Bride by the Book (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

“Well, Angie?” Garner said, grinning. “Can you explain how and where you got that classy outfit?”

“Clothes are cheaper in California.” Angie said with a grin. She stared appreciatively at Mindy. “Those are nice boots. Did you get them in El Dorado?”

Mindy stared back. “Honey, you don’t look like the cowgirl type, so what do you care?”

“I’ve never been a cowgirl before.” Angie assessed Mindy’s outfit with covetous eyes. “It looks interesting. I’ll have to try it.”

“Are you for real?” Mindy faced Garner. “I came to remind you that my party’s tonight. Since
she
hasn’t been giving you my messages, I thought I’d better come tell you, myself.”

“She’s been reminding me,” Garner said drily. “I’ve had at least five messages a day about that silly party. Now run along, Mindy. I’ve got work to do.”

Mindy turned on her heel. “Sure, you do. More of what I interrupted, no doubt. See you tonight, Garner. Nice meeting you, Miss
Blackwood
.”

The door slammed behind her.

Angie busied herself shutting her book and clearing her work papers away.

Garner chuckled. “I can see I haven’t been giving you enough work to do, Miss Brownwood.”

“I’m a fast typist, Mr. Holt.” Angie tossed her head back. “Is there something you need typed?”

“Why don’t you come sit on my lap and take a little dictation?”

Astonished, Angie stared at him.

“I feel sure I’ll be properly impressed with your speed,’ he added, grinning.

The door opened again and Cliff entered with a thick sheaf of papers. “Hi, Garner. Boy, am I glad you’re back. These are the papers for that house Laura’s so set on buying. Why don’t you look them over and see what you can come up with?”

Angie, who had heard all about the house from Laura, smiled sympathetically at Cliff.

“And if you’ve got a minute,’ Cliff went on, “I’ll drive you over to have a look at the place.”

Garner looked at Angie. “Don’t forget, you’re taking me to Mindy’s party tonight.”

“I’m what?” Angie’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re protecting him from Mindy’s advances,” Cliff translated.

The two men went out together, laughing. Angie sat back down, smiling wryly at her own stupidity. She might have known Garner’s interest in her was directed at something he wanted to achieve, namely, freedom from Mindy Adams.

She might as well get back to her main agenda, which was catching up on all the living she’d missed during all the years she’d been under her father’s thumb.

Mindy’s party seemed like an excellent place to start.

“Some dress.” Cliff stood beside Garner on the edge of the dance floor in Mindy’s apartment. “I’ve never seen anything like it before around here.”

Garner scowled at Angie’s short, black dress. “Neither have I. It’s going into the Salvation Army donation box tomorrow morning.” He ignored the way Cliff bit back a grin and glared at Angie.

On the dance floor, Angie danced energetically with some college kid. It was quite a performance. Everyone thought so. Her blond hair flew out in all directions, and her slender arms and legs were in constant motion.

“You know,” Mindy said, appearing suddenly beside him, “I thought I was going to hate her, but I don’t. She’s a great kid.”

Garner frowned again. Mindy and her friends had taken Angie into their circle. They
liked
her, for Pete’s sake.

“She’s got so much enthusiasm,” Mindy went on. “It’s contagious.”

“We know exactly what you mean,” Cliff said, grinning. “I think I’d better take Laura home before she falls asleep on the sofa.”

Laura sat on a sofa talking with two of her long-time friends. In spite of her obvious enjoyment of the conversation, she looked sleepy.

“Just think,” Cliff added. “Once upon a time, Laura could out-dance Angie. I wonder what Angie will be like when she gets pregnant.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Garner muttered.

The thought boggled his mind. He turned to stare at Angie. Her fitted black dress was trimmed with glittery fringe that bounced when she moved. Mostly, the fringe stood straight out from her slender body. The dress fitted every luscious curve she had and barely covered her bottom. Garner had been fooled into complacency by the giant scarlet Chinese shawl she’d thrown over the dress when he picked her up.

He decided he’d had enough of watching every male in the room stare at Angie. He cut through the small crowd on the dance floor and whirled her around to face him.

“Party’s over, Cinderella,” he said.

“It’s only ten o’clock.” Angie’s eyes were brilliantly blue and fairly snapped with excitement. “Are you cutting in?”

“Darned right, I’m cutting in,” Garner said. “How many glasses of that punch did you drink?”

“I’ve only had two glasses. Why? Mindy told me it’s her dad’s special recipe. It’s made with guava juice and—”

“And liberal helpings of Rebel Yell whiskey,” Garner finished curtly. He guided her firmly off the dance floor.

“I read in that book you gave me that guava juice is great for your health.”

“How much hard liquor do you usually drink?” Garner asked.

“I never drink,” Angie said with dignity. “It dulls the mind. I’m really enjoying this music. Come on and dance with me.”

“How much dancing have you done in your young life?” he asked.

Angie’s innocent blue eyes widened with insult. “Are you saying I’m a lousy dancer?”

He grinned. “Not at all. It’s just that you seem to be making up for lost time. If I danced that hard, I’d be crippled for two weeks.”

Angie worked this out. “I guess I am making up for lost time. My last job didn’t leave much time for fun.” She fanned herself with her hand. “Let’s get something cool to drink. Dancing sure is thirsty work.”

“No doubt,” Garner said drily.

Angie clung to his arm. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life. And Mindy says she’ll introduce me to the saleswomen at the boutiques where she buys her clothes. Don’t you think I’d make a great cowgirl?”

Garner stared at her and tried to imagine it. “No.”

“Well, I think I would.” Angie cast a glowing smile at him. “Furthermore, if I’d known guava juice tasted this good, I’d have gotten it years ago. The book said it had lots of antioxidants—”

“And I’ll bet that if you believed jogging would give you the stamina to dance all night, you’d have taken it up at the same time.” Garner steered her away from the punch bowl in spite of her attempts to veer toward it. “You’ve had enough punch. Any more, and you’ll hate me and everybody else in the morning. Here, have a glass of diet cola.”

Angie accepted the drink with a grimace. “Why is it that diet anything doesn’t satisfy a person nearly as much as the real thing?”

Garner caught her gazing longingly at the punch bowl while he turned aside a moment to speak to a friend.

“Here, Ang.” Mindy proffered a sheet torn from a note pad. “It’s my dad’s recipe for Peveto’s Punch.”

Peveto’s Punch? Garner recognized it at once as a local legend. Worse, he could tell it made Angie’s mouth water. She eyed the punch bowl thirstily.

“Here.” Mindy handed her a cup of Peveto’s finest. She wore a fringed white western skirt and blouse, complete with fringed white boots and a cowboy hat that had apparently made a big hit with Angie’s fashion sense. “I poured this for myself, but you look like you need it more.”

“Thanks, Mindy.”

Before he could stop her, Angie had downed the punch with a grateful expression that effectively both froze his blood and covered him with guilt. If she didn’t kill him tomorrow, she would hate him thoroughly for weeks to come.

“Come here, please, Angie.” Garner reached for her hand, well aware that he was probably too late to save her from herself. “I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine.”

Angie acknowledged the introductions gracefully and accepted another cup of punch from one of the men.

“You’d better not drink that,” Garner warned. “Three cups of that punch of Mindy’s have been known to lay out strong men.”

Angie scoffed. “I’ve already had three cups, and I feel perfectly fine.” She thought a moment. “Better than fine, actually. And my mind is still perfectly functional.”

“I’ll bet,” Garner said, resigned. She was going to hate him in the morning for sure.

She sipped delicately at the punch. “I’m definitely switching to guava juice for breakfast from now on. Great stuff, this guava juice.”

She finished the cup and set it down on a nearby table. It crashed to the floor and shattered. Angie looked down at it in puzzlement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Garner asked, even though he feared he knew. “You just held that cup out and turned it loose.”

“I put it on the table.” Angie sounded baffled.

“You didn’t put it anywhere near the table.” He shook his head regretfully. “I told you not to drink that last cup of punch. Come on, Angie. You’ve had it for tonight.”

“I’m not ready to go home,” she protested. “I’m having a great time.”

“You’ve had an overdose of good time.” He dragged her along by the hand to Mindy’s bedroom, where he found her shawl and threw it over her shoulders.

Angie had made so many new friends who wanted to personally tell her goodnight, he had a hard time getting her out the door. He had an even harder time getting her into his Blazer. The punch had finally hit its mark. Angie raised her foot to step up on the running board, missed, and almost fell on her face.

“Angie,” he said, struggling to lift her onto the seat. “How many cups of that punch did you drink?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Angie said dreamily. “Five, I think.”

“
Five!
”

“Or four. I really don’t remember. Everything seems a little hazy.” She laughed exultantly. “I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Thanks so much for taking me.”

“You’re welcome.” Garner buckled on her seat belt since she made no move to do so herself. “Although this isn’t exactly the way the evening was supposed to end.”

“It isn’t?” Angie blinked. “But the evening isn’t over yet, is it? I thought the idea of a party was to have a lot of fun.”

“You certainly managed that,” Garner agreed. “You’re a hostess’s dream. Even Mindy loves you.”

“I love Mindy.” Angie smiled hazily. “She’s going to show me all the cowgirl boutiques in Little Rock.”

He shut the door and came around. He drove her home in a silence punctuated by Angie’s attempts at humming one of the songs she’d been dancing to.

He pulled up in front of her house. Her white compact car was in the drive, or he’d have pulled in closer to the front steps.

“Out you come,” he said.

She didn’t respond. That last cup of punch must have hit her hard. She didn’t even know she was home.

“'
A professional secretary
,” Angie said in slightly slurred tones, “
never allows herself to be seen with her boss in situations that can be interpreted as social
.’”

Garner unsnapped her seat belt and lifted her down. “Did they teach you that in secretarial school?”

“More or less.” Angie looked a little startled. “I don’t know why I suddenly remembered it.”

“Neither do I.” Garner held her, enjoying the way she automatically slipped her arms around his neck. Her body felt like warm silk against his. “After all, tonight was definitely a working situation.”

“It was?” Angie’s voice brightened. “In that case, everything’s okay.”

“That’s for sure.”

Garner escorted her up the sidewalk between the two lines of moss roses. If he hadn’t kept a good grip on her, she’d have meandered into one of the flower beds.

At her front door, he propped her against the jamb. “Where’s your key?”

“It’s somewhere in here. I think.” She frowned. “‘
Professional secretaries are always organized
.’”

She gave him her little clutch purse and waited in contemplative silence while he fished around inside it for her keys. When he opened the door and lifted her bodily across the threshold, she showed an alarming tendency to sink to the floor.

“I don’t feel so well,” she said, looking up at him in an owlish fashion. “Do you mind if I go lie down for a few minutes?”

“That would be an excellent idea. Let me help you to the bedroom.”

He got her down the little hall to her back bedroom, grinning at the contrast between Angie’s ultra-modern little black dress and the old-fashioned, white chenille bedspread. The moment she lay down, her eyes closed and she was effectively dead to the world.

Garner slipped off her shoes and let his hands linger on her fine, slender ankles. She never stirred. He thought better of removing any more of her clothing. She’d probably be mad enough at him in the morning.

He’d been an idiot to let her drink that punch. Angie was a lot more innocent than he’d thought. In a way, she was as naive as the sixteen-year-old girl he’d first thought her. She had behaved like a woman released from prison tonight, one who sought to make up for lost time. He shouldn’t have let her out of his sight for a minute.

“What kind of slave-driver did you work for in Palo Alto?” he asked aloud, staring down at her.

He no longer thought she might be a reporter on the lookout for a story, but he still didn’t know what she had done in Palo Alto. She had so much knowledge of computers, he felt sure it had been something to do with them.

He glanced around the little bedroom. There was little in it he could pinpoint as belonging to Angie. The only items that obviously belonged to her were the dozen or so secretarial manuals lined up neatly on top of the chest-of-drawers.

He plucked one up and scanned it. Paper clips and markers filled the pages so thickly, the book seemed twice its size. Moreover, the books were all older tomes, which struck him as odd in itself. He’d have picked Angie as someone likely to own the newest smart phone or e-reader and who had never owned an actual book.

“Talk about well-thumbed books,” he observed aloud.

He let the pages fall open as they would. She’d studied filing, letter formatting, message-taking, and telephone-answering techniques, he discovered, in the manner of a research scientist who parsed every word. After reading some of the material, Garner suddenly realized she had trained herself to be a secretary by studying those books rather than attending an actual school.