First Date - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 01]

by Karen Kendall

  "It's an old-fashioned kinda tool, Jersey, but it never," he panted, "goes out of style. A classic, you know? I doubt I'll ever hang it up for good."

  "I hope not," she breathed. And then, "Oh, God. Yes. Yes "

  "You like that?" The sight of her giving in to pleasure undid him. The features of her face went all soft and dreamy: Her eyes clouded, her cheeks flushed and her lips got plump and sweet. He kept doing what he was doing. "Just like that?"

  "Mmmmm-hmm."

  "Okay, baby. Come to me, now. Come for me. There you go good girl."

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  I've never, ever done anything this irresponsible in my life . That was Sydney's first conscious thought after awakening to a physical glow in the big king-sized four-poster next to a sleeping Alex Kimball.

  He sprawled beside her naked on the wildly tossed sheets, facedown and buns up. They were very nice buns, as taut and muscular as his thighs and arms and pretty much every other part of him.

  Even relaxed in sleep, his face was powerfully handsome, five o'clock shadow dense and black against his lean, tanned cheeks. Just looking at it made her thighs tingle and her throat go dry. Her cheeks burned, too, and the side of her neck, the soft skin of her breastsshe'd gotten the full stubble treatment last night, everywhere.

  Every limb felt languorous and heavy, like the guilt she should be feeling for having a sleazy one-night stand. It was knocking on the other side of some mental door, but Syd refused to let it in. She couldn't, right at this moment anyway, cheapen what she'd shared with Alex last night.

  It wasn't cheap. It wasn't sleazy. But it's got no future. I'll fly back to the East Coast and brave South River and Marv's wrath one last time. I'll hire him someone competent and honest. And then I'll return to my own life, my own business. Alex will be here, whipping up new emu-oriented products and struggling with the realities of Alzheimer's.

  And Julia? She'll head off to San Francisco, or maybe LA, and make a career for herself in fashion. Roman will use some other idiot woman to fund his vineyard, and this chapter of our lives will be closed. Maybe Mrs. Kimball will ask occasionally for Nell, and Alex will hazily recall what I look like and how he taught "Jersey" to two-step.

  She smiled ruefully and slipped out of bed. He'll never have to pretend I'm beautiful again, and he certainly won't have to compliment my atrocious cooking

  Her eyes misted and she sternly told the lump in her throat to deflate and get the hell out of there. She walked into the bathroom, folded her arms over her nakedness, and stared at their discarded clothing, the crumpled remains of passion.

  The legs of the Cavalli bondage jeans splayed awkwardly, one bent under itself to the front and the other lying straight behind it, to the rear. It was the position of a hurdler, midleap. It told her to run, not walk, away from Alex Kimball before she got attached and therefore hurt.

  She closed the bathroom door quietly and stepped into the shower, lathering and soaping the traces of Alex and sex from her skin. She shampooed her hair, trying not to think of how he'd stroked it and played with it in the tub. You have the most gorgeous, thick, red bronze hair I've ever seen, and I want to feel it on my bare chest .

  She banished the memory of his compliments at the Gristmill, too, but not before she touched a finger to her nose. Your nose is one of my very favorite things about you .

  She snorted and stuck her "charming" chin under the spray of water, since shampoo lather was running into her mouth. Kimball had a silver tongue, that was all and he'd been trying to get into her pants, God knew why. She turned her back to the water and rinsed her hair.

  Suddenly the shower door opened and he stood there naked and aroused in front of her, hands on his hips. "No fair showering without me, Jersey. I had plans to make you dirtier before you got clean."

  "Hey, what happened to privacy?" she complained. The last thing she needed was to make love with him again. Her brain was already scrambled enough.

  "No peace for the wicked, and no privacy for the naked." Instead of climbing in as she half expected, he reached for her and plucked her out as if she weighed nothing, muttering about tying her to the bedposts.

  "You cannot tie me to the bedposts! I am sopping wet, and you'll ruin the furniture. Besides, we have to go my sister is going to wonder where I am this morning. She can't know about this!"

  Alex silenced her with his mouth and deposited her on the bathroom rug, sitting on her with an evil grin and pinning her arms over her head at the wrists. "I'm not done with you, my pretty," he said in villainous tones. " Mwah-ha-ha-ha "

  And he began to tease and arouse her.

  "You're insatiable," she protested.

  "Yes, for you. Besides, I want to see your dimple again."

  "You told me I didn't have one!"

  "You don't except when you orgasm. You get this blissful expression on your face, your mouth falls openand just as you make that last gasp or whimper, the dimple appears."

  "You make it sound like the little yellow button on a Butterball turkey."

  "Exactly." He nodded. "Bing. You're done!"

  She tried to get a wrist free to hit him, but he held tight, laughing. Then his mouth was on her breasts, and she ceased to care.

  Later they showered again, and he suggested that they go down to breakfast before driving back. Sydney took one look in the mirror and moaned. "What have you done to me?"

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I hoped that I'd made you happy."

  "My face! It looks like it's been scrubbed with bleach and a household brush. I can't go anywhere looking like this."

  Alex cupped her chin and grimaced. "It's not so bad," he lied.

  "It is, and you know it."

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw self-consciously. "Sorry. I didn't realize I was such a brute."

  "Well, of course it wasn't deliberate." She thought for a moment. "I also can't go down there in that outfit and no underwear. It's one thing to wear it in the eveningquite another to sashay around in the daytime, looking like I'm open for business."

  He grinned. "Okay. How about I go check us out and then bring you back some coffee and a sweet roll for the drive?"

  "Perfect. Let's just meet in the parking lot, at the truck."

  She got herself together as best she could while he was gone, wrinkling her nose at having to put on Kiki's boots again. She'd completely forgotten to inspect his back for tiny little claw marks.

  Again, she told herself sternly that it didn't matter. He could have the claws of a thousand vixens em-bedded in his torsohe wasn't hers. She'd only borrowed him for one night.

  She opened the door and slunk out, feeling like the Whore of Babylon. The coast was clear. She closed the door behind her, took a few steps, rounded the side of the cottage and almost walked smack into the hostess of the B and B. "Oh, excuse me!"

  "No, excuse me . I wasn't looking where I was going, behind this stack of towels. Did you enjoy your stay, hon?" She inspected Sydney's face covertly.

  "Urn, yes. Very much."

  "I can see that. Would you like me to get you something for your face?"

  Her ears buzzed pink with mortification. "Thank you, but no. It'll be fine."

  "Whisker burn on a redhead's skin." The lady shook her head. "That won't fade for ages unless you put cream on it." She took Sydney's arm. "Come with me, now. I don't want to hear another word. I was young once, too."

  Syd closed her eyes and stumbled after her, hoping Alex had checked in under a false name. His family was as prominent around here as the blasted Sonntags.

  The lady brought her into the kitchen from an exterior back door, and rummaged through a cabinet while Syd wished for a speedy, painless death.

  "Aha! Here it is. My niece just gave this to me a couple of days ago. Supposed to help soothe any skin condition. Now, don't mind the funny color or the baby-food jar: It healed a burn on my hand overnight! Great stuff." Sydney looked down in disbelief at a jar of Emulsion.

 
She eventually disentangled herself from the hostess, her face covered with a coating of the cream. She walked the short distance to the truck to find that Alex already had the engine on and was waiting for her impatiently. Not a trace of dream lover remained.

  "Alex, what's wrong?"

  "Get in." She did as she was told, and he sped out of the parking lot almost before she had the passenger door closed. "I just got a call from my father. Mama" He broke off, swallowed and took a deep breath. "Mama is out weeding the front garden in a black silk slip, rubber flip-flops and a Texas Rangers baseball cap. He can't get near hershe has a hoe and she doesn't recognize him."

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alex drove the pickup like a bullet out of a Colt .45. Jersey hung onto the door handle and kept her eyesand her mouthshut. They burned up the tarmac, racing the double yellow lines of the highway, and squealed through intersections. He briefly admired her forbearance.

  Gravel flew from the tires as they sped down the road that led to the Kimball homestead. Mama's bent figure was clearly visible from the highway, baseball cap askew, with the brim turned sideways and mostly backward. The skimpy black satin nightie gleamed in the late morning sunlight and one spaghetti strap trailed off her shoulder. The flip-flops were his own, the ones he occasionally used when boating. Gigantic on her small feet, they provided absolutely no protection from insects, or worse, snakes.

  The sight of her punched him in the gut. For the first time in his life he was tempted to run.

  He hit the brakes. Nausea climbed into his throat as he eased his foot down on the gas pedal and brought them crawling closer. Mama had on a strand of pearls, one matching earring and a pair of garden gloves. Her salon-rinsed hair quivered violently each time she hit the dry ground with the hoe. Dad squatted miserably about fifty yards from her.

  Sydney made the distressed noise that Alex couldn't allow himselfwasn't sure he was capable of. Somehow his internal organs had been replaced with a heavy, padlocked steel box.

  He didn't have a shred of a concept of what to do.

  Mama saw the truck and waved cheerfully at him. After a glance at his father, he waved back. He inched forward, parked the truck in the middle of the road, and got out. Sydney did, too.

  Mama's face brightened as she saw her. "Well, hello, Nell! Come here and give me a kiss. How are the girls?"

  Sydney walked to her and bussed her cheek while Alex stood rooted to the ground like an idiot. Jersey gracefully entered an imaginary conversation about a fictional world, telling Mama how well "the girls" were doing in school, how Kelsey was in an elementary theater production and Bonnie had developed quite a talent for hoops.

  Alex watched her, standing there in last night's outfit, whisker burn and all, unflinching. She was utterly unself-conscious, focused on his mother and the situation. He felt some kind of emotion hammering to get out of the steel box inside him, but he wasn't sure what it was. Gratitude? Admiration? Sheer relief that Sydney was present? He hadn't even thought to drop her off at the Motor Inn first. She'd been at his side, and it seemed natural that she remain there.

  "How do you keep your figure, Nell?" Mama asked her. "I never can get over how that little ole tummy of yours snapped back after twins ." She playfully poked at the two inches of flesh displayed under Syd's halter top. And then a few minutes later she said, "I've never seen jeans quite like that, honey. Where did you get them?"

  As the two women talked, Sydney bent, helped Mama pull weeds from the area she was clearing, and eventually took over the hoe.

  Alex put one leaden foot after the other and went to his father. Dad had moved to sit on a large rock near some shrubs. Sweat soaked his shirt, his shoulders were shaking and he'd thrown up. "Thirty-six years," he repeated, over and over again. "Thirty-six years." He put his head between his knees.

  Alex exhaled and squatted down next to him, placing his hand on his father's shoulder.

  Drops of moisture fell in the vicinity of Dad's work boots. One of them hit the tip of a blade of grass, rolled down it and plopped onto an unsuspecting ant. The ant reeled and headed the other way, but tears were falling like artillery all around it and the little creature didn't know what to do.

  "Thirty-six years." Dad's voice broke. "How can she not recognize me?"

  Alex closed his eyes and tried to block out memories of the time he'd come home and walked into the kitchen: The look of fear on Mama's face; the squeak of terror she'd made as she put the butcher block between them. He couldn't even feel his heartbeat because of the locked box between his ribs.

  "I love her more than I love myself." Dad's voice was low and fierce.

  Alex knew he spoke the truth. He reached for his father's hand, rougher and more weathered but almost a carbon copy of his own. "I know you do."

  "I've been in love with that woman for thirty-seven years, four months, twenty-three days and ten hours. I remember the first time I saw her, and the blue sweater set she wore and the way she smiled at me."

  Alex bent his head and squeezed the old man's hand: the man he'd once looked to for comfort and wisdom and discipline; the father who'd given him the compass with which to navigate his lifethe same man who looked so lost now, and in need of comfort and wisdom himself.

  "I love her more than I love myself," Dad repeated.

  "Then," Alex told him, "you have to forgive her. She doesn't mean to hurt youjust like she didn't mean to hurt me."

  "I know that, God damn it!" His father raised his head and glared at him. "Don't you think I've forgiven her already? It's done." He yanked his hand back and gestured angrily.

  "What I don't know is what to expect, how to brace myself. Who will she be tomorrow? And the next day? Where is my wife?"

  He looked at the sky and gulped for air, a harsh, rasping sound. " Where is my Emily ?" He screamed it to the clouds, to the sun, to God. They didn't answer him.

  Alex ignored the almost physical pain that swept over him at witnessing his father. His eyes and throat burned with it. He shoved it aside, stuffed it into the box. "Dad, your heart. You're not well."

  "Screw my damn heart." He dropped his head back between his knees.

  "No. You've got to keep it going, if not for yourself, then for her. You have to calm down. Where are those pills?"

  His father sighed. "I'm fine. I'd'a keeled over when she came at me with the hoe, if I was going to. Medication's all on the kitchen windowsill, where it always is. With that stupid soap that looks like a potato, and the nail file and the little china box of dirty rubber bands that come on the newspaper. The ones your mother won't let me throw away."

  Alex hitched up a corner of his mouth and touched his father's shoulder again. "Maybe you can do it when she's not looking and blame it on 'Nell.' "

  Dad produced a weak chuckle. "She sure has taken a shine to that girl."

  She's not the only one . Alex looked over at the two women, who were now walking toward them.

  Just a few yards away, Sydney's voice carried to them on the wind. "So why don't we finish the weeding in the evening, when it's cooler?"

  And his mother's: "I always said you were a smart young lady. Can I interest you in some chicken salad for lunch?"

  "Only if you'll give me the recipe without leaving anything out this time." Sydney winked at her.

  "The secret is to make your own mayonnaise, NellI told you that."

  "You know I'm too lazy. Kraft has always been good enough for me."

  "Well, then, you'll be asking me for the correct recipe until the day I die. Won't you?"

  They shared in companionable laughter as they approached, and Alex held his breath. His father closed his eyes.

  Mama walked right up, frowned at Dad and slapped him lightly on the shoulder with her gardening gloves. "Jonathan, don't you have anything better to do than sit like a bump on a log all day? What's wrong with you, silly?"

  Just a few simple words, and they lit up the old man's face. He grinned so wide that Alex was afrai
d his head might fall right off.

  A moment ago, he would have paid a billion dollars to see that smile. He felt weak with relief and couldn't stand up. He simply sat on the rock and blinked moisture from his eyes as Dad surged forward and swept Mama into his arms for a bear hug and then a kiss.

  "What has come over you, Jonathan?" she asked.

  He picked her up and started toward the house with her, giant flip-flops and all. The Texas Rangers hat fell off as she shrieked, "Put me down, you crazy man!"

  "Hell," Alex said, finally finding the strength to get up. "That cannot be good for his heart."

  One flip-flop flew through the air, then another. Mama didn't look like a strange hybrid of Madonna and some rapper. She looked like a woman on a second honeymoon.

  Sydney linked her arm through his and gazed up at him with tears in her cinnamon eyes. "Oh, I'd say that it's very good for his heart." * * *

  Sydney glanced at Alex's profile as he drove her the couple of miles back to Orange Street and Marv's Motor Inn. He looked exhausted. Since neither of them had slept much the night before and he'd just been through emotional turmoil, that wasn't surprising.

  She knew it was a bad time to bring up the subject, and she wondered how she'd gotten so involved in his family issues instead of her own. She should be concentrating on how to stop Julia's ridiculous wedding. But frankly, she wasn't sure how to do that.

  And somebody around here needed to get through to him. "Alex," she began, "I know you don't want to hear this, but you have got to get some help with your mother. You can't go on like this, and neither can your father."

  His jaw tightened and his hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly. A tiny vein pulsed at his temple.

  "She may very well be normal for the rest of the afternoon. She may be completely lucid next Tuesday and have total command of her memories. But Wednesday she could get in the car, drive to Dallas and get lost in a shopping mall, unable to remember where she lives. Friday she could forget a cake in the oven or a pot on the stove, and burn the house down. Saturday she could go violent and hit somebody on the street. You just don't know ."