“I can handle it,” she said, taking another bite. She would have to handle it, because she’d lost the game.
Thanks to Austin.
One measly kiss. That’s all she’d wanted from him. She might as well have asked for his balls on a platter. That’s how horrified he’d looked when she’d made the request.
Far from the reaction she’d anticipated, considering that he’d actually given her The Look with those liquid blue eyes. The Look that said I want you and I aim to have you.
Not that she’d ever been on the receiving end of one of his legendary looks. He’d reserved those for the school bad girls who’d always flocked around him. But for a little while last night, she’d felt like one of those bold women instead of the shy, frumpy goody-goody she’d been all those years ago. She’d felt truly attractive and drop-dead gorgeous and wanted.
Felt? To hell with that. She was all three, even if Austin Jericho hadn’t recognized it. He was obviously still stuck in the past, viewing her in all her Gem glory.
Geeky.
Brainy.
Matronly.
As the familiar words she’d heard from her peers time and time again echoed through her head, she became aware of the mouthful of syrup and pancakes tantalizing her taste buds. She swallowed and pushed the plate away.
Cheryl glanced at her watch. “I have to run. I’ll meet you at the house later to introduce you to my plants and go over Twinkles’s hygiene schedule.”
Twinkles had a hygiene schedule?
The question echoed through her mind and another sliver of apprehension went through her. Madeline fought it back down and smiled. Twinkles was just a dog, even if he did have a hygiene schedule, and Madeline liked dogs. While she didn’t actually have an animal of her own—she wasn’t home enough to take care of one—she’d always loved cute, cuddly puppies. As for the plants…how hard could daily watering be?
“Have fun at the hairdresser and try to enjoy the rest of the day.”
“I’ll enjoy the honeymoon, especially knowing that you’re looking out for Twinkles and my girls.” She stood and gathered up her purse and bridal book. “Oh, and don’t forget the sign. Uncle Spur can’t see to save his life.”
“WELL, WELL. Just call me a three-legged jackrabbit and put me out of my misery if it ain’t Maddie Hale.”
Time seemed to have stood still for Spur Tucker. He’d looked ancient then with his shock of snow-white hair and his leathery skin, and he’d changed little. He stooped a fraction more and his hair had thinned some. Otherwise, he was every bit the man she remembered from all those childhood Christmases, with the exception of his eyes. Rather than cloudy and gray as they’d been back then, they were now a clear, crystal blue.
She peered closer. “You know who I am?” She hadn’t even held up her sign, complete with extra bold letters.
“’Course I do. What do you think I am, blind or something?”
“Well,” she started, but he cut her off.
“Well, I ain’t. Cataract surgery. My vision’s as first-rate as the rest of me.”
“That’s good.”
“’Course it is.” His face crinkled as he narrowed his eyes and sized her up. “I see you still got plenty of meat on them bones of yours.”
“And I see you’re still every bit as charming.”
“’Course I am, and I’m also a whole lot wiser.” He handed several bags to her and picked up the lightest. “Speaking of which, let’s get going ’cause I ain’t of a mind to waste time. I got things to do.”
“The wedding’s not until later tonight.” Madeline picked up the largest bag and her shoulder wrenched. “You’ve got time for a little nap.”
“A nap? Hells bells, I ain’t got time to sleep. I still have to shower and shave, polish my boots, squirt on some of the vanilla extract I packed just for special occasions. I aim to look and smell my Sunday best.”
“I’m sure Cheryl Louise will appreciate that.” She hoisted bag number two. “You must have packed an awful big bottle of vanilla.”
“Those are extra vittles. A man’s got to eat and I know how you women are. Why, you’re liable to torture me with rabbit food for the next few days.” He gave her another once-over. “’Course you probably got some vittles of your own stashed away. Why, you could probably hibernate a good six months with what you got stored in them hips of yours.”
She let the suitcase slip from her hands and watched his look go from smug to panicked as his luggage dropped to the floor.
“Whoops, sorry about that,” she muttered.
“Lordy be, just tote the danged thing. Don’t throw it around.” He shook his head. “And all the primping ain’t for Cheryl Louise. It’s for the future Mrs. Spur Nathaniel Elijah James Tucker.”
“You’re engaged?”
“Sure am.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I will be once I narrow down the playing field. I figure that ought to take a good fifteen minutes. Maybe ten. There are a lot of prime cutting horses at the Newfolk Auction, too, but I can always pick the best of ’em in less than ten minutes.”
“You really intend to find a wife this weekend?” She struggled after him with the bags.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I thought you were here for Cheryl Louise’s wedding.”
“It’s called killing two hogs with one load of buckshot. Since this here’s a social event, I thought I’d do double duty. Pay my respects to the bride and groom and find my own little bride to fetch back home.” He picked up his steps. “Enough of this chitchat. Get a move on. I don’t aim to keep the future missus wait-in’.”
SHE SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT the bread maker.
Madeline came to that conclusion the minute she walked inside Cheryl Louise’s family home two hours later and came face-to-face with Twinkles.
Literally.
Twinkles was a Great Dane and far, far removed from the cute and cuddly puppy stage. Standing on his hind legs, his paws braced on her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eye. His snout bopped her in the nose. A fat, wet tongue flopped out and licked at her face.
“He’s really…big,” she told Sarah, who’d met her at the house since Cheryl Louise was still stuck at the hairdresser.
“He’s big and several years old, but still as playful as a puppy.”
“Is that where he got the name Twinkles?”
“‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ is his favorite lullaby. He likes to hear it every night after his evening walk.” Sarah grabbed a spiral notebook from the nearby coffee table and flipped several pages. “He likes ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ after his morning walk, which should follow Live with Regis and Kelly—that’s his favorite TV show.” She held up the notebook. “It’s all right here. There’s a detailed schedule for feeding and hygiene, as well as a page with lyrics in case you’re not up on your lullabies. And a TV schedule, as well. Oh, Cheryl also included a picture diagram of Twinkles with a list of the exact spots where he likes to be scratched. The last few pages contain information on the plants. They’re all on the sun porch out back. Each pot is labeled with a name and an age.”
“And a lullaby?”
“Actually, they like country music. There’s a CD player out back complete with a stack of George Strait CDs. Each is labeled with a time slot and a preferred song.” Sarah must have noticed Madeline’s shocked look. “Look on the bright side, at least Tilly the farting poodle is going with them. Besides, it’s only two weeks. They almost went to Australia, which would have meant a solid three.”
“Want to time-share with me?”
“I went for a popcorn maker myself. Speaking of which, I need to get going. I have to run by my house and grab the gift before I head for the church. I picked up the dresses at the dry cleaners. Yours is hanging over there.”
Madeline managed to dodge another lick and twist away from Twinkles. She crossed the living room and took a closer look at the dress hanging from the window casing.
“It’s really orange
.”
“Cheryl Louise calls it coral.”
“And frilly.”
“She wanted a traditional Southern-belle look.”
Twinkles walked up behind Madeline and started sniffing her backside. “I must be deranged.”
“Why didn’t you just get something off her bridal registry?”
“I thought house-sitting would be more personal.”
“You’re right about that.” Sarah laughed as Twinkles stood on his hind legs and went for another wet lick. The sound died the minute she heard the door creak open. She turned to see Uncle Spur hobble over the threshold.
Madeline had left him to finish one of his atrocious cigars on the porch. A cloud of smoke and smell surrounded him.
“You remember Uncle—achewww!” Madeline sneezed once, twice, while doing her best to avoid Twinkles and her overzealous affection. She’d never been allergic to dog hair, but then she’d never had a dog right in her face either.
“Say it, don’t spray it,” Uncle Spur grumbled as he walked past Madeline and headed for the stairs. “I’m in the second room to the left. Hurry up and get the bags out of the car. I need plenty of grooming time before I go hunting. Hey there, Red,” he said to Sarah, who turned a noticeable shade of white and backed up a few steps. “Or so you say.”
“I, um, really need to go,” Sarah mumbled as she snatched up her purse, careful to keep her eye on Uncle Spur as she backed her way around him. “See you at the church.”
“Where’s the dye queen running off to in such a hurry?” Uncle Spur stared at the open doorway and watched Sarah hightail it out to her car.
“She’s a natural redhead.”
“And you’re a size three.”
She glared at the old man. “Are you always so pleasant?”
He frowned. “Damn straight I am, and don’t you forget it.” He turned and hobbled up the stairs. “Get moving. I got things to do.”
“Sic ’em, boy,” Madeline whispered as Uncle Spur disappeared up the stairs. The dog just wagged his tail and came at Madeline for another sloppy kiss. “Just my luck,” she grumbled, twisting her head to the side to dodge the massive tongue. “I get stuck with a lover when what I really need is a fighter.”
“I REALLY HAVE TO get up early tomorrow morning,” Austin said as he tugged at the collar of his starched western shirt. “Can’t we just skip the reception and call it quits for tonight?”
“And be rude? Nonsense.” Marshalyn Simmons patted Austin’s arm as they stood at the entrance to the Veterans of Foreign Wars Hall. “Besides, this place is full of nice, respectable women.”
And a few not so nice and respectable women.
Austin zeroed in on Madeline Hale where she stood in the buffet line. Her voice echoed in his head.
Kiss me.
He’d wanted to do just that, and more. But he’d made a promise, to himself as well as Miss Marshalyn. It was high time he settled down, and with a woman unlike Madeline Hale. While she’d qualified as a good girl way back when, she’d obviously changed. He didn’t intend to waste any of the precious time he had left—two weeks to be exact—on a one-night stand.
He knew that, yet with her standing right in his line of vision, looking so sweet and delicious in a dress that made him think of a nice, juicy, sugar-coated orange slice candy, he wasn’t so sure. He’d always had a sweet tooth for orange slices. How many times had he scraped his pennies and nickels together to head down to Skeeter’s and buy himself a bag?
Afterward, he would sit on the schoolhouse playground and indulge until he’d finished the last one. He’d gotten sick a time or two, but the few minutes of heaven while he’d savored the sweet treat had been worth a stomachache.
Just like all his wild nights spent drinking and ca-rousing and burning up the sheets had been worth an awkward morning after, or so he’d thought.
Until he’d served as best man for Dallas’s wedding last year. As Austin had watched his wild and reckless sibling recite his wedding vows, he’d started to think that maybe, just maybe, there was something to this commitment business. Particularly since his youngest brother had looked so happy.
His focus shifted in time to see Dallas help his very pregnant wife into a chair and give her a kiss before heading off to fetch her some punch. He wore his usual I’ve-got-a-good-woman grin, and Austin couldn’t help but want a grin like that of his own.
Dallas’s wife, Laney, would make a hell of a mother. One who would bake cookies and sing lullabies and do all of the things Sissy Jericho had never done for her three boys.
Then again, Sissy had been a mother by default rather than choice. She’d gotten pregnant at sixteen and, because her parents had been religious zealots, they’d forced her into marriage with the baby’s father. Bick Jericho hadn’t been any more ready or willing to be a parent than Sissy, but he’d had no choice. Either get married and do the right thing, or go to jail since he was eighteen and considered an adult. He’d chosen marriage.
But for a man as wild as the bulls he’d ridden on the rodeo circuit, marriage had turned out to be a prison in itself. He’d been unhappy and his wife had been unhappy, and neither had been able to curb their wild streaks. They’d partied too much, drunk too much, and fought too much.
When Austin’s mother passed away from kidney failure—due to her diabetes and complications with the birth of her last child—his father had continued to party and drink and fight with any and everyone in his path. Right up until he’d dropped dead from a heart attack, thanks to liver problems.
Austin was breaking the cycle. He wasn’t his father, even if he had been following the same path for the biggest part of his life. He was making something of himself, professionally and personally. Which was exactly why he intended to stay on this side of the room. With a full fifty feet of dance floor and tables between them, Maddie Hale wouldn’t be much of a temptation.
With that thought in mind, Austin steered Miss Marshalyn straight to the groom’s cake table.
“Why, there’s Debbie Bernard,” Miss Marshalyn told him. “She’s the kindergarten teacher.”
“We’ve already met. She’s nice.” He reached for a piece of groom’s cake. There was just something about dancing with Debbie in full view of God and everybody, especially Maddie Hale, that didn’t sit too well.
“She’s more than nice. She makes an excellent pot roast. Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
“She looks busy.”
“Not really—oh, there’s Christine Jackson. She’s that LVN over at the Cadillac Nursing Home.”
“I know. I’ve met her, too. She’s real nice.”
“She’s more than nice. She’s just itching to settle down. Mabel Jasper is her next-door neighbor and she says that the girl’s got a hope chest filled with china and she subscribes to Brides magazine. That’s a dead giveaway. Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
“She looks tired.” He indicated her shoes, which she’d slid off before propping her feet on a nearby chair.
“Nonsense—hey, how about Angela Connally?” She motioned toward a petite redhead loading her plate at a nearby buffet. “She sings like an angel and she volunteers down at the shelter twice a week. She has such a good heart.”
“I know. She’s nice, too.”
“And desperate,” Miss Marshalyn informed him. “She’s been a bridesmaid fourteen times in the past five years. No girl wants to spend her life being a bridesmaid and never a bride. Why, I bet she’s itching to find a nice man of her own. Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
“She looks hungry.” He indicated the plateful of little smoky sausages she held in her hands. The woman reached for a barbecue spare rib and Austin let loose a low whistle. “Real hungry. Speaking of which,” he turned to the groom’s cake table and reached for a shiny silver fork, “I’ve been waiting all week for this.” He hadn’t had the pleasure of sinking his teeth into one of Miss Marshalyn’s desserts since Dallas and Laney’s wedding last year.
The
old woman smiled at his eagerness. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Too long.” He shoved in a forkful of cake and did his best not to spew it back out as the taste hit him.
“You always did like my fudge decadence, didn’t you?”
He managed a nod and blinked to keep the tears from running out of his eyes.
“Is it as good as you remember?”
“Good doesn’t even begin to describe this,” he finally murmured when he’d managed to swallow.
She beamed. “I was a little worried. It smelled a little different while it was baking. Sort of tart. I thought maybe the grocer had mislabeled some of my spices.”
Or maybe she’d misread some of them. In the past six months, Miss Marshalyn had been losing her eyesight to cataracts. A condition she refused to acknowledge, much less correct.
Austin had done his best to convince her to have the recommended surgery, but she’d been adamant that nothing was wrong. Having lost her husband of fifty-two years during routine gall-bladder surgery, she refused to have anything to do with doctors and hospitals and the proposed surgery, no matter how minor.
He couldn’t blame her and so he did his best to help out whenever she asked.
“Oh, my Lord if it isn’t Spur Tucker.” Miss Marshalyn’s voice drew Austin.
He turned to see the old man, hat in his hands, his few sparse hairs slicked to the side. “Cheryl Louise’s uncle?”
“And the most obnoxious man in Texas. He’s simply awful. Why, the last time he came for a visit, he actually spit a wad of tobacco on the tip of Lorissa Alcott’s shoe.” She squinted her eyes. “Character aside, he does seem to have aged very well. Looks as vigorous as ever.”
If Austin had doubted her waning sight on occasion, he had proof now. Spur Tucker looked many things—anxious, grouchy and unpleasant—but vigorous wasn’t one of them.
“Well, eat up,” she said, turning back to the table. She motioned to the monstrous chocolate cake covered with a mountain of sugar-dusted raspberries. It stood virtually untouched while a line had formed at the bride’s cake table a few feet away, which held the white confection Betty Eugene Norman had supplied. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
The Sex Solution Page 5
