The Best Man in Texas

by Tanya Michaels

  “Not much autumn color in Houston, is there?” she commiserated.

  “I also like meeting new people,” he said, holding open the restaurant door for her. “And I don’t know that many women who can knowledgeably discuss Scandinavian rock bands and eat calzones bigger than their heads. You’re full of surprises, Brooke.”

  “That’s ironic,” she said with a rueful smile over her shoulder. “Because I’m not a big fan of surprises.”

  “That’s okay.” He winked at her. “I like them enough for both of us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brooke had just stepped out of the shower Saturday morning when she heard her phone ring. “Hello?”

  “Did you get my message last night?” Giff asked, his tone sheepish.

  “I did.” When Jake had dropped her off after their late dinner, she’d found a lengthy apology on her answering machine. Giff had admitted that it had been calculated on his part, waiting until late in the day to ask her to go with Jake because he was afraid that if she had more notice, she might demur and invite someone like Kresley instead. But then he’d been swept up into meetings and hadn’t realized until later that night that he’d never given her a heads-up.

  “So, did the two of you end up going to the concert together?”

  “Yeah. And, I admit, we had fun.” She started to say that his friend was a heck of a dancer, but second-guessed herself at the last instant.

  Giff sighed, clearly relieved. “Does that mean you’ll forgive me my isolated, never-to-be-repeated Machiavellian moment? I’m on the way back to Houston now and fully prepared to grovel in person.”

  She laughed. “No groveling necessary. How about you just promise not to ambush me again?”

  “Absolutely. I wouldn’t normally have done that, you know. I just— He’s a good guy. I wanted to give you a chance to see that side of him.”

  “Well, mission accomplished. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have thirty minutes to get presentable for your mom. Which is going to be a stretch since I’m currently dripping wet and wearing a towel.”

  “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Brooke was looking forward to supper at Grace’s, which she predicted would be blissfully normal, entirely unlike the evening Giff had first met her parents a month ago. The Nichols had invited Meg and her then-boyfriend over for dinner and once Didi realized that her other daughter was also seeing someone, she’d insisted Brooke and Giff join them. Everett had tried to impress everyone with an experimental dish, but let his perfectionist temperament get in the way—declaring the meal too flawed to serve. So they’d had to wait an additional forty minutes for pizza to be delivered, during which time Meg’s boyfriend had insisted on performing for them. He’d juggled several of Didi’s household knickknacks, inadvertently breaking a trophy she’d prized from a long-ago dance competition. To be fair to the juggler, he’d had three drinks on an empty stomach while waiting for the promised food. Probably he was better at his job when sober.

  I should have proposed to Giff myself after that night, Brooke thought as she stepped out of her apartment and locked the front door. Anyone who’d been as patiently amused and good-natured about his three hours with the Nichols family was a keeper. But then, that was Giff. Mr. Supportive. She was secure in the knowledge that whatever decisions she made, Giff would back them. The closest they’d ever come to a disagreement was his siccing Jake on her without warning, but even that had turned out well.

  En route to her appointment at the first bridal boutique, Brooke slipped in the earpiece for her phone and dialed Kresley’s number to give her an update.

  “I may have spoken too soon about Giff’s friend.”

  “The one who’s the devil?”

  “Exactly.” Brooke flipped on her blinker and slid into the next lane. “I spent last night with him and—”

  “What?”

  “You know how Giff and I were going to the Red Jump Funk concert? He got tied up in Corpus and sent Jake in his stead. It was his guerrilla attempt to make us buddies.”

  “Sounds like it worked to some degree.”

  “Yeah. When he’s not accusing me of marrying Giff for his money, Jake is fun to be around. And there’s a lot more to him than I first realized.” She thought about what it must have been like to grow up with an alcoholic father and the kinds of things Jake might have seen in his time overseas. Yet he was still quick with a teasing smile and quips that made her laugh.

  “I have to say, this restores my faith in Giff,” Kresley said. “A great guy like him? It didn’t make sense that his best friend would be a jerk.”

  After promising to e-mail snapshots of today’s best dresses from her cell phone, Brooke disconnected, but her friend’s words stuck with her.

  Jake had definitely shown his gentlemanly side last night, but she still found aspects of his friendship with Giff puzzling. The business consultant who would be lost without his BlackBerry and the guy who was always disappearing on spontaneous road trips and declared structure cowardly? Maybe it was the “bromance” version of opposites attracting, people complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

  Of course, when it came to dating, opposites didn’t always attract. She and Giff were cut from the same cloth, but that just made it easier to lay the foundation for their marriage, knowing they wanted the same things out of life and wouldn’t be working toward conflicting goals. Brooke had once been dazzled by someone utterly unlike her, but had learned from that youthful folly.

  Sustaining relationships was difficult enough—why set yourself up for failure by falling for someone who had a fundamentally different outlook on life?

  “WE MAY HAVE FOUND A WINNER.” Grace beamed into the mirror, her eyes meeting Brooke’s in their reflection. “You look stunning, dear.”

  “It’s the dress,” Brooke said. “This would make anyone look fabulous.”

  Grace laughed. “Untrue. Not everyone could pull off that strapless look. But never mind about my opinion. What do you think of it?”

  It seemed perfect, neither too fussy nor too blah. The strapless white dress had some subtle pleating at the bodice that added a touch of elegance without being busy; the gown flowed into an A-line skirt that was full without being puffy. Brooke had tried on—and quickly ruled out—two dresses this morning that made her feel like Little Bo Peep at a debutante ball. But understated beading trailed down the front of this dress, toward the scalloped floor-length hem, catching the light.

  “Would you mind taking a picture for me?” Brooke asked absently, still studying the dress.

  “Oh, my.” The saleswoman, who’d disappeared up front to discuss flower girl dresses with another customer, had just returned. She smiled approvingly at the picture Brooke made atop the raised dais. “It looks tailor-made for you. Which is lucky since we don’t have many size options. That dress has been discontinued, so I can give it to you for 40 percent off.”

  “Forty percent?” Brooke raised her eyebrows. She’d be a fool not to take it. She’d already thought it was reasonably priced, comparatively speaking.

  “Talk about luck!” Grace said delightedly.

  “Yeah. I was expecting this to take longer.” Granted, they’d been at it all day and her feet were getting sore, but it did seem as though she’d stumbled into just the right dress pretty easily. Given the way all the details were falling into place with her and Giff’s engagement, it was obviously meant to be.

  Grace laughed. “It’s a good thing it didn’t take longer. Now that you and Giff have set the date for mid-July, you don’t have much time.”

  “July?” the sales lady echoed. “Not a second to lose, then!”

  Still… “If I want to take a couple of days to think about it, maybe bring back my mom and sister for their input, can you put this on hold?” Brooke asked.

  “We’ll hold it for forty-eight hours, with a twenty-five dollar deposit.”

  The bell over the door rang, and the woman excused herself again
. Grace snapped a couple of shots from different angles on Brooke’s cell phone, so that she could send the images to Kresley. Afterward, Brooke meant to go put on her own clothes but instead found herself simply staring into the mirror.

  “Brooke? Is everything all right, dear?”

  “Yeah, I…” She trailed off because what she was thinking made no sense. If she said it aloud, Grace would need an explanation Brooke didn’t think she could articulate. I cannot picture myself in this dress. Which, considering she was staring at that exact reflection, made her a candidate for the loony bin.

  Well, the Nichols genes were bound to kick in sooner or later.

  The dress was undoubtedly lovely. It was elegant enough for a bride marrying into the Baker family, casual enough for a small wedding and better suited to the summer heat than gowns with heavier beading or sleeves. But when she tried to envision it—her on her wedding day, wearing this, walking toward Giff and her future… Her mind remained frustratingly blank.

  “Thanks for taking the pictures,” Brooke finally said, “I should go get changed.”

  Taking a closer look at herself in the dressing room mirror, Brooke couldn’t help but notice the circles under her eyes. Maybe that’s why her thoughts weren’t making much sense today—she’d been restless last night, tossing and turning, with songs from the concert stuck in her head. And Jake McBride in her thoughts.

  Guilt immediately slammed into her conscience with the same tingling pain of an elbow against a wall. She tried to shake off the sensation. It wasn’t that her thoughts had been disloyal to Giff; she hadn’t been fantasizing about what it would be like to be with a man like Jake. She’d simply found herself recounting parts of their conversation and wondering about other aspects of his life. Taking an interest in a new acquaintance was not disloyal.

  So why did she find it difficult to meet Grace’s eyes when she stepped out of the fitting room?

  “I don’t know about you,” Grace said, “but I could use a pick-me-up. I noticed a bakery on the corner when we came in. Want to go for a brownie or some cookies?”

  “I’m not hungry, but I could use a hit of caffeine.”

  Inside, the little bakery was crowded to capacity. Grace and Brooke found seats out on the patio, beneath the shade of an oversize umbrella.

  “You’re sure you don’t want half?” Grace asked, gesturing to her cheesecake brownie.

  “Can’t. I’m doing penance for a two-ton calzone from last night. But I promise to arrive for supper tomorrow ready to eat,” Brooke said with a smile. “Giff tells me you’re quite a cook.”

  Grace’s already pleasant expression warmed even further at the mention of her only child. “He’s such a good boy. A good man now. I’m ridiculously proud of him, you know.”

  “You have every right to be.”

  “And I’ll be equally proud to call you my daughter-in-law. Brooke, there’s something I want to do for you and Giff. Let me throw you an engagement party!”

  “That’s so generous. You’re already letting us use the house for the wedding!” Brooke knew that Giff had approached his mom with the idea before heading to Corpus, wanting to give her a couple of days to think it over before she saw them tomorrow. But she’d agreed instantly, seeming overjoyed by the idea.

  “I was touched when Giff said he wanted to be married there.” Grace’s blue eyes watered. “Some of my friends suggested that I sell the house when Giff’s father died. With Giff already in college, it was more room than I really needed, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And now, he’ll have his wedding there! And maybe, not too many years from now, there will be grandkids running around the yard and helping me bake Christmas cookies.”

  Brooke’s own eyes turned misty. The vision Grace’s words painted was exactly what Brooke herself had always wanted.

  Grace sniffed. “Look at me! I swear, I never used to cry. And now I’ve turned into one of those women who can’t get through a two-minute movie trailer without tearing up. No more maudlin talk! Back to the party—I know the two of you want an intimate wedding ceremony, but a big congratulatory bash would give other people a chance to offer their happy wishes as well.”

  Just how big was Grace thinking? “I don’t want to put you to a lot of trouble,” Brooke said slowly.

  The older woman waved a hand. “I haven’t had enough fun in the past two years, and I’m determined to make up for it. A joyous shindig is exactly what I need. And it’s an opportunity to finally meet your family, in a fun setting.”

  There was something to be said for easing Grace slowly into a relationship with the Nichols, amid the buffer of other partygoers.

  Brooke smiled gamely. “You’ve talked me into it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Leaning back in her office chair, Brooke glared at the phone that had just started ringing. Again.

  Between details she’d been writing up for other people’s weddings, calls she’d been making about her own wedding and talking to Grace about this Friday’s party, Brooke felt as if she hadn’t been off the phone for more than five minutes in the past two and a half weeks. Some days she spent more time talking to Grace than Giff, although that didn’t really bother her. After all, he was working harder than ever now to take a couple of weeks off after the wedding. We have the next sixty or so years to talk—might as well pace ourselves.

  With a resigned sigh, she reached for the receiver. “The Katy Chronicle, Brooke Nichols speaking.”

  “Hey, sis. Is this a bad time?”

  Depends, Brooke thought wearily, wondering if there was some new drama going on in Meg’s life. Everything had seemed copacetic when they’d met to pick up Brooke’s wedding dress, but that had been over a week ago and it didn’t take Meg long to make drastic life changes. “I have a few minutes.”

  “I thought about not calling because you know how they are—it will probably blow over in the next forty-eight hours—but just in case, I decided it was only fair to warn you. I mean, this weekend is your engagement party, and I know you hate being caught off guard.”

  Brooke’s stomach sank. “I’m going out on a limb here. Does your call have something to do with Mom and Dad?”

  “She phoned me twenty minutes ago to ask if she can stay with me for a few nights. I told her sure, I mean what do I care, I work most nights anyway, but—”

  “Megan.” Brooke let just enough impatience seep into her voice to get her sister’s attention.

  “Right. Apparently they had a fight over an impulse buy.”

  Brooke groaned. Her mother, who had grown up in a household of seven children, had regaled them with stories of deprivation and complaints about how she’d always had to make do with hand-me-downs. Brooke had barely met her aunts and uncles, as Didi wasn’t one for keeping in touch. Didi had taken off for Vegas as soon as she was legally old enough, hoping to follow her exotic dream of becoming a showgirl— She’d been told that she possessed raw talent as a dancer but was far too short. Though she’d been forced to abandon that aspiration, she’d doggedly clung to her resolve never to deny herself as an adult the way she’d been “deprived” as a child. Unfortunately her compulsive shopping issues did not mesh well with her husband’s tendency to be between jobs.

  This is all I need. Brooke tried to avoid making situations all about her—that trait frequently got Didi and Meg into trouble—but the day after tomorrow, her parents were due to meet Grace for the first time. Brooke would prefer that the Nichols be on their best behavior. Luckily Meg had been able to get the night off for the party, so maybe she could help run interference—assuming she didn’t get distracted by handsome partygoers.

  “So Mom’s coming to stay with you tonight?” Brooke clarified.

  “Yeah, but like I said, I’ll be at work.”

  “Do you mind if I stop by and talk with her?” Was there a diplomatic way to ask Didi to quit being a diva and avoid screwing up her youngest child’s engagement party? Probably not.

  “Be my gue
st.” Meg’s tone was tinged with apology. “I’d do it myself if I thought I could make her see reason, but that’s always been more your specialty than mine. I’m sorry, Brooke. Just because you couldn’t pay me to marry a businessman like Giff—no offense—doesn’t mean I would try to sabotage any of this for you. I want your party and your wedding to be perfect.”

  Brooke was genuinely touched. “Thanks, sis. I’m sure that between the two of us we can get our parents to behave. And like you said, half of their fights blow over as quickly as they start.” Which didn’t stop Brooke from writing her parents’ names on the notepad she kept handy for phone interviews, followed by a large argh! in Sharpie marker underneath.

  No sooner had she hung up the phone than Kresley stuck her head through the doorway of the office.

  “Hey.” Brooke smiled. “Is there any chance your parents would want to adopt another adult daughter? They’ve always seemed like such lovely, well-adjusted people.” At least my future mother-in-law is organized and emotionally stable.

  Kresley, her expression concerned, didn’t bother to address the facetious question. “Isn’t Jake McBride the name of Giff’s friend, the one you’ve been telling me about?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Brooke studied her friend’s troubled gaze and thought about the 911 scanner they kept in the newsroom. “Oh, God, was he in some kind of accident? Did—”

  “No, he came across an accident this afternoon and jumped in to help. A little girl walking home from school had just been hit by an SUV.” Kresley stopped, taking a shuddery breath. “Sorry. Any time a child is hurt is horrible, of course, but ever since I got pregnant, these things…”

  “Is the girl okay?” Brooke asked hesitantly.

  “She’s in critical condition, but they credit Jake with keeping her alive until the ambulance arrived. We’re running a story tomorrow, and I hope to God we have good news to report on her recovery. Apparently he was doing some kind of career day visit or something at the school and was coming from that direction, just like she was. She was unconscious and not breathing when he happened on the scene. He inserted an artificial airway, then helped the EMS team stabilize her on a spinal board.”