The Wedding Audition

by Catherine Mann

  “Is that what happened with my mom and dad?”

  Snorting on a laugh, Hazel shook her head. “Oh not at all. They were deeply, passionately in love. The kind that heats up a room when they so much as walk through the door.” She fanned herself with both hands. “That kind of love either lasts a lifetime or combusts. Your parents, well, they combusted. But at least they made you, so something very wonderful came of their love.”

  “He loved my mother so much he left for Australia?” That didn’t seem to add up.

  Hazel Mae’s laughter faded along with her smile, sadness settling into her eyes. “He wasn’t a steady kind of guy. He was the sort that had restless feet like his daddy.”

  “So when he heard my mother was pregnant with me, he left the country.” That sounded like a step beyond restless feet to her.

  “Actually, he asked her to go with him. He was going to strap you into a backpack for a walkabout.”

  She tried to envision her mother in outback gear trekking with wallabies and the image didn’t come close to gelling. “My mom said no.”

  “She did.”

  “Figures.”

  “Hold on now. Life isn’t always that simple. She said she didn’t believe he would stick around for the long haul once they got there, and honestly, girlie, I’m not sure I can blame her. It’s one thing to be a single mom in her own hometown. But to be in another country, left alone with no support system, that would be devastating.”

  The thought of her mother alone in a strange country with a baby was beyond scary. For any new parent. “My mom opted for security for my sake,” she said, realizing it for the first time and more than a little stunned.

  “She did.”

  “And so did I. Almost.” Maybe she had inherited restless feet too. Maybe that’s why security and constant invasive cameras were too high a cost for Annamae.

  “Almost being the operative word.” Her grandmother cocked her head to the side. “Instead, you came here for answers.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  Hazel Mae stared thoughtfully at her. Gently she said, “Did you find them?”

  “Some, not all.”

  She still ached to know more about her father who’d abandoned her, but also didn’t want to know him, the walkabout guy who ditched her—and ditched her mom, too. Feeling sorry for her mother was a new emotion, which brought up a whole new batch of questions. And the biggest question of all. “Gramma,” the name unearthed from somewhere deep, maybe from buried memories of long ago play dates, “what do I do now?”

  “Oh sweetheart, that’s the easiest question of all. You do what any girl does after a bad breakup.” She leaned forward. “You find a smoking hot man and have a fling.”

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  The whole drive back to Heath’s place, Annamae couldn’t stop thinking about what her grandmother said about having an affair.

  She steered her VW through the security gate in back, which somehow the press had not yet discovered. Could she really indulge in an affair?

  Her grandmother’s words rolled around in her mind. All of them. The parts about her parents, her father wanting to be a part of her life, but her mother being responsible and careful. So many shades of gray to something that had seemed black and white before.

  No wonder she didn’t have a clue about how to build a healthy relationship with so many mixed messages and misinformation. What a mess she would have made of her life if she’d actually gone through with marrying Boone. And what a time to realize they hadn’t even slept together in over a month. How had that happened? They were supposed to be in love. Ready to get married. And yet they’d both been too busy—him with spring training, her with the show—for even a heavy petting make-out.

  She didn’t know if she was ready for an affair. But she did know she couldn’t so much as consider the possibility until she had complete closure with Boone. And that meant talking to him.

  She pulled up outside the carriage house and shifted the car into neutral, the air conditioner still blasting over her. She pulled out one of her throwaway phones and texted.

  Please pick up your phone. We need to talk. She paused, knowing a simple plea wasn’t enough. If you don’t call me back at, she looked up the digits to the temporary phone and typed them in. Then finished her text with, I will go to the press and tell them about the tattoo on your butt.

  Fifteen seconds later, her second throwaway phone rang.

  “Annamae, damn it,” Boone barked through the airwaves, “I made it clear I don’t want to talk to you. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

  “Boone, I’m really sorry.” Her voice was calm, despite her slamming chest.

  “For dumping me? Or breaking my heart? Doing that on the radio and television, simultaneously?”

  Guilt hammered her again. “All of the above. For any embarrassment I caused you. For not being brave enough to face you.” For still not being brave enough to face the music in Atlanta. “For not figuring this out earlier. And most especially for any harm I did to your heart.”

  She threw in that last part just in case her grandmother was wrong, just in case maybe she had truly hurt this very perfect man.

  “Harm to my heart?” He laughed darkly. “That sounds like some melodramatic line from your TV show.”

  Except it wasn’t a line. She really wanted, needed, to know. “Did you love me?”

  “That’s a strange question to ask. We were a day away from being married.” Yet he hadn’t answered her question.

  She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “I know. And I’m asking.”

  “Annamae, are you asking to get back together again, because that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  “I realize that. Breaking up was the right thing to do. I just went about it the wrong way.”

  He went silent for a few heartbeats. “So what do you want?”

  “I want us to be okay about this.”

  “To be friends?” He snorted. “Not likely.”

  “I should have handled things differently,” she said again softly, regret making her ache all over.

  “Yes, Annamae, you should have.” Clearly, he wasn’t cutting her any slack. And she didn’t deserve it. “But it’s done and we’re over. So whatever absolution you wanted, consider it granted, move on, and Annamae? Don’t call me again.”

  And just like that, the supposed love of her life hung up the phone on her.

  It was over. Truly over. Well, other than the press gathered outside the front gate ready to tear her to pieces for dumping the Golden Boy of Atlanta.

  She sagged back in her seat and stared at the rundown farm house with the hot landlord. A major part of her ached to act on the totally inappropriate, ill-timed hunger to hop into bed with him. To lose herself in mind blowing sex and forget what a mess her life was.

  But right now, with her head such a jumble, adding one impulsive move on top of an already crazy impulsive breakup just didn’t seem the wise thing to do. So she shut off the car and retreated to her carriage house where she intended to spend the rest of the weekend with a book and her dog while she figured out what the hell to do next.

  *

  Two days later, Wynn had to wonder what the hell was Annamae doing picking through his yard, triggering every alarm in his security system? And looking damn fine doing it in jeans that hugged every curve.

  More distracting than the alarms chiming through his house.

  He turned his back on the kitchen window and walked to the control panel in the mudroom. He punched in the code. Silence blanketed the house. He tipped his head from side to side, working the crick out of his neck that had a certain female’s name written all over the knotted muscles even though she’d kept her word about a low profile the last few days. Tiger launched off a shelf lined with cleaning supplies, half of which were actually disguised stashes for weapons and cash for emergencies.

  Palming the wall over the security system, he tapped the screen codes a
nd cycled through the cameras that gave him a view of property, just to be certain. He had her to think about as well as himself now. Chances were his location was still secret, but thanks to that stupid picture Gus posted, the world knew she’d been sighted here. If the Dimitri mob found out his location, that would put her at risk.

  Like it or not, she was tied to him now and the Dimitris would use anything at their disposal to shut down his testimony. He had an obligation to make sure she stayed safe and out of the public eye. This morning, he’d already called in a favor from some police force friends to keep an extra eye on the Dimitri family and their known henchmen—none of whom matched the description of the guy Annamae had seen lurking around the fence. He’d also ramped up his own security.

  Although that was an iffy thing on a farm when small critters – and scruffy dogs – could set off an alarm.

  He double-checked the different camera surveillance angles until he was confident no one else was on the property, then stopped on the camera taping Annamae and Bagel. The little mutt followed her around while she walked around the yard with a basket on her arm.

  Picking up last year’s old pecans off the ground.

  Interesting.

  He’d seen her return from her visit to her grandmother and had been curious about how it went. But Annamae had seemed pensive – distracted – when she’d stepped out of her little red car. She’d stared at his home for a good long minute then raced to her carriage house rental as if the hounds of hell were at her feet and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her for the rest of the weekend. Something was on her mind. Big time.

  He should just leave her to her pecan picking.

  Should.

  But still his feet took him right out the door. She must know she couldn’t eat year-old pecans?

  The setting sun cast a mellow haze over her as her loosely gathered hair slid to the side every time she picked up another darkened nut.

  He leaned back against a tree and waited for her to notice he’d joined her. Except she just kept right on tossing half-rotted nuts into the basket. Her preoccupation and lack of awareness of her surroundings was damned dangerous.

  Wynn cleared his throat and said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Annamae bolted upright and dropped the basket on the ground, pecans spilling over into a pile. “Good Lord, Heath. You scared me to pieces.” She glanced down at Bagel who wagged his tail in response. “Some watch dog you are.”

  “You really should be more careful. If I’d been the press, your photo would be all over the Internet by now.” He knelt beside her to help scoop the pecans back into the basket. “You know these nuts are a year old, right?”

  She nodded. “I’m collecting shells for mulch and you’re right about the need to be more careful. My head’s just full with so much going on.” Annamae’s gaze seemed to turn inward again.

  “From coming to Beulah and your visit with your grandmother?” Wynn said gently, trying to bring her back to reality. To the present.

  She glanced up quickly, her throat moving in a quick swallow. “Uhm, yes.”

  He narrowed his eyes. That didn’t seem entirely truthful. Was it her ex-fiancé? He couldn’t imagine not coming after a beautiful woman like her. “You’ve been holed up so long in the carriage house, I wasn’t sure how it went. Did she have the answers you were looking for?”

  She chewed her bottom lip and looked away. “Some.”

  “What do you plan to do next? Other than be my hide-out tenant.”

  “Make slug repellant.” She smoothed her hair back over her face, and smiled at him.

  “Pardon me?” he asked, not following her train of thought, but then that could have something to do with the scent of her soap carrying on the breeze.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she gestured to the ground. “Well, all of these pecans on the ground are going to waste and I picked up some literature about all-natural farming at the community garden.”

  “And you decided you need slug repellant.”

  “It won’t keep the paparazzi away, but it will deter other slimy things. I’m going to plant some flowers around the carriage house. If I have extra mulch, I’ll donate it to the community garden.” A small smile teased the corners of her mouth upwards. He surveyed her, eyes trailing up and down.

  “You don’t strike me as the DIY type. You seem too… pampered.”

  “Now I am insulted. I like being self-sufficient.” She stood, basket over her arm. Little Red Riding Hood indeed. “I might even do some baking today. All the apple blossoms put me in the mood for pie. I noticed you have a small patch of strawberries near your house?”

  He was feeling hungry himself. But not just for dessert. If they were stuck here together… “I worked hard to grow those. Any pie resulting from my berries should probably be half mine.”

  Something shifted in her eyes, uncertainty – and awareness. Finally she nodded. “Okay. But if you want pie, you have to help me.” She thrust the basket at him. “So let’s get picking.”

  *

  Annamae worked her knife faster, channeling all her pent-up frustrations into hulling the strawberries she’d picked with Heath.

  Being productive.

  She sat on the opposite side of her kitchen table from Heath. He was more adept than her at hulling. His knife smoothed a circle around the hull, neatly plucking out the leaves too.

  Her eyes slid to Heath’s strong hands as he worked. All of his movements were even, fluid. There was a confidence to the way that he moved, a sureness that sparked curiosity in her. Hazel’s final piece of advice still tingled through Annamae even as she worked to feed at least one hunger – with food. Could she really just indulge in some steaming hot sex? No strings. Quit being the responsible girl and do something just for her?

  The possibility enticed her – and scared her all the way to the roots of her freshly dyed hair. She sliced into a strawberry so hard the blade nicked her finger.

  She searched for something, anything, to fill the silence and perhaps help her understand why she was drawn to have a completely illogical affair with this man. “What made you decide to become a farmer?”

  “What makes you think I wasn’t born into the profession?” He arched a dark eyebrow, a sexy twinkle lighting his eyes. “You seemed to enjoy the strawberries well enough.”

  She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “No offense meant, but there aren’t many to work with.”

  “True enough,” he admitted. “I’m still learning the business.”

  “Which brings me back to my original question.”

  “I needed a change of scenery.” The light left his eyes. “Job burnout.”

  “What did you do before?”

  “Well, you’re a nosy one,” he answered evasively. “Let’s talk about your ex-fiancé?”

  She knew well tricks to avoiding answering questions. She’d been taught that skill well for interviews. “We can. But you go first. It’s not like we have many people to talk to, all locked up and hiding from the press. Or at least I’m hiding,” she felt herself starting to babble, “Why don’t you ever leave?”

  “I’m on the run from the law.” His voice was matter-of-fact as he set aside his knife, staring directly at her.

  Oh God. Her throat started closing and she couldn’t remember where she’d left her inhaler. “Seriously?”

  He cracked a smile that traveled up to his eyes. “No, Red. I’m just antisocial. It’s as simple as that.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Then why did you list the carriage house for rent?”

  “I didn’t. The town likes to interfere under the guise of helping out. They thought I needed the extra cash because the orchard hasn’t borne good fruit the last few years.” The light came on his eyes again, making those craggy features and tough guy look so approachable.

  Charming.

  Sexy.

  “Uhm.” She swallowed hard. “I think we have enough berries for me to cook and I should probably start my mulching projec
t. So, uhm, ….”

  “Right.” He shoved to his feet. “That’s my cue to leave. I can take a hint. You can leave my serving of the pie on the porch. Shoot me a text when it’s there.”

  A text? Just the word made her think of the sad way she and Boone had resorted to communicating, today and over the past weeks. Through text messages rather than human contact.

  Watching Heath’s broad shoulders as he retreated, she felt such a deep pang of regret she found herself blurting, “How about I bring it by and we eat it together while it’s still hot?”

  He stopped, his hand on the doorknob and she thought for a second he was going to reject her offer. The brief outline of a smile touched his lips. Then he nodded and said softly, “You asked about my job before … I majored in psychology in college.”

  The door closed behind him, leaving her more confused – and hungrier – than ever.

  *

  Wynn dished up a second helping of the pie and dumped a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. After years of eating bachelor food or crappy fare in undercover dives, he’d forgotten how good real home cooking tasted.

  Tiger watched from the top of the refrigerator while Bagel slept on a mat by the door. Two more cats purred from under the table. The scene was downright domestic. Normal, yet also alien to a man who’d lived undercover for so much of his career.

  He shoveled another bite in his mouth, chewing, then feeling the weight of Annamae’s stare from across the table.

  “What?” he asked self-consciously.

  She smiled, her hair loose around her shoulders now. “I’m just trying to envision you as Sigmund Freud, and it’s not meshing for me.”

  “I didn’t say I’m a psychiatrist.” He’d turned that psych degree into profiling, with a minor in criminal justice. He’d worked his ass off to get that degree during his days as a street cop.

  “Oh, so you’re a psychologist? Or a social worker? It’s still not fitting for me.” She crinkled her nose.