One Good Man Page 5

  Jodie pushed to her aching feet. “You know what Gran Nathan always says.”

  “Pride knows no pain,” mother and daughter said in unison and shared a grin.

  “You watch,” Brittany added. “I’ll bet next week’s allowance that Gran is wearing sensible shoes.”

  “I’m not biting. That’s one bet I’d lose.”

  Jodie thought of her practical mother, who’d been a rock throughout Jodie’s pregnancy and Brittany’s early years. Jodie wouldn’t have survived without her mother’s unswerving love and support. Yes, Sophie Nathan would choose classy but comfortable shoes for her son’s wedding, and she’d wear them with panache.

  Brynn joined them, wearing the same style dress and shoes as Brittany and Jodie. Her statuesque posture and luscious curves, however, gave her satin gown an entirely different interpretation. Officer Sawyer, Jodie thought, without a smidgen of envy, would make a burlap sack look like haute couture.

  “Merrilee and her dad are waiting at the front of the church,” Brynn said. “It’s show time.”

  As fast as their high-heeled sandals allowed, the bridesmaids hurried to the church’s entrance. Cat Stratton walked down the aisle on the arm of a groomsman, one of Grant’s friends from veterinary school.

  “You’re next.” The wedding planner adjusted Brittany’s bouquet and pushed her gently through the door.

  A moment later Brynn stepped into the church. After the proper interval, Jodie trailed Brynn down the aisle. Focusing on the instructions from last night’s rehearsal, Jodie was barely aware of the crowd that packed the sanctuary. Brittany had already arrived at the flower-decked chancel ablaze with branched candelabra. Brynn joined Brit, and finally Jodie reached the front of the church and turned to await the bride.

  Next to the minister, Grant and her father, serving as best man, looked especially handsome in their tuxedos. They also eyed the back of the church.

  Organ music swelled and filled the room, no ordinary wedding march for the artistic Merrilee, but a spectacular trumpet voluntary that raised goose flesh on the back of Jodie’s neck. Merrilee appeared on her father’s arm, and the entire congregation rose to their feet.

  Jodie couldn’t take her eyes off her best friend, who’d never looked more radiantly blissful. Not until Merrilee and Dr. Stratton reached the chancel and stood beside Grant did Jodie allow herself a glimpse of the packed congregation.

  Her breath caught in her chest when her gaze swept the fifth pew on the groom’s side. Standing literally head and shoulders above the others, dark suits immaculate, white shirts crisp and ties expertly knotted, were Jeff Davidson, his team and Daniel.

  The Marines had landed.

  * * *

  IN THE SPACIOUS REAR GARDEN of the Victorian home of Sally Mae McDonough, Merrilee’s formidable maternal grandmother, Jeff did a quick reconnaissance. Over half the town of Pleasant Valley had attended the wedding and proceeded to Mrs. McDonough’s for the reception. Guests jammed the broad terraces and strolled the brick pathways, lighted by strands of tiny white lights and awash in the perfume of flowering confederate jasmine.

  From his concealed vantage point in the gazebo at the back of the property, Jeff watched his team and young Daniel pay their respects to the bride and groom before making a quick but dignified retreat.

  Weddings were definitely not a guy thing, but his buddies had been adamant about attending. Grant Na-than, the groom, and father-of-the-bride, Jim Stratton, had not only provided free veterinary care for Archer Farm’s animals, the vets had also volunteered several Saturdays to work on the dorm building. His team was hastening back to the mountain now to handle last-minute details, but Jeff had ridden his Harley to town and would return later. He wasn’t leaving until he’d completed his objective. Time was running out. He had to talk to Jodie.

  As if his wish had conjured her, he caught sight of a splash of sky-blue perfection as she wound her way through the guests toward the back of the garden. He drew behind the thick wisteria that covered the gazebo. He hadn’t needed the skills of a re-con Marine to figure out that Jodie had been avoiding him the past four weeks. Or to know that, if she glimpsed him now, she’d run the other way.

  She’d seemed open and friendly the day of the dorm raising. But afterward, she might as well have tattooed Keep Away, Jeff, across her forehead. Frustrated by his inability to make contact, Jeff had consulted his resident psychologist.

  “Give it to me straight, Gofer. Did I do something to offend her?”

  “Not that I observed. I think she likes you. Too much.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You scare her.”

  “I never touched the woman!”

  “I could be wrong, but—”

  “No buts about it,” Jeff had insisted. “Jodie’s not scared. She’s simply put off by my reputation. No Pleasant Valley woman in her right mind wants anything to do with me.”

  “You were that bad?” Amusement glistened in Gofer’s pale-blue eyes. “What’d you do? Break their hearts?”

  “Worse. I was the one their mothers warned them about. The ultimate bad boy no girl would date. I never had a chance to break anyone’s heart.”

  “And that’s what you want now? A chance to break Jodie’s heart?”

  Jeff scrubbed a hand across his chin. “I didn’t ask to be analyzed, Gofer. All I want is advice. I need her help if Archer Farm is going to make it.”

  Gofer’s expression sobered. “She has a teenager, who, from the way the girl acts and dresses, is waging a major adolescent rebellion. Jodie may fear Archer Farm will be a negative influence on her daughter.”

  “My business is with Jodie, not her daughter.”

  Gofer crossed his thick arms across his powerful chest and leaned back in his desk chair. “You don’t get it.”

  Jeff drew a blank. “What?”

  “Jodie and Brittany are a family. A package. What affects one affects the other. If you want Jodie’s cooperation, you have to convince her that Archer Farm is no threat to her daughter.”

  “No problem,” Jeff insisted.

  “Oh, you have a problem, all right. In case you haven’t noticed, Daniel’s been suffering from a major case of puppy love since he first laid eyes on Brittany.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s my job to notice those things.”

  “Brittany lives on the other end of the valley. And Daniel has no wheels.”

  “Did that ever stop you?”

  Jeff conceded the point. By the time he was eleven, he’d finessed the fine art of hitchhiking.

  “Besides,” Gofer continued, “integrating our kids into the community will be a major part of their rehabilitation. You know that.”

  Jeff sighed with frustration. “So how do I get Jodie’s help?”

  Gofer grinned. “Go for broke.”

  “Kidnap her?”

  His friend shook his head. “Be honest. Just ask her.”

  “For advice like that,” Jeff said with a wry grin, “I’m glad I’m not paying you by the hour.”

  Ask her, Gofer had said. Yeah, right. Jeff had to catch her first. Through a gap in the vines he observed Jodie’s progress through the throng of guests. She was definitely headed his way.

  Waiting for her to arrive, he scanned the party. Mrs. McDonough and the Strattons had spared no expense for Merrilee’s reception. A full orchestra, seated beneath a muscadine arbor near the house, played the opening strains of a Broadway tune. Guests temporarily abandoned the buffet tables, laden with enough food to feed a Marine Corps brigade and three bottomless silver bowls of mint julep. Circling the lower terrace, they watched Merrilee dance with her father, then with Grant. Gloria, the wolfhound Grant had rescued months ago from the side of the road, had been groomed for the occasion and bedecked with a collar of pink roses and a blue bow that matched the bridesmaids’ dresses. Woofing happily, the dog orbited the bridal pair in her own canine version of a waltz.

  Jeff c
ouldn’t help grinning. Grant, in spite of his monkey suit and all the ceremonious hoopla, looked happy as a pig in mud. And the glance the newlyweds exchanged threatened to accomplish what the warm June evening hadn’t—turn the ice sculptures to puddles on the buffet tables.

  Jodie reached the gazebo. She paused at the bottom step, and Jeff held his breath. Glancing over her shoulder, as if to make certain she was unobserved, she slipped off her shoes. Barefoot, she hitched her skirt with one hand, held her shoes in the other and scampered up the stairs. Sinking onto the bench that circled the wall, she exhaled what sounded like a sigh of relief.

  “Escaping?” Jeff asked from the shadows.

  She flinched in surprise. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” Her eyebrows drew together in a frown that did nothing to mar her beauty. “Are you following me?”

  “I was here first.”

  Flinging her arms along the back of the bench, she stretched her feet in front of her and wiggled her toes. Moonlight streamed through the wisteria and the gazebo’s gingerbread trim, sparking iridescent highlights in her upswept hair and painting her bare arms and shoulders with a silvery sheen. She looked like a fairy princess he’d seen in a picture book when he’d been a child.

  Then she spoke, and her caustic tone broke the spell. “I thought you weren’t coming to the wedding.”

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Your dorm’s finished?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Why not?”

  His question seemed to stump her, because she didn’t answer.

  “I’m not asking for any special favors.” He pressed his advantage while he had his opportunity. “Just a chance to offer a business deal.”

  “Tourist season’s in full swing. I don’t have time for catering.” Her answer came instantly, without hesitation. She held her chin high and concentrated on the opposite side of the gazebo, avoiding his eyes.

  “I don’t want catering.”

  “What do you want?” she said sharply.

  I want you.

  God, where had that thought come from? He couldn’t blame it on the mint julep. After watching his father’s lifelong decline into alcoholism, Jeff had never touched a drop of liquor of any kind, fearful that the same genetic components that had doomed his father would snare him in their grip.

  “You run a restaurant and gift shop,” Jeff began.

  “Well, there’s a news flash.”

  Jodie’s sarcasm wasn’t making his task any easier. While he struggled for the right words, she pushed to her feet, winced in obvious pain, and sat again.

  He nodded toward the shoes in her hand. “Feet hurt?”

  She started to stand again, but Jeff hadn’t lost his finely honed Marine reflexes. Before her attractive behind left the bench, he was on his knees with her feet in his hands. She tried to pull away, but he gripped her gently. The softness of her warm, bare flesh shot spirals of pleasure through him.

  Concentrate, jarhead. Don’t let her get away.

  “I’m very familiar with aching feet. Occupational hazard,” he said breezily while his fingers expertly massaged her arches and toes. “They say an army moves on its stomach. Funny thing, my stomach never hurt after a thirty-mile forced march. Only my feet.”

  She leaned her head against the gazebo railing and moaned softly. “Feels wonderful. Where did you learn that?”

  “Kermit. His mother is a massage therapist.”

  “I think you’ve saved my life. I should be out there with Grant and Merrilee, but I couldn’t stay on my feet a minute longer.”

  “Go barefoot. As much mint julep as everyone’s consumed, who’d notice?”

  “Mrs. McDonough, for one. She’s a stickler for propriety.” Jodie pulled her feet from his hands. “I have to go.”

  Jodie leaned over to put on her shoes, her face mere inches from his. Her warm breath fanned his cheek, her light magnolia fragrance enveloped him, and her strapless gown revealed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. She quickly slipped on her shoes, and her fingers fumbled with his as she fastened the straps.

  Later, when he attempted to analyze what had happened next, he’d tried to blame the flower-scented summer night air, the romantic melody the orchestra had played and the fact he’d been apart from women for so long. But in the end, he’d reached only one conclusion. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to, more than anything, even more than asking for her help with Archer Farm.

  And he’d caught her totally by surprise. Cradling her face between his callused palms, he pulled her to him and covered her lips with his. She tasted of sweetness and innocence and untapped passion. Reason clanged a warning, ordered him to stop, to consider the consequences, but he couldn’t. Not while she was kissing him back, blowing common sense to kingdom come.

  He stood, drew her to him, and slid his arms around her. Her body melted into his, her arms circled his neck and the kiss deepened. The soft curve of her breasts met the hardness of his chest, and the pounding of her heart matched his own beat.

  Suddenly she stiffened, placed her hands against his chest, and pushed him away.

  “Red light, Marine,” she snapped like an order.

  Red light? How in hell did Jodie know the military warning for sexual harassment? And even worse, was that all his kiss had meant to her?

  He stepped away instantly, labored to control his breathing and noted with satisfaction that she seemed as rattled by the kiss as he was. The rosy pink of her face glowed, even in the faint moonlight.

  “Was that your idea of talking?” She rubbed the tips of her fingers across her lips as if trying to erase his touch.

  He stifled a groan. “No.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “What, no apology?”

  How could he say he was sorry when he wasn’t? Kissing Jodie ranked right up there as one of the top five experiences of his life. He was saved from answering by Brynn Sawyer’s entry into the gazebo.

  “Jodie, thank God. I’ve been looking all over for you. Grant and Merrilee are ready to leave.” With barely a glance at Jeff, Brynn hurried away.

  Jodie started to follow.

  “Wait, please,” Jeff begged.

  “I have to go.”

  “Tell me when we can talk.”

  Jodie hastened across the gazebo and threw her parting words over her shoulder. “When hell freezes over.”

  Chapter Five

  Jodie squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine and climbed the stairs of Mrs. Weatherstone’s impressive three-story Victorian a block off Piedmont Avenue, the town’s main street where her café was located.

  Four-o’clock tea with the delightful octogenarian wasn’t exactly Jodie’s Sunday activity of choice. Up late last night at the reception, awake before dawn to prepare for the weekend breakfast crowd and suffering terminal embarrassment after her shameless encounter with Jeff in the gazebo, all Jodie wanted was to climb into bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep. Preferably until Brittany turned forty.

  But in addition to being fond of sweet Mrs. Weatherstone, Jodie also owed the elderly woman. Big time. Seven years ago, Mrs. Weatherstone had sold Jodie the downtown building for her Mountain Crafts and Café. Sold it, Jodie thought with a laugh. The old darling had practically given her the place at an outrageously low asking price. Without Mrs. Weather stone’s generosity, Jodie wouldn’t be self-reliant today. So when the elderly woman had called midmorning and invited Jodie to afternoon tea to fill her in on Grant and Merrilee’s wedding, Jodie couldn’t refuse.

  Her face heated from more than the June sun when she remembered the previous night. She’d not only kissed Jeff with abandon, she’d enjoyed kissing him. Enjoyed it too much. And the excitement had scared the daylights out of her. She’d been rude as a result. But she’d also been resolute. She would not speak with him again. E
ver. As far as she was concerned, she and Jeff had nothing to talk about.

  A groan escaped at the memory of her stupid “red light” warning. She might as well have admitted outright that she’d spent too many evenings the past eight years watching reruns of JAG, a glaring testament to the fact that, beyond her business and Brittany, she didn’t have a life.

  After her hasty exit from the gazebo, she’d joined the other guests at the front curb to cheer Grant and Merrilee’s departure for their honeymoon. And she’d been mortified when Merrilee tossed the bridal bouquet of white roses and stephanotis directly into her hands. The irony of a never-married woman with a fourteen-year-old destined to become the next bride had hit Jodie hard. And the scorching look from Jeff, standing across the street beside his Harley, had registered even harder.

  Shoving away the memory of the searing scrutiny in those thundercloud-gray eyes, Jodie stepped into the cooling shade of the broad porch, approached the massive double doors with stained-glass panels and rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately.

  “I’m delighted to see you, Jodie, dear,” Mrs. Weatherstone greeted her.

  The tiny woman with birdlike bones was, as always, fastidiously dressed, today in a lavender summer dress of cotton voile with her trademark string of pearls and a pair of sturdy white brogans. Soft white hair framed her face, lined with age, and accented her violet eyes.

  “Come in out of the heat. Tea’s almost ready.” She pivoted her metal walker and led the way down the wide hallway into the front parlor, trailing a faint scent of lilacs behind her.

  Jodie followed into a room filled with heavy antiques and bright with sunlight. Jim Dandy, Mrs. Weatherstone’s chihuahua, lay on a love seat in a puddle of sunshine streaming through one of the tall windows. At the sound of footsteps, the dog lifted its head, regarded Jodie with huge brown eyes and, recognizing no threat, went back to sleep.

  Mrs. Weatherstone sat beside Jim Dandy, caressed his tiny head with an arthritic hand and motioned Jodie to the love seat opposite her. “Lunch was especially delicious today, dear. My compliments to Maria, your wonderful cook, and my gratitude to you.”