Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Vivian was sitting on her favored settee in her office. From its position, she had a view of the lushly landscaped grounds behind her newly built mansion, and now she propped her glasses on her nose and peered over to where Penny was sitting at the gigantic desk. “That looks fine, dear.” She squinted a little, running her hand up and down the heavy strand of pearls draped around her neck. “But no purple in the printing. Perhaps blue instead. Royal blue, though. No navy. It’s positively boring.” She slid off her glasses and turned to study the landscaping once again. “What happened between you and Quinn last weekend?”

  On the outside, Penny went stock-still.

  On the inside, however, her nerves went into overdrive.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” She carefully turned the computer screen back to face her, but she couldn’t even begin to touch the keyboard. Not with the way her fingers were shaking.

  They’d returned to Wyoming the afternoon before.

  And in the twenty-four hours since, Penny had been in an agony of waiting for Quinn to contact her. There was no doubt that he would.

  As much as she wanted to buy into the entire “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” she couldn’t. Most particularly because she knew he couldn’t.

  Given the choice, she’d just go along pretending as if nothing had ever happened there. It wasn’t as if she intended to marry another person for real, after all.

  Marriage and family?

  If Andy’s death hadn’t already proven to her, once and for all, that she was not destined for such things, then the disastrous way she’d ended up in Quinn’s hotel suite had provided a pretty good capper.

  Vivian propped her glasses on her nose again, but evidently, only so that she could give Penny a long look over the top of the narrow, silver frames. “Aside from the guilty look on your face when I found you together in your hotel room, and the even guiltier look on your face now, you mean?” She slid off her glasses again and gestured with them toward the tall, arched windows that lined the wall in front of her settee. “How about the fact that Quinn is outside right now, mulching the new spruce trees?”

  From overdrive to hyperdrive.

  Before Penny could stop herself, she got up from the desk and walked around to see out the windows from Vivian’s perspective. The grounds around the enormous house were covered in bright green grass with islands of flowers artistically scattered about. Thick clusters of evergreens were positioned to show off the view of the mountains in the distance.

  Penny was fairly certain there wasn’t a single piece of property in all of Wyoming that was so magnificently positioned and landscaped. The house was certainly the fanciest one that she had ever been inside. All fifteen thousand feet of it. And not a single stick of furniture inside was made of cowhide, sported rough-cut edges or possessed any hint of rusticness like one would expect in a small ranching community like Weaver.

  “Did you know he would be coming here?”

  Penny shook her head. Quinn had only shown up at Vivian’s a couple of times before the Vegas trip, and then always seemingly in passing. “Didn’t you?”

  “Well, obviously not.” Vivian’s voice was dry. She pushed off the settee and went to the windows, sliding one large panel open. “Call him.”

  Penny looked at her boss. “I beg your pardon?”

  Vivian gestured toward the window. “Lean out. Call him. You’re young and beautiful. You can get away with a little undignified behavior like that. He can come in and have tea with us.”

  Penny’s face flushed. She was going to be thirty in a few weeks. Not so young. As for beautiful—the only thing she had going for her were her eyes. Supposedly, she’d inherited them from her father. She’d never known him. It was just the story her mother always told Penny whenever she’d sobered up enough to get her back in custody for a while.

  Until the next bender—then back into foster care Penny went.

  Quinn called you beautiful, too.

  “Well?”

  Vivian was waiting, her hand on the hip of her designer suit.

  Clearly, Penny didn’t have a graceful way out. She could have pointed out to Vivian that they never “had tea,” but figured it wouldn’t be wise. “Who says I want to be undignified?” Though she rarely worried about whether she was dignified or not.

  That was purely a Vivian thing.

  “If you don’t call him, I’m going to be more certain than ever that something occurred between the two of you this weekend.” Vivian’s voice was light. But there was a canny look in her eye that worried Penny.

  There wasn’t a window screen—Vivian felt they obscured the view and belonged only in their proper place—the downstairs sunroom. So Penny walked over to the open window and leaned her head out. “Quinn!”

  “He’ll never hear you all the way out there like that,” Vivian chided. “Give a good shout.”

  Penny inwardly sighed. “Quinn!”

  “That’s better, dear.” Vivian peered expectantly through the windows, but still Quinn didn’t even glance over his shoulder toward the house. “Well.” She sat back down on the settee. “You’ll just have to go out and get him.” She propped her glasses on her nose and turned her attention to the papers she’d been going through all morning. “Go on, now. And tell Montrose on your way that we’ll be having tea in the conservatory.”

  Montrose was Vivian’s regular chef. He’d worked for Vivian in Pennsylvania for years and a prissier, snottier prima donna didn’t exist as far as Penny was concerned. Typically, she avoided him like the plague.

  And he, her.

  But Penny knew there was no point in arguing with her boss, so she left the office and headed through the house and down the main staircase—marble, of course—to the kitchen, which was located on the main floor. When she didn’t find Montrose fussing in that cavernous room, she knocked on the door to his private quarters located behind the kitchen.

  He opened the door immediately and glared down at her. “What do you want?”

  She smiled sweetly. The tall, bald-headed man should have learned by now that looking at her as if she were a bag of doggie-doo left on his porch made no impact on her. Not considering the way she’d grown up. Until the Bennetts, she’d been left so many places she’d felt as wanted as that bag of doggie-doo. “Mrs. Templeton would like tea, Mr. Montrose.”

  He sighed loudly, running his lined hand down the front of the starched white apron he wore over a severe black suit and white shirt. Unlike most days, when he had a black bow tie circling his turkey neck, today he was sporting a gray patterned cravat. “How many times do I need to tell you it is simply Montrose. Not mister. Just Montrose. Surely, even you can manage it.” He had a faint British accent that tended to come and go, which always made Penny wonder if it was an affectation or not.

  With Montrose, it was anyone’s guess.

  And if she couldn’t avoid him, at least she could annoy him. “Of course I can remember, Mr. Montrose. She’d like it set up in the sunroom.”

  His nostrils flared. “You mean the conservatory.”

  “Same thing, in my book.” She raised her eyebrows. “Can she expect tea, then?” She knew he considered her an entirely inappropriate choice as their employer’s personal assistant, because he’d told her so when she’d first been hired and about a hundred times since.

  “I suppose.” He slammed the door in her face.

  She probably should have felt guilty over feeling a little more chipper as she walked away.

  There was a spacious atrium in the very center of the enormous house from which you could exit either to the front of the house or the rear.

  She went out the rear, crossing the herringbone-patterned brick patio that ran the entire width at the back of the house, then stepped onto the thick, green grass as she headed for the trees.

/>   She hadn’t gotten halfway there before her Montrose-inspired spurt of cheerfulness faded.

  The sun was high in the sky and even though the air didn’t carry the sense of being inside a pizza oven the way it had in Las Vegas, it was nevertheless extremely warm. She was wearing a lightweight cotton sundress, but she still felt hot by the time she neared Quinn.

  He was sweating, too. She could see the sheen of it on his corded arms beneath the dirt-smeared white T-shirt he wore along with beige cargo shorts.

  He had a wheelbarrow full of mulch and as she approached, he moved farther along the thicket of young trees before dumping another pile of woodchips and then crouching down to spread it in a circle beneath the tree. As he worked, the T-shirt stretched tightly across his long back, and her mouth went a little dry.

  It annoyed her probably as much as she annoyed Montrose.

  “Quinn.” He still didn’t glance at her, and even more irritated, she walked around the wheelbarrow. “Quinn!”

  He finally glanced up and straightened, tugging the tiny earphones she hadn’t noticed before out of his ears before pushing up the bill of his ball cap. “You look pretty today.”

  It was the very last comment she could have expected. “Uh...thanks.” She could feel her neck starting to flush. The only thing she could seem to think about was the wedding ring he’d tried to foist on her the day before. She hadn’t wanted it. He hadn’t wanted it. For all she knew, he’d tossed it in the trash. A giveaway pile. She focused on the USAF emblem embroidered on the front of his cap. “What are you listening to?”

  “Bach.”

  “Haven’t heard of them.”

  “Johann Sebastian Bach?” A faint smile played around his lips as he pulled the wire from behind his neck and handed the two earbuds to her. “The Brandenburg Concertos.”

  The heat went from her neck up into her cheeks. She held one of the earpieces close to her ear, and sure enough, she heard the strains of distinctly classical music. She handed him back the earphones. “I would have pegged you as hard rock all the way.”

  “Listen to that, too.” He draped the lightweight contraption around his neck, but didn’t put them back into his ears. Instead, he pulled a cell phone from one of the many pockets on his slouchy cargo shorts and hit a few buttons, then tucked it away again. “And most everything in between. This is relaxing stuff, though.”

  “You’re in need of relaxing?” She made a face and looked away. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Yeah, well, strangely enough, it’s not because of our unintentional wedded bliss. I sent the vial from Vegas to a friend of mine this morning to test it. It’ll be a day or two before she gets back to me.” He grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and rolled it forward another few yards before dumping another pile.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek and followed him. There was probably something wrong with her when she felt more interested in who his female friend was than what kind of substance was in the vial. Whatever the results were, the situation wasn’t going to change.

  And she was not jealous of some unknown woman. “Your grandmother sent me out to tell you to come in for tea.”

  He looked skeptical.

  “You think I’d make that up? She wants to have tea with you.” She rubbed her earlobe and shifted from one foot to the other. “And she’s uh, well, she’s—”

  “Spit it out, sweetheart.”

  Her face was hotter than ever. “Suspicious!”

  “Why?”

  She gestured. At him. At the trees. At the mulch. “What are you even doing here?”

  “Relaxing.”

  She waited a beat. Because even she wasn’t buying into the explanation. “You couldn’t relax somewhere else? You had to show up here, without your grandmother even expecting you?”

  “Of course she’s expecting me. I ran into Josh McArthur in Braden. He was picking up the mulch at the nursery. Complaining about having to drive all the way back here. I had to come to Weaver anyway, so I offered to take care of it. He called to let her know. I was standing right there when he did it.”

  She frowned. “He spoke directly with your grandmother?”

  “I thought he did.” He looked past her toward the house.

  Concern overrode everything else. “Vivian said she wasn’t expecting you. She seemed genuinely surprised.”

  “Which would mean she’s starting to forget phone calls that happened within half a day?” He gave her a sharp look. “What else is she forgetting?”

  “Nothing that I’ve noticed!” She hated the defensiveness in her voice. “She’s been as sharp as a tack today. Same as every day. It’s exhausting just keeping up with her. Are you sure Josh spoke with your grandmother? Maybe he left a message with Montrose.”

  Quinn was already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket again. He dialed a number and held it to his ear, only to swear softly a moment later as he hung up and pocketed the phone once more. “Not enough signal for a call.” He put his hand on Penny’s elbow and steered her toward the house.

  She practically had to jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. By the time they reached the house, she was breathless.

  Montrose was just crossing the atrium, holding a well-laden silver tray in his hands. He gave them both a disapproving look, though he stopped short of saying something. Probably only because Quinn was Vivian’s grandson.

  “Montrose,” Quinn’s tone wasn’t quite commanding, though it came close enough to have the older man slowing to a stop. He’d pulled off his cap when they entered and he tapped it against his thigh. “Did you receive a message this morning for my grandmother?”

  “I receive many messages for Mrs. Templeton,” Montrose informed in his snippy, superior tone.

  Quinn’s lips curved into a smile that struck Penny as oddly dangerous. “About me bringing the mulch instead of her landscaper?”

  Montrose’s nose wrinkled, but he held his ground. “I don’t divulge Mrs. Templeton’s business to other people.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Montrose,” Penny snapped. “Quinn is hardly other people.”

  Quinn took a step closer. Montrose was tall and skinny, but Quinn dwarfed him. So much so that Penny had a sudden image of Montrose snapped in half like a matchstick. “You’re loyal to my grandmother. And I can respect that. All I want to know is if you got a message that I would be here today. Simple question. Simple answer.”

  “Well, Montrose?”

  They all looked up to the second-floor landing that surrounded the atrium on all four sides. Vivian was standing at the fancily patterned wrought iron balustrade, looking down at them.

  “Madam?”

  Vivian clearly didn’t buy his innocent tone. “I can send you back to Pittsburgh, Montrose, just as easily as I brought you to Weaver.”

  Montrose raised a haughty eyebrow. “Please, do. I much prefer the quality of your guests at Templeton Manor.”

  Penny controlled her impatience. Such exchanges were typical between her boss and the chef.

  “Montrose, Montrose,” Vivian tsked as she walked along the landing toward the staircase. “You’re being deliberately difficult. You know I’m the only one in this household who is allowed to be difficult. Answer my grandson’s question.”

  Montrose gave a grudging nod to Quinn. “Yes. I received a message.”

  Penny’s relief was so great, she had to sit down on one of the tapestry-covered chairs situated in the center of the atrium. “Why didn’t you tell her, then? Did you forget?”

  Montrose looked down his nose at her. “I do not forget anything.”

  Vivian was coming down the stairs. “Set up the tea in the conservatory, Montrose.”

  He looked like he wanted to fling the silver set onto the marble floor. But he inclined his head before striding off
.

  “Don’t mind Montrose,” Vivian told them. “He’s been in a snit with me since yesterday when I told him I preferred Mr. Bumble’s quiche over his.”

  Penny could imagine that. Robert Bumble, more commonly known as Bubba, was a short-order cook at one of Weaver’s local diners. He was a tatted-up biker-looking brute who, in comparison to Montrose, was as sweet as a baby lamb. And he cooked for Vivian on Montrose’s day off.

  “Better Montrose’s prissy snit than you starting to lose your marbles,” Quinn said, dutifully dropping a kiss onto the cheek Vivian presented to him.

  Rather than take offense, Vivian chuckled. “Very true, darling. Montrose and I know each other far too well. Soon enough, he’ll latch on to some new reason to justify the stick stuck up his derriere.”

  Penny bit back a choked laugh.

  “I just need to wait him out,” Vivian concluded. “On another note, Quinn dear. You do know that you’re very sweaty. Penny will show you where you can tidy up a bit before tea.” As if agreement was a foregone conclusion, she sailed after Montrose.

  Neither Penny nor Quinn looked at each other until long after the echo of Vivian’s footsteps died.

  And even then, Penny quickly looked back at her hands that she’d been rubbing nervously together. She finally stood and led the way out of the atrium, opposite the direction Montrose and Vivian had taken. “You can use one of the guest baths. There are literally a dozen bathrooms in the house. I suppose you knew that, though.” She couldn’t seem to keep herself from chattering.

  “No.”

  She glanced at him, then away. He was too disturbing for her peace of mind. “Oh. Well. Twelve bathrooms like I said.” Could she possibly sound chirpier? It was embarrassing. “Ten bedrooms. Two kitchens if you count the one in the guesthouse on the other side of the garages. There are four, you know. You should know. You’ve been here before. Didn’t you get a tour?” She hauled in a breath.

  He shook his head. He looked amused. Probably at her inability to just...shut...up. “Still don’t understand why she wants such a huge house like this.”