Fiancé at Her Fingertips (14 page)

Debra felt her heart soften toward the sexy stranger who had invaded her life and turned it upside down. She’d disgraced herself and him. She’d consumed way too much alcohol, almost punched her cousin Belinda in the nose, and carried on like a sex-starved wanton in the middle of the dance floor.

Tender fingers brushed the hair back from her face, their touch soft and soothing on her brow. Debra sighed. The manufacturers ought to be required to slap a warning label on Lawyer Logan, she thought as drowsiness overtook her.
Caution: This product is habit-
forming
.

Debra Josephine Daniels was definitely hooked.

Big-time.

The phone woke Debra. The answering machine clicked on before she could summon the strength to reach out and grab the receiver. She put her throbbing head under her drool-dampened pillow and let the machine take the call.

“Debra Daniels, get your lazy behind out of bed and answer this phone,” her best friend’s voice blared over the speaker. “Pick up, Sleeping Beauty. Debra? Debra!”

Debra groaned. If she knew her friend, Suzi would stay on the phone until the tape ran out.

“‘Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…’” Suzi, not known for her ability to carry a tune, began to sing. “‘Ninety-nine bottles of beer. Take one down and pass it around…’”

Debra swore and tossed her pillow aside. She reached out and grabbed the receiver and brought it to her ear. “This had better be good,” she hissed, wincing at the pain even the slight movement caused.

“Why? Are you otherwise occupied?” Debra could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. “Lawyer Logan, perhaps?”

“Don’t…even…mention…that…name! It makes my head hurt worse.”

“Ah, that is what is commonly referred to as a hangover, Miss Daniels.”

“How the—”

“Your grandmother,” Suzi supplied. “She spoke with Mom this morning.”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. In addition to my being a nutcase, now everyone will think I’m a lush, too. What else did she tell your mom?”

“That this Lawyer Logan is one hot tamale—your Gram’s words, not mine. What I’d like to know is when I’m going to meet this guy you’ve tried for so long to convince me was nothing more than a novelty gift. You’ve been holding out on me, woman. When you get to the point you’re meeting his parents, it’s a whole new level of commitment.”

“Parents?” Debra’s dulled senses and fragmented memory were making it difficult to follow the conversation. “Parents?”

“Gram said you were all getting together for a cookout today. Things must be moving right along with you and this Logan character. Say, shouldn’t you be getting up and around? It’s after eleven, you know.”

Debra’s eyes focused on her digital clock for confirmation.

“Oh, no! I am so late! God knows what havoc Mother will have wrought by the time I get there.” Debra forced herself to one elbow. “You did say you were dying to meet Logan, right, Suzi? Well, guess what? Today is your lucky day.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can pick me up.”

“You
must
be hungover. You want me to drive? You tell me my driving scares you more than Gee Gee’s driving.”

“I’m still a bit shaky,” Debra admitted. “You’d be doing me a big favor. Besides, you’ll get to meet this legend from my mind you’re so curious about. Come on. What do you say?”

“Now, that’s an offer no best friend can refuse,” Suzi remarked. “One thing, Deej.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t forget a barf bag. I don’t have leather seats, you know. See ya.”

Debra pulled herself to an upright position and put a hand to her throbbing head. She was never, ever going to let another drop of alcohol pass her lips again. She didn’t recall everything that had transpired the evening before, but she remembered enough to cause her to groan even now. She
looked down at her “I Think I’m Allergic to Morning” nightshirt and frowned. She couldn’t recall putting it on. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t remember much of anything after she’d fallen asleep in Logan’s Suburban. Which meant…someone had brought her into the house, undressed her, put her in her jammies, and put her to bed. And that someone had to be…

The pulsing in Debra’s head became a crazy chorus of noisy jackhammers. She put a hand to her mouth and raced for the bathroom. She pulled her hair back from her face as she stuck her head over the toilet. This was getting to be a habit.

After a restorative shower, Debra donned her swimsuit: a high-necked, low-backed black affair trimmed in gold. She pulled an olive green print sundress on over it and slipped on a pair of black wedges. She caught her reflection in the mirror and winced. She looked like an ad for anemia. Her tan appeared faded and washed-out. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Alcohol poisoning, she told her unflattering reflection, and stuck out her tongue. What was up with her, anyway? She was way too old to be going through this adolescent, sorority-sister phase, but much too young to be having a midlife crisis.

What she needed was to reestablish order in her life. Balance. Regain control and return to her mundane, low-risk lifestyle. She frowned. The prospect didn’t sound all that appealing.

McGruff’s bark alerted her to Suzi’s arrival.

“Anybody here order a foot-long chili dog with the works and a side of nice, greasy onion rings?” Deb’s friend’s head popped around the bathroom door. “Gee, Deb, you look like I feel every time I have to give someone the ax. You know—a little green around the gills. A queasiness that borders on outright nausea. The tightening and thickening in the throat that no amount of lemon-lime pop can get rid of. Increased heart rate. Profuse sweating. That rock-in-your-gut sensation—”

Debra glared at her girlhood chum and bosom buddy. “Okay. I get the idea!” she snapped.

“Sorry. It’s nice to know you’re human like the rest of us, and therefore subject to human frailties.”

“I’m so glad I’ve sunk to your expectations.” Debra took eyedrops from the medicine cabinet and dropped a liberal amount into both eyes.

“Hey, human is good,” Suzi said.

“Sober is better,” Debra replied. She grabbed her sunglasses and stuck them on. “I’m ready.”

“Remember what I said about my car seats.”

Debra shoved her friend toward the front door. “Shut up and drive, would you?”

Thirty minutes later, Debra and Suzi let themselves in the gate by the Daniels driveway. Debra’s mother caught them before the gate closed behind them.

“Debra, I wondered what was keeping you.” She grabbed Debra’s arm. “It’s rude to keep our guests waiting.”

“Uh, they’re your guests, not mine, Mother. I had no say in this little get-together. If I had, we wouldn’t be having it.”

Her mother patted her arm. “That’s why you weren’t consulted, dear. If we’d waited for you, we’d still be in the dark about Logan.”

“Take a number,” Debra muttered.

“Suzi, dear, how good to see you! How nice you could join us!” Her mother took Suzi’s hand with her free one. “I was telling your mother the other day how we don’t see as much of you as we used to. She mentioned something about a nice artist you were seeing?”

Suzi grimaced. “He was actually a taxidermist. We parted company some time back. I went looking in his freezer for chicken to grill and thawed someone’s prized Daffy Duck by mistake.”

Debra’s mother gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Oh, Suzi, you do say the most outrageous things.”

Suzi arched an eyebrow at Debra and shrugged her shoulders.

Alva Daniels linked arms with Suzi. “Come along. Come along. We mustn’t keep the Alexanders waiting.”

Debra followed, dragging her feet and vowing to end this connubial charade she’d perpetuated to ease her father’s mind during his recent illness. His health was improving and his doctor was pleased with his progress. It was only a matter of time before he was fit as a fiddle again and able to handle the disappointment over his daughter’s breakup with Lawyer Logan. Debra was counting the days—days that found her questioning her own sanity, questioning how a novelty gift guy could just come to life, questioning why it had happened to her, and questioning whether she’d let things go too far already. Hmm. She was about to enjoy a nice barbecue with the imaginary parents of a made-up boyfriend. Yeah, that smacked of a life somewhat out of control.

Debra’s mother guided them to a woman sitting at the poolside umbrella table with Debra’s grandmother. Ramrod straight, she was very attractive in a fragile, porcelain-doll sort of way.

“This is Logan’s mother, Ione Alexander.” Debra’s mother performed the introduction.

Before Debra could raise her hand in greeting or say hello, the woman in the lounge chair jumped to her feet and embraced a startled Suzi.

“I hardly need an introduction,” Ione Alexander stated. “I’ve heard so much about your daughter from Logan,” she said, giving Suzi a big squeeze. “You’re every bit as lovely as Logan said, Debra. Every bit!”

Suzi cleared her throat. “Ah, well, uh, thank you, but uh…” Debra’s usually articulate friend seemed at a loss for words.

Debra’s mother, however, wasted no time in correcting the oversight. “That is not my daughter, Ione,” she said, and yanked Suzi out of the other woman’s enthusiastic embrace. She shoved Debra forward. “Here.
This
is my daughter. Debra, Mrs. Alexander.”

A petite woman, no more than five feet in stocking feet,
Ione Alexander attempted to run her gaze the length of Debra’s more than seventy inches, beginning at the top of her blond highlights to the tips of her size-nine-and-a-half mediums.

Debra frowned, certain she read dismay in the woman’s eyes. What was she, anyway? Prejudiced against normal-size people?

“
You’re
Debra?” Ione Alexander asked, seeking confirmation.

“Last time I checked,” Debra replied, disgusted with herself for even caring that Logan’s make-believe mother was disappointed that cute, tiny, adorable little Suzi was not the object of her mystery son’s affections. Debra pinched herself. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t the object of Logan’s affections, either. She couldn’t be. He didn’t exist. She’d found him in a box. Hadn’t she? She was so confused.

“But Logan usually—”

“Logan usually dates beautiful women, and I see the trend continues.” A rather tall gentleman with thinning gray hair and a wide smile approached from the screened porch area. He held out his hand. “I’m Logan’s father,” he introduced himself. “It’s good to meet the woman who has managed to cast a spell over that son of ours. Tell me, how did you manage to do it, Debra? He’s a changed man, you know. Ione and I both saw it right away, and we told each other, ‘This is the one.’ Didn’t we, Ione?”

Logan’s mother cocked an eyebrow. Now Debra knew where Logan got that habit. “I don’t recall such a conversation, Warren. You’re becoming quite fanciful in your old age.”

Warren winked at Debra. “Don’t take any notice of her, Debra. She’s got that little nose out of joint because Logan’s been putting us off about meeting you. He said he wanted us to back off until he closed the deal—whatever that means.”

“It meant I wanted her all to myself for a while longer.” Logan startled Debra by snaking an arm around her waist from behind. She turned and was again struck by his incredible
good looks. He wore a navy polo and khaki shorts and looked—in a word—divine.

“Logan, dear, I must confess I mistook this other young lady for Debra,” Ione Alexander said. “You really can’t blame me. She’s more what we’re used to seeing you with. Logan has always gone for brunettes, so I assumed…” She spread her hands, palms up.

“A reasonable assumption, given what you’ve told us of Logan’s dating history,” Debra said, determined to appear unaffected by Ione Alexander’s obvious preference for Suzi, despite an almost overwhelming compulsion to shove the woman into the pool.

“Ancient history,” Logan said. “It’s the present and the future that count.” He caressed Debra’s midsection. “From this day forward.”

Debra shivered.

“Who, then, is the delightful young lady I mistook for Debra?” Ione asked.

“I’m sorry,” Debra said. “Mr. and Mrs. Alexander, Logan, this is my best friend, Suzi Stratford. She and I have been friends since grade school.”

Suzi had regained her composure from Ione’s earlier unexpected bear hug. She shook the Alexanders’ hands, saving Logan for last. “Yep, I’ve known Debra here for most of my life. If there’s anything you want to know about Debra Daniels, I’m the one to ask,” she said. “Her first crush. First kiss. First date. Dress size. Shoe size.” She looked at Logan. “Ring size. Likes. Dislikes. Favorite foods. Music. Movies. The day she lost her last baby tooth. The time she lost the gold in the swimming finals. The night she lost her”—Suzi faltered— “dog,” she finished, with a “save me from my mouth” look.

Logan snorted in Debra’s ear. She put her heel on his instep.

“You lost McGruff?” her mother asked. “When did this happen? You never said anything.”

“He wasn’t lost, Mother,” she said, ignoring Logan’s soft chuckle. “He was playing hide-and-seek.”

“Oh.”

“McGruff is Debra’s dog,” Logan explained, “a cross between a golden retriever and a pony, I believe.”

Warren Alexander laughed. “You’re an animal lover, then, Debra?” he asked.

“I’ve been conspiring with your son,” she remarked. “So I suppose I must be.”

“Conspiring? What an interesting choice of words, my dear,” Ione Alexander remarked.

“Did I say conspiring?” Debra asked, piqued by Ione’s rejection. “I meant to say cavorting.”

Logan laughed. “Cavorting? Now, I think I could get into that. We’ll do some big-time cavorting later, Debra.”

“Are we going to eat or stand around and chew the fat?” Debra’s grandmother remarked, and looked up from the novel she’d been reading. “I haven’t eaten since seven this morning, and I’m near to starving.”

“Now, Mother, that’s simply not true,” Alva Daniels chided. “You were in the refrigerator not thirty minutes ago, raiding the relish tray and pilfering deviled eggs, which, by the way, you are not supposed to be eating. Tom, Candi, and the kids will be here any minute, and then we’ll eat.”

“You’d think having reached the grand old age of eighty I would be entitled to eat when I felt like it, wouldn’t you?” Gertrude Shaw complained. “I think I’ll take my Boston cream pie and go home.”

“You’re seventy-eight, Mother,” Alva Daniels remarked.

Logan released Debra and went to kneel before her grandmother. “Mrs. Shaw, if you left now, it would break my heart,” he said, and took a liver-spotted hand in his.

She swatted him on the head with her paperback. “I know your type, Logan Alexander. You just don’t want me taking off with that Boston cream pie. You can’t fool me. I can read you like a book, you know.”