might not revel in the glitz, but they had a good partnership.
She smiled, her spirits lifted. “If I’m going to take off early to meet Giff this afternoon, I’d better get to work.”
“Absolutely.” Kresley made shooing motions toward the door. “Go earn your keep.”
Brooke’s day passed quickly; she typed up two engagement announcements, had a phone interview with a local woman starting her own greeting card line and drafted a story about a bride and groom who planned to work both of their very different heritages into the ceremony. Was it hubris that she thought it turned out to be a very touching article?
When the phone rang after lunch, she answered it with a smile, half-expecting Giff. They were supposed to look at three wedding venues today.
“This is Brooke Nichols.” Soon to be Brooke Baker. She rolled the name around in her head, adjusting to the sound of it. Unfortunately her pleasant musing was cut short by a mother of the bridezilla who was calling to complain that her daughter’s marriage to a young man from Conroe hadn’t received more coverage.
And I thought the bride was shrill. Brooke held the phone a few inches away from her ear and kicked herself for not leaving ten minutes ago.
After she’d finally escaped the haranguing, Brooke had to call Giff and warn him that she’d be slightly late for their meeting at the country club.
He laughed. “Good. Makes me feel better. I’m about fifteen minutes behind myself. I got blindsided with a client crisis.”
“Which you no doubt solved,” she said loyally.
“Unfortunately, no. I’m going to drive down to Corpus Christi tonight so that I can meet with them first thing in the morning. But I should be back tomorrow in plenty of time for the concert.”
The tickets had been an early birthday gift from Meg, and Brooke had been touched that, this year, Meg had bought her something absolutely perfect. Instead of, say, the leather halter top Meg had given her six years ago, then promptly asked to borrow.
Brooke loved music of all types. If she and Giff were having a larger wedding, she would have wanted a live band for the reception. Her favorite part of wedding reporting was probably the musical choices—whether there was a string quartet, organ player, recorded music or even bagpipes. The song chosen for the father-daughter dance. The song the bride walked down the aisle to—nothing wrong with the traditional Wedding March, she
supposed, but a lot of women went with selections from Vivaldi or Handel. Or Zeppelin. In one of the weddings she’d written about last year, the bridal processional had been accompanied by “Stairway to Heaven.”
She tried to imagine what she herself would use but drew a blank. Probably because she didn’t yet have an aisle to walk down. After today, they should be closer to resolving that issue.
The country club’s event coordinator, Gretchen, was a petite woman with such big hair that Brooke wondered how she got through the day without toppling over. Gretchen’s cheerful reminder that the venue had a capacity of up to 450 wasn’t exactly a selling point.
“What is she not understanding about an intimate ceremony?” Brooke whispered to Giff.
“My problem,” he returned under his breath, “isn’t that it’s too big. It’s too distracting. It overlooks the twelfth hole—half the male guests will be thinking it’s a pretty day to hit the greens. And I don’t really want golf carts zooming by the window while we exchange vows.”
The next place, a community hall built nearly forty years ago and available for rental, didn’t feel quite right, either. In addition to a giant Lone Star flag covering the top quarter of one wall, the decor included some hunting trophies with eyes that seemed to follow Brooke wherever she moved.
“It’s quaint,” Giff told the leasing agent. “I can absolutely see having a large birthday party here or a corporate barbecue, but it seems a bit rustic for the wedding.” On the walk out to his Lexus, he added for Brooke’s ears only, “I kept imagining you in a cowboy hat with a bridal veil attached.”
“Which do exist,” she confirmed. “But I hadn’t planned on wearing one.”
Their third option, a pretty bed-and-breakfast, was closest to what Brooke had imagined, but Giff seemed ambivalent when they promised the manager they’d get back to her.
“Are you sorry we can’t use your church?” Brooke asked.
The Best Man in Texas Page 3
