She bridled impatiently. “Grant, is there something wrong?”
Yes! If this was an engagement ring, shouldn’t he be on his knees? Or was it just one knee? He knew there was something in proposal protocol about knees. Of course, if it wasn’t an engagement ring, he’d look pretty damn silly on the floor.
He compromised by subtly dropping his napkin. Once he was on one knee, groping for the cloth, he shook his head. “No, everything’s fine. Go ahead and open it,” he said, adding, “Quick.” His knee creaked from an old football injury.
With a grunt of aggravation, she took the box and flipped the top open. She gasped, and Ted smiled. Mission accomplished.
Really, he decided, he was getting fairly adept at all this romance stuff. And he had to admit, watching his brother’s sufferings over Mitzi had given him a little curiosity about the whole true-love equation. Maybe there was something to it. In fact, when Mitzi’s eyes teared up, he felt his heart swell in a way it hadn’t since the last time the Cowboys had won the Super Bowl.
In fact, the whole thing made him wonder, and he didn’t wonder very often. But he’d never felt so moved by the idea of a wedding ring. Could it be that he’d been missing something? Maybe that all his sneering at marriage was only skin-deep? Maybe he was really easy pickin’s for some wily female. And why didn’t that idea scare him the way it should?
The whole thing was blowing his mind.
Then Mitzi held up the little gold piece, and he nearly lost it. It wasn’t a ring at all, just a lousy little charm shaped like a camera. He got off his knees, fast, feeling something like a letdown. After all, this was supposed to have been the first time he’d ever proposed to a woman.
For a moment, Mitzi felt as if her heart just might break. But in a good way. “Oh, how beautiful! How thoughtful! How...”
“Cheesy,” Ted muttered.
She shot a questioning frown at him. “What?”
“Do you mean you like it? Really?”
“Oh, yes!” She lifted her bracelet toward him. “Here, put it on.”
His eyes rounded in horror. “You want me to wear your bracelet?”
She laughed. “No, silly. Put the charm on the bracelet.”
The lines etched in his face relaxed. “Oh!”
Funny, but she wondered if she would ever be used to Grant and his moods. He could be so caring and kind at times, yet so distant and tough at others. Even when he was doing something incredibly sweet, like now, an unexpected coldness could surface in his manner that was downright offputting.
A wave of guilt washed over her as she watched his large fingers fumble with the tiny charm. How could she be so critical when she was obviously nuts about him? After how heartbroken she’d been this afternoon, she should have been jumping for joy.
“Oh, Grant,” she said when he was done. “I’m so—”
A waiter approached, note in hand, and Grant held his palm out to her. “Hold that thought, sweetheart.” He jumped up from the table.
Mitzi recoiled, stunned. She’d thought they were having a tender moment, but her Romeo was making like Speedy Gonzales out to the hallway. She was floored by the way he could turn her off and on. Certainly she understood work emergencies. She wasn’t completely unreasonable. But the man was a department store owner, not a brain surgeon. Which was probably a good thing, considering that he had the attention span of a flea.
And where did he get off calling her sweetheart and dollface?
By the time Grant slipped back into the seat across from her, she had worked up a head of steam again. “More about the fire?”
He sent her a smile that remained disconnected from his eyes. “Fire?”
“The one at the store,” she reminded him.
“Oh, that,” he exclaimed, understanding. He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Turns out it was a false alarm.”
“Strange that it took two phone calls to confirm a fire that didn’t exist.” She slanted a glance at him, trying not to be too accusatory. “You don’t happen to have anyone hidden away in another part of the restaurant, do you?”
He practically jumped out of his skin. “What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Say, a spare supermodel?”
His blue-eyed stare took a moment to register the joke. “Good heavens, no!” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Mitzi. I promise, the rest of the meal, I’m all yours.”
As if on cue, a guitarist wandered up to the table and bowed to Mitzi. “By request,” he said, then started playing a sentimental instrumental rendition of “Angel Eyes” as she and Grant held hands and looked into each other’s eyes. She felt her heart swell to bursting for him all over again. Some men were shy about doing the romantic, corny things that meant so much. With her eyes dangerously close to tears, she jangled her little camera charm at him.
His eyes zoomed in on the charm and widened in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He grabbed her wrist and examined it more closely. “Where did you get that?”
She yanked her arm away from him. “Grant, you’re crazy!”
“You didn’t have that at the lake.” The words were almost a reproach.
“Of course not.”
The ubiquitous waiter leaned down to Grant’s ear and he shot out of his chair and looked back at Mitzi apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You understand...” Flustered, he pulled a wad of bills out of his pockets and stuffed them in the minstrel’s breast pocket. “Keep playing till I get back.”
Then he ran out.
Mitzi fumed. What the heck was going on?
By the time Grant came back to the table in a flurry, his tie askew, she was in no mood to hear any excuses about phone calls or fires. The guitarist was finished with “Angel Eyes” and was now halfway through a slow, Latin tune that sounded like music to tie one on by. Mitzi poured herself another glass of wine and slugged it down.
Grant watched her, then flicked the musician an annoyed gaze. “I’m with you,” he muttered in a stage whisper. “That guitar noise would drive anyone to drink.”
Despite the bills Grant had stuffed in his pockets, the musician didn’t take the insult lightly, and moved his trade elsewhere. Grant didn’t seem to mind. He glanced apologetically at Mitzi. “Sorry, but this is Austin. You just can’t get away from those penny-ante musician types.”
Mitzi tossed down her napkin. “I’ve had enough!”
Grant looked shocked. “Hey, chill.”
She sent him her most quelling gaze. “A chill is what you’ve given me at least several times tonight. What’s the matter with you?”
He sputtered in amazement at her outburst. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
This was the limit. “You’re driving me crazy, that’s what’s wrong!” she shouted, drawing curious gazes from nearby tables. No doubt they were wondering how two people who were just holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes could erupt in anger so quickly, but no one could be more confused by the schizophrenic romantic atmosphere than she was. “You’re either a compulsive liar or a split personality. What is your favorite book, Grant?”
He didn’t bat an eye. “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“And what happens in that book?”
He blinked. “What is this, a pop quiz? A lot happens.”
“Who’s the main character?”
He sent her a withering yet vaguely uncomfortable gaze. “Don’t be a dope. Gregory Peck.”
She let out a muffled howl. “I knew it! I knew I was being a chump!”
He tried to shush her, which only made her quiver with ire. “Would you stop making a scene?”
He wished! “I’ll bet you don’t even sing.”
“Sing?” he repeated as if she’d gone loco.
She crossed her arms. “Sing a hymn, Grant. Any hymn.”
He shot her a cold, stony gaze. “Lady, are you on some kind of medication that you’ve forgotten to take?”
She sprang out of her
chair and turned on him in such a fury that not only did the people in the intimate room stare, but waitresses gathered at the door to gape. “You’ve never told me the truth, not from day one. I’ll bet you’ve never stepped foot in a church.”
“Don’t be a nitwit, of course I have. I went...several Easters ago.”
She released a howl of frustration. “There! See?” Tears gathered in her eyes. She had to get out of here. Fast. “And I bet you’ve never even seen Bambi!”
She whirled on her heel and stomped out of the room and the restaurant, leaving Ted stunned. What the heck was that about? He got up and scurried from the room to hunt down Grant.
That blowhard Moreland was carrying on about catalog sales when Ted interrupted them. For a moment, he endured another round of gaping stares from this bunch. Then Grant jumped up.
“What the hell is going on here?” Moreland demanded, likewise shooting up from his chair. “All night long we’ve been interrupted. Is there something wrong?”
Ignoring the older man, who looked about as irritated as Mitzi had been, Ted pulled his brother into the hallway. “Mitzi left,” he told him.
Grant’s face fell. “Why?”
Ted shrugged. “It’s like I’ve always said—the woman’s a basket case. A real Prozac princess. I told her I didn’t like musicians singing at me while I’m trying to eat, and she just went berserk.”
“Oh, no,” Grant moaned, slapping his forehead.
Ted frowned. “Does she have a musician in her family or something?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Stay here, will you? I have to go after her.”
Ted watched his brother dash out of the room, then he turned back to the infuriated Mr. Moreland and felt a stab of dread pierce his heart. Why was he always left with the dirty work?
And now it occurred to him that Grant hadn’t allowed him to explain all the stuff Mitzi had been saying about churches and singing. And Bambi. He needed to make sure his brother was prepared to handle what he was running into.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moreland,” he said, scuttling forward to shake the man’s hand, “but as you can see, we’re having a sort of family crisis.”
Horace’s face burned fire-engine red. “I’ve never witnessed such erratic behavior in all my born days!”
Ted laughed nervously. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll understand. Just sit down and finish your dinner, and I’m certain I’ll be able to hear what you have to say about catalogs on the putting green tomorrow. It’s been a real pleasure. Really. The best raw meat I’ve ever had.”
Ted turned and ran out of there as fast as he could.
BACK AT HOME, Mitzi was still fuming. How could she have been so gullible, so stupid? Before coming to Texas she’d sworn off romance, kissed expectations goodbye, lashed her heart into stable condition. Never again, she’d sworn solemnly to herself. It was spinsterhood or bust. She’d begun looking into intricate needlework projects and small talkative parrots.
And then Grant had come along.
“I don’t want to think about it,” she moaned aloud to Chester, who bounced joyfully at her ankles, oblivious to her despair. She grabbed his leash, snapped it onto his collar and let all her thoughts focus on being tugged down a sidewalk by a twenty-pound, half-bald bundle of canine exuberance. But before she’d walked half a block from the house, she spotted a white truck racing toward her, the same white truck Grant had been driving the night of the rehearsal dinner. The hulking vehicle squealed to a halt mere feet from her.
Grant sprang from the driver’s seat and then skidded to a stop, frowning. “Oh, it’s just you.”
“Who were you expecting? Uma Thurman?”
He didn’t crack a smile. “Are you alone?”
Did he think she had men in reserve hovering by in case their date went sour? She was about to tell him off in no uncertain terms, but surprisingly, Chester took one look at Grant and went rigid. He bared his teeth and let out a warning growl, going from dachshund to Doberman in nothing flat.
Grant scowled at him. “What’s the matter with you, you little mutt?”
Mitzi gasped. She’d always thought Grant liked Chester. “How dare you talk to him that way.”
“Give me a break.” Grant scowled at the growling pup on the end of the taut leash. “That little hairball and I go way back.”
At that moment, Mitzi took great pleasure in letting the dog’s leash accidentally slip out of her hands.
Chester lunged at Grant like a little red bullet, snarling and snapping, and Grant turned and ran like hell for the nearest tree. He grabbed a low branch of a live oak and had swung one leg up when Chester, with the grace of Baryshnikov and the ferocity of Mike Tyson, jumped and sank his teeth into a pant leg.
The air exploded with rips, shouts, growls and curses.
“Get that mangy little cur off me!” Grant yelled.
Mitzi stood half stunned by and half enjoying the scene. She’d never known Chester was so ferocious, but then she’d never heard Grant call him a mangy cur before, either.
“Hmm, maybe I should call for help,” she mused aloud.
Behind her, another car squealed up to the curb. She turned just in time to see Grant hopping out of his BMW. Her lips tilted up in an automatic smile—then froze.
In fact, her whole body froze, from her toes right up to her brain, which seemed to stop working. She was staring at Grant—that much she knew. He was standing right next to her, breathing hard. But not fifteen feet away, Chester was attempting to make hamburger of Giant’s leg.
Now, how could that be?
8
MITZI GAPED at Grant. Grant Number Two, that is. “What the hell is going on?”
Grim-faced, he held up a hand, then attempted to pry Chester away from his double’s leg. Chester, catching sight of the new arrival, immediately stopped growling and started groveling, whimpering and licking the second Grant. That Grant held the dog in his arms while Grant Number One, still cursing, fell out of the tree. He stood, stamping his feet and grumbling, and began slapping oak leaves and dirt off himself.
All three of them, the two Grants and the dog, looked up at Mitzi expectantly.
In that moment, she understood. Everything. If it had been physically possible, she would have given herself a swift kick in the pants. Instead, she settled for a sharp mental slap. How could she have been such a dummy when the evidence was there in front of her all the time? It’s not like this was the first time this had happened to her. Grant wasn’t a split personality. Or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He was twins!
Anger surged through her. And fury. And extreme, extreme relief.
“Mitzi?”
Grant wished he could sink into the ground. He wanted to take her into his arms and murmur every apology known to man.
Gathering his courage, he stepped forward, as close to her as he dared, remembering the punch in the jaw Ted had received. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Maybe at the beginning,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.
The wedding. “Kay and Marty are my best friends, so I agreed to be Marty’s best man. But as the wedding drew closer, I started obsessing about what a failure my own marriage had been.”
“And you were worried because Kay was matchmaking.”
Grant drew a breath of surprise. “How did you know?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Go on.”
“So I sent my brother Ted in my place, and then things started snowballing.”
Her lip quirked cynically. “Mistakes were made, as the politicians say,” she said finishing for him.
“I made mistakes,” he said. “Incredible ones. You threw me for a loop, Mitzi. I used to be honest, and responsible, and dependable. I had a certain amount of dignity. But since you came along, I’ve made a public spectacle of myself on several occasions. I’ve lied shamelessly, and ignored my work, and behaved in a way that even has shocked my brother. I’ve almost topped Janice in the dishonesty department. In short, I’ve joine
d the human race. And the reason is you, Mitzi. I’m crazy about you.”
After his speech, she looked down at her feet and buried her face in her hands. Grant turned to his brother.
Ted was glaring at him in quizzical disgust. “That was an apology?”
Apparently, Mitzi didn’t call it one. Her shoulders began to tremble.
Heedless of her notorious right hook, Grant ran forward. “Mitzi, I’m sorry. If I apologized a thousand times, it wouldn’t be enough. If I ran a full-page apology in the New York Times for a solid year, it wouldn’t even begin to explain how sorry I am. If I hired a skywriting plane and...Mitzi?”
A tear streaked down her cheek, piercing him to the core. Her whole body began to shake. Grant shifted Chester and reached out a hand to one of hers, pushing it away so he could see her eyes. When he’d moved her hands away, he got the shock of his life.
She wasn’t crying at all. She was laughing! She let out a hoot and doubled over, pointing at him and his brother.
Grant was stunned. He turned to Ted, who was gaping at her with equal confusion. “I don’t see what’s so funny, do you?”
Ted swept a leaf away from his nose and shook his head. “I told you all along she was a loon.”
To which Mitzi responded with another peal of laughter.
“OUCH!” Ted howled. “You’re enjoying this!”
“Don’t be silly,” Mitzi replied soothingly. But of course she didn’t exactly mind pouring rubbing alcohol onto the open wounds on Ted’s hands, which had been scraped on tree bark during his attempted escape from the jaws of a crazed dachshund.
Ted made a hissing sound through his teeth. “None of this was my fault. Grant was the one who started everything.”
They looked up into the bathroom mirror at the reflection of his brother, who was standing behind them. Grant lifted his shoulders innocently as she began to wrap Ted’s hands in gauze.
“This is revenge for that itty-bitty bandage you wore on your cheek at the wedding,” she told Ted.
Ted shook his head. “That wasn’t me.”
She looked into the mirror, where Grant lifted his hand to confess culpability. Would she ever sort this all out?
Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch Page 28
