“What if I don’t agree?”
She lifted her shoulder. “Give me a better solution.”
He stared at her. Unfortunately, he didn’t have one.
So when she broke the tense silence between them by getting in her car, he didn’t stop her.
Instead, he watched the taillights of her old car until they were no longer in sight.
Chapter Twelve
“Tabby!” Hayley Banyon, looking elegantly beautiful in a royal blue gown, caught Tabby’s hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then she looked up at Bubba. “My goodness, Bubba. Look at you.”
Tabby’s cook grimaced. He was clean shaven—something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. He looked as though he already wanted to rip off his black bow tie, even though they’d just arrived at the party. “Feel like a trussed-up penguin,” he said, tugging at his black tuxedo jacket.
“You don’t look like a penguin,” Hayley assured him. “You’re downright handsome.”
Which was a compliment that only made Bubba look even more uncomfortable. He muttered a gruff “thank you” that made Hayley’s smile widen. She squeezed Tabby’s hands once again before excusing herself to greet more people as they entered the high-ceilinged, marble-floored foyer.
Come with me.
Tabby shook the memory of Justin’s words out of her head and slid her hand around Bubba’s arm, urging him past the beautifully decorated Christmas tree situated in the center of the spacious entry. She wanted to be there about as much as she wanted holes drilled in her head.
But she wasn’t going to let Bubba down just because Justin Clay once again had her twisted in knots. Come with me. Just like that. Drop everything that mattered in her life to go with him simply because he’d discovered having sex with her wasn’t so bad, after all.
“The sooner Vivian sees you here, the sooner you can leave,” she said under her breath.
Bubba made a face. “I never wore stuff like this before.”
“I’ve never worn an evening gown, either,” Tabby said, brushing her hand down the heavy red fabric of her dress. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t trip over the thing and fall on my face. The only floor-length thing I’ve ever worn was a flannel nightgown when I was little.”
As she’d hoped, Bubba’s expression lightened up a little. “You don’t have on your cowboy boots underneath there, do you?”
“I wish.” She lifted the hem a few inches off the floor to reveal the high-heeled pumps her mother had loaned her to go with the dress. “It’s going to take alcohol to make me forget the way these shoes are pinching my toes.” Though why it might work for her aching toes when it didn’t work to help her forget those three little words—come with me—she couldn’t imagine.
“Pretty sure there’ll be plenty of alcohol,” Bubba said as they entered a living area that made even Hope and Tristan Clay’s great room look small. “I’ve seen the boxes of stuff Montrose has been getting.”
Despite herself, she realized she was gaping at the sight of the room around them, and she made herself stop.
She’d never seen so many pieces of gold furniture in one place before. But then, she’d also never seen people she’d known all of her life dressed in this much formal wear before, either. Not even at the hospital fund-raiser.
She blinked a little at the sight of Tristan Clay, decked out in a tux just as black as Bubba’s. But Justin’s dad wore his with enviable ease. Probably because he owned and operated the hugely successful Cee-Vid and was more accustomed to such ostentatious displays. Hope, who was standing beside her husband, looked positively radiant in a deep purple gown. They seemed deep in conversation with a couple Tabby didn’t know who were similarly attired.
Even though she knew her mom had been glad for a legitimate excuse to miss the party, she was sorry that Jolie wasn’t there to see all the glamour.
Right here in Weaver.
For the first time in days, the matter of Justin Clay edged slightly to one side in her mind.
“Bubba,” she murmured. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
He responded by turning her slightly so she could see the hostess where she was standing by a tall window, talking with a stern-looking man.
Tabby had only seen Vivian in person a few times. She figured Hayley’s grandmother was probably in her eighties. But there was nothing exactly elderly about the white-haired woman. Even though Tabby’s mother had described the gown she’d made for Vivian, she still blinked a little at the sight of it. Yards of white satin ought to have overwhelmed the diminutive woman, but they didn’t. The shining gold fabric tied around her waist in an oversize bow ought to have seemed silly, but it didn’t. Plus it matched the fancy little bolero jacket she wore.
“Do you think she planned it so she’d match the gold flecks in the upholstery?”
Fortunately, Bubba’s guffaw was drowned out by Christmas music and conversation. “Knowing her, she might have.” Evidently losing interest, he gestured toward a table that was set up as a bar. “Alcohol’s over there.”
Tabby gratefully headed over with him. This whole thing was feeling decidedly surreal, and fortification would be necessary if and when Justin got there. She’d been praying for two solid days that he’d get so involved with his work that he’d forget all about the party.
But if her prayers of the cowardly variety were answered on a regular basis, he would’ve gone back to Boston after Thanksgiving the way he usually did.
Gathering her wits about her, she glanced at the elaborate display spread out on the white-and-gold cloth covering the table. There was nothing as simple as beer on offer, which was one more indication that Hayley’s grandmother expected those around her to adjust to her style, rather than the other way around.
What else could explain a woman who drove a Rolls-Royce around Weaver when a pickup or SUV would have been far more sensible?
Bubba seemed to take it more in stride, but then he had more personal experience with their hostess than Tabby. He simply poured himself a healthy measure of whiskey and muttered something about needing some fresh air. Tabby let him go. He was more familiar with the big new house than she was, after all.
She studied the collection of wine bottles for a moment, then chose a pinot noir. She took one sip and groaned a little.
“Something wrong with the wine?”
Startled, she glanced up at the tall man who’d stepped behind the table. “Not at all.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s too good. I’m afraid the usual stuff I drink is never going to satisfy me now.”
“My grandmother has good taste in liquor and wine. But—” he angled his blond head and smiled “—I wish she didn’t think beer was beneath her.” His eyes glinted. “I might survive the evening, though, if you’ll tell me that you and I aren’t related.”
“Mrs. Templeton is your grandmother?”
He glanced over at their hostess, who now seemed to be in heated discussion with her companion. “Yes. And that guy she’s arguing with is my old man.” He looked back at Tabby and stuck his hand over the bottles. “Archer Templeton.”
Tabby’s smile widened as she shook his hand. “You’re Hayley’s brother. The lawyer, right?”
“Guilty.”
“She’s mentioned you a few times. I’m Tabby Taggart. And I’ll admit to knowing quite a few of the people here, but I’m definitely not related to any of them.” Never would be.
Come with me. As what?
Archer didn’t immediately release her hand. “The evening is looking up.”
She flushed a little. It was hard not to. The man was crazy handsome and possessed a devilish smile. If she didn’t already know the futility of it, she might have wondered if he was rocket worthy.
She slipped her hand away from h
is and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Do you live in Braden, Archer?”
“Sort of. I have a house there.” He dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and splashed vodka over them before tossing in a few olives. “I spend more of my time in Cheyenne. Sometimes Denver.” He lifted his drink. “My dad’s idea of a martini.” He squinted a little as he took a sip. “So if you’re not one of our newfound kin, are you here with one? Hayley says our granny was choosy with her invites.”
“I’m here with Bub—er, Robert Bumble.” The name obviously meant nothing to him. “He cooks for your grandmother when Montrose is off.”
“Ah.” Archer nodded his head. “And is it serious between you and ‘Bub—er, Robert’?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I would be lost without him,” she said seriously, then chuckled when Archer frowned. “We actually work together,” she admitted. “I run a diner here in Weaver. He’s our regular cook. And I honestly couldn’t do it without him.”
“Well, then.” His frown disappeared, and he held up his highball glass between them. “To new friends.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Something tells me you already have a lot of friends, Archer.”
His smile deepened. “I’ll plead the Fifth on that.”
She laughed and tapped the side of her wineglass against his. “To new friends.”
* * *
Entering the room on Erik and Izzy’s heels, Justin immediately spotted Tabby. It was hard not to. Just as she had at the hospital fund-raiser, she stood out like a shining beacon. Only tonight, instead of a shimmery white dress that stopped midthigh, she was wrapped in red from neck to toe. The only things left bare were her sleekly muscled shoulders and arms. She’d done something to her hair, too. It was as shiny as ever, but it was straight and smooth as glass, streaming behind her back.
She was Tabby. Yet she wasn’t.
He was vaguely aware of Erik saying something, and then his brother and sister-in-law were crossing the fancy room, leaving him behind.
He watched Tabby and a strange man share a toast and a smile that looked way too friendly and felt his fists curl.
Without conscious thought, he moved over to them and put his arm around her. When she jumped, he merely cupped his palm around her shoulder, holding her still. “How’s the wine?”
The look she gave him spoke volumes.
It didn’t stop him from sliding the glass right out of her fingers. He absently did the ritual wine-tasting bit he’d perfected because of CNJ. Swirl. Sniff. Sip. He’d done it with heads of corporations and medical institutions. But he didn’t take his eyes off the other man, who was giving him an assessing look in return.
“Not bad,” he said, taking a longer sip. “Who’s your new friend, Tab?”
She was rigid beside him. “Your cousin, actually,” she said through her teeth. “Dr. Justin Clay, meet Archer Templeton.” She turned away from him with a sharp little jerk that dislodged his hand. “It’s been very nice meeting you, Archer. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my date.” She walked away.
Both men watched her, though Archer was the one to break his stare first. “Doctor,” he drawled. “Hayley gave me the rundown, but I didn’t pay her much attention. My uncle is a pediatrician.”
“Not that kind of doctor. Tabby just likes jerking my chain.”
“Hmm.” Archer looked amused and belatedly stuck out his hand. “Which one of Squire Clay’s sons do you belong to?”
Justin was supposed to be a civilized man. He crushed the appealing notion of dragging Tabby away where she’d be out of reach of guys like Archer and reluctantly shook the other man’s hand. “Tristan is my father. I’m his youngest. He’s Squire’s youngest. And you? Where do you fit?”
Archer jerked his chin toward a white-haired lady wearing a set expression. “That gray-haired guy arguing with Granny Vivian? He’s my father, Carter. Also her youngest.”
Erik had reiterated the history for Justin before they’d entered the palatial house. “Your grandfather and my grandfather’s first wife were brother and sister.”
“Half brother and sister. But, yeah. My grandfather never knew about her, though, until they were adults.”
“Your grandfather died when he was still a young man.” Erik had told him that, too.
Archer nodded. “And your grandmother died while she was still a young woman.” He glanced again at his grandmother. “Viv managed to piss off a lot of people in her day, including your grandfather. Otherwise, we might have learned about each other long before now. But she’s trying to make up for it.”
“Someone should tell her that dropping a pile of money on the hospital isn’t going to sway my grandfather. Squire makes up his mind about something, it’s not likely to change. Before my dad was even born, your grandmother disrespected Squire’s wife because she was illegitimate. Obviously she didn’t have a problem with your grandfather—she named my uncle after him. But my grandfather won’t ever forget.”
Archer shrugged. “I only met her earlier this year myself, but I already know that Vivian doesn’t change her mind, either. Even if she has to build a brand-new fence around the obstacle of your grandfather, she’s going to keep mending the rest of them. Trying to, at least. I can give her credit for that, even though my father won’t.”
“Seems our families have even more in common,” Justin said. “Stubborn-as-hell grandparents.”
“And similar taste in women.” Archer’s gaze traveled past Justin, obviously watching Tabby again.
Forget civilized. “She’s off the market,” he said flatly.
The other man’s eyebrows rose. “She didn’t give me that impression.”
“Regardless. Look somewhere else.”
Archer eyed him for a moment. Then he shrugged and topped off his glass with a shot of vodka. “Glad to meet you, Doc. I think we all might be in for an interesting evening,” he added as he walked away.
Justin doubted it. If he hadn’t heard from three different people that week that Tabby was going to be there with Bubba, he would have excused himself from going altogether, no matter what he’d promised his mother. He still had work to do, and the deadline was looming larger with every passing day.
But he was glad he was there. Archer Templeton was a player. Justin recognized the type.
And there was no way the guy was going to play with Tabby.
Since she’d scraped away his suggestion about Boston the way he’d scraped dog crap from his shoe, he hadn’t seen or spoken with her. Until tonight.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her hugging Izzy. Physically, the two women couldn’t have been more different. Izzy was short and curvaceous with white-blond hair. Tabby was tall and lean with brown hair so dark it was almost black.
But for a moment—a moment that had his hair standing on end—he imagined Tabby with a baby bump like the one Izzy sported.
He abruptly set down the whiskey he’d been about to pour into a glass and reached instead for one of the fancy-looking bottles of water. It was the same brand that Gillian used to request whenever they’d gone out. He removed the pretentious cork top and took a long drink. As it always had before, the stupidly expensive stuff tasted no better than the tap water he’d grown up with.
His parents waylaid him before he could head Tabby’s way again, and he found himself enduring more Templeton introductions. So many, in fact, that he started regretting the water-over-whiskey choice. Then his aunt Rebecca and uncle Sawyer arrived, and she wanted to know how his space was working at the lab. He was in the middle of that conversation when a streak of red entered his line of sight.
“How dare you,” Tabby said, shoving his shoulder hard. “I’m off the market?” Her voice rose above the music and conversation, which dwindled to nothing in the wake of her furious words.
&nb
sp; “Calm down. You’re overreacting.”
Her expression grew even angrier. “You are the biggest jerk I have ever known. Why I ever thought I—” She pressed her lips together, breathing hard. “You know what?” She waved her hand. “I’m done. I’m just done. Weaver obviously isn’t large enough for the two of us. I thought I could stick it out until you go back to Boston, but I was wrong.” She turned away so sharply that her hair spun out from her shoulders.
Not caring about the shocked attention they were getting, he grabbed her arm, halting her progress. “What do you mean, you’re done?”
She yanked out of his grip. Tears glittered in her eyes. “I mean I don’t want anything to do with you! I want you out of my triplex and out of my life.”
Panic slid through his gut. “That’s never gonna happen. Ruby’s—”
She pushed her shaking hands through her hair, raking it back from her face. “Forget Ruby’s! I want no part of it as long as you’re part of that equation. I quit!”
Chapter Thirteen
“I warned everyone that no good would come outta that woman’s Christmas party last night.” Justin’s grandfather sat down across from him at the big round table in the Double-C’s kitchen. “But nobody wants to listen to an old man anymore.”
Gloria snorted softly. “Don’t try the poor-me tack, Squire. Nobody buys it.” She set a pitcher of syrup on the table next to the waffle she’d already given Justin. A waffle he didn’t want, but one he didn’t have the heart to deny.
Not when his grandmother and grandfather were the only ones who hadn’t basically slammed a door in his face.
His parents were furious.
His brother was livid.
The rest of the family had pretty much been disgusted. His uncle Matt—who ran the ranch and along with his wife lived in the big house with Squire and Gloria—had blandly suggested Justin bed down in the barn. He hadn’t been joking.
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