Fiancé at Her Fingertips (16 page)

Logan raised a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek, and then cupped her jaw. “Did I mention your favorite attorney will receive an award that evening?” he asked.

Debra blinked. “Oh, my gosh! Perry Mason will be there?” She chewed her lip. Who knew? Maybe good old Perry
would
attend. What was one more make-believe member of the bar between friends?

Logan smiled and touched a finger to the tip of her nose. “Perry couldn’t make it. Something about Della and some briefs.” He grinned. “You’ll have to settle for yours truly.”

Debra swallowed. “You’re receiving an award?”

Logan nodded. “For pro bono family law work with low-income women,” he said. “I receive referrals from your office through the Women’s Resource Center.”

Debra didn’t bother to hide her surprise. She knew that several local attorneys did consulting work for the center, but she hadn’t known Logan Alexander was one of them, or that he was donating his services on a regular basis. “You mean—”

“I mean I would very much like to have you at my side when I accept the award,” he said. “It would mean a lot to me.”

Debra’s mouth grew dry. How did one say no to a half-naked Greek god who was looking at you as if your acquiescence were manna from heaven? She put a hand to her head and tried to concentrate—difficult, given the fact that
Lawyer Logan had begun to trail hot, wet kisses up and down her neck as he whispered encouragement in her ear.

His nuzzling resurrected a disturbing question: What would Lawyer Logan expect in terms of intimacy during this little weekend getaway? His behavior today left little doubt that he desired her—in his arms and in his bed. But Debra didn’t believe for a second that she was so far gone that she wouldn’t recall making love to Logan Alexander, brain damage, coma, amnesia, or plain old garden-variety insanity notwithstanding.

Debra wavered. What was a woman to do—a thirty-something woman who was conducting a sham romance with a man she’d picked up as a gag gift in a novelty shop?

She made the fatal mistake of looking into eyes that were simply too damned beautiful to waste on a dream lover, and found her answer there. “Since you put it that way…” she heard herself saying.

Logan gave her a bear hug. “That’s my girl,” he said.

Debra’s lips quivered and tears filled her eyes, and she allowed herself to be drawn back once more into the strong arms of this mystery man. Lawyer Logan might be coming home from the Windy City with a shiny new award, but Debra Daniels would be putting a match to her Fiancé at Your Fingertips and ending this crazy courtship caper once and for all.

It was after all, the responsible thing to do. And her very sanity may depend on her having the guts to do it.

Debra eyed herself in the full-length fitting room mirror. Mild nausea settled in the pit of her stomach. She should never have agreed to this little pre-romantic-getaway shopping excursion.

“Oh, I like that one.” Her mother adjusted the cream collar of the peach formal she’d insisted Debra try on.

Grandma Gertie grunted. “If you ask me, she looks like she’s wearing a sack. Where the blazes did you get it, Alva— off the maternity rack?”

Two daughters gave their respective mothers exasperated looks.

“Of course not, Mom,” Alva Daniels responded.

“How about the if-I-had-taste-I’d-be-dangerous rack?”

“Mother, please, this is difficult enough as it is. You know how Debra hates to shop for clothes. She’s purchased everything from a catalog for years. Haven’t you, dear?”

“Yeah, and think of all the fun I’ve missed out on.” Debra wrinkled her nose at her reflection.

“She looks like a pregnant peach,” Grandma Gertie announced. “Try on the one I picked out, Debra, dear.”

Debra bowed to the inevitable and prepared to slip the gaudy, gold-sequined dress over her head.

“Better check the warning label on that first,” Suzi remarked from her position by the dressing room door.

“Warning label?” Grandma Gertie responded. “What warning label?”

“The one advising you not to view the garment without proper eye protection.”

Grandma Gertie laughed. “You’re a corker, Suzi Q,” she said. “A real corker. You remind me of someone.”

“You, Grandma,” Debra pointed out. “She reminds you of you.”

Suzi grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment, of course.” When Debra threw the glittering sartorial eyesore over her head and pulled another castor-oil face, her friend couldn’t contain her mirth. “Uh, if you will excuse me, ladies.” She acknowledged Debra: “
Cher
. I need to stretch my legs a bit, see if I can find a pair of hip-hugger, bell-bottom zodiac pants to try on. ‘Oh, the beat goes on. The beat goes on!’” Suzi trilled, and opened the dressing room door to leave.

Debra grabbed her discarded flip-flop and threw it at her friend’s retreating form. Then, taking a deep breath, she summoned her courage. She pivoted to face the mirror and had to wonder why the looking glass didn’t shatter.
Ye gods!
She was wearing a Norma Desmond castoff!

“Uh, I don’t think this is quite right for the occasion, Gram,” she said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

“Nonsense, you look like a queen,” her grandmother insisted.

Debra conceded the point. Stick a tiara on her head and she could take a place in the receiving line at Buckingham Palace at Prince Charles’s next birthday bash. “Yes, but, I was thinking that something a little less flamboyant and perhaps a tiny bit more conservative would be more, uh, appropriate.”

“Bull. You need to make a statement, dear. Be daring, attract a bit of attention.”

Oh, she’d be attracting plenty of attention in this getup, all right. She’d be arrested for violating the noise ordinance.

“Remember, we’re talking about attorneys here, Gram.”

“Never met a lawyer who didn’t go for a bit of cleavage. Don’t be afraid to show off those assets, girl!”

Debra pulled up the plunging neckline. Without the bra she wore, those few assets her grandmother alluded to would be spilling out in all their dubious glory. “I’m not comfortable—”

“Horse pucky! The younger generation is spoiled. You’re all so used to just pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Your idea of Sunday best is jeans without holes.”

“Now, Mother,” Debra’s mother spoke up. “You can’t expect Debra to wear something she isn’t comfortable in. She clearly prefers the one I selected—”

“You mean that number from Springfield Tent and Awning?”

“Oh, Mother, really.”

A knock on the dressing room door interrupted the tedious debate. Suzi opened it. “I feel like I should curtsy to my betters,” she said.

Grandma Gertie gave Debra a smug, “I told you so” look and beamed. “See?” she said.

Suzi appeared, thrusting a black garment at Debra. “Look what I got you, babe,” she teased. Clearing her throat, she brought her hand to her mouth, mimicking a microphone. “Ahem. This year’s over-thirty-and-still-single, somewhat-desperate-but-trying-not-to-show-it, best-dressed woman will be looking smart, chic, and very sexy in a fashionable, body-hugging black tank dress. This sleeveless frock boasts a popular scoop neckline that calls attention to a regal neck and nicely toned shoulders, and the midcalf-length skirt highlights those longer-than-nature-intended legs. Accessorize with Grandmother Gertie’s pearls and matching ear bobs, new black open-toed heels, and a black pearled clutch, and our girl is ready for a roomful of piranhas—I mean attorneys.”

Debra glared at her friend. “Frock? Ear bobs? So, who do we have here? Suzi Stratford
au couture
?”

Suzi shrugged. “I’m a woman of many talents—many hidden, but there nonetheless. Trust me on this one, pal. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

Debra lifted a dubious eyebrow. “Hmmm. I’m recalling the time you assured me my mother’s vanilla extract tasted as delicious as it smelled.”

“Debra!” Her mother gasped. “You drank my vanilla extract?”

“We were eight years old!” Suzi protested. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

“And the time you invited me to the youth-group Halloween party and suggested I dress as a hobo.”

“Well, you did have the best costume.”

“I was the only one wearing a costume.”

“So? With all that burnt cork on your face, no one recognized you.”

“Until you stuck a ‘Hi, I’m Deb Daniels’ name tag on me.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And how about the time you put that wig at the bottom of my sleeping bag the first time we went camping and I thought some woodland creature had crawled in with me?”

“Ah, yes. That’s when I knew you’d be a natural.”

“A natural? At what?”

“The sack race, of course.”

Debra rolled her eyes. “What about the time—”

“More youthful folly,” Suzi assured her, cutting off her tirade, which could have gone on forever. “I’ve reformed.” She cocked her little finger. “Pinkie-swear.”

“I’ve heard that before, too,” Debra grumbled.

Suzi straightened. “Fine. I’ll just put this hot little number back on the racks, but I warn you, it will be snapped up quicker than the latest game system at Christmastime, no doubt by some future senator’s wife or something.” She inclined her head and surveyed Debra from top to bottom. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe the Queen of Denial look suits you better.”

Throughout the absurd exchange, Debra had taken several covert looks at the black dress. When Suzi made a grab for it, Debra placed it well out of her reach. She smiled. There were
some
advantages to being Amazonian. “In all
fairness,” she said, “I should at least try the frock on. After all the trouble you went to picking it out.”

Suzi propped a shoulder against the door and grinned. “If you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to twist your arm.”

Under her grandmother’s disapproving eye, her mother’s hopeful one, and Suzi’s amused look, Debra threw the slinky black affair over her head. The spandex/acetate blend clung to her body. She smoothed the formfitting fabric. The dress flared slightly at her lower calves, leaving a good bit of lower leg visible. She turned this way and that.
Well, what do you
know?
Her shrewd friend was right. The dress did show off her attributes: her tanned, firmed shoulders; her trim waist, thanks to her new workout routine; and legs that seemed to go on forever. With Gram’s pearls, a new pair of shoes, and one of those frivolous little bags that held almost nothing, she’d wow them in the Windy City, shyster lawyers, et al.

“Oh, Debra, dear, you look so…so…glamorous.” Alva Daniels wiped her eyes. “Doesn’t she, Mother?”

“A bit understated for my taste, but she’ll pass muster,” Grandma Gertie agreed.

Debra met Suzi’s eyes in the mirror. Suzi winked. “That’s one classy broad,” she remarked. “Va-va-va-voom! Lawyer Logan doesn’t stand a chance. He’ll be chasing you around the banquet table all evening. Well, provided dear old Ione doesn’t show up to run interference, of course.”

Debra looked at her reflection again. She was supposed to be going to Chicago to subtract Lawyer Logan, not attract him. Wasn’t she? Maybe one of the other dresses. She studied the figure in the mirror a moment longer. “I’ll take it,” she said.

Debra’s grandmother stood and reached for the gold dress.

“What are you doing, Mother?” Alva asked.

“This dress requires a mature, full-figured woman to carry it off,” she said. “I wonder if they have it in a petite.”

“Mother! You can’t be serious!” Debra’s mom protested. “Where on earth would you wear a dress like that? Mother! Come back here!”

Debra watched Alva and Gertrude exit the dressing room together, and decided it wouldn’t take the Grimm brothers walking through the dressing room door to convince her she’d entered her very own cockeyed fairy tale.

“Gee Gee’s the schizz,” Suzi observed. “When I’m eighty, I want to be just like her.”

Debra stepped out of the black dress and handed it to Suzi. “I’d say you had a good shot at it. You’re more like my granny than I am by a long shot,” she told her friend. “You’re both gregarious and outgoing. You’re not afraid to take chances or step out in faith. You live each day to the max without apology or regret.” She sat down on the dressing room chair. “I envy you. Both of you,” Debra admitted. “I wish I was more like you.”

Suzi stared at her.

“Are you all right, Deb?” she asked. “Because one of us in this dressing room is fixing to spend the weekend with a man who could make Matthew McConaughey insecure with his looks—and, newsflash: It ain’t me, babe. My exciting plans for the weekend include putting in extra hours at the salt mine and, if I’m real lucky, I get to help my mom make mints for the neighbor’s baby shower, all while hearing those deep sighs followed by, ‘I often wonder when I’ll be making mints for
your
shower, dear.’ So, why on earth would you be envious of me? Unless…what’s going on, Deb? Is it Logan?”

Debra found her eyes filling with tears. She nodded her head up and down, but her words didn’t match the nod. “No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s everything. It’s me. It’s Lawyer Logan. It’s Dad and Mom and Gee Gee and everybody. It’s just all mixed up. I’m mixed up, Suzi. I’m bewitched, bothered and bewildered—but not in a good way. Not at all. And I can’t go on like this anymore. Waiting. Waiting to wake up. Waiting for Logan to disappear.”

Suzi sank to her knees on the floor of the dressing room. She put a hand on Debra’s.

“What are you talking about, Deb? Logan’s not going anywhere. He’s obviously smitten with you. And if I’m any
judge of my best friend, I’d say you were in love with him, too,” she said.

“Don’t say that!” Debra jumped to her feet. “Don’t you say that! I can’t be in love with him. And he can’t be in love with me! Not ever!”

Debra felt an arm on her hand as Suzi spun her around.

“Debra, what is going on? Tell me. What is it?” Despite her miniature size, her friend’s tone brooked no resistance.

“I’ve told you before—about how I discovered Lawyer Logan—and you didn’t believe me,” Debra said.

“You’re talking about that do-it-yourself-gag-gift-guy-come-to-life story?” Suzi asked, and Debra nodded. “You’re really telling me it’s true? Still? After all this time?”

Debra nodded again. “I slap down my Visa Platinum to play a pernicious prank on my friends and loved ones and what happens? I finally meet the man of my dreams but I have no idea how the hell he got here, how long he’s hanging around, or if any of this is even real at all. For all I know, I could be suffering some complex delusion or be living in a parallel dimension or something. There’s a part of me that wants so very badly to just forget about tomorrow and live for today, but I just can’t. I can’t live like that. Not knowing from one moment to the next what’s real and what isn’t, who’s here to stay and who isn’t. What to believe in, what to question. I’m not like you or Gee Gee. I don’t take risks. Not where my heart is concerned. Not this kind of risk.” Debra wiped the tears from her face. “Ironic, isn’t it? I continued this charade to protect my father’s heart and I end up with a terminal case of heartbreak.”

Suzi handed her a tissue. “What are going to do, Deb?” she asked.

Debra took the tissue and blew her nose.

“The only thing I can do,” she said. “Cut him loose. Serve Lawyer Logan with his walking papers.”

Suzi looked a little bewildered, but she stayed supportive. “And after that?”

“I’ll probably need the name of a good shrink.”

“Not to worry—”

“I know, I know. You know more than a few,” Debra said, hugging her friend.

Three days later found Debra fighting off a severe panic attack. From the moment Logan arrived at her modest little eastside two-bedroom ranch at the crack of dawn—way too early and way too cheerful—Debra had searched for some plausible excuse to beg off. However, each time she was about to open her mouth to renege on her agreement to go, Logan would give her that little half smile of his, or brush her hair back from her face and caress her cheek with his thumb, or laugh at one of her nervous jokes, and she would get feet of clay. He currently sat on her sofa scratching Mc-Gruff, who was clearly in dog heaven.

“How ya doing there, McGruff, old boy?” Lawyer Logan was saying.

McGruff! An excuse she hadn’t thought of!

“Uh, speaking of the old boy here, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Logan continued scratching the dog. “Oh, I know. Suzi told me.” McGruff’s hind leg began thumping against the rug in ecstasy.

Debra frowned. “She did?”

Logan stood. “She’s gonna have the pooch here all weekend, the poor girl. Your brother has to do the in-law thing.”

Debra blinked and bit her lip. Another excuse shot to kingdom come. And just what did he mean by
poor girl
?