by Elley Arden
He extended his hand. “Tiptoe Watkins. And you would be Marc.”
Suddenly, he was very interested. “Bailey’s uncle?” Where did he get that nickname?
“The same,” he said. “We never met back when you and Bailey were sweethearts.”
“It’s nice to meet you finally.”
“Bailey’s a good girl. Dedicated to her career. Still thinks her old uncle has something of value to say, willing to spend time with me.”
“I’m sure you do have plenty of value to say.” He wasn’t sure at all.
“I might, if you sift my words enough times. She never did get over being scared of storms. Do you know about that?”
He nodded, trying to keep up with the man’s erratic thought patterns. “She was eight. A tree outside her window crashed through the house by her bed. A beam caught the brunt of it and all she got were some cuts and bruises, but she was trapped for a long time. They had to use a chainsaw to get her out.”
Fact was he thought about that a lot. He had hated to see her scared, but storms had been sweet times, too. She’d cling to him, and he’d hold her and make promises that were not his to make. After all, how could anyone promise that someone would be safe? Back then, he’d been so afraid of failing, so afraid he wouldn’t be special after all, and it would cost him Bailey. Talk about irony.
Tiptoe nodded. “To this day, she hasn’t gotten over it. She lives in my garage apartment. I expect she’ll have to come sleep up at the big house with her aunt and me tonight — if she comes home. Which would be none of my business one way or the other, especially if not coming home takes her home. You know, to where she’s supposed to be.”
Marc might have tried to puzzle through some of that if he hadn’t latched onto wondering just where the hell she might — or might not — be coming home from.
“Mmmm.” Tiptoe gestured with the crystal double old-fashioned glass in his hand. “There she is now.”
She had not said anything about coming here tonight! He turned and looked to where Tiptoe pointed. And there she was, in a vast sea of black-clad mere mortals, glowing like a bronze mermaid and putting every other woman in the room to shame — on the arm of Jackson Beauford.
The adult in Marc began to retreat, but it wasn’t the eighth-grader or the toddler who showed up this time. It was worse, much worse. It was a sixteen-year-old who had just saved the championship game with a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. And he wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer.
• • •
Agreeing to come here with Jack Beauford had been a bad idea. Oh, he had been perfectly nice, attentive even — as had his driver, bodyguard, manager, and personal assistant. No wonder he’d needed a limo to pick her up. There were so many people with him, the only other alternative would have been a school bus. They had already posed for pictures seven times and they were barely in the ballroom.
She had half expected him to arrive wearing some kind of spangled jacket, cowboy hat, and boots, but he was impeccably dressed in black tie, and his head was bare. There was nothing pretty-boy about his show-stopping good looks, and — in spite of his entourage — if he believed his own press, he hid it well.
But he did not have a beautiful mouth. And she was miserable.
“What would you like to drink, Bailey?” Jackson asked.
“Chardonnay,” she said.
“Chardonnay,” he relayed to the bodyguard.
“Jackson,” Ginger, the personal assistant, said, “they’re getting ready to serve dinner. Come this way. Table seven. Follow me.”
“Are my brothers at my table?” he asked as he placed his hand on the small of Bailey’s back to guide her toward their destination.
“No. But I can talk to your cousin and get that changed.”
“No,” Jackson said, “don’t. Let’s just sit where they put us.”
“I have a list of your tablemates: Retired NBA player, P.J. Webster. Wife, Sonya. Current Nashville Predator Hockey player, Michel Charbonneau. Wife, Lauren. Local couple, Luke and Lanie Avery. He’s a judge; she owns a candy shop. Do you want to make any changes?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“If you’re sure.” Ginger was about fifty and wielded her iPhone like an Uzi. If she had asked for the seating to be changed, Missy wouldn’t have stood a chance.
The bodyguard appeared with her wine and a tumbler of bourbon for Jackson.
As they settled into their chairs, Ginger said, “One more piece of business and we’ll leave you in peace.” She smiled at Bailey and then turned back to Jackson, all business. “The equipment is in place and the sound check has been done. Do you want me to have your dinner held until after you perform?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to cause any bother. I’ll pick at it and get something later.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of,” he said.
Ginger reached into her blazer pocket. “Here’s your phone. It has a full charge. Text me if you need anything. We’ll be close by.”
Once they were alone, Jackson gave Bailey a dazzling smile and glanced at the six empty chairs at their table. “I guess dinner isn’t all that imminent. Ginger likes to get me where I’m going way in advance. She has a short fuse where tardiness is concerned.”
“I didn’t know you were going to sing,” Bailey said.
“Neither did Ginger. She didn’t like it one bit. But I promised Missy — though I did refuse to bring the band. We’ve got just a few weeks off before we hit the road, and they need a rest.”
“But the rest of your entourage? They didn’t need a rest?” Bailey asked. “You didn’t?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I tried to give them the time off, too, but ‘whither I goest … ’ As for me, I’ve never done a lick of work in my life. I just sing a little, write a few songs. Besides, Missy promised the twins and me she’d make us a blackberry cobbler and some fried green tomatoes tomorrow if we’d come.”
“Are you staying with Missy?”
He leaned over and put his finger to his lips “Shh. Ginger will have apoplexy if she finds out I told where I’m staying.”
She laughed in spite of herself — or rather, in spite of just catching sight of Marc across the room whispering in Miss Texas’s ear. Jackson Beauford certainly was charming. Nobody could take that away from him. “I won’t tell,” Bailey said. “Nor will I show up in the wee hours and try to scale the wall of the house.”
He took her hand. “Ah, shucks, ma’am. I’d let you right in the front door.” It wasn’t true; they both knew that, but it was fun to flirt and laugh, if only for a little while.
• • •
Marc wanted to break every plate, glass, and window in the room. He wanted to tear apart all those fancy flower arrangements that looked strangely like the Seattle Space Needle. He wanted to overturn tables and bellow obscenities at the top of his lungs.
“So, I was in Austin?” Miss Texas said.
Did she end every statement with a question? It made him nervous, like she was expecting something from him. Maybe that was the point. And he just didn’t have anything to give her.
“Doing a public appearance at a shopping mall? And there was a lunch at the Rotary?”
She went on and on about some police dog who threw up on her during a photo-op. And he was encouraging her by nodding, laughing, and patting her back — just in case Bailey looked their way. Why were they sitting at that empty table anyway? Was Merle Haggard over there too good to mingle like everyone else?
Oh, hell, no! The guy was looking at his phone and getting up from the table. He was leaving Bailey to sit there by herself!
“Uh, Jessica, honey,” he said. Miss Texas widened her eyes and waited. “I’m going to walk you over to the restroom. It doesn’t bother me one bit, but there’ll probably be pictures at some point and you’ve got a little smudge under your eye.”
“What? Oh, no!” And she took off without waiting
for him.
Good. He took off himself. In three seconds flat he was standing in front of Bailey.
“Abandoned, I see,” he said.
She looked up at him. “Yes. And for a very shallow reason. His little brother just called from Afghanistan. Jack decided to step out so he could hear him better. Thoughtless of him. Why are you alone?”
There was just nothing to say to that. Move on. He waved his arm around. “So is this a thing?”
She frowned and looked around. “Well, I think you call that a flower arrangement. Or a centerpiece. Clever how they’ve put it in that tall skinny vase isn’t it? So that everyone at the table can see each other.”
“Do I look like some kind of florist? That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She understood; she was just being a brat. “Let me be clear. Is Mr. Grand Ole Opry an ‘or the like’?”
“What?” She looked confused for real. “I’m so glad you decided to be clear.”
“You know? Husband, fiancé, or the like? Is he one?” Oh, God. He was ending his sentences with question marks. Pretty soon he’d be peeing every two minutes and checking his makeup.
She busied herself with pawing through her little sparkly purse. “That’s none of your business, Marc. Don’t you need to find your date before she wanders out into traffic or gets lost?”
Either Bailey was commenting on Jessica’s intellectual prowess or her youth. Good. She was bothered. About damned time.
“You might as well tell me, Bailey. I’ll look it up on the Internet. If he’s dating you, somebody’s written about it.”
She opened her mouth but never answered because that damned Missy Bragg stepped up to the microphone.
“Welcome, everyone! Chef Michael just rang the dinner bell, so if you’ll take your places, we’ll start this wonderful evening off with some great food and wine.”
P.J. Webster and his wife stepped up to the table to take their seats, and Bailey rose and turned her back on him.
Dismissed! Well, thank you very much, Bailey. Clearly, closure was only something made up by people who wanted to go on talk shows. He stomped away.
• • •
Bailey took a bite of her beef tenderloin and wished for home and bed. That last encounter with Marc had been the hardest. Why couldn’t they have just left things on a quiet, if sad, note? Or an angry one? Those things she understood. Now she was just confused. Was he honestly jealous?
“So you’re a nurse?” The question came from the wife of the hockey player whose name she couldn’t remember. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember the wife’s name either.
“Yes,” Bailey said. “And I just got my nurse practitioner certification.” She hoped they would move on to something else soon. The last thing she wanted tonight was attention.
Across the table, Luke Avery poured a glass of wine for Lanie. “She’s a wonderful nurse,” he said. “She saved my wife and our unborn son. Of course, he’s born now — born and raising hell.”
“How old is he?” P.J. asked. “Sonya and I have a two-year-old grandson who raises a certain amount of hell himself.”
“Do you?” Mrs. Hockey said. “We have a two-year-old!”
Pretty soon they were all swapping kid stories and passing around pictures.
Grateful, Bailey settled back into her food.
“So you’re a life saver?” Jackson said in a low voice.
“Luke exaggerates,” she said. “Lanie was in a coma. I had a hunch that all she needed to bring her out was to hear his voice. I just encouraged him. That’s all. It was nothing.”
He smiled and squeezed her arm. “I believe you could be good for what ails a man.”
I used to be. Not in a long time.
“Jacky! It’s time!” Missy Bragg materialized out of nowhere.
Jackson shook his head and rose. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. My cousin summons.” He tossed his napkin on his chair and turned to Bailey. “I’ll be back soon.”
As Missy hustled him away, Bailey turned to look at the stage — just in time to see the wall of windows become a showcase for what seemed like a thousand tongues of fiery lightening. Oh no. There were audible gasps all over the room until the deafening thunder drowned them out.
Why had she not known this was coming? All the breath left her body, like it always did when it stormed.
“Oh, pretty!” Mrs. Hockey said.
“I love storms,” Lanie said, “so long as there’s no tornado.”
Idiots, idiots, all! Couldn’t they see? The windows … the trees …
Bailey jumped to her feet. She had to get out of there. Didn’t these people know what could happen? Didn’t they know that they could be sleeping one second and the next, a tree could come crashing through and trap them, kill them? She looked around for the nearest exit. It was so far away. There might not be time. Under the table was best. She’d have to crawl and that would mean hiking her dress up …
She grasped two handfuls of her skirt, but before she pulled it up, everyone at the table looked at her and Luke rose, “Bailey, honey? Are you okay?”
No! She wasn’t okay, and they wouldn’t be either. She had to tell them! Tell everyone.
But then strong arms encircled her. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear, like he used to, like he had so many times over those two years so long ago. “I’ve got you. I’ll get you to a place with no windows.”
Marc began to lead her away. “She’s fine,” he said quietly to the table. “She has an issue with storms. I know how to take care of her.”
And he did know, had always known. She closed her eyes tight and let him take charge. Oddly, the room exploded in applause.
“Are they clapping for you?” she whispered. “For rescuing me?”
“For Conway Twitty,” Marc said. “He just took the stage. They don’t even know you need rescuing.”
As soon as they were out of the ballroom, another clap of thunder shook the world, and her knees buckled. But she didn’t open her eyes again; she didn’t have to. Marc swung her into his arms and ran, rattling doors as he went until he found one that was unlocked.
He set her on her feet and took her in his arms. “You’re okay,” he said in that calm, sweet voice that she had forgotten. “You can look when you’re ready but you don’t have to. We’re in a storage room of some kind. There are no windows. The walls are thick. There are some shelves with tablecloths and stuff, ice buckets, extra chairs. Stuff like that. I’m just going to sit down on one of those chairs now.” He pulled her into his lap and cradled her face against his neck. He smelled like soap and salt. “There, now. That’s good. We’ll stay here all night if we have to. You don’t have to leave until you’re ready. We never have to leave. I believe I see a box of those crackers like they give out with salad. We can eat that. We can pee in an ice bucket.”
In spite of her fear, Bailey laughed a little. She had forgotten how he had always made her laugh to distract her when she was afraid.
She lifted her face and opened her eyes. “You left Miss Texas out there to be killed by a storm.”
“She’s a survivor. You didn’t show any signs of wanting to save Chet Atkins either.”
“I don’t really know him,” Bailey admitted. “Missy asked me to come with him tonight because Miss Mississippi got sick.”
Marc nodded. “He could have had Miss Texas and let me have you.”
Her breathing gradually returned to normal, and she began to feel silly — like she always did when she felt safe again.
“That storm isn’t going to kill anyone, is it?” she said.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Uncle Tiptoe says I ought to consider getting some therapy since it’s never going to stop storming.”
Marc shrugged and gave her a half smile. “Could be. That or move to outer space.”
“I’m surprised you remembered how I am about storms.”
He let out a sad little laugh, and his beautiful mouth curved down. �
�It wasn’t a matter of remembering, because I never forgot. I haven’t heard one clap of thunder or seen one bolt of lightening in eight years that I didn’t think of you and worry that you were afraid with no one to hold you.” He settled into a smile then. “And that would set me to worrying that there was someone to hold you, which was even worse.”
Could it be? All those hours she’d watched him play ball, she had assumed he never thought about her. “I always trusted you to keep me safe when it stormed.”
He nodded. “But not to keep loving you while I played ball and you finished school, not to stay away from other women. You didn’t trust me for that.” None of the anger from this afternoon remained. He just seemed resigned and, somehow, that was worse.
“No.” She climbed out of his lap. “I trusted you with my life but not my heart.” She paused. “I should have.”
He stood up and slumped against a set of shelves. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me this afternoon, when you asked if I really wanted to get married or if I just wanted to make you feel secure. I told you I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. That was a lie. I know we were young, but I wanted to marry you so much. If it hadn’t been so selfish, I would have asked you to quit school to go with me right then. I wanted you there to watch me every time I played ball. I wanted you to wave at me when I took the field. Most of all, I wanted you there every night when I laid down to sleep.” His voice dropped to husky. “I never stopped wanting it.”
She took a step closer to him. “Even when you had a fiancé?”
He shook his head. “Especially then.” He tore his eyes away from hers as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I used to wonder if you ever watched me play. I’d pretend you did. I guess I can’t pretend that anymore.”
“I did,” she whispered.
“What?” He looked up in surprise. “But you didn’t even know how I got my nickname.”
“I knew. I’ve watched every game ever broadcast.” It was her turn to look at the floor. “I sometimes went. Not the first two years, but after. Always when you were in Atlanta. I drove down to Tampa a few times.” She stopped and took a deep breath. Might as well tell it all. “And once a year I saved enough money to fly to New York for a three- or four-game series. Of course, I was always in the nosebleed section.”
