Brooke’s heart squeezed. Suddenly her ongoing difficulty with mercurial parents seemed like the most trivial problem in the world. She couldn’t imagine what that poor girl’s family was going through.
“Anyway.” Kresley leaned against the doorjamb, trying to steady herself with another deep breath. “I thought I recognized Jake’s name. From what the ambulance driver said, Jake was the hero of the day.”
“Then it’s a blessing he was in the area.” What kind of resilience did it take to weather a job where witnessing other people’s trauma was the norm? Brooke suspected that the lives one was able to save made it worth it, but still…
As she started her short drive home, passing one of Katy’s multiple parks where softball teams were practicing despite the heat, she found herself thinking about the emotional toll a job like Jake’s could take on a person. Especially a person who seemed, in many ways, to be a loner. Whom did Jake confide in about difficult days and near misses? He’d said that he wasn’t close to his family and didn’t have a girlfriend.
On impulse, she dialed Giff’s office, prepared to suggest he give Jake a call in case the other man needed a friendly ear. But about the time Brooke reached his voice mail, she remembered that he had dinner with a client tonight. He’d originally asked her if she would go with him, but when the client’s wife was unable to make it, Giff had absolved Brooke of the obligation, admitting that conversation was bound to be pretty dry.
She’d passed by the fire station before and, relying on memory, found her way there with just two wrong turns. Would Jake even be there? Only one way to find out. She parked in a spot marked for guests and hurried out of her car before she changed her mind.
Would he think she was being intrusive or overreacting? After all, this was his job. It was probable that he’d seen tragedies in the military, too. But then Brooke had a horrible vision of what it must have been like to see a child… Her mind skittered away from the image immediately, and she squared her shoulders. Whatever he thought, she knew she was right to be here. He’s a friend. Or at the very least, a friend-in-law.
She walked inside a cramped front office where an auburn-haired woman in uniform was talking into a headset. The redhead smiled in Brooke’s direction and held up her index finger.
A moment later, the woman hit a button on the telephone system in front of her and gave Brooke her full attention. “What can I do for you today?”
“I was looking for Jake McBride. I’m a friend.” She held up her left hand so that her engagement ring was visible. “Giff Baker’s fiancée.”
The woman brightened at the mention of Giff’s name. “That sweetheart wrote us a huge check when we were raising money for the children’s burn unit last month. You tell him how much we all appreciate it. I think Jake’s in the common room with some of the other guys. Just follow the blue-carpeted hallway to the first room on your left.”
“Thanks.” As she walked down the hall, Brooke heard male voices and tried to identify one of them as Jake’s. None of them sounded familiar, though.
“Hello?” She peered into what looked like a living room decorated in Early American Frat Boy. The couch was lumpy and faded to a dingy, indistinct color. There were two mismatched chairs and a coffee table with noticeable scuffs and water ring stains on its wooden surface. She suspected the entire furniture budget had gone toward the big-screen TV three men were watching.
At the sound of her voice, they all swiveled in her direction. The youngest man, with eyes nearly as dark a blue as his uniform, rose from his chair with a rakish grin. “Please make my day and tell me you’re here to learn CPR.”
“Hoskins, you dumbass, that’s no way to talk to a lady.” A fit-looking bald man threw an orange pillow at Hoskins, then glanced at Brooke sheepishly. “Sorry about the dumbass, ma’am.”
She chuckled. “It’s all right. But maybe one of you can help me? I was looking for Jake McBride.”
All three men sobered. Hoskins grin faded, and he sounded far older when he answered, “He’s in the back, ma’am, but he may not be up for visitors. I can check for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. Can you let him know Brooke is here? Brooke Nichols.”
“Will do.”
The other two men exchanged a look. She couldn’t tell exactly what they were thinking, but if she had to guess, she’d say they were worried about Jake. She’d overlooked these men earlier, she realized. She’d been concerned about Jake being a loner, but she hadn’t taken into account that his fellow emergency workers had his back, probably a similar dynamic to what he’d experienced in the military. Had that also been part of the draw, an instant and loyal family of sorts for a boy who’d grown up with a rough home life?
“Brooke?”
She turned and nearly smacked into Jake, who was behind her. With Hoskins at his side, it was becoming very crowded in the small corridor. Jake wore the same dark uniform pants as the other men, but with only a white T-shirt. His hair was damp, and he smelled like soap.
“Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen?” Jake invited. “We can talk there.”
She nodded, sidestepped Hoskins with a smile, then followed Jake into the kitchen. There wasn’t a stove, but there was an avocado-colored refrigerator and a microwave, as well as two different coffeemakers. He made a beeline for one of them.
“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked.
“Sure.” She reached for the plastic container on the counter, helping herself to a packet of creamer and way too many sugars. She liked her coffee embarrassingly sweet.
His eyes met hers over the cup he handed her, his shadowed and haggard gaze far removed from the guy who’d laughingly teased her about eating a calzone the size of her head. “What brings you here?” He sounded bewildered, but not unhappy to see her.
“I heard what happened,” she said simply. “Through the newspaper office.”
“So you’re here on business?”
“No, nothing like that! I was…worried about you.”
His face went completely blank, then a slow, lopsided smile emerged. “Worried about me, huh?” His soft laugh made her feel a bit inane, the way she had in the parking lot when she’d wondered if this was a good idea.
“That’s funny?” she asked, more defensively than she’d intended.
“No, not at all.” His quick denial soothed her misgivings. “It’s a novelty. I’m…”
“More used to taking care of others than having them worry about you?” She knew from experience how protective he could be of Giff.
He sat at one of the two card tables in the unadorned room and gestured for her to join him. “Some of my earliest memories are of worrying about my dad, who’d been shot. Then worrying about my mom because she cried a lot. And worrying in general because Dad yelled so much. Wasn’t much I could for either of them.”
“And now you’re in a profession where you spend all your time trying to save people.” Didn’t take Freud to figure out how that had happened. Of course, if that little girl today pulled through, her parents were going to be forever grateful that Jake McBride had happened along.
“It’s not like we’re jumping into burning buildings on an hourly basis,” he said. “Most of what we do is community service stuff, like teaching first-aid certification and giving fire prevention and safety lectures to local…schools.” His voice broke just a fraction, and she ached for him.
He stared past Brooke, unseeing, no doubt reliving the accident scene. “She looked so small. And broken. She was discolored, not breathing. I’ve called over to the hospital. They’re having to delay several of the surgeries she needs because they’re not sure she can, that she’s strong enough. It’s a catch twenty-two. Her body doesn’t have a shot at healing without the operations, but they can’t operate until she’s healed some.”
Brooke bit her lip, wondering if there was anything she could say right now that wasn’t a trite platitude. Finally she settled on, “She’s alive. And she has a chance.
” Thanks to you.
His fingers clenched on his coffee cup, but he nodded in agreement. “I’ll check with the hospital again tomorrow.”
“You’re working tonight?” Maybe that would be better than his being home alone.
Another nod. “My shift doesn’t end until tomorrow night. But I’ll be at your and Giff’s party. I switched a shift with someone else.”
She’d completely forgotten about the party. And her parents’ latest fight and everything else but checking on Jake. Even though there wasn’t a damn thing she could actually do to help him or that girl. I should go. But she wouldn’t be stopping by Meg’s as planned. In light of other people’s real tragedies, she didn’t have the patience to listen to her mom sniff about how Everett tried to dictate her spending habits while he thought nothing of dropping a hundred dollars on a risotto pan or owning two different dessert torches even though he’d never once made the promised crème brûlée.
She reached into her purse, pulling out a business card and a pen. “I guess I’ll see you Friday, then. In the meantime… Here. That’s my cell number. In case you ever want to talk,” she said lamely.
He took the card, his expression bemused.
“So.” She stood. “Bye?”
“You want me to walk you out?” he offered.
“Nah.” She smiled. “I can find my way.” With a little finger wave, she headed for the door.
“Brooke?” He didn’t turn to face her. Was his expression as strained with emotion as his voice? “Thank you.”
Chapter Nine
“That’s what you’re wearing?” Brooke asked from the edge of Meg’s queen-size waterbed, a piece of furniture that ate up nearly all of the square footage in the room.
Almost immediately, Brooke regretted any hint of censure in her tone—Meg had proven supportive and surprisingly reliable in all wedding planning so far—but her sister was bound to cause a stir in the orange halter dress. How does she manage that much cleavage when she’s actually a smaller cup size than me? And then there was the short skirt which gave the illusion that diminutive Meg had mile-long legs.
Her sister paused in the act of applying dark lipstick, raising an eyebrow in the vanity mirror. “I happen to think I look nice.”
“You do. You look great,” Brooke admitted. At a beach party the festive little number would have been perfect. But for Brooke’s future relatives and members of some of Houston’s most exclusive country clubs?
Meg sighed. “No offense, baby sister, but I’m not sure I want fashion advice from a woman who looks like she’s going to deliver a eulogy at the funeral of some congressman.”
“Hey, the little black dress is a classic,” Brooke protested.
The door to the master bathroom—technically the only bathroom in Meg’s one bedroom apartment—swung open and Didi emerged with a trilled “Ready!” In her ruffled yellow dress, she looked like some sort of exotic bird as she flitted toward her daughters. “Meg, darling, you look striking.”
“Thank you,” Meg said pointedly.
Brooke, knowing she was outnumbered, excused herself with a mumbled, “Think I’ll go get a soft drink.”
Since Didi had been sleeping on the sleeper sofa for the past couple of days, Brooke had to step over her mother’s duffel bags to make her way to the tiny kitchen. Meg had made such eccentric decorating choices that guests were distracted from their impending claustrophobia. Deliberately mismatched appliances somehow went together with the retro covers of old cooking magazines Meg had collected at garage sales and Traders Village, Houston’s gigantic indoor flea market. It was funny how Meg’s cheap, ramshackle efficiency apartment, located in a neighborhood that barely qualified as safe, evidenced far more personality and care than Brooke’s nicer, cleaner place near the mall.
Frowning, Brooke poured herself a diet soda. I have personality, too. I’m just not emotionally attached to my apartment. I’ll decorate when I move in with Giff. Of course, his house was so perfectly appointed that she couldn’t think of a thing she would change. For some reason, that thought depressed her.
Snap out of it. So her fiancé had good taste—how was that a problem?
Meg and Didi appeared, all finished with last-minute hair checks and cosmetic applications, and Brooke stepped outside, vowing to leave behind her irrational melancholy. The Nichols women had decided that, rather than taking multiple cars to the same location, they’d drive into the city together. She could make sure no one got lost on the way to Grace’s, and Brooke would be on hand to facilitate introductions between her mom, sister and future mother-in-law.
Her father was teaching a private cooking class and had promised to meet them there no later than twenty minutes after the party had started. As far as Brooke knew, her parents hadn’t spoken to each other since Didi had moved in with Meg. Brooke wasn’t sure how they would react to each other tonight, but she sent up a silent prayer that the evening would go smoothly.
Houston traffic was the usual nightmare, and Brooke was grateful for the company during the drive. Meg had downloaded some MP3s from new bands she thought Brooke might like. As soon as they’d heard enough of each song to figure out the chorus, all three of them sang along with gusto. Didi, who’d revisited her goal of being a performance artist and had taken voice lessons in the nineties, was particularly good.
A fact that she herself was not shy about acknowledging. “The pipes are still in killer shape, eh? Brooke, I could sing at your wedding! Add a little more razzle-dazzle to the ceremony.”
Meg must have noticed the way her sister clenched the steering wheel because she gently redirected the topic. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the songs you and Giff are using. Knowing you, music was the first thing you decided.”
“Actually, no. Finding the dress and getting the invitations out were more time sensitive,” Brooke said, happy to have those chores behind her. “We haven’t pinned down all the musical selections yet. Oh, shoot—I think I was supposed to turn there.”
Talk of wedding plans was temporarily suspended as Brooke navigated several wealthy neighborhoods. Her mother made approving noises, saying that she was glad Brooke was marrying someone who could provide so well for her. “You’ll never have to give a detailed defense every time you decide to buy a skirt and matching earrings,” Didi muttered sourly.
Meg, on the other hand, shuddered at their opulent surroundings. “All the perfectly manicured matching lawns and three-door garages? It seems too sterile. I mean, to each her own. If you want a Stepford life—”
“Meg, do me a favor and don’t share that opinion with anyone at the party tonight? Stick to ‘thanks for having us’ and ‘lovely home, Mrs. Baker.’ Although, naturally, she’ll ask you to call her Grace. Trust me, she’s not at all cold or Stepford. She’s a terrific woman. And it was darling of her to throw us this party.”
This elicited a dramatic sniffle from the backseat. “It should be your father and I throwing this celebration! I wish we could help more with all of the wedding costs. You know that I never wanted you and your sister to do without. I have firsthand experience—”
“Mom.” Brooke threw herself in front of the pity train, hoping to derail it before it picked up steam. “Meg and I are doing just fine. We’re hardly impoverished waifs. And Giff and I are employed adults in our thirties. We have no problem paying for our own wedding.”
When Brooke handed her car keys over to one of the valets Grace had hired for the night, she thought it might spur more comments from her mother about money or the lack thereof, but Didi was staring ahead at the three-story house.
“Do you think your father’s already here?” The frosty edge in her tone didn’t completely mask the wistfulness beneath it.
“Doubt it,” Brooke said. “You know he had that class tonight. He’ll be along as soon as he can. Mom, I know the two of you have had some differences this week, but you will put that aside for tonight, won’t you?”
Didi froze at the front door, flash
ing a wounded look at her daughter. “Are you worried that I’m going to embarrass you? Is that how you see your own mother, as an embarrassment?”
The open bar was sounding better and better.
Thankfully Brooke was spared answering—she couldn’t think of anything that was both tactful and honest—because Grace had opened the door.
“Brooke!” Grace was a combination of girlish enthusiasm and dignified elegance in her royal blue dress and pearls. “And this must be your sister and mother, although, goodness gracious, all three of you could be mistaken for sisters, couldn’t you?”
Didi beamed. “Didi Nichols, pleased to meet you. You’ve raised a wonderful son.”
Grace hugged each of them and ushered them into a high-ceilinged foyer furnished with a grandfather clock, antique side table and several decorative mirrors.
“The caterers and band are all set up in the backyard,” Grace said, “but Giff’s in the study.”
She indicated the spacious room to her left, and Brooke saw Giff pouring Scotch for a business contact Brooke vaguely recognized, a tall man Grace identified as a second cousin and Jake McBride.
Meg’s gaze zeroed in on Jake. Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, “Whoa. Who is that?”
“He’s the best man.”
“I’ll say!”
“If I go in there and introduce the two of you, do you promise to behave?”
Meg was already headed for the foursome of well-dressed men, moving with admirable grace in her stiletto heels. “Not even a little.”
Since Grace had just offered to give Didi a tour of the house, Brooke hurried after her sister. After all, this was Brooke’s engagement party and she’d yet to greet her fiancé.
The Best Man in Texas Page 7
