by Beth Andrews
“I’m so lucky. Shawn…that’s my fiancé…is the best. Guy. Ever. He’s an orthodontist in Richmond…there he is now.” Tina waved. “Honey? Honey, we’re over here!”
J.C. winced and lifted her shoulder to her ear. For such a small person, her voice carried.
“There you are.” Tina’s great guy came up to J.C.’s chin, had a pot belly and a comb-over that started at his left ear. He smiled and wrapped his arm around Tina’s waist. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Honey, I’d like you to meet Brady Sheppard—his family owns this winery. Isn’t that cool? Brady,” Tina continued, cuddling against comb-over’s side, “this is my fiancé, Doctor Shawn Connolly. Shawn is the number one orthodontist in Richmond. If you’re ever in the market for braces, be sure to look him up.”
Brady shook Shawn’s hand. “Nothing I’d like better than driving three hours to get metal bands slapped on my teeth.”
J.C. reprimanded him with a slight shake of her head.
Shawn shared a look with Tina. “I’m sure you can find quality dental care right here in Jewell. It seems like a beautiful little town.”
“It is,” Tina said, ignoring Brady’s slight. “It was the best place to grow up, so safe…why…everyone was like family. And this is Jane Montgomery, an old friend of mine from high school. But I tell you, I couldn’t believe it when I first saw her! She’s lost a ton of weight.”
J.C. gritted her teeth. “Actually, I didn’t lose quite that much.”
And she and Tina sure hadn’t been more than acquaintances. Cute cheerleaders didn’t hang out with chubby girls who’d rather volunteer at the local ASPCA than work on homecoming floats.
Tina hugged Shawn around his middle. “Well, however much you lost doesn’t matter. You look so much better.”
She didn’t need to be reminded that she’d spent most of her life overweight. Especially in front of Brady.
Brady laid his hand on the small of her back and she almost jumped out of her skin. “What brings you to Jewell?” he asked the couple in front of them.
Tears stung her eyes. She blamed it on hormones. She couldn’t even listen to love songs on the radio without getting all blubbery. Not because the warmth of Brady’s hand seeping through the silky fabric of her dress made it easier to pull her shoulders back and pretend Tina’s comments didn’t bother her.
“We’re going on a cruise for Christmas so we’re doing the holiday thing early with my family,” Tina said. “But I still need to get my sister-in-law’s gift and was hoping to find it here. She’s such a snob. She returns everything.”
“Chocolates,” Brady said.
Tina looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
“We now carry a line of locally produced gourmet chocolates,” he clarified, sounding as if he’d memorized a brochure. Reaching behind J.C., he picked up the tray of samples she’d set out and held them out to Shawn and Tina.
“None for me, thanks,” Shawn said. “My teeth are like a walking billboard for my business.”
“I don’t have his willpower,” Tina confessed, scanning the tray. “I can’t pass up chocolate. Ooh…what’s this one?” She pointed to a glossy dark chocolate truffle with a drizzle of white chocolate.
Brady nudged J.C. “That’s cappuccino,” she said. “The…uh…ganache is milk chocolate, coffee and cinnamon.”
“Sounds yummy.” Tina picked it up and bit into it, her hand underneath the candy to catch any loose bits. The expression on her face was practically orgasmic.
“The cappuccino flavor is one of the top sellers in J.C.’s line,” Brady said.
“You made these?” Tina asked. As if J.C.’s candy-making ability ranked up there with walking on water and being able to yodel.
“It’s just a—”
“Yes,” Brady said, not even glancing her way. “She makes them all.”
Ten minutes later, Dr. Shawn walked over to the gift wrap table with three boxes of mixed truffles. Tina waited in line at the checkout counter with a bottle each of the three wines Brady suggested made the best pairings.
And Brady was still by J.C.’s side, all silent and grimfaced in his worn jeans, faded Marine Corps T-shirt and work boots. His hair was beyond shaggy and getting close to unmanageable. She’d say he hadn’t shaved in a week.
“I appreciate the sales job you did with Tina,” she said.
He leaned back against the thick, wooden beam next to her table and inclined his head. The Brady Sheppard way of saying you’re welcome.
Well, if he couldn’t take the hint that she wanted him gone, she thought irritably, she’d just ignore him. Humming “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” with the two violinists playing softly in the corner, J.C. pulled on clean gloves and arranged a trio of her extra dark truffles on the silver tray then checked her watch. With less than thirty minutes left until closing time, she wasn’t sure how many more she’d need to set out, but there were still at least twenty customers milling around the gift shop and tasting room in the large farmhouse.
Two walls were all windows, with silver pendant and gooseneck lights hanging from the exposed ceiling beams. Wide, wooden beams showed where original walls stood and ancient-looking narrow boards made up the floor.
Finger foods, catered from The Old Library, the fanciest restaurant in Jewell, were presented on a covered board over three large wooden wine barrels.
“Why’d you let Tanya upset you?”
She dropped a chocolate on the floor. Picking it up, she tossed it into the garbage can under the table. “Her name’s Tina. And I wasn’t up—”
“Bullshit.”
Sighing, she turned, only to find him standing too close to her. “I… It’s hard for me to…to know what to say when someone comments on my weight. It’s…awkward,” she finished, her gaze on the table.
And she hated that there were days she still felt like that overweight girl. Self-conscious. Second-best to Liz.
“Seems to me,” Brady said after what had to be the longest moment of her life, “you’ve done something to be proud of.”
“All I did was lose weight.” It wasn’t as if she’d graduated from college. Or gone to medical school. She didn’t help save people’s lives every day she went to work.
“Was it easy?”
“What?”
“Was it easy to deprive yourself?”
“It’s not about deprivation. It’s about making better choices.” She took the gloves off and crumpled them in her hand. “Everything in moderation. Fruit instead of junk food. Exercise more.”
“You still needed willpower. Dedication. Determination. And these?” he asked, gesturing at the candy before settling his right hand on the table. “They’re good. Tanya—”
“Tina.”
He shrugged. “She bought three boxes because they’re good. Not because of anything I did.”
“Well,” she said, warmth spreading throughout her chest, “you sure told me.”
“You don’t give yourself as much credit as you deserve.”
“That has to be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. Except for when I was in third grade and Davey Rodgers told me my hair made me look like a little lion.”
“Not a lion,” he said, studying her intently. She would’ve stepped back except he lifted his free hand to her hair and wrapped a curl around his finger. “More like a sunburst around your face.”
J.C. JERKED HER HEAD BACK, her hair tightening around Brady’s finger before sliding away. She tucked it behind her ear. “So, is this how you usually spend your Saturdays?”
He fisted his hand. “I’m working.”
She tipped her head and studied him. “You get paid to stand around and look…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Intimidating?”
She opened a bottle of water and gestured at him with it. “I was going to say grumpy but intimidating works, too.”
“I didn’t say I was happy about working. And I sold three bottles of wine, didn’t I?”
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br /> “That you did.” She crouched to pull a box out from underneath the green cloth covering her table. “Do you get a commission?”
“Just a regular paycheck,” he said absently, his attention caught by the way her bright pink dress swirled around her knees when she straightened.
“You’re working here for real? That’s great. You must not be—” She blushed and concentrated on setting out more of her candy. “Your knee. It…uh…must not be bothering you as much.”
And if that was what she’d meant to say, he’d kiss bin Laden’s ass. “I don’t drink on the job.”
As per his brother’s instructions, he’d been sober every day. Hungover, but sober.
“I never realized you were interested in working here,” she said, choosing to ignore him.
“I’m not.” He helped himself to a white chocolate truffle. “It’s temporary.”
“Do you still want to go into law enforcement?” At his sharp look, she shrugged. “Liz mentioned you wanted to attend the police academy when you got out of the service.”
“I’d never pass the physical.”
Not to mention the psych evaluation.
“Maybe if you find a good physical therapist—”
“My knee will never be a hundred percent,” he said, tossing a second half-eaten chocolate in the garbage.
“I’m sorry,” she said, laying her hand on his forearm. His muscles tensed under her warm fingers. “Now stop wasting my inventory.”
He stepped back and her hand fell to her side. He nodded to the middle-aged couple approaching them. “Customers.”
As J.C. went into her sales pitch—offering them a sample, explaining the different flavors and wine pairings—Brady edged away.
He didn’t need her pity. He’d known the risks going in. Those risks were part of the reason Liz hadn’t wanted him to join up. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to be a Marine. To be in the middle of the action.
Right. Action. He saw a snow-covered road carved from the side of a mountain. Heard the echoing, rat-a-tat of machine gun fire. His commander’s shouts. His buddies’ curses. Felt the surge of adrenaline as he dove for cover. Returned fire.
His mouth dried and his heart began to race. Taking J.C.’s water, he drained it, his fingers denting the plastic.
“I could’ve gotten you your own water.”
He lowered the bottle. “Sorry.”
J.C. regarded him seriously. “Hey, are you—”
“Another sale?” he asked, motioning to the couple walking off.
“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “But they seemed to like the Turtles.”
He twisted the cap back on the bottle. “Can’t win them all.”
“That’s so inspiring,” she said. “I think I’ll put it on one of those needlework samplers and hang it in my living room.” She moved an oblong red ceramic tray of white chocolate dipped pretzels an eighth of an inch to the left. “Is there a reason you’re standing watch back here instead of…whatever else you’re supposed to be doing? That can’t really be your job.”
“As far as Aidan’s concerned, anything and everything he doesn’t want to handle—and thinks I can—is my job.”
Pam, the gift shop’s superefficient manager, needed him here as much as Aidan needed help being uptight. Pam had no sooner given Brady his first assignment—making sure all the chardonnay bottles were label side out—than he’d realized that Aidan had asked him to work an extra day to keep Brady busy.
As if he were a kid who needed to be entertained or else he’d get into trouble.
He’d been about to walk out, he should’ve walked out. But then he’d spotted J.C. at the back of the store setting up her table.
“I like it back here.”
She smacked his arm. “Yeah. For the free chocolate.”
“Among other things.”
She caught her breath.
And someone cleared a throat. “Are we interrupting?”
J.C. GROANED AND QUICKLY stepped away from Brady. What had so far been a pretty decent day was about to go downhill. Fast.
“Liz. Hi,” she said, her voice strangled. “Wha-what are you doing here?”
Crossing her arms, Liz glanced at Brady and then back at J.C. “We ran into Lori Crandall at the grocery store and she mentioned you were selling chocolates here. I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell us yourself.”
“Right. I saw Lori in here earlier.” J.C. wiped her palms down the side of her dress. “I…I would’ve told you…” she lied, “but I figured you’d be…too busy…to come.”
“Hey,” Carter said as he joined them, a grin on his movie-star-handsome face, “we’re never too busy for you.”
Then he pulled her into a warm hug. Out of the corner of her eye, J.C. saw Brady roll his shoulders back as if preparing to go a few rounds.
Winner got Liz.
Luckily, if Carter had any violent thoughts about Brady, he hid them well. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he released her.
“Fine. Good. It’s okay if you have to go,” she told Brady in a rush. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asked in a deadly soft tone as he inclined his head toward her brother-in-law.
“Not on your life.” Taking him by the arm, she pulled him to the other end of the table. “Stay here. Please,” she said, when he looked ready to argue. “Please, Brady.”
He looked over her head at Liz and Carter. His mouth flattened. “Where are your boxes?”
“What?”
“The store closes soon. If you get the boxes, I can start packing up your stuff.”
“You don’t have to.”
He sent another fleeting look at Liz. “All part of the job description, Jane.”
J.C. felt numb. Still thinking of her sister but willing to settle for her. Well, at least he got her name right this time. “Sure. Whatever. They’re under the table.”
“I can’t…I don’t think I can get them,” he said tightly, stopping her before she could walk away.
She shut her eyes for a moment. She could do this. She could act as if him sending longing looks her sister’s way—after he’d touched her hair so sweetly—didn’t bother her. Grabbing the boxes, she set them on the table and then deliberately turned away.
Liz, in her black skinny jeans, white top and red jacket, and Carter, with the barest hint of stubble and his striped scarf tucked under the collar of a caramel-colored suede coat, could’ve been in the picture accompanying one of those fashion magazine’s articles: How The Perfect Couple Dresses, Weekend-Style.
But on closer inspection, J.C. could see perfection was an illusion. There were tension lines around Carter’s mouth. Liz held herself stiffly. And while Carter kept his gaze on the candy display, Liz kept looking at Brady only to drop her gaze when she thought someone noticed.
“It was really…great…of you both to take the time to…support me like this,” J.C. said when she reached them.
“I have to admit,” Carter said, “once I found out what you were doing, I had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out here.”
She swallowed and peeked at Liz, but her sister wouldn’t look her way.
“I was hoping you’d have some of that chocolate bark with the cashews available,” Carter continued. “The last time you gave me some to take to the office, I was a real hero.”
She exhaled shakily. “Sure. I think I still have a few boxes left…” Before she could look over her products, Brady slid two, one-pound boxes down the table.
Wonderful. He could not only hear every word they said, but he wanted them to be aware he was listening.
She tried to return Carter’s smile but failed miserably. “Here you go. There’s one milk chocolate and one white chocolate.”
“Perfect,” he said, the unusual edge to his voice the only indication Brady’s presence still bothered him. “Do I pay here or up front?”
&n
bsp; “Oh, no. They’re my treat.”
“You can’t be giving away all of your profits,” Carter said.
“We’ll pay for them,” Liz said firmly, finally meeting J.C.’s eyes. “We insist.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.” J.C. swallowed but it felt as if she had one of her truffles stuck in her throat. “You can…uh…pay at the cashier.”
Carter pulled out his wallet. “Looks like they’re getting ready to close.” He shot a glance over J.C.’s head—presumably to where Brady still lurked. “Will you be all right here by yourself, J.C.?”
She could’ve sworn she heard Brady growl.
“Sure. I get to keep most of my stuff here—they’re going to set up a small display of the chocolate I have left to sell during the week,” she said, purposely misinterpreting his question. Would she be all right alone with Brady Sheppard? “I’ll be fine.”
Though he didn’t seem convinced, he didn’t push it. “I’d better get in line, then.” He kissed her cheek. “And in case we don’t see you before then, good luck Tuesday.”
“Thanks.”
“You ready, honey?” he asked Liz.
“I’d like to speak with J.C.,” she said. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
“I hate this,” J.C. blurted as soon as Carter walked away. She lowered her voice so Brady couldn’t hear. “Can’t we please discuss this?”
Liz frowned at J.C. “What’s Tuesday?”
And that had been the last question she’d expected. “Nothing. Just…I have an appointment with Dr. Owens…”
“And you told my husband about it?”
“Your husband,” J.C. whispered, her movements jerky as she swept pieces of the curly gold ribbon she’d scattered across the table into a pile, “is the only person at your house who’ll talk to me when I call.”
Liz drummed her fingers on the table, next to the base of a glass pedestal holding the remaining bite-size samples of J.C.’s Turtles. “What’s this really about? You selling chocolate here?”
“I need extra cash. For the holidays.”
“Do you really think orchestrating it so that you’re around him more is going to change anything?”
