The Bff Bride

Every year, she thought she’d prepared herself for seeing him.

And every year, she failed.

The phone hanging on the wall next to the fridge suddenly rang, and she snatched up the receiver. “What?”

A brief hesitation, then female laughter greeted her. “Criminy, Tab. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

Tabby forced her shoulders to relax. “Sam,” she greeted. “Aren’t you still on duty?” Samantha Dawson was the only female officer with the local sheriff’s department.

“Taking my supper break.”

“Too bad you have to work on a holiday.”

“Not for my bank account. Double-time pay. How was the big get-together over at the Clays’?”

Even though Tabby had gotten pretty friendly with Sam over the past few years, the other woman wasn’t privy to the history between Tabby and Justin.

Nobody was.

“It was fine.” She shook herself. “A lot of fun. Always is. Have you heard how Hayley’s day went?”

Hayley Banyon was a good friend of Sam’s. She was also a Templeton, and as such, would have had as much reason or more to be at the Clay family fete as Tabby, since she was one of the relations the Clays had recently learned about.

“I saw her, actually,” Sam said. “Needed her professional help on a family dispute call that came in. She said she was grateful for the call, if that gives you any hint.”

It did. “That’s too bad.” If there was dissension between Vivian Templeton and Squire, according to Hayley there was even more between Vivian and her own sons. One of whom was Hayley’s father. “So did you call to shoot the breeze, or what’s up?”

“Just checking whether you’re opening the diner tomorrow.”

“Yup.” She’d be there before 4:00 a.m. as usual to get the cinnamon rolls going. “Pool tournament at Colbys kicks off tomorrow and I’m figuring I’ll get overflow business from it like I did last year. Why?”

“Promised a dozen to Dave Ruiz if he covers a shift for me next week.”

“They’ll be hot and fresh by six, same as always.”

“Good enough. See you then.”

Tabby was still smiling when she hung up. The phone rang again before she had a chance to take her hand off the receiver, and she picked it up again. “Let me guess,” she said on a laugh. “Two dozen?”

“Two dozen what?”

Her nerves tightened right back up at the sound of Justin’s voice. “I thought you were somebody else. What do you want?”

“I want you to get over the damn stick you got up your—”

She hung up on him.

It took only a second before the phone rang again.

She disconnected the phone line, and it went silent.

Then she turned back to the refrigerator and poured cold tea over the ice in her glass, flicked off the light in the kitchen and went back to the living room to watch her recorded football game.

She fell asleep on the couch before halftime and woke up around 3:00 a.m. to the fuzzy, bluish-white light from the blank television screen.

There was no point in going to bed when she needed to be at the diner soon, anyway.

Rubbing the sleep from her face, she went to shower and got dressed for the day.

Thirty minutes later, with her damp hair hidden beneath a bright blue knit cap and her gloved hands shoved deep in the pockets of her wool coat, she walked the three blocks from her triplex to the restaurant and let herself in the rear door. She didn’t need to turn on any lights to make her way through the back of the diner, because aside from updating an appliance here and there over the years, nothing significant had changed since she’d started working there as a teenager.

She went out to the front of the restaurant, where the glass windows overlooked Main Street, and started fresh coffee brewing. With that delicious aroma following her, she went back into the kitchen, turned on the lights and got down to work.

By the time she heard the back door open again, she had three baking sheets of cinnamon rolls cooling on the racks and was sliding two more into the oven. “Grab that third sheet from the counter, would you?”

She looked over her shoulder, expecting Bubba.

But it was Justin who picked up the large metal pan. “This one?”

Her lips tightened, and she took the sheet pan from him, sliding it into the oven along with the others and closing the door. “Come to check on your investment?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and went back out through the swinging door to the front, where she poured herself a cup of coffee. It wasn’t quite 6:00 a.m. yet, but she unlocked the door and flipped the Closed sign to Open, anyway.

When she turned back, Justin was sitting on one of the red vinyl–upholstered stools at the counter. He was wearing dark gray running pants and a zippered jacket with CNJ printed on the stand-up collar.

His clothes looked expensive. And darn it all, they fit his tall, exceptional physique as if they’d been tailored for him. Which, for all she knew, they had been. He’d admitted quite a few years ago that he not only had his suits tailored, but his shirts, as well. His precious Gillian had seen to that.

Since Tabby didn’t want to think about that, she focused on everything above his neck. His thick, short hair was damp, making the blond strands look brown. He’d obviously showered. Her nose was even prickling from the vaguely spicy scent of his soap. Or...whatever.

“You need a shave.” She flipped over a thick white mug, filled it with coffee and pushed it in front of him.

His long fingers circled the mug. “You should keep the door locked when you’re here by yourself.”

“Please. Be mighty hard for customers to come in to Ruby’s if I kept the doors locked whenever I happen to be alone.” Hard for customers. Hard for intruders.

She pushed aside the thought and went back through the swinging door, pulled on clean plastic gloves and turned out the first batch of rolls, deftly packing several up individually, then punched down the dough that was rising in an enormous steel bowl.

He hadn’t budged when she went back out to the front.

She deposited the pastry boxes next to the register, threw away the gloves, refilled her coffee and leaned back against the rear counter, studying him over the brim of her cup. His eyes were bloodshot. Which, annoyingly, just seemed to make the violet color stand out that much more. “Tie one on last night?”

His jaw canted to one side. He shook his head and squinted as he sipped the steaming-hot coffee. “Should have. Couldn’t sleep, anyway. At least then it would’ve been worthwhile.”

She smiled sweetly. “I slept like a baby.” On the couch. Plagued by dreams about him, only to wake with a crick in her neck that still made it hurt to turn her head too far to the left.

“Were you always this much of a witch, Tab?”

Despite everything, she felt a stab of some unidentified emotion. “Isn’t that how spinsters are supposed to act?”

He leaned on his elbows and looked at her through his lashes. “Twenty-eight is spinsterhood now?”

She sipped her coffee. It was to some old-fashioned folks around Weaver. But truthfully?

She felt that stab again. Regret, perhaps. Maybe loss.

It was hard to tell. When it came to Justin, things had started getting complicated long before they’d become adults. “Close enough to be a regular at Dee Crowder’s spinster poker night.”

“‘Spinster’ sounds like you’re seventy-five and still pining for your first kiss.” He gave her that through-the-lashes look again. “And I know you don’t qualify there. Hell.” His lips twitched suddenly. “I remember when Caleb kissed you when we were freshmen in high school.”

About the time when she’d wished Justin would have been interested in kissing her. But he’d never been interesting in kissing her for her. She’d always been a substitute on that score. A substitute he’d left behind the same way he’d left behind Weaver.

“Doesn’t count,” she said promptly. “It was a practice kiss. He was afraid he’d mess up when he planted his first one on Kelly Rasmussen.”

Justin’s head came up, his expression genuinely surprised. “I always figured you gave him the same response you gave me when we were nine. Without the broken nose.”

It was nearly six. She figured Sloan McCray, one of the deputy sheriffs, would be showing his face soon before he went on duty. And frankly, she would be grateful for the interruption.

She flipped on the radio and glanced over the stack of to-go cups she kept near the big brewer. “If he’d done it without permission in order to make Kelly jealous, I probably would have given him the same response.” She lifted her shoulder. “Apples and oranges, though.”

“I didn’t kiss you to make Sierra jealous.”

“And you didn’t sleep with me four years ago to make—what’s her name? Oh, right. Gillian.” The name was seared on her brain. “That wasn’t an attempt to get her to sit up and take notice of you?”

“How many times do you want me to apologize for that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a few million.” She looked past him when the front door opened, making the little bell on top jingle softly. “Good morning, Deputy. Get you the usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Tabby.” Sloan stepped up to the counter and handed her his insulated travel mug for the coffee. She turned and filled it while he greeted Justin. “How’s life in Boston?”

“Cold,” Justin admitted. “Not as cold as here—” he glanced at Tabby “—but still cold. How’s your wife?”

“Keeping me warm,” Sloan drawled. “Very warm.”

“And the boy—Dillon, right?”

“Growing like a weed,” Tabby said, turning to hand the deputy his coffee mug, along with one of the pastry boxes. “He and Abby came by last week. Dillon’s going to be a heartbreaker one of these days.”

“Fortunately, I think we’ve got a few years yet before we have to worry about that.” He pulled out his wallet.

She waggled her finger at him. “You know your money is no good here, Deputy.”

“And you know I’m gonna argue.”

“Justin’s half owner of this place. Tell him, Justin.”

“What Tabby said,” Justin said obediently, without moving a muscle. “Easier to go along with her than argue, because you’ll never win. Trust me.”

Sloan stuffed a few dollars in the empty tip jar by the register. “You won’t give that back, because I know it gets split among your crew.” He took a sip from his mug, turning his gaze to Justin again. “You in town for the long weekend? Going to play in Colbys’ pool tournament?”

Tabby busied herself restacking the pastry boxes. Justin would be gone by nightfall just like always. He never stayed the entire Thanksgiving weekend. At least on that score, she could relax a little.

“I’m here until January. But no, I leave the pool games to my brother.”

She accidentally dropped the boxes and they scattered. “January!”

As Sloan leaned over and picked up the boxes that had landed on the floor, the radio attached to his belt crackled. He adjusted the sound and set the boxes on the counter. “Sure I’ll be seeing more of you then,” he said. He gestured with his mug and picked up his own pastry box. “Thanks, Tabby.”

“You bet.” She waited until the deputy departed before she focused on Justin again. “January?”

“I know the thought’s horrifying to you, but try to dial it down a little.” He came around the counter and refilled his coffee mug.

And even though she wanted to tell him to get back on his own side of the counter, she couldn’t very well do so.

Like it or not, he was her boss. It didn’t matter that he’d always left the decision making to his brother when it came to Ruby’s. But Justin was still half owner. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, but when they were standing right there in Ruby’s, it was kind of hard to forget.

She mentally counted to ten and tried again. “You’re here until January?” Calmer or not, her voice had still gone a little hoarse at the end. But she held up her chin as if it hadn’t. “Why is that?”

“I’ll be working on a project here for CNJ. At the hospital, mostly. My aunt cleared it last night, though she’s going to have me jumping through a few more hoops than I expected because of it.”

Tabby let his answer roll around in her head a few times. “Why can’t you work on it in Boston at that big state-of-the-art laboratory you love?”

“Too many distractions there.”

“Gillian being one of them?”

“Yes, but not the way you th—” He went silent when the bell over the door jingled again, and Sam strolled in.

She hadn’t yet changed from her jogging gear into her uniform. Tabby waited for the usual male reaction to register in Justin’s expression as he took in the sight of Sam’s figure lovingly outlined from neck to ankle in vibrant, clinging purple fabric.

But he didn’t do the typical double take like all the other guys.

Instead, he nodded politely at Sam and turned back to stare into his coffee mug while Tabby rang up a dozen rolls.

If he was so crazy about Gillian that a beautiful woman like Samantha didn’t even merit a glance, what was he doing making Tabby’s life harder by sticking around Weaver for the next few months?

The thought was more than a little irritating. “Sam, you haven’t met Justin Clay yet, have you? He’s Erik’s brother.”

Sam turned her bright eyes back to Justin. “No kidding? You’re the genius scientist who works back East.” She stuck out her hand, cocking her blond head a little to one side. “I guess I see the resemblance to Erik,” she said with a smile. “Except you’re prettier.”

Tabby nearly choked on her amusement when Justin flushed.

“He’d argue that,” he said and nearly yanked back his hand from Sam’s.

“Sam’s one of Max’s deputies,” Tabby told him. “Like Sloan.”

“Well, I wear a badge like Sloan,” Sam allowed wryly. “But nobody calls me their boss like they do Sloan.” She picked up the box of rolls. “Still warm. Wonder if Ruiz will mind if one is missing before I get them to him?”

“I’d like to see the day when you actually indulge yourself for once,” Tabby challenged.

“Oh, I indulge.” Sam’s gaze sparkled as she glanced at Justin on her way toward the door.

“With a sweet roll,” Tabby called after her.

Sam just laughed and sketched a wave as she left.

“Heard there was a lady deputy now,” Justin said when the sound of the bell over the door faded. “She still the only one?”

“Max has been trying to recruit more women.” Tabby picked up a rag and started needlessly polishing the counter. “It’s hard. Small-town USA is bad enough. Small town in the middle of Wyoming—where the tumbleweeds often outnumber the residents—isn’t the life for everyone.” Her fingers clenched around the rag as she rubbed harder. “Not even when you’re born and raised in it. You ought to know that better than anyone.” He was the perfect example of getting out, after all. “So what’s this big project you’re doing? Curing the common cold?”

“Nothing that profitable. Just an R&D project that should’ve been wrapped up already, but—”

There was a loud bang from the back of the diner, followed by, “Yo, yo, yo!”

Justin shoved his fingers through his hair, looking impatient. “Now what?”

“Bubba,” Tabby said evenly. “If you want peace and quiet, Ruby’s Café isn’t the place to find it. Why do you think those profit checks you get have a decent number of zeros at the end? Not that you probably notice them much, anyway, with your gigantic pharmaceutical salary.” She pushed through the swinging door to greet her cook. “Morning, Bubba.”

“Hey, girl.” Bubba Bumble had a gentle soul that he hid behind a lumbering, rough-looking, hard-talking exterior. “Figured you’d have the hash browns going already.” He was wrapping a white apron over his white T-shirt and slouchy, black-and-white-striped pants. Next came a pristine red-and-black bandanna that he wrapped over his forehead and tied in the back over his neatly shaved salt-and-pepper hair.

“Sorry. I got—” Distracted by Justin. “Busy,” she said instead.

Bubba grunted and grabbed a knife to start peeling potatoes. Leaving him to it, she went back out front. The regular waitresses would begin arriving any minute, but until they did, she was on deck. Once they were there, though, she’d spend most of her morning in the kitchen with Bubba. She could man the grill when she had to, but he was the cook. She took care of the baking—he didn’t like the ancient oven Tabby still used—and did the books and serving or kitchen prep when the load was heavy. And considering the pool tournament being held down the street, she was crossing her fingers for a heavy day.

She topped up Justin’s coffee again without waiting for him to ask and began restocking the rack that held individual boxes of cold cereal.

“Does anyone still order those things?”

“Absolutely.” She gave the rack a whirl. “Or did you think these were the same boxes of Fruity Twirls that were here when your great-grandma ran the place?”

He ignored her sarcasm.

“Since you’re here, you might as well eat. Biscuits and gravy? Pancakes? Or have your tastes gotten fancier along with your running clothes?”

“If they had, I wouldn’t be sitting on this stool,” he replied with such an even tone that she felt guilty. “What’s the special?”

She kept a small chalkboard propped on a shelf behind the counter where she listed the daily specials. But she hadn’t gotten to writing them out yet today, and the board was still wiped clean, the way she’d left it two days earlier.

“Bubba,” she called without looking behind her toward the pass-through window to the kitchen. “What’s the special this morning?”

“Turkey hash,” he yelled back. “Turkey noodle soup and salad this afternoon.”

She retrieved the board and chalk and wrote everything out. She’d just set the board back in place when the front door opened and a couple she didn’t know came in. They were both carrying long, distinctive cases. “Good morning,” she greeted. “Looks like you’re in town for the tournament. Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be right over with menus.” Without waiting a beat, she looked at Justin again. “So? What’ll you have?”

“Scrambled eggs and wheat toast.”

He liked eggs now? Withholding comment, she turned and leaned closer to the pass-through. “Scrambled eggs and wheat for Justin, Bubba.”

Her cook looked up from the growing mountain of potatoes he’d shredded. “Justin’s here?” He immediately set down his knife and crossed the kitchen to look through the pass-through. “Justin! How’s life treating you, man?”

“It’s good, Bubba. You?”

Ignoring their conversation, Tabby carried two waters and menus over to the couple, who’d chosen a booth in the corner. “I’m Tabby. Can I get you coffee or anything else besides water while you have a chance to look over the menu?”

“Bloody Mary?” The young woman looked hopeful.

Tabby smiled and shook her head. “Sorry. No alcohol here. Colbys will be able to accommodate you on that, though, if you have your heart set. You’ll get a good breakfast there, too. Not as good as here—” she gave a quick wink “—but good all the same.”

“I suppose I can live without one.” The girl propped her chin on her hand. “What about you, honey?”

“Coffee’s good for me. And one of those pecan cinnamon rolls that I keep hearing about.” The man flipped open the menu.

“Oh, me, too.” The girl’s expression brightened. “And cream for my coffee if you’ve got it. It’s a holiday weekend. If I can’t splurge on a Bloody Mary just yet, I’ll splurge on that.”

Tabby’s smile turned into a grin. “Coming right up.” Infinitely comfortable with this particular role, she returned to the counter area, prepared a little white jug of cold cream, plated up two warm rolls and returned with them, along with the coffeepot, to the table. While she was serving the couple, the door jingled again, and two more parties of two came in. Everyone had pool cue cases.

She hid her delight and called out another cheerful “Good morning.”

She’d just gotten them situated with menus and drinks when Bubba called out that an order was up, and she went back to grab Justin’s plate. Which also had a side of biscuits and gravy.

Bubba figured he knew Justin pretty well, too, obviously.

Tabby set his plate in front of him, and Justin eyed the fat, fluffy biscuit that was mounded over with golden-brown gravy studded with chunks of sausage. She reached below the counter and came up with a bottle of hot sauce. She was tempted to hold it out of his reach, but she set it in front of him. “Anything else I can get for you?” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting. “More coffee?”

“No coffee. But there is something else.” He hesitated a moment, then suddenly dumped the biscuit and gravy on top of the eggs, completely hiding them, and grabbed the hot sauce.

She hid a smile as she pivoted on her heel to grab an order that Bubba set on the pass-through. “More gravy?”

“The key to the empty unit you’ve still got at the triplex,” he said. “I want to rent it.”

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