CnC 5 One Hex of a Wedding (20 page)

James paused in mid-smile, as if it hadn’t even dawned on him. He gave a hurried look at Harlow, then hung his head. “Yeah, I guess I will. I don’t like the idea, but she’s too young to travel, and Harlow won’t go without her.”

So, they’d already discussed that option. Sensing tension flaring, I abruptly stood and headed toward the espresso maker. Joe had recently replaced my old one with a new state-of-the-art coffee center. It made espresso, foamed milk, brewed coffee, even heated water for tea, although I still insisted on using my beloved old teakettle. Even though I loved the new machine, I still waxed nostalgic for my old one. We’d shared a lot of good brews together.

“Coffee, anybody?”

“Espresso for me,” Murray said, hurrying over to help. She pulled out the grinder. Mur knew my kitchen better than I did.

“Coffee for me,” Joe said.

“Me, too—” Jimbo and James spoke as one, then stopped mid-sentence, and laughed.

I glanced at Harlow. “How about you, babe? Decaf?” She shook her head. “Some chamomile tea would be great. Eileen’s been fussing a lot lately. I was up at three last night.”

“I told you to let Lily take over at night,” James said. “That’s what we pay her for.”

Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but if our daughter is fussing, I want to know why. Lily takes care of her while I’m working and studying. She needs her sleep, too.” As if realizing how sharp she sounded, she stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, letting it trickle out.

Joe jumped in, bringing up his calendar shoot again, asking James for tips on how to pose. As the conversation segued to lighter topics, I relaxed a little. Weddings were always good for a nervous breakdown, I thought, but why did my breakdown have to include all my friends along with me?

THE NEXT MORNING found Joe agonizing over which pair of pants to wear. I handed him his faded jeans that curved nicely around his butt and went back to angsting over the phone. Grandma M. was in surgery, but we’d be at the photo shoot by the time she was out of the operation. I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself by having my cell phone bleat out the tinny rendition of the
Futurama
theme song that I’d downloaded, thereby annoying the photographer and anybody else who might be within hearing distance. So, I settled for calling Rose and telling her I’d phone within the hour after Grandma M. was due out of surgery.

The shoot was taking place in Perry Field, one of Chiqetaw’s largest parks. The land had been donated to the town by Wilber Perry, an eccentric and wealthy old man, along with enough money to outfit it fully on the stipulation it must never be sold. As we approached the Larch Street entrance, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut when I saw the gathering of hunks crowded around the photographer and event organizer.

A gaggle of gorgeous men, and a few incredibly endowed women, with all vital parts barely concealed in revealing, steamy outfits. Eye-candy heaven.

Last night, Mur had confided that they’d asked her to be part of the shoot. Of course there was no question that she’d turned them down. She’d worked far too hard to gain the esteem of her coworkers and if she showed up in a cheesecake calendar in a bikini—regardless of the cause—she’d lose the dignity and respect that she’d so carefully built over the years.

It galled me, though. The men involved wouldn’t have to worry about their peers. Double standards still ran strong. Joe wouldn’t lose any respect for contributing. I had a strong suspicion that the few women involved were in lower-echelon jobs. I just hoped this didn’t curtail their chances for advancement. Unfortunately, people seemed to lose track that this was, after all, a
charity
calendar. Police officers and firemen sunbathed in bikinis and Speedos, and ran around in shorts like everybody else.

As we wandered over to the photographer, I felt eyes turning our way. Mainly from the women, both those waiting to be in front of the camera and those behind the scenes. Their gazes slid over me quickly, then lingered on Joe. I scrunched closer to him, taking his arm in mine. Not that I was worried! Nope, not me. I trusted Joe implicitly. Still, no sense letting him forget I was on the sidelines, cheering him on.

Joe introduced himself to the photographer while the events organizer checked his name off a list. He started to introduce me, but the EO cut him off.

“She can wait over there,” the woman said, pointing to me and then to a picnic table. “You said you’ve been injured? Let’s see it. Maybe we can make it work for us.” And before I could say a word, she’d slid her arm through Joe’s and dragged him away from me, over to the milling group of men and women who were waiting their turn in front of the camera.

Apparently, I’d been dismissed. A little put out, I made my way over to the picnic table where several other women were sitting. One I recognized as Melissa White, Roger’s wife. Roger worked with Joe at the station.

“This the place for gawkers and girlfriends?” I asked as she looked up.

“Have a seat and join the rest of the castoffs. It’s apparent they didn’t expect us to show up. When Roger and I got here, that bitch said, ‘What’s she doing here?’ right in front of me. Whoever hired that bozo is going to hear about it from me.” Melissa tapped one long, polished nail on the wooden tabletop, obviously pissed.

“I think it was Eunice Addison,” another one of the women spoke up. I glanced over at her. She was wearing a crop top that showed a pair of remarkably large, perky breasts—unnaturally perky—and a low-riding pair of jeans. “I’m Corrie Jackson. I’m Sandy Whitmeyer’s girlfriend.”

I sat down and held out my hand. “Emerald O’Brien, Joe Files’ fiancée.” So, this shindig was Eunice Addison’s baby? I’d had several dealings with the social maven of Chiqetaw, some good, a few not so good. Overall, she was a nosy old biddy but she did a lot for charity. For that alone, I respected her.

“Oh, we all know who you are,” Corrie shot back, a grin spreading across her face. “You’ve been in the paper so many times that I don’t think anybody can live in Chiqetaw without knowing your name.”

Once again, my reputation preceded me. I prepared for an onslaught of questions about anything from ghosts to tarot to sparring with murderers, but Corrie surprised me.

“So, is Joe as dreamy in bed as he is to look at?” Her question was innocent, her tone was not.

Startled, I groped for a reply. I considered myself fairly shockproof but this one caught me unprepared. After a moment, I said, “I really don’t think our love life is the ideal topic of discussion for this time in the morning.”

To take the sting out of my words, I added, “Of course, I think he’s wonderful.” I spread my fingers, displaying my ring. “Less than a week and we’ll be married,” I added, just in case she needed a warning. “What about you and Sandy? Been together long?”

She shook her head. “A year, but I’ll never see a ring. He can’t even commit to where he wants to go for dinner.” Her voice sounded like she’d just bit down on something gravelly. “You’re older than Joe, aren’t you?”

I gazed at her, searching for what might be hidden back behind that wide-eyed innocent act. Corrie was playing with a hidden agenda, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Melissa flashing me a quick look, her face masked but then she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and arched one eyebrow.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, I am.” Quickly, before she could say another word, I turned to Melissa. “So, what have you been up to?”

Bless her heart. Even though we’d seldom spoken, she graciously picked up on my desperation to change the subject, and we chatted away as if we were old friends. Grateful for her help, I decided we’d have to invite Roger and Melissa over for dinner some evening. They were coming to the wedding as it was. Roger was one of the groomsmen.

Joe was third in the queue for the camera. Ahead of him, a busty woman in a thong bikini and two triangles of cloth that barely covered her nipples leaned up against a tall, lanky young man with short curly hair. They posed their way through a series of shots.

I held my breath, wondering if the bikini top was going to stay affixed to its target areas, but she must have used a little double-stick tape, a trick I knew about thanks to Harlow, because the cloth didn’t budge an inch. The man posed awkwardly and, even from where we were sitting, I could hear the cameraman swear something about “amateurs,” but finally he finished and waved the pair off.

Joe’s turn was next. As he stepped up to a tree and leaned against it, I gasped. His shirt had disappeared, and his jeans looked a tad bit lower than usual, framing his waist and hips in a delightful way. The bruise on his shoulder looked a bit darker, as if they’d added makeup to make it more symmetrical. As he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, the cameraman stopped and whispered to the EO, who nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

“Dylan, Dylan, come here!” One of the blond vixens in a bikini wandered over. I immediately felt my hackles go up.

“Who’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “They brought in a couple models to work with the guys. They must think Joe’s got it going on if they want to pair him with her.” She fought back a smile—I could see it creeping around the edges of her lips—and took a quick swig from her Pepsi.

I swung back around to the photo shoot, a knot forming in my stomach. I didn’t mind Joe participating for charity. I’d reconciled myself to the fact that thousands of women might be looking at him, fantasizing. But having him pose with some beach-blanket bimbo wasn’t part of the deal! If I said anything, though, I’d sound like a jealous harpy, which wasn’t far from the truth. I just didn’t want anybody else to know how I felt but me.

“Put your arm around Dylan and let her drape herself over you. It’ll be a good shot and we can tell people she helps out in your station house. Or, if it doesn’t hurt your shoulder too much, pick her up like you’re carrying her to safety.” The cameraman motioned for Dylan to move in on Joe. She sauntered over to him, gave him a thorough up-and-down once-over, and then languidly draped her arm around his shoulder, pushing her boobs against his chest.

Right then, Joe glanced in my direction. I wasn’t expecting him to look at me and had been focused on the eye-candy now oozing into his arms. Positive my jealousy showed like Big Bird at a black-tie formal, I blushed, tears welling up in my eyes. I fought them back. I didn’t like myself this way, I didn’t want to feel threatened.

Immediately, he stepped aside, almost throwing the girl off balance. “I’m sorry, I pose alone,” he said.

The photographer swore. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m doing this for charity, but no way am I posing with a half-naked woman splayed out in my arms. At least, not unless that woman’s my fiancée. You let her pose with me, and we’ll do it up hot for you. Otherwise—no go.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” the EO said. “This is just a photo shoot—”

“That everybody, including my soon-to-be wife and my dear old aunt, are going to see. Make up your mind. There are a dozen different places I’d rather be right now.” He crossed his arms, stiffening. No longer exuding sex appeal, Joe looked downright intimidating.

The EO sputtered but, after a moment, she shrugged. “Whatever. Just shoot him alone. Dylan, we’ll use you with the cop over there. Go see if
he
has any objections.”

As the model headed toward Sandy, I heard a muffled noise and turned around to see Corrie, blushing brilliant crimson, glaring in their direction. Sandy, however, welcomed Dylan in, drawing her next to him, oblivious to Corrie’s distress. Corrie jumped up and stomped off.

I glanced at Melissa. “Somehow, this is turning out to be a little more complicated than they probably thought it would be.”

She nodded. “Nasty business. Roger knows better than to ever try to get away with anything like that. Actually, Roger’s a lot like Joe. He’d say no even if I wasn’t here. Some men have that internal sense of commitment, some men don’t. Sandy’s one of the latter.”

As if to prove her point, Sandy leaned down and whispered something in Dylan’s ear. She giggled. I could see Corrie, her shoulders slumped, head down, as she trudged out of the park.

“She’ll never make it in a relationship unless she learns how to stand her ground,” I said, wondering if I’d been that passive when I’d been with Roy. Hard to tell, there were times when I looked back and it all seemed a blur.

Just then, they finished shooting Joe’s pics. He grabbed his shirt and came loping over to me, wincing a little as he slid his arms into the sleeves. “I’m done. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said. “And if I ever—
ever
—get the hare-brained idea to do this again, you are welcome to knock some sense into my head.”

“Are you sure? It’s for charity.”

He ducked his head, laughing. “I’ll make a donation instead. I’m not a model. I’d rather be working, or at home with you. Speaking of home, what are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”