ONCE UPON A WEDDING

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  He glanced at the empty plate near his elbow and shrugged. "Not always. Sometimes I eat more."

  Light from the overhead fixture picked up the silver salted into his hair and cast his eyes in shadow, making him look older and wearier. He had an animal-like magnetism, as well, something Hazel was determined to ignore.

  "You realize you ate mostly grease. I hate to think what it's even now doing to your arteries."

  Sipping coffee, he watched her with lazy, disinterested eyes. "I was raised on steak and frijoles. My arteries crave grease."

  "Impossible," she hooted. "I can hear them choking from here."

  Lifting an eyebrow, Jess glanced at the surrounding tables. "Me, all I hear is a bunch of grumpy travelers complaining about the rain," he said, returning his gaze to her face.

  Even with the mingling smells of food and the acrid hint of cigarette smoke, he could detect her scent. It was something light and cheerful, and yet intense enough to give a man pause.

  "Pooh on them," she said. "We need all the rain we can get. Besides, I like the way everything is always so much brighter and fresher after a good rain."

  "Everything but the freeway in rush hour."

  "Are you always this cynical?"

  He shrugged. "Probably. I don't keep a log."

  Hazel smiled. "Maybe you should." He watched the busboy's eyes register masculine approval as he gave her a quick once-over while passing.

  "Are you always so optimistic?" he asked. It had been a long time since he'd been so naive. Or perhaps so fortunate.

  "Always. Does that bother you? I could try to work up a little cynicism, if that would make you feel more comfortable."

  "Don't bother. I'm comfortable enough."

  Hazel wasn't so sure. He gave off signals of a subtle shyness, waves of wariness. Unlike most of the men she'd encountered over the years, he seemed uninterested in impressing her with his memorable accomplishments, irresistible masculinity and monumental sex appeal. Undoubtedly that was the very reason she found him so compellingly attractive.

  "At least eat some of my salad," she said, folding her arms primly in front of her.

  "Why?"

  It was Hazel's turn to shrug. "Because green stuff is good for you, that's why."

  The arching of his bold, black eyebrows registered his disbelief. "What about all that dressing you slathered over everything?"

  "Low cal," she crowed triumphantly. "Thirty-five teensy calories per tablespoon. It said so on the menu."

  His gaze drifted over her assessingly, a wry half smile parting his hard lips. "Don't tell me you're one of those skin-and-bones nuts?"

  Hazel glanced down and winced. "Do I look like it?"

  He angled his back against one corner of the booth, stretched his long legs toward the other and reached out a long arm to drag her salad closer.

  "You look very … healthy."

  "Thanks a lot."

  Jess studied her for a moment. Whenever he'd been with Hazel, she'd either been laughing at herself, or at some private joke she felt no neurotic need to share the way most people did.

  He had trouble believing that life could be that placid for her or for anyone. Maybe that was why he always felt slightly off balance around her.

  That and the fact that he had to keep a tight rein on his libido whenever she was within hailing distance.

  "I meant that as a compliment," he said, spearing a chunk of lettuce. "Skinny women give me a pain."

  Hazel felt a definite tug. He wasn't flirting with her. Jess Dante never flirted. But he wasn't being quite as abrupt as usual, either.

  "Pardon me, but most men I've known wouldn't agree," she said with a dramatic sigh.

  "Maybe that's because they were never married to a fashion model. I was."

  He crunched the lettuce between his teeth. "No calories and no taste," he muttered before washing down the salad with coffee.

  "Are you talking about the dressing or your ex-wife?" Jess nearly choked and had to drop his fork in order to grab his water glass. When his gaze met hers again, Hazel expected to get blasted for daring to tease the caged lion without his permission.

  "Both," he replied dryly. And then she saw it, a lopsided grin that softened the forbiddingly stern lines around his mouth and crinkled his eyes.

  Dante at fourteen might have been memorable, but Dante at forty-plus was awesome. She took a slow breath and waited for her pulse to find a steady rhythm again.

  "So how long have you been divorced from this fashion model?"

  "Thirteen years." The warmth in his eyes faded. Hazel found that she missed it more than she should.

  "And you don't want to talk about it."

  "Not much, no."

  An unusual woman, he thought. Exuding signals of sincerity and compassion when she'd been in the prison infirmary and now daring to do what even his friends hesitated to do – tease him when he'd made it plain he wasn't in the mood.

  Instinct told him that she would be fun to know, and he found himself tempted to suggest a drink in the bar after dinner. And then he thought about the few times in the past he'd given in to a similar urge.

  Sooner or later it always came down to a matter of sex – and whether or not the woman could handle his handicap. In this case he liked Hazel O'Connor too much to risk finding out that she couldn't.

  "Can I get you guys anything else?" The waitress stood with coffeepot poised, her gaze darting from one to the other. "We've got some great strawberry pie on special."

  Jess caught Hazel's disapproving look and fought a need to grin. "Sure, why not?" he told the woman. "We'll both have a piece."

  "Comin' right up." She took Jess's empty plate with her when she went.

  "Shame on you, Dante. Tempting me that way." Hazel shook her head and reached for the glass of wine she'd yet to taste.

  "Not to mention your arteries."

  "That too."

  It was getting warm in the restaurant. Stuffy, too.

  Hazel unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled the sleeves of her blouse above her wrists.

  "I wonder how Silvia is doing," she said, glancing his way.

  He looked up quickly, his fork poised over the last bite of salad, which he seemed to be enjoying in spite of himself. "Benoit seemed highly qualified."

  "Yes, she did." She hesitated, then added slowly, "But I'd feel better if Silvia were in a regular hospital."

  He put down his fork, pushed away the plate and picked up his coffee. As he sipped, he surveyed the room with cool, all-seeing eyes. An observer, she thought. But one who would catalog facts, while she absorbed emotions. Finished with his coffee, he put the cup to one side and leaned his forearm on the table. He wore a watch but no other jewelry, not even his championship ring. "During the trial she struck me as a survivor."

  "During the trial she still had hope."

  "She has hope now."

  "Does she, Jess? Really?" She shook her head. "Put yourself in her shoes for a minute. Her husband, who used her for a punching bag, now has sole custody of her sons and has already served notice that he intends to beat her up again – legally, this time – if she fights him."

  "He can try." His tone was deceptively mild. The glint in his eyes was anything but.

  "And then, when she's most vulnerable, another man she obviously trusted just … throws her away. So what does the state do? Tells her point-blank that she's not fit to raise her baby, that's what! It's barbaric."

  "It's the law."

  "It's a dumb law." Her emotions were in her eyes, he thought. Changing, flashing, stirring a man's imagination. The urge to know her better wasn't as easily suppressed this time.

  "It's designed to protect kids. I thought you'd be all for it." He was deliberately prolonging the conversation past its logical conclusion just to watch the play of light on her hair and the life in her eyes.

  "I am, but I can't help feeling sorry for Silvia all the same."

  "Feeling sorry and ninety cents will get you a cup of coffe
e," he said, careful to keep his tone casual.

  "And ignoring your feelings will give you an ulcer." Hazel took another sip of the wine and pretended to be unaffected by the sharp bitterness that had come into his eyes all of a sudden. It took some doing, she discovered.

  "Maybe some of us have better control than that."

  "Or maybe you just tell yourself you do."

  The waitress arrived then, tray in hand, to serve the pie. "More coffee?" she asked, brandishing a full pot. Nodding, Jess moved his cup closer.

  "How about you, ma'am?" she asked Hazel, coffee pot at the ready. "Coffee to go with the pie?"

  "No, thanks. I still have my wine." She took a sip while the waitress cleared the rest of the dishes.

  "I don't suppose there's any chance of getting Silvia a new trial?" she asked when the waitress had departed.

  "None. And no chance of appeal. I've already gone that route."

  Jess clawed his tie loose and slipped the top button of his plaid shirt. He'd already shucked his jacket, and the sleeve of his shirt pinned neatly to his shoulder had drawn its share of attention, especially from a group of giggling teenagers in the booth across from them.

  "How about a compassionate pardon?" she suggested. "It's been done."

  "Not in this state."

  "But maybe if you tried…"

  For a long moment she thought he didn't intend to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was stiff, as though he were admitting something shameful. "I did. No dice."

  Hazel tasted the pie. It was sickeningly sweet. Nevertheless, for the sake of the cook's feelings, she ate a few more bites before shoving it away.

  "I guess the next step would be to find out the name of the caseworker pushing for adoption," she murmured, as much to herself as to him.

  "Lynn FitzGerald."

  Hazel blinked. "How do you know that?"

  Jess forked the last of his pie into his mouth, then reached for hers. "I asked Dr. Benoit while you were discussing 'bonding,' whatever the hell that is, with that Aussie nurse."

  "I'm impressed." And she was. It hadn't occurred to her to ask, but it should have.

  "Don't be. That's all I managed to find out."

  Both plates were empty now, and Hazel wondered how he could eat like a stevedore and still manage to have a belly as hard as a slab.

  "You might be interested to learn that I know Lynn. Not well, but I've worked with her before. She's … competent."

  His gaze whipped to hers, dark and intense. "Suppose you translate 'competent' for us dumb lawyer types?"

  "Lynn is professional, personable, knows the rules." She took the last sip of her wine before continuing. "But she doesn't have a lot of heart."

  "Meaning what, exactly?"

  She toyed with her empty glass, conscious that the teenagers at the next table were leaving, but not before giving her more than one curious look.

  "Meaning she's probably never bent a rule in her life."

  "Have you?" he asked.

  "No, but I have wiggled one or two in a good cause."

  His mouth relaxed for an instant. "I'm impressed," he drawled.

  Hazel burst out laughing. "You should be," she murmured. "I don't admit that to everyone – only a select few, in fact."

  "How select?"

  "Well, counting Cait, there are two of you now."

  His eyebrows tilted. "What made you include me in this select circle of yours?"

  "I liked the way you were with Silvia. You went a long way toward restoring her faith in men."

  "Don't kid yourself, O'Connor," he grated, frowning. "I'm not a very nice guy. Most lawyers aren't. We can't afford to be and do our job properly." He picked up the check and slid from the booth. "Ready?" he asked.

  Hazel grabbed her purse and slipped her feet into her pumps. "Now I am," she answered, sliding across the slick seat and standing.

  Jess stood back and let her precede him to the cashier's station. "On me, remember?" he said when she opened her purse. "I promised you dinner."

  She smiled, showing just a hint of a dimple in one cheek. "Actually, you only promised me lunch, but thank you."

  Lunch had turned out to be gourmet finger-food, packed by the chef at one of the best restaurants in Old Sacramento. They'd eaten in a shaded picnic spot off the interstate. Jess had even provided wine for her. Beer for him. Hazel had been instantly beguiled.

  The cashier took the bill, and Jess handed over his credit card. "Thank you for coming," he said while the woman filled in the charge slip.

  "I'm glad you insisted."

  "So am I – for Silvia's sake."

  The top of her head didn't quite reach his chin, even when she was tottering on high heels, and he noticed that her hair had hints of hidden gold in the bright, every-which-way curls.

  "Everything all right?" the cashier asked as she handed over the slip for him to sign.

  "Fine." His scrawl was nearly illegible, prompting the woman behind the counter to check it against the signature on the card.

  "Sorry, but my boss insists," she said, obviously uncomfortable as she handed over the card and the receipt.

  "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it."

  He'd learned to do just about everything left-handed fairly well, everything but write – and make love.

  * * *

  It took a lot of booze to get Jess drunk. A man six-two, two-hundred fifteen pounds, had a hefty tolerance for the stuff.

  Jess swirled his fourth – or was it his fifth? – Scotch in the bottom of the glass before letting it slide down his throat. He no longer noticed the taste nor cared about the brand. For all he cared, he could be drinking water.

  For that matter, the bar side of the motel restaurant could have been one of a hundred in California's central valley. Dark, smoky, with decent booze and moderate prices – perfect for a tired traveler who wanted to take the edge off his exhaustion.

  From the look of the couples huddled in the dark booths in the back, it was also a place where the same tired traveler could get more than a few drinks for his money.

  "Hit you again, friend?"

  The bartender was the talkative sort, but Jess had made it plain after the first few minutes of the guy's practiced patter that he wanted to be left alone. Still, the man had a job to do. Jess couldn't fault him for that.

  "Why not?" he said, pushing his glass forward. After dinner Hazel had headed directly to her room for a hot shower, she'd told him, and to make a stab at the paperwork she professed to hate. He'd tried sacking out in his own room next door, only to find himself too restless to sleep.

  "Double Scotch, neat." The bartender slapped a white napkin in front of him before serving the drink. "Just the way you like 'em."

  Jess nodded his thanks. "What time you close up around here?" he asked without really caring.

  "Two o'clock. You have plenty of time before last call. More'n enough time to put you under – if that's what you're aiming for."

  "It's a thought." But not a good one for a man with a lot of thinking to do.

  "If it's company you're interested in—"

  "It's not."

  The bartender raised both hands and took a step backward. "No offense, friend. It's just that you had the look of a man who needed loosenin' up, that's all."

  The man walked away, and Jess went back to staring into his drink. A woman was the last thing he needed, he thought. Especially a pro.

  He'd been with his share that first year after he'd gotten out of the rehab hospital. It had been easier to pay for sex than risk having his ego chopped into hamburger by a woman who couldn't quite keep the pity out of her eyes when he took off his shirt.

  After the first few times he'd found himself lonelier than ever. Physically, the women were practiced and clever and outwardly willing, but the warmth he'd craved was missing. More often than not he'd ended up with empty pockets and an even emptier feeling inside.

  These days he would rather live with loneliness and die celibat
e than put himself through that kind of hell again.

  Here's to self-control, he thought, lifting his glass to his image in the mirror. Before he could drink, however, he found himself face-to-face with O'Connor.

  Without makeup, she looked more like a hell-raising tomboy than a highly professional career woman. He decided that he liked her better this way, which didn't do a damn thing for his mood.

  "I was heading for the restaurant and some hot chocolate when I saw you sitting in here," she murmured as she slipped onto the stool next to him and signaled the bartender.

  "I'll have a glass of white wine, please," she said when he approached.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The bartender gave Jess a look that said all the wrong things, but Jess let it pass. Instead he turned his attention to Hazel.

  "How're you coming with the paperwork?"

  "All done, thank goodness, and I feel very virtuous."

  "So how come you're having trouble sleeping?" he asked when she seemed content to sit next to him without speaking.

  "Every time I close my eyes, I see Silvia's face. I've been racking my brains, trying to figure out the best way I can help."

  The bartender returned with her drink, left it in front of her and retreated to the other end of the bar – all without uttering a word.

  "How about you?" she said after she'd tasted the wine.

  He shrugged. She was sitting on his right side and that made him edgy. As casually as a man his size could manage, he turned on the stool until his body was angled toward hers. He felt more comfortable that way. More in charge.

  "It's too early to turn in, and I'm not much for TV."

  "Somehow I wouldn't have thought you were much for sitting alone in a bar, either," she commented before taking another sip.

  "It's been a while."

  "For me, too." She folded her hands on the bar and allowed a reminiscent smile to play over her lips. Jess felt desire tug at him and gave himself a moment to savor it before stamping it down.

  "You want to tell me about it?" he asked, knowing full well that she did. Dark bars had a way of loosening tongues sometimes. Or forging temporary friendships.

  He wasn't much for either these days, but the Scotch had made him lazy. Or maybe he was tired of drinking alone. He didn't care much which, just so long as he didn't have to think about Silvia Yoder.