First Date - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 01]

by Karen Kendall

  "I'll keep that in mind," Alex told her, trying to hold a straight face. Keeping his eye carefully on the scissors, he kissed her cheek. "Dad?" he called. "I'm leaving now."

  His father's voice rumbled back at him from the home office, and Alex closed the door behind him.

  A welcome evening breeze fanned his face as he walked to the detached four-car garage. He'd take the Chevy pickup to round out the Texas atmosphere of the date. Cherry red and late model, it would look just right parked outside the Gristmill and Gruene Hall tonight.

  Inside the garage hung the old familiar pegs with jackets, parkas and hats that had been around since he and Jake were kids. There was the sweat-stained John Deere ball cap that his dad wore while cutting the lawn, and the goofy straw hat he wore fishing, and a golf hat. His father, like Alex, didn't own a cowboy hat, but he'd given a cream one to Mama one Christmas on a whim. Alex stood gazing at it for a long time, remembering the year she'd opened it and laughed and exclaimed. She'd put it on immediately and tilted it at an angle so she could kiss his dad. She'd looked good in it, even though she'd worn the hat with plaid flannel pajamas and terry-cloth slippers.

  Alex picked it up and gently shook the dust off it. Then he opened the truck's passenger door and set it on the seat. Sydney should wear it tonight. She didn't seem to have her sister's flair for fashionnot that he caredso he'd bring her an appropriate accessory.

  He thought about Sydney as he drove the short distance to Marv's Motor Inn. "I kiss strangers in bars all the time," she'd said. That dog won't hunt, sweetheart. 1 know a lie when I hear one . But his lips quirked at the bravado of the statement. Sydney might not get out from behind her computer much, but she'd be damned if she'd admit it to the likes of him.

  He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she write him off as untrustworthy because he was a friend of Roman's and therefore the enemy? Was that why she'd run from him in the bar?

  He decided it was the only explanation, since he'd clearly felt her attraction to him. So in order to convince her that he was okay, he'd have to convince her that Roman was okaywhich he wanted to do anyway so she'd stop trying to interfere with the engagement. But now he had a little extra incentive.

  Sydney made him laugh, and due to the situation with Mama, he hadn't felt much like laughing lately. What had she said, that she had a formal ball to attend at the Motor Inn tonight? Cheeky little thing.

  Alex pulled up outside the squat brown and mustard building, which looked even more declasse in the fading light. Sydney and her sister Julia didn't belong in a building like that. He quirked a brow at the familiar count sheep for cheap tagline and headed inside.

  Julia wasn't at the front desk. Old Abe Santos's pimply teenaged son greeted him instead, and called Sydney's room with a hastily repressed smirk. "Uh, Miz Spinelli'll be right down."

  "Thanks, Hector," Alex said. After the obligatory "How's school" and "How's your dad" questions, he stared absently out the glass door, focused on nothing in particular.

  "Hi, Alex."

  He turned at the sound of Sydney's voice and the words in his mouth evaporated. She looked like garnished sin on a platter.

  He hadn't seen her in anything formfitting until now. She wore the skimpiest of halter tops and absolutely no bra that he could discernand he considered himself an expert at bra discernment. Someone had obviously sprayed on her jeans, because not a wrinkle or bulge of fabric marred the delicious long lines of her hips, thighs or calves. Leather lacing suggested that he could spring her from the denim at a moment's notice and tie her up if they were feeling kinky. And upon closer inspection, he didn't see even a tenth of a millimeter's room for panties. He felt sweat droplets form on his brow.

  That dark red hair tumbled over her gorgeous bare shoulders, her lips looked wet and shiny and her cinnamon eyes were huge and alluring. They tried hard to be mysterious, too, but she was so nervous that she blinked approximately every two seconds. And it was that naked anxiety that reached out and tweaked his heart more than anything. She hummed with it.

  Of course, she didn't know he saw it. But he noted that when she licked her lips it was for function, not provocation. And when she straightened her shoul ders, thrust them back and lifted her chin, she did so as if remembering instructions, not to show off her breasts. And when she walked forward in the pair of cowboy boots she'd acquired and swung her hips like a pole-dancer, he discerned that the issue was the novelty of the boots and not sensuality.

  The Difficult Sister looked a helluva lot easier than she had yesterdayhe was sure those lace-up jeans were illegal in a lot of states. And she'd done it on purpose for him. For some reason he was touched. Of course other women had taken pains to look nice for him. But this was different, out of character.

  Alex shut his mouth, which he'd left hanging open, and instructed Hector to do the same. "No drooling over my date, son."

  Sydney, overhearing this, ruined her new diva persona by snorting. Then, perhaps remembering what he'd done after the last snort, her eyes flew to his and she blushed adorably.

  Alex took her hand and set his mother's hat on her head. "I thought this might complete your outfit," he said.

  She put a hand up to the hat. "Thank you."

  "You look so beautiful." He stared at her.

  Sydney flapped a hand at him. "You don't have to go overboard, Kimball," she hissed. "We both know this is a mercy date."

  Mercy date? Mercy date, my ass ! Alex, stunned, just stared at her before shaking his head. He glanced at

  Hector, who'd had to take a call. Then he tugged her out the door so they could finish this without an audience.

  "Sydney, honey, I don't know where you got that idea, but there's absolutely no truth to it. We are going out, you and me, because I think you're hot and funny and smart, too. Not to mention kind and generous."

  She looked uncomfortable and pulled her hand out of his so she could flap it again. "Look, I didn't say that for reassurance"

  The hell you didn't. But it would kill you to acknowledge it.

  "I'm just stating the facts. I'm not some beauty queen or calendar girl and everyone knows it. And I don't want you to tell me things just to make me feel better. That's happened all my life, ever since" She stopped.

  He didn't really have much trouble filling in the blank. Ever since Julia was born . But she wouldn't say it aloud, and he couldn't blame her.

  It was one thing to admit to yourself that you were jealous of your sister. It was quite different to admit it to another person. Sydney Spinelli, Caretaker and Fixer, needed some care herself. And maybe some fixing, too. He knew just the man to do it.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  I should never have let Julia talk me into wearing these clothes . Sydney felt a blush burning up her neck and exploding into her cheeks as Alex opened the door of a red pickupdid the man ever drive the same car?and stood behind her, seeming transfixed, as she climbed in.

  He can see! Oh, God, he can tell that I'm not wearing panties. I'm going to die of utter mortification . Sydney refused to look at him as he shut her door. She folded her hands primly in her lap as he walked around the hood of the truck and got in himself.

  "Are you too warm?" he asked.

  Oh, you could say that.

  "Because you look kind of flushed. Here, let me crank up the air-conditioning." Alex started the engine. For the first time, she noticed, his whole brow was damp, and she wondered if he was hungover or ill. The AC was just as much for his benefit as hers.

  She prayed for it to kick in fast. Just the walk to the car and his obvious scrutiny of her backside had caused her to perspire enough to dampen her jeans, which meant they had to be even more revealing if possiblethan before.

  Air-conditioning used Freon, right? And she'd heard that stuff was poisonous to cats. Maybe that was true for humans, too, and she could put a straw through the vent while he wasn't looking

  "Is that better?"

  She nodded, not tru
sting her voice. Or maybe I can hurl myself out onto the highway once we get moving .

  "Sydney?"

  No then I'd end up in the emergency room with no panties, and what would Ma say about that ? "Yeah?"

  "Why are you looking suicidal? Is it that much of a chore to go out with me?"

  "I'm not sui I just feel weird. That's all."

  "Is it a good weird or a bad weird?"

  She glanced at him. "I don't know. I guess I just feel like I'm not me, right now. These clothes are my sister's."

  "And the boots are Kiki's." Alex laughed at her horrified expression.

  "Oh, God. You can just turn the truck around, now, and take me back. It was bad enough for me to know that I was wearing your ex-girlfriend's boots."

  "You look great in them. Better than she did."

  "Yeah, right."

  "I'm serious. Kiki was never much into the whole Western-wear thing. She's high fashion, all the way. Shit-kicker boots were not her style. But they suit you."

  "Uh-huh. They go great with my Northern accent. Alex, take me back to the Motor Inn."

  "Nope. You've officially been kidnapped at this point. I'm holding you hostage until you learn the two-step."

  "Alex!"

  "Relax, Jersey. It won't hurt a bit. You cannot show up looking this edible and then blow me off. You got a hot date with ninety-pound Hector, back there?"

  She had to laugh at that. "No, I already did him in the supply closet." Her answer got her a flash of white teeth.

  "That's my girl." He reached over, slung an arm around her shoulders, and hauled her closer to him, looking impossibly gorgeous.

  The concept of being Alex's girl was heady. Just for tonight, she'd live that little fantasy. His arm was heavy and solidly muscled, turning her on and making her feel safe at the same time. It was also warm, and his bare skin against her own felt heavenly, awakening every nerve ending she had.

  His eyes glinted at her from behind a pair of Maui Jims and he said, "I love the way you look right now, but I do miss the freckles."

  She put a hand up to her nose. "You're kidding, right?"

  He shook his head. "No. I like them. I had freckles when I was a kid, and Mama used to tell me they were kisses from butterflies and ladybugs."

  She smiled, delighted. "How is your mother today?"

  Alex lowered his sunglasses and looked at her over the tops of them, eyebrows waggling. "She's great. She's decided that you and I are married, with kids and dogs."

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she had a sudden image of them romping on a beach together with a dark-haired little girl and a carrot-topped little boy, playing Frisbee with a couple of golden retrievers who'd buried the suntan oil.

  "Isn't that a hoot? She told me to treat you right and always compliment your cooking."

  Sydney forced herself to laugh. "That's a pretty tall order, considering that I have to read directions to even boil water."

  "What do you eat when you're all by yourself up in Jersey?"

  "A lot of takeout. Why, do you cook?"

  "Every night, when I'm at my condo in San Antone."

  "You don't live here?"

  He shook his head. "No. I just drive over a lot to be withand to help withMama. My dad's got a weak heart, my younger brother's got his head up his ass, and I try to anchor things a little bit. It's the computer and cell phone ageit's not too hard for me to do."

  Sydney found herself swallowing a lump in her throat. She hesitated, but said it anyway. "It's going to get harder, Alex. Things the stages of early-onset Alzheimer's can go really fast."

  He exhibited no reaction whatsoever, but his foot depressed the gas pedal and their speed increased.

  "You're going to have to think ahead. About maybe a facility with trained staff"

  "No."

  "or the possibility of bringing someone in to care for her."

  "No." He stiffened and removed his arm from her shoulders. She wasn't sure if she shivered at the finality in his voice, at the abruptness of his withdrawal, or at the sudden loss of his warmth.

  While she knew she was right, she also knew that the time was not. If they were going to enjoy the evening, she needed to change the subject fast. "So where are you taking me?"

  "The Gristmill. It's on the banks of the Guadalupe River. You'll like it."

  "What kind of food? Let me guess: deep-fried roadkill on a bed of pinto beans?"

  "Filets of armadillo stuffed with ground emu. Boiled possum with sauerkraut. Aged, marinated quarter horse with peach chutney. Will that work for ya, Jersey?"

  "You bet. Tequila shooters on the side?"

  "Now you're talking."

  They drove in companionable silence for a few miles. Sydney wiggled her toes inside Kiki's boots and wondered what it was like to be a runner-up to Miss America. She wondered what Julia and Kiki would think of each other. And then she reminded herself that they'd probably never get the chance to meet, because once she let the cat out of the bag regarding the fake engagement ring, everything between Roman and Julia would be over.

  The thought didn't bring her nearly as much pleasure as it should have, though, because she kept worrying about Julia's inevitable devastation and how she didn't want to be the author of it. Was there any way around it?

  Short of just not telling her, no . And Syd couldn't in good conscience not give her the information, whether it came out of her mouth or Roman's.

  But you're lying to Marv , said that good conscience. You could just as easily mind your own business and pretend not to know about the ring. Let Julia make her own mistake live her own life .

  But wasn't that irresponsible? An act of betrayal? And she wasn't really lying to Marvshe was just delaying having to tell him the truth, so that she could buy some time with her sister.

  What if she did let Julia marry the creep, and learn her own lesson, but made sure her friend Vivien forced her to sign a prenup so that no lasting harm was done? Julia would get her big wedding, discover that marriage was no fairy tale, learn her lesson but keep her money. And Roman would learn his lesson toothat he shouldn't have tried to marry a bank account. She, Sydney, could feel smug and no. She, Sydney, was trying to get out of her position between a rock and a hard place.

  She had a moral responsibility to tell Julia what she knew, whether or not her sister hated her for it and blamed her for destroying her happiness.

  "You're looking suicidal again," said Alex. "That's not the expression of a happy date. I'm about to get downright insulted, here."

  "Sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind."

  "Want to share?"

  She shook her head. Yes, let me tell you what a low-down, belly-dragging snake your best friend is. Unless you already know that and you're in on it ? No. Alex was a decent guy. A guy who spent half his time with his parents because they needed him.

  "Okay, then I'll just have to distract you." He stopped, an odd but fleeting expression crossing his handsome features. "It'll be my pleasure."

  They turned off the highway and into the little town of Gruene, located about forty-five miles from San Antonio and very close to New Braunfels.

  Gruene, like Fredericksburg, had been settled by German immigrants in the 1850s and was full of his-toric charm. Nestled on the Guadalupe River, the Gristmill Restaurant was built on the remains of the old Gruene cotton gin, and the facade could have been a set in a classic spaghetti Western. Sydney half expected to see Clint Eastwood emerge with the cast of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly .

  Alex pulled into the parking lot, got out and opened her door. Syd was now going to have to walk several hundred feet in her painted-on, borrowed Cavalli jeans. She slid off the pickup's seat and out onto the gravel, firmly resisting the urge to tweak the denim out of her crack, even though it felt firmly lodged as high as her shoulder blades.

  Chin up, she stepped out in Kiki Sonntag's cowboy boots and tried to enjoy Alex's mesmerized expression. She even tossed her hairalmost spraining her neck in t
he process, since she wasn't accustomed to it.

  She'd be dancing a long mile in Kiki's boots. She winced, wondering if the beauty queen had ever worn them while putting those alleged claw marks on Alex's back. Okay, don't go there. What does it matter anyway? This isn't a real date .

  Syd focused instead on the big rusty sign proclaiming the name of the restaurant. Underneath it sat whiskey barrels planted with impatiens in every possible color. A flagstone path led to the entrance, which was flooded with people.

  The Gristmill was not a quiet eatery, but it had charm in spades. Inside, the flooring consisted of wide, polished wooden planks and the walls were a combination of cedar, stone and glass. Outside, wooden tables dotted the spacious grounds and the old paddle wheel that had once generated power for the gin was still running, courtesy of the cool, mossy green Guadalupe.

  Alex requested the River Room, where they got a spot overlooking the water below. It was like sitting in an oversized tree house, and Sydney was charmed. Until, that is, she felt eyes on her back and looked around to see a giant longhorn glaring at her from the mantel of the enormous Lone Star fireplace. What was it with these Texans and their need to decorate with dead animals?

  Alex noticed her shudder and laughed. "That's Lupe, Jersey. He's the king of the castle."

  "That was Lupe," she said. Lupe the Longhorn? Nice. Lupe did not seem pleased with his perch, or the hundreds of customers below. He presided over everything with a bored, sardonic expression. He obviously needed a brewsky.

  "Look, he's got your coloring. Lots of ginger on his neck."

  "The similarities end there, Kimball. Last time I checked I didn't have horns or a tail."

  Alex started to say something, his eyes dancing, and then apparently thought better of it. Probably that Lupe and his horns had butted in anywhere he'd wanted, just like her.

  She fought against the idea. She was not here to interfere for fun, as he'd accused her at the vineyard. She was here to protect her sister There was a big difference.

  He ordered frozen margaritas, no doubt to get her liquored up for learning the two-step. They arrived in gigantic, frosty beer mugs, and Sydney decided she liked the fact that everything was oversized in Texas. She started to make serious inroads into her 'rita, savoring the fresh lime and tequila. They didn't make them like this in New Jersey.