A Week Till the Wedding

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“You make me break every promise to myself.

“I promise myself that I won’t like you,” Daisy continued. “I tell myself that one night with you is enough, that it’s all I need. And then … and then you ruin it all. Worse than that, you make me indecisive. I’m not indecisive, Jacob, I don’t make an important decision and then change my mind because of a kiss.”

“Are you inviting me in?” Jacob rested his forehead against hers.

“I am.”

“If I come inside, I won’t leave until morning.”

“You better not,” she said. “And I do hope you’re more prepared than you were last time.”

“I’m ever the optimist, so yes.”

Daisy pulled Jacob inside by the tie. “You and your suits,” she said as she closed and locked the door behind him. “Take it off.”

Dear Reader,

Small-town living in the South is rife with possibilities when it comes to writing romance. There are characters everywhere you turn, families who have made their mark, men and women who have chosen to make themselves a part of a community where everyone knows everyone else and secrets are hard to keep. A beauty shop and small-engine-repair business is not at all a stretch, when it comes to small towns everywhere.

Family is important to me, as it is to Daisy Bell and Jacob Tasker in this story. They’re both willing to make sacrifices for family members, to endure personal pain in order to make life easier for those they love. But after making those sacrifices for others, is it time to let the mistakes of the past go and take time for themselves? Can they find a second chance at love?

I hope you enjoy your journey into Bell Grove, Georgia, and the chance to watch Daisy and Jacob find one another all over again.

Happy reading!

Linda

About the Author

LINDA WINSTEAD JONES is a bestselling author of more than fifty romance books in several subgenres—historical, fairy tale, paranormal and, of course, romance suspense. She’s won a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence twice. She is also a three-time RITA® Award finalist and (writing as Linda Fallon) winner of the 2004 RITA® Award for paranormal romance.

Linda lives in north Alabama with her husband of thirty-seven years. She can be reached via her website, www.lindawinsteadjones.com.

A Week Till the Wedding

Linda Winstead Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my niece Christy, a hairstylist who keeps me

from going gray and living in ponytails. She hasn’t yet

added small-engine repair, but … maybe someday. :-)

Love you!

Chapter One

“Those women on Crime Stoppers never have good haircuts. Have you noticed? Maybe if they didn’t look so unkempt they’d make better choices. You know, get a job, marry a decent man. Just look at those bangs, bless her heart.” Sandra Miller was a talker; Daisy never had to work to make conversation when Sandra was in the chair getting her hair done.

Daisy paused, scissors in hand, and glanced over the top of her client’s head to catch a glimpse of a mug shot on the twenty-inch television that was mounted on the wall. Bell Grove, Georgia, was a small town off the beaten path, north of Atlanta. They didn’t have their own television station, but they picked up the Atlanta stations. “Yeah, those bangs are pretty bad.”

“A woman just can’t feel good about herself if her hair looks that awful.” Sandra gestured to the television. “I swear, I’d be tempted to use drugs myself if I had bangs like that. She has to have something to dull the pain.”

Another mug shot was flashed on the screen. “Oh, dear,” Sandra said softly. “Her problems go so far beyond bangs I don’t know where to start. Don’t they sell conditioner in Atlanta? And what color is that, exactly? I have never seen a box of Miss Clairol with orange or pumpkin stamped on it.” In the mirror, Sandra caught and held Daisy’s eye. “You know, you could do a lot of good, if you were of a mind to help those poor, unfortunate women. You can’t overestimate how important hairstyle is to a woman’s confidence.”

Daisy laughed. “Sorry, Sandra. My hands are full enough without adding in the occasional trip to the Atlanta jail to give beauty advice.”

Yes, her hands were more than full enough. Daisy was the sole proprietor of Bell’s Beauty Shop and Small Engine Repair. She had no employees, though her sister Mari—the youngest of the three Bell girls—came home on the weekends to help with the repair aspect of the business. Mari was in junior college, and Lily had recently started a new job in an Atlanta art gallery. Lily didn’t make it to Bell Grove as often as she had when she’d been a student. These days her weekends were taken up with the new job and new friends and settling into her new apartment.

While Daisy missed seeing her sisters on a regular basis, it wasn’t like she didn’t have enough to do. In addition to the business, which kept her busy enough since it was Bell Grove’s only beauty salon and repair shop, she did volunteer work. On Mondays, when her shop was closed, she delivered meals to a number of housebound residents in the county. Some were elderly, others were in bad health; a couple had just fallen on hard times and needed a little help. While she wasn’t keen on the idea of inspiring prisoners to change their ways by providing free haircuts, she had spent more hours than she could count spiffing up the hairstyles of those who didn’t get out much. The service—the meals, not the hair trimming and restyling—was sponsored by the Bell Grove Methodist Church, as was a food bank which Daisy also volunteered for when she could.

She gave some of these same people rides to town, when she wasn’t working and they needed to go to the doctor—there was a grand total of one in Bell Grove—or the grocery store. There was just the one grocery store, too. Bell Grove provided all the necessary services; there just wasn’t much to choose from. Anyone who wasn’t happy with their limited selection could—and did—drive into Atlanta or one of the communities between Bell Grove and the big city.

Daisy didn’t get out of Bell Grove often. Everything she needed was close at hand. She liked it here, and everything she needed was within reach. Well, almost everything.

Sandra asked about Lily and Marigold, and Daisy filled her in on all the latest news. As she did, her heart sank a little. Just a little. She tried not to let her sad reaction show. When their parents had been killed Daisy had stepped up and done what needed to be done. She’d put her life on hold, sacrificing her own plans to take care of her younger sisters. Lily and Mari had still been in school at the time, Lily in the county high school, Mari in the middle school. There had been no close relatives to take over as guardian to the younger girls, so that duty had fallen to Daisy. Now they were grown, they had lives of their own.

That was as it should be, right? But sometimes Daisy felt as if she was suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

She never would’ve considered staying in Bell Grove and taking over her parents’ businesses if they’d lived. Her plans had been grander than that. A college degree—she’d waffled between physical therapy and elementary education and had finally decided on education—and a job in the big city. Marriage, babies, the PTA and Little League. Maybe her plans had not been grand, but they’d been hers. More than once in the past seven years she’d spent a sleepless night wondering where she’d be if that eighteen-wheeler hadn’t crossed the center line. She would’ve finished college, gotten that job, made a life of her own. Would she have been as content with that life as she was with this one? Would things have turned out as she’d planned? She’d stopped asking those questions years ago. There was no way to know what that alternate life might’ve been like; there was no upside for her in “what-if?”

She liked her life just fine, and those old plans seemed so distant they might as well have been someone else’s.

Daisy gave Sandra’s new, shorter cut a good blow-dry with a round brush, touched it up with a spritz of hair spray and whipped off the purple cape that had protected her client’s clothing. Sandra was happy with the new style, and had just begun to gush about how much slimmer her face looked with the new cut when the door to the shop opened. Daisy didn’t have anyone scheduled for another hour. She’d planned to grab a sandwich as soon as Sandra left. But she did take walk-ins, and since business wasn’t exactly booming she’d gladly skip lunch to squeeze in another haircut. Maybe someone was dropping off a small item for repair, though if that was the case …

That was as far as her thoughts wandered before the person who’d opened the door stepped inside.

Jacob Tasker, the biggest “what-if?” of them all, looked her in the eye the way he always had, with confidence in his steady gaze. Dark brown eyes, like strong black coffee, caught hers and held on. He was bigger than he’d been when she’d last seen him. Not in a bad way; he didn’t have the beginnings of a gut, or jowls, or a double chin. All through college he’d bordered on skinny. He’d been wiry, at the very least. Since then he’d put on a few pounds of muscle, filling his expensive suit well.

Not only did that suit cost more than she made in a month, but no one wore a suit in Bell Grove unless A) They were Mayor or B) It was Sunday.

His haircut was expensive, too. There wasn’t a single hair out of place, no misbehaving cowlick or split ends. He was recently well-shaven. Damned if he couldn’t’ve just stepped out of an ad for expensive cologne or a ridiculously overpriced watch. And that smile … even though she could tell it was somewhat forced, the smile hadn’t changed at all. That smile had captured her when she’d been fifteen and he’d been eighteen. She’d fallen hard. She’d doodled Mrs. Daisy Tasker on the inside cover, and numerous pages, of every notebook and journal she’d owned, with swirly hearts over the i in Daisy. At that time he’d been too old for her, and she’d never confessed her feelings to anyone, not even to her closest friends. He’d been her secret crush, her heart’s deepest desire.

Four years later, when she’d been nineteen and he’d been twenty-two, they’d attended the same college and the three-year age difference was no longer an impediment. Since he’d taken a year off between high school and college, and he’d changed his major—twice—they’d even had some classes together. The smile had done her in again, along with other attributes she hadn’t been able to even imagine at fifteen. That had been a blissfully happy time of her life; she’d lived in a fairy tale.

And a little less than two years later it had all fallen apart, and she’d been reminded that the original fairy tales always had a wicked twist at the end.

Crap. Daisy couldn’t say she hadn’t ever imagined seeing Jacob again, but in her fantasy she’d had time to put on something pretty and freshen her makeup. She’d been ridiculously happy; she hadn’t missed him at all. In her daydreams she could barely remember what he looked like. She had no regrets, there were no “what-ifs?” On the other hand he’d been miserable, so very sorry he’d let her slip away. In her imaginings he had not aged well. Maybe there was a gut, or a softening of his features. Just enough of an unflattering change to make her glad that their relationship had ended when it had. Ah, fantasy.

But in real life she was wearing a minimum of makeup and a black smock over well-worn jeans and a sadly old Brooks and Dunn T-shirt. And he looked better than she remembered, more a man, harder. Sharper. She thought about Jacob too damn often. And he didn’t look at all sorry. No, he looked as confident as always, as if he never had a single moment of doubt about any decision he’d ever made.

Not even leaving her.

He closed the door on the bright sunshine, said hello to her and to Sandra, who—thankfully—prattled about how long it had been since she’d seen Jacob, how she’d heard about his success, and how was California, anyway? She asked about his brothers and his cousins. He had plenty of relatives in the area, so that took a while. While the Bells had dwindled—only the three sisters remained of the founders of this small town—the Taskers had multiplied and flourished. You couldn’t take two steps in the county without tripping over one of Jacob’s cousins.

While Jacob and Sandra exchanged pleasantries, Daisy took a deep breath and tried to decide what she should say, when the time for her to speak arrived. Her hands fell to her thighs, where she wiped them on her jeans. Her nails weren’t painted. She had sweaty palms. Great. He couldn’t have called first? He couldn’t have given her a little warning so she could brush up on her speech? How rude!

As Jacob and Sandra talked, the television news droned on, the announcer’s words making no sense at all. Blah, blah, blah. Yada yada yada. The air conditioner whirred. Daisy was aware of every sound that filled the room, most specifically Jacob’s voice. She’d always loved his voice; the timbre, the way she felt it in her spine.

She really should pretend that seeing him again didn’t affect her at all, but it was probably too late for that. Her jaw had dropped when he’d walked in and she’d stared at him wordlessly for too long to pull off that lie. He’d probably noticed her wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans; he never had been one to miss much. She could just light into him and say all the things she sometimes wished she’d said. For a long while all the things she wished she’d said to him had kept her up at night. None of them were pleasant.

But when Sandra put cash on the front counter, waved at Daisy and left, and Daisy and Jacob were left alone, what she said was,

“What the hell do you want?”

Well, what had he expected? A parade?

Daisy hadn’t changed much at all. She still had long pale hair, cornflower-blue eyes, long legs and flawless, lightly tanned skin. On the drive over Jacob had wondered if Daisy would look older, if sacrificing for her family and giving up her own dreams, seven years ago, had drained her.

But she looked as good as ever. Better, in fact. The years had been good to her. The girl he’d loved was gone, replaced by a gorgeous woman.

“I need a favor,” he said, suspecting that her response to that simple request wouldn’t be pretty.

“A favor.” She shook her head in wonder, and her posture changed as if she were getting ready to do battle. Maybe she was. “From me? Is this a joke?”

“Just hear me out.”

Daisy threw up her hands. Her cheeks flushed pink. “Whatever this favor is, I don’t have the time.”

Bell’s Beauty Shop and Small Engine Repair was located in the heart of downtown Bell Grove, on the square across from city hall, sandwiched between an antiques shop and a family-run sandwich shop. All the buildings in the downtown area were old as dirt. The owners did their best to keep them in good repair, but there was no way to disguise the effects of a hundred years plus of use.

Bell’s was small but clean, the walls freshly painted a welcoming pale green, the magazines neatly stacked. The chairs in the shop were mismatched, probably yard sale finds, but somehow Daisy had made it all look planned. The lace curtains and live plants pulled it all together. There was a counter in the back, just past the door to the restroom, and a dark green wooden door that he knew opened onto the area where her dad had once fixed mowers and other lawn-care equipment, as well as the occasional toaster even though there were no small engines in kitchen appliances. Business didn’t exactly seem to be brisk.

“The favor is not for me,” he explained.

“Oh, really.” Her voice was cool, as if she didn’t care.

“It’s Grandma Eunice.”

Her face fell, a little. She’d always liked his dad’s mother, and Grandma Eunice had liked Daisy. Which was probably a contributing factor in this latest problem.

Like it or not, he was going to have to explain. “I came home for the big family reunion, and since I haven’t been back in a while I decided to stay for a month.” He didn’t tell her that the only reason he was here now was that his mother had told him it might be the last reunion his grandmother would see.

“Can that big company you work for survive without you for that long?” she snapped.

He’d been getting up early and staying up late to take care of business via cell phone and computer while he was here, but that detail wasn’t relevant. Might as well just get to the heart of the matter. “Grandma Eunice isn’t well.”

Daisy’s face paled a little. She couldn’t have known. The Taskers and the Bells weren’t exactly the Hatfields and the McCoys, but they didn’t run in the same circles, either.

“I’m sorry to hear Miss Eunice is not well,” Daisy said, her voice cool but not without genuine sympathy.

“Physically she doesn’t seem to be in bad shape, though she’s not getting around the way she used to. She’s been in a wheelchair for a while. But her mind …” Might as well spit it out. “Daisy, she thinks we’re engaged and she’s been asking about you.”

Daisy had never had much of a poker face. Her blue eyes widened, her mouth puckered slightly. Maybe she even paled, a bit. Her pretty mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she asked, “Is it Alzheimer’s?”

“The doctor says no.”

“Then what …”

“She doesn’t forget everything, she’s functions very well and remembers what she had for breakfast, but there are certain times when her memory just seems to malfunction. She has a terrible time remembering Ben’s wife, but most specifically, her memory malfunctions where I’m concerned.”

Daisy looked as confused as he’d been feeling for the past few days. “You’ll just have to tell her the truth,” she said.

If only it were that simple. “I did. I told her we broke up a long time ago, that we were never engaged. She got upset, I went to the kitchen to make her some hot tea, and when I got back she was completely calm. Smiling, serene, looking out her bedroom window. I thought she was fine, that she’d accepted the truth, but …” The matter still concerned him. “She’d forgotten. In just a few minutes’ time, she completely forgot what I’d told her about us.” He bit the bullet and dropped the bombshell. “She’s planning our wedding.”

Daisy reached out to steady herself by grabbing the edge of the counter. Jacob considered stepping forward to take her arm, but he quickly thought better of it.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked, her voice rising sharply. “I can’t … we can’t … this is not my problem!”

“I don’t expect you to marry me to keep my grandmother happy,” Jacob said sharply. “But if you would play along for a while, come to the family reunion if she keeps this up, maybe hang out at the house when you can. She might wake up one morning and have forgotten all about this fantasy of hers, but at the very least once I’m gone she’ll let it go.” Out of sight, out of mind. “She’s promised to see a new doctor, but not until after the reunion.”

“Play. Along.” Ah, there was the difference in Daisy, that’s how she’d changed. Her eyes were harder, more cynical. They’d never looked at him like this before.

“It would make an old woman very happy. She adores you.”

“Give me a break. You aren’t doing this for her. No, you want me to get you off the hook so you won’t have to try again to tell her that we’re not getting married. Heaven forbid that Jacob Tasker should have to do anything that he finds unpleasant. Heaven forbid that anything that’s not in your precious plans …” She stopped, choking on her words.

Jacob took a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. He wished—not for the first time—that he was back in San Francisco, where his days and the decisions he had to make made sense. This situation was maddening. “I’ve been home four days, and I’ve told Grandma Eunice ten times that we’re not engaged and never were. She’s upset by the news, and then a few minutes later she forgets. I’m getting damn tired of upsetting her again and again.”

Daisy was already shaking her head.

“I’ll pay you.”

There were those daggers in her eyes again. Her posture changed, as if she were literally getting ready to attack. “You think you can buy me off? That I’ll do anything for money? Oh, poor Daisy Bell, she’ll do anything for a few bucks.”

He’d be glad to pay her more than a “few bucks.” And it looked as if she could use the money. Jacob had put Daisy firmly in his rearview mirror years ago, but he hated the idea that she didn’t have more. She’d sacrificed a lot for her sisters; she’d given up her own education, the career she’d planned. She’d raised Lily and Mari, put them through college, and from all he could see she’d done nothing for herself. Why in hell was she still here? She should’ve moved on years ago.

He snapped out a ridiculously high amount, a number large enough to make Daisy take a stutter-step back.

“Are you insane?” she asked.

No, he wasn’t insane; he was ridiculously rich. He worked eighty to ninety hours a week, and until now he hadn’t taken a real vacation since he’d gone to work for The Hudson-Dahlgren Corporation seven years ago. He’d become a workaholic who had no time for anything else. But all his hard work had paid off. Very well.

“I’m afraid Grandma Eunice doesn’t have much time left. She’s deteriorated so much since I last saw her. Physically, mentally … the doctor says it’s manageable, but I don’t buy it.” He’d talked to her doctor—an old codger who wasn’t much younger than she was—and according to the doc there was nothing to be done. Eunice Tasker was simply growing old. Jacob had initially offered to bring in specialists, to fly his grandmother to a decent hospital for tests and treatment, but she’d refused both offers. After the reunion, she’d said, she’d see a new doctor. Maybe her mind was slipping, but she was as stubborn as ever.

“You could help to make her final days happy ones.” And he could leave here knowing Daisy was in good financial shape. She could finish school, close this crappy shop, get out of town the way he had.

She considered his offer for a long moment, and finally said, “All right, I’ll help. A couple of visits to your grandmother, a few lies … I can do that.” She walked toward him, came close, reached out and punched him in the chest with the tip of her index finger. She didn’t look him in the eye as she poked him there, hard.

Jacob didn’t move, but he took a long, deep breath. Damn, she smelled good. The sight of Daisy brought back strong, old memories, but it was the way she smelled that triggered memories he had no right to cling to. She was the stuff of dreams, the kind of woman a man could never entirely let go of, no matter how hard he tried.

“But I won’t take a dime of your money,” she said. “I’m doing this for Miss Eunice, not for you. She was kind to me after my parents died. She’s a good woman and I’ll do this for her.” Daisy lifted her head slowly, until her eyes met his. “Not for you and not for your money.” She said the word “money” as if it was a bad thing.