One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go

“My grandfather’s company,” he said dryly. “Zack and I have a construction business.”

“That’s nice.”

This conversation was going nowhere, and he obviously wasn’t focused on her anymore. Well, he wasn’t her date, however pleasant it was to have a gorgeous man in tow.

“Thanks for the dance,” she said as casually as possible. “I need to speak to a friend over there.”

The friend was imaginary, but the technique was all hers. When a guy started looking through her, beyond her or over her head, she liked to be the one who walked away.

She headed toward the universal haven of unescorted women, wishing she’d had room for a hair pick in the tiny satin drawstring bag that came with the dress. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wished she could wet down the sausage curls and loosen the stiff nylon petticoat, but it would take more than that to get Cole Bailey to go home with her.

Dang, where did that thought come from? She was swearing off champagne forever!

After touching up her lipstick, she went back to the reception, killed an hour gossiping with Lucinda’s younger sister, then filled a plate at the buffet and sat at a table with the bride’s great-aunt, who was allergic to every food from grapefruit to garlic and liked to talk about it. Tess murmured sympathetically and picked at the smoked salmon, but she couldn’t help tracking Cole. It wasn’t hard. For an uninvited guest, he certainly wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous. In fact, he zeroed in on the most eye-catching women and was never without a dance partner.

Lucinda had assigned little jobs to all her attendants, and Tess had the task of organizing the bouquet toss. The clubhouse had once been a millionaire’s mansion, and the front hallway had a curving staircase wide enough for a 1930s musical comedy number. Naturally Lucinda wanted to stand above the rabble when she tossed her artfully arranged bunch of orchids.

“Use the mike,” Lucinda commanded when she swished by to give Tess her marching orders.

“Can’t I just…”

“It’s the only way everyone will hear you in this huge room.”

Lucinda’s way was always the only way. Tess had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Lucinda would be back at the mall, her lunch buddy and walking partner. Most brides became real people again after their big day.

“I hate mikes.”

Lucinda was impervious to pouting unless she was doing it. Tess went to the head table and located the dreaded instrument, which the groom’s father was kind enough to test by blowing into it. The result was a whining whistle.

“Here you are, little lady.”

Next he’d pat her head!

“Eh, ladies…girls…women…” The mike made her too nervous to remember what was politically correct.

The band was taking their forty-third break, and conversation prevailed.

“Can I have your attention? Please!”

“Talk up a bit, little lady,” her coach prompted.

“The bride is going to toss her bouquet!”

That got them. Tess wiggled her tongue trying to get enough saliva to finish the announcement.

“Eligible women go to the grand stairway,” she directed, surprised when the groom’s dad took the microphone away from her.

“Come on, gals. Who’ll be the lucky little lady to snag the bouquet?”

Tess crept away before he thought of doing an interview on why she wanted to be the winner. In fact, she didn’t. She’d caught the bride’s bouquet at four previous weddings, mainly because she could be trusted to return it to the newlyweds. Obviously the magic didn’t work on a skeptic like her.

Judging by the stampede, Lucinda had invited an army of unwed women, although some of the throng gathering at the foot of the stairs had to be women looking for love the second or third time around.

The foyer was large with striking black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor. The walls were loaded with cloudy old oil paintings in heavy gold frames. Lucinda had gone to the top of the stairs so she could descend dramatically, her train hooked up to avoid a tumble. Her dress was ivory silk with an overskirt of antique Belgian lace from her grandmother’s wedding gown. Tess had never seen a bride who didn’t look beautiful, and Lucinda was no exception. It was the glow, not the trappings.

It was her job to announce, “Here she comes!” and whip the crowd into a frenzy. She intended to stand to the side and avoid the crush, but women jockeying for position outflanked her. She found herself squeezed in on all sides, threatened by a tall girl’s bony elbow to her right and a pair of spike heels backing into her. Tess’s silly bow had come untied again, but she was too squashed to reach behind and redo it.

She caught a glimpse of Lucinda nodding at her from the top of the stairs, her signal to make the big announcement.

“Here comes the bride!” she called, not that everyone couldn’t see that.

A woman with jet-black hair gave her a hard hip thrust on the left, but Tess couldn’t escape the press. They’d boxed her in on all sides.

Lucinda was descending with much-practiced stateliness. She threw from the halfway point, putting enough oomph into the toss to give the bouquet some spin.

Tess put out her hands defensively with no thought of catching it, but the flowers were coming directly at her. Hands were everywhere, reaching, grabbing and snatching. She heard an ominous rip and was nearly knocked off her spike heels as two contenders got their hands on the delicate arrangement of exotic blooms.

Neither woman would let go. They pulled until they split the prize, tearing the orchids away from the wiring. Tess heard another tearing noise and knew she was in trouble.

The crowd thinned with a mix of disappointed grumbles and good-humored laughter. Tess found herself standing alone with her skirt hanging limply on the tiles behind her. The wretched satin streamers had been torn loose, taking the back of the skirt with them. She knew the semi-transparent petticoat wasn’t enough to conceal a view of her pink bikini panties, and a couple of the groomsmen were strolling her way. She knew they’d noticed when they stopped and pretended to study one of the dark old oil paintings on the wall in front of her. Freddy, a pale blond, freckle-faced guy pretending to be an art lover, had already tried to corner her in a Sunday-school room at the church. He had breath like a sewer and at least seven arms. She’d rather get sucked into quicksand than let him get his hands on the part of her anatomy that was now hanging out of the ruined dress.

Reaching behind and grabbing a handful of satin, she tried to bunch it together enough for modesty’s sake while she edged her way out the door. This reception was over for her.

She felt the jacket descend on her shoulders before she saw her rescuer.

“Let’s go,” Cole said, putting his arm around her shoulders to hold his suitcoat in place.

“Gladly!”

“Crazy ritual. I’d rather take on a wolf pack than get in the middle of a scramble for the bride’s bouquet.”

“I wasn’t trying for it,” she said. “I was in charge of getting the women together.”

“You certainly did an admirable job,” he teased, pushing open the door with his free hand.

Spotlights lit up the front entrance, and lightposts illuminated the whole of the parking area. A few smokers lounged on the steps enjoying the wonderful June evening, and a tipsy couple were doing something that resembled dancing on the asphalt drive.

He guided her toward the car, keeping his jacket firmly in place with his arm. She was happy to see her little compact, which was as out of place between a Mercedes and a Lincoln as she was at this reception.

“I owe you,” she said. “This makes twice you’ve rescued me.”

“No thanks necessary. Do you have your car keys?”

“Yes, and I can actually reach them this time.” She dug into the little purse and extracted them, rather pleased when Cole took them and unlocked the door for her.

“About owing me,” he said as she slid out of his jacket and onto the car seat. “There is one little thing you could do for me.”

“What?” She was genuinely surprised that Cole Bailey could need anything from her. If truth be told, she was hopeful that the favor involved spending more time with him.

“You’ve always had a lot of girlfriends, if I remember right. Do you still?”

“I guess. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“Are some of them…I mean, do you still have some sweet unattached friends who’ve never been married?”

“I don’t exactly run a club for old maids.” She was liking this less and less.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…”

“Weird?”

“My intentions are honorable.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d really like to meet some nice women.”

“Is that why you crashed the reception?”

Surely this man could get a date in a convent if he put his charm to work! She was far more puzzled than pleased by the prospect of playing matchmaker for him.

“Weddings are usually a good place to meet…people.”

“You seemed to be doing well enough.” She bit her tongue, angry at herself for letting him know she’d noticed.

He shrugged. In shirtsleeves, his shoulders were broad and muscular. Her fingers itched to touch them.

“I’d like to meet someone our age.”

“I’m a whole year younger than you are!”

“Point taken. But do you have any nice friends?”

“All my friends are nice—at least most of the time.” She was thinking of Lucinda. “But I’m not good at setting up blind dates. It’s the best way I know to lose friends.”

She suspected he was too much man for most of the single women she knew. But oddly enough he didn’t intimidate her anymore. She knew he’d never be interested in her—she was just his pal—but at least he didn’t make her stammer, stutter and shake anymore.

“How about this.” He took a coin from his pocket. “Heads, you introduce me to some of your friends. Tails, I give you a tour of the baby plant and a sneak preview of some new products that will be available soon.”

She was tempted, but didn’t entirely trust him.

“I’m not much on games of chance,” she said.

“What is your game?”

“Tennis, but I wouldn’t stand a chance against an athlete like you. I do play pool occasionally.”

She didn’t mention that she’d grown up practicing on her dad’s table in the basement, or that she played in a weekly league in the winter.

“Pool it is. Same stakes. Do you like one game, sudden death or two out of three?”

“Two out of three.” Her second game was usually better than her first. She needed warm-up time.

“I’ll follow you. Where do you want to play?”

“You forget I did the Cinderella bit—ball gown to rags. Maybe a rain check?”

Which would give her time to wiggle out of the bet, she thought, realizing how little she wanted to fix him up with someone else.

“If you’re afraid you can’t beat me…”

“No way!”

“I’ll follow you home. You can change, and we’ll go to the closest bar with a table.”

“It’s late, Cole.”

“Not even eleven.”

“I’ve had a long day.”

“No disadvantage. I was on the work site at six a.m.”

“Do you always get your own way?”

His grin was all the answer she needed.

She gave in, but darned if she’d let him win!

2

THERE WAS NOTHING Cole liked less than waiting for a woman to get dressed—except, of course, looking for a wife he didn’t want.

He told Tess he’d wait in the truck while she changed her torn dress, but he was too restless to sit. He got out of the driver’s seat and started pacing in a broad circuit in the parking area as soon as she went inside her ground-floor apartment.

She lived in one of a hundred or so small units in the brick complex, all with individual entrances either on the ground level or off a second-floor balcony that ran the length of each building with stairs at both ends. He approved. He liked a floor plan that allowed tenants their own private entrances and didn’t waste space on a lobby.

The apartments were thirty or forty years old, built when buildings were still laid out in rectangular patterns with straight service roads. Today builders, including Zack and him, favored curving roads and cul-de-sacs for an illusion of spaciousness and privacy, but the place was well maintained and still looked good. Much of the vast sprawl in Wayne County was a conglomerate of enclaves linked by expressways and major roads. He knew it like the back of his hand, but never tired of the architectural diversity.

He’d rate Tess’s place as ho-hum, a haven for singles and young couples with a smattering of seniors who’d given up their homes in favor of easy maintenance and social-security living. At least she didn’t live with her parents.

Stopping to look at his watch, Cole thought about the evening so far.

The wedding reception had been about what he’d expected—a bunch of casual acquaintances and a few strangers pretending they lived the high life all the time. At least no one had challenged his presence.

He even got propositioned. Mrs. Donaldson wanted to give him a tour of the clubhouse, promising she knew some hidden niches where no one ever went. She’d conveniently forgotten he’d played soccer with her son in middle school. He politely declined!

As for the younger women, he’d had a hard time separating college girls from jailbait. Except for seeing Tess again, the evening had been a bust, but it forced him to be realistic. He wasn’t going to find the girl of his grandfather’s dreams at a party or a bar, which pretty much eliminated his usual stomping grounds.

Maybe Tess would open some doors for him, not that he deserved her help after the rough time he gave her in high school. But they were both adults now, right? Fortunately, she didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She was the kind of woman who could be a good friend without all the game-playing that went with relationships. And she was the only person he knew who could help him meet some nice girls.

First he had to beat her at pool. He’d be sporting, though, and not win by too much. He couldn’t expect her to help solve his problem if he humiliated her.

“Bailey, where are you?” she called, managing to startle him, because he’d expected to wait the typical half hour most females required for a simple change.

“Here.”

He walked toward her from a row of cars parked south of his truck.

“Are you ready for a…” He nearly said lesson, then saw what she was carrying—a case that could only contain one thing. “You have your own pool stick?”

“I play in a league in the winter. If you want to call off the bet…”

“No way.”

He had a hard time seeing Tess as a pool hustler, but she’d suckered him into a challenge he really needed to win. At least it would be more fun—and easier on his conscience—if she could give him a good game.

“Get in.” He opened the door of his truck for her.

“I thought I’d drive my car, and you can follow. That way you won’t have to bring me home.”

“Get in. I don’t mind bringing you back.”

In the light from the cab she looked more like her old self, only better, much better. Jeans and a form-hugging white tank top did a lot more for her than the bridesmaid getup. She’d pulled all the sausage curls into a ponytail that bounced as she scampered into the pickup.

One of the nice things about taking a date in the truck was checking out her back view without being obvious as she climbed to the seat. Tess had a round, firm bottom, but of course she was no date prospect and never would be. Being with her was more like taking a ride with his sister—if he had one—or maybe a first cousin, which he also didn’t have as far as he knew. No telling what his biological daddy had in the way of relatives, since Cole had never heard boo from the man. Apparently he’d taken Marsh Bailey’s threats seriously way back when. Cole’s deceased stepfather was the man who’d been a true father to him, and Zack felt the same way.

“I know a place not too far from here where we should be able to get a table without a long wait,” she said.

He shrugged and let her give him directions.

“It’s not a tie-and-jacket kind of place,” she warned.

“All the better. Where did you learn to play pool?”

“My dad loves it. Has a table in his basement.”

“Now I’m getting worried,” he teased.

“Yeah, sure. How many times have you lost at anything?”

“Well, I’m still single. I certainly haven’t won the girl of my dreams yet.” And he wouldn’t be looking for her if he hadn’t lost the toss to Zack with his own coin.

“About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose,” Tess said, “you actually expect me to fix you up with a blind date?”

“Maybe several.”

“You’re serious? I mean, you’re not going to break any of my friends’ hearts just for fun, are you?”

“I’m serious.” His answer came out sounding grim.

“Why now?

“You have a mother. You know how they get when grandkids fever hits,” he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn’t seen for ten years.

“I guess, but my sister has two kids. I’m more or less off the hook for now. So you want to meet a nice girl to make your mother happy?” She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.

“I promised to give it a try, but working in construction I don’t meet many girls I’d want to take home to Mom.”

He didn’t like this conversation, and the pool place wasn’t as close as he’d like it to be.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your mom.” She patted the case resting on her thigh. “But I’m looking forward to a sneak preview of Bailey’s new line. My shop is getting a reputation for handling the latest baby products.”

He urged her to tell him more about her store without paying much attention to what she said. His interest in baby monitors and infant seats was nonexistent, especially since anything baby related reminded him of his grandfather’s high-handed manipulations.

They got to the pool hall. Buck’s wasn’t the kind of place he would’ve expected Tess to like. It was a workingman’s tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon beer sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the truck and followed Tess into a murky interior that reeked of smoke and boilermakers.

“Hi, Tess! How’s my sweetie?” a bearded little man who’d never see seventy again called as she walked in.

“Doing great, Barney.”

“Gotcha self a live one?” another grizzled old man asked from the brass-railed bar.

“Ready for plucking.”

Bar regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old-timers, mostly men and a few women with faces that didn’t match their vivid hair colors. What Cole saw at the tables helped explain why Tess felt comfortable here. They’d largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups seemed to tolerate each other well enough, with the possible exception of a few tough-looking young guys probably looking to prove something by hitting on classy girls.

Tess waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The pool tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She’d chosen well. She scrawled her name on a chalkboard, but they were the only ones on the waiting list for a table.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked

“A light beer, please. Playing pool is thirsty work.”

He’d expected her to order a soda or possibly white wine, but then, he didn’t know much about the Tess of today. He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her watching the action. Finally a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in motorcycle boots and belts so heavily studded they probably pinched their bellies when they leaned over.

“You’re the challenger,” she said.

He racked the balls and tested the weight of the stick he’d chosen. The shaft had been sanded and the tip replaced recently. This place took their pool seriously.

Tess broke the rack and sank a striped ball. He liked the way she leaned over the table and studied her options. She had a loose, casual style, but once she committed to a shot, she went for it like a pro.

She impressed the hell out of him. This bet wasn’t the sure thing he’d expected.

“Nice shot,” he said as she sank another ball.

In fact, it was too nice. Beating her was going to take some off-table strategy. He stepped behind her and leaned when she leaned, reaching over her to take her wrist as she lined up her next shot.

“Maybe if you straighten your wrist just a little…” He began coaching.

“Cole Bailey!” She used her hips like a pair of cannon balls and knocked him away from the table. “I do not need lessons!” she said, confronting him like a raging rhino. “If you touch me again, the match is off.”

“Understood,” he said, feeling like a jerk. “Some girls appreciate a few pointers.” And a little touchy-feely to go with the sport, he thought, vowing not to forget Tess was different from most women.

He walked to the other side of the table so he wouldn’t have to watch the little tail twitch she used unconsciously when she was ready to take her shot. She might play killer pool, but she was still at square one in the boy-girl game. Men challenged each other for the competition, but it was a whole different contest to play with a woman.

I’m a chauvinistic jerk, he thought when she missed her next shot. He could win this bet without rubbing against her backside or distracting her with thinly disguised hugs. After all, this was Tess. He still owed her for getting him through English lit.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he stepped up to take his first shot. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, sure.” She frowned in disbelief.

He called his shot, knowing he deserved to flub it for trying to use sex to distract a friend. But Tess would keep her word if she lost the match, and he didn’t have any better ideas for meeting nice women. He couldn’t get help from Zack. His brother wouldn’t recognize a nice girl if she came wrapped in tissue and ribbons.

He cleared the table and won the first game handily. Fortunately, guilt didn’t blunt his skill.

“That makes me one up,” he said cordially. “Want to concede now?”

“No way! The bet is two out of three. I’m always a slow starter.”

“Nice stick you have,” he said, because he found silence between them awkward, not that balls crashing and people talking and laughing at the other eleven tables didn’t fill the room with noise.

“Seventeen ounces. My dad gave it to me when our team won the league championship last winter.”

“I’m impressed.” He actually was. He’d never played league pool, but he knew it attracted good players.

It was his turn to break, and he found himself wanting badly to win without giving her a turn to shoot. Maybe he needed to prove to himself he was the better player. No question his dirty trick had distracted her in the last game. Hell, it was hard for him to concentrate just thinking about it. He could still feel her snug against his front, her bottom wiggling just enough to make him wish she was a date, someone he could take home with him.

“Idiot!” he muttered under his breath. This was Tess. She’d lost the baby fat, but that didn’t make her fair game. He felt uncomfortable enough using her to meet other women without toying with her. A friend didn’t treat a friend that way.

He made a couple of mediocre shots, but his heart wasn’t in them. He’d basically stolen the first game. When his third shot bounced an inch away from the hole, he was happy enough to relinquish the table to Tess. He hadn’t exactly thrown the game, but his sloppy playing gave him what he deserved—a loss.

“Even up,” she said with satisfaction. “Now let’s see some real pool.”

As the winner of the previous game, it was her turn to break the rack. Cole narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the balls and trying not to see the way her breasts filled out her tank top when she leaned over the table. Women always had the power of distraction on their side, but he had more riding on this game than an opportunity for cheap thrills.