Best Laid Wedding Plans (11 page)

In the corner, by the oversized rattan chair, she'd hung her collection of straw hats, everything from big brimmed ones with fancy decorations to cowboy hats to well-worn plain Janes. She made good use of them. After all, a Southern lady always, always protected her skin.

And her family.

Cole dashed into his place for a quick shower. If he intended to have it out with Richard, he should probably look a bit more presentable. Though what difference a shave would make in the grand scheme of things he couldn't say.

The shower felt good. He should have sneaked one in before breakfast with his parents. He patted his stomach. The waffles had been excellent as always. His mom was a first-rate country cook. Nothing fancy, although she could lay out a Sunday brunch that would put anybody to shame.

Drying off, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He leaned into the old watering trough he'd salvaged. After he'd welded legs on it, he'd added funky old faucets, then plunked granite countertops on both sides. He liked it. It made one heck of a bathroom vanity.

He ran a hand over his chin, his cheeks. Heck with it. No shaving this morning. If Richard didn't like it, too damn bad. In fact, it might be better if he didn't. He opened his closet door, and there hung laundered and ironed shirts. His mom. Bless her heart.

Most were the white dress shirts he liked to wear with his jeans. Two minutes, and he was dressed and ready to go. He grabbed his keys from the bowl on his nightstand and headed downstairs.

A slow burn simmered through him as he drove into town. Richard knew exactly what Jenni Beth and her family had been through these past eighteen months. Only low-down scum would try to take advantage of that. He'd always figured Misty Bottoms took care of its own. Apparently things had changed.

An empty parking spot beckoned directly in front of the bank, and Cole nabbed it. Striding through the doors, he perched his sunglasses on top of his head and nodded at Gloria. “Mornin', beautiful. Is your boss in?”

“He is.” She sent him a warm smile. “Let me tell him you're here.”

When she reached for the intercom button, he put a hand over hers, stopping her. “That's okay. I'll surprise him.”

A frown wrinkled her brow. “But…”

He didn't hang around to listen.

Richard's head jerked up when Cole walked in unannounced, closing the door firmly behind him. Instantly, reflexively, Richard shut down his monitor. “Cole. What can I do for you? I didn't realize we had an appointment.”

“We don't.” A muscle worked in Cole's jaw, reminding him how close to the surface his anger boiled. Willing himself to calm down, he dropped into the chair in front of the expensive desk chosen to pay homage to Richard's own sense of self-importance.

Cole realized, crossing his feet at the ankles, that he'd never really liked the guy all that much. The present situation simply magnified that sentiment.

“Okay.” Richard picked up a pen, rolled it between his fingers, and then tossed it onto the desk. “What's on your mind?”

“Magnolia House.”

Richard never even blinked.

Oh, he's good
, Cole thought.

“I don't see how the Beaumont plantation is any of your business.”

“I'm makin' it my business.” Cole met the banker's eyes. “What's goin' on?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

Cole leaned in toward the man, rested the palms of his hands flat on the shiny cherry surface. “Oh, I think you do.”

“I like you, Cole. So I'm telling you as a friend that Magnolia House isn't any of your concern.”

“We're not friends, Thorndike.”

The heat that raced across the older man's face gave Cole a sense of satisfaction. Good. Might as well be two of them pissed off.

“Cole, I'll ignore that remark. Your mother would be appalled by your rudeness.”

Cole shrugged. “Magnolia House?” he repeated.

“I suggest you stay out of things there,” Richard said. “I know you and Wes were good friends, but that has no bearing any longer.”

Cole flinched at that. At the idea of Richard or anyone else putting him and Wes in the past. At the notion their friendship no longer counted for anything. Pain tore at him. Damn, he missed his pal. And he
would
do right by him.

Like a bulldog with a bone clenched between his teeth, Cole refused to back down. “What's the deal with Jenni Beth and her bottomland?”

Richard leaned back in his leather chair and clasped his hands together over his stomach. “Afraid I can't discuss that with you. It's confidential.”

“What? You add an MD to the end of your name now?” Cole asked.

A muscle in the banker's jaw tightened. “I answer to the stockholders, not you.”

“Do they know about this?”

“This what? What exactly are you insinuating?” Red bloomed on his cheeks.

Anger or guilt?
Cole wondered.

“I have another appointment. You'll have to excuse me.”

“Sure thing.” Cole backed off. He'd probably already put his foot in it. Jenni Beth needed the loan. He couldn't screw that up for her. Still he raised two fingers to his eyes, motioned from himself to Richard in an I'll-be-watching-you gesture.

Without another word, he left. But he stopped in the doorway to stare pointedly at the god-awful uncomfortable plastic chairs outside Richard's office. The
empty
chairs. No next appointment waited. He turned, threw Richard a mocking salute.

“Don't go making trouble, boy,” Richard warned.

“Don't think I need to. Seems it's arrived without any help from me.”

Back in the sunshine, in the heat of the day, Cole stood on the sidewalk and swore under his breath. That had gained nothing, had turned out to be little more than two buckets of testosterone tossed at each other. If Jenni Beth got wind of it, his testosterone would probably dry up after she castrated him for messing in her business.

Still, it had to be done.

Frustrated, Cole detoured across the street, through the pretty little park, and into Henderson's Pharmacy. He needed a cold drink, needed to give himself some cooling-down time before he throttled Thorndike, and Sheriff Jimmy Don ended up tossing him in a cell.

“Hey, Sheryl.” He plopped onto one of the old, faded-red leather seats that showed generations of wear.

Sheryl Brooks grinned. “Haven't seen you in a coon's age, Cole Bryson. Heard you're pretty busy down there in Savannah. Your mom's real proud of you.”

“I'm stayin' out of trouble.”
Liar, liar!
his conscience taunted. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Sheryl and his mother had gone to school together and still did a movie night once a month with some of their classmates. He didn't doubt for a second Sheryl had been kept up to date on all his business.

“What can I get you?”

“I'd like a big, ice-cold tea. To go.”

“You got it.” She moved across the room to draw his drink. “Unsweetened?”

“Yes, please.”

“Lemon?”

“No, thanks.” His fingers drummed on the tabletop.

“Heard you and Jenni Beth had breakfast together yesterday.” Sheryl glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Um, not exactly.” Dang, he should have known. Small town. “I ran into her at Dee-Ann's.”

“Yeah. Ran into her again at Darlene's shop.”

She'd caught him flat-footed. He removed his ball cap, then clamped it back on his head. “Coincidence. Both times.”

“Sure. Them things happen.”

He bit back a chuckle and wondered how she managed to talk with that tongue tucked in her cheek like that. Best not to say anything else. Kind of like pleading the fifth on the witness stand.

“Heard she had an appointment with Thorndike,” Sheryl continued. “My guess is she needs some money if she's gonna fix up that house of hers. Damn shame they've let it go to ruin. Guess they lost interest after what happened to Wes. Then her daddy got himself in a financial pickle.”

She set his drink in front of him, and he paid her for it. Still, she waited.

A heck of a fisherman, he thought. She'd thrown her line in the water and waited patiently for a bite. Well, he'd be darned if he'd swallow that hook or spill the beans. Since it seemed the whole town knew he and Jenni Beth had been together at Dee-Ann's, there wasn't a prayer in hell that the whole town didn't also know what Jenni Beth had planned. But he wouldn't be the one to verify.

“I can't tell you much, Sheryl. I've been out of town these last few weeks. Jenni Beth doesn't exactly confide in me.”

“Too bad. If she's plannin' on renovatin' that place, you could be a lot of help, what with your business and all.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged and stood. “Gotta go.”

“You stayin' in town for a bit?”

“A few days.”

“Good. Your mama's been missin' you.”

“I know.” He grinned. “She tells me every day.”

As he walked the block to his car, he took note again of all the businesses in need of help. He couldn't take them all on, but he sure could help Wes's little sister.

If she'd let him.

Still sipping on his iced tea, Cole surprised himself when he turned the big black Ford dually into the long drive to Magnolia House. He hadn't actually meant to come here.

Now that he was, though, he decided it was a good thing. Time he and Jenni Beth had a heart-to-heart. Time she understood the way the real world worked.

Good might always defeat evil in the Disney films she and her friends used to watch at the movies, but in real life? Happily-ever-after wasn't guaranteed. Sometimes the beast turned out to be…well, just that. A beast.

He found her in the side yard in what used to be the house's crowning glory, the now thoroughly run-down rose garden.

“You need some help with this,” he growled as he watched a thorn grab hold of the tender flesh of her arm. He leaned down and untangled her from the tenacious hold the branch had on her. Nearly kissed the small tear before he caught himself.

“Really? I never considered that.” She planted a hand in the small of her back and arched into it.

Cole pulled at some weeds to keep his hands busy. To keep them off that sweet body.

Instead, his voice gruff, he asked, “When's the last time you visited your bottomland?”

She stared at him. “Boy, somebody's grouchy. What are you so upset about?”

“Answer the question, Jenni Beth.”

“I don't think—”

“When?” he snapped.

“Okay. Jeez. Who took a bite out of your butt today?” She scowled. “I haven't actually been there in a while. Why would I?”

“Well, maybe you ought to head down there right now.”

“I'm working.”

“I can see that. And you're doin' a damn fine job. But that can wait. This can't.”

Glancing down at her feet, he spotted the scar on her ankle. She'd been tagging along and Wes had warned her to go home. When she wouldn't, he'd shot her there with an arrow—the tip not sharp enough to actually pierce, but enough to break the skin and leave a permanent mark.

They'd have been grounded for a month, but Jenni Beth hadn't ratted them out. She'd lied for them, made up a story about a limb jabbing her ankle while she climbed a tree.

She'd earned his respect that day, the scar a constant testament to her loyalty. Today, in those sexy, totally impractical sandals, it was on full display, as though she was reminding him.

“You got a pair of sneakers?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Put them on.”

“Cole—”

“Go get them, Jenni Beth.”

Surprisingly enough, she did. She ducked into the house and came back minutes later wearing a pair of beat-up gym shoes. He ignored the skimpy excuse for a pair of shorts. They'd do. He put a hand on her shoulders and turned her to face his truck. “Get in.”

“Cole, what is wrong with you?”

Instead of answering, he thrust a can of insect repellent at her. “Here. Spray some of this on all that exposed flesh.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Not yet. But I think you might be.”

Shaking her head, she covered herself in insect repellent and crawled into his truck. She stared out the window as they drove in silence to her bottomland. When he turned onto the rutted road, she finally looked at him again.

“Why are we here? What are you doing?”

“Tryin' to wake you up. Help you come to your senses.”

“My faculties are in full working order, I promise.”

“I disagree. When we get out, just follow me.”

“There are snakes.”

“That's why you're wearin' those.” He nodded toward her sneakers. “Besides, I was here earlier today and didn't see any.”

“They were hiding. Waiting till you dragged me down here.”

One brow shot up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He snorted and brought the truck to a stop. When she made no move to get out, he walked around to her side and opened the door. He took her hand, instantly sorry. Heat flared inside him both from her touch and the sight of those sleek, bare legs. Would one touch send him to hell?

Yes. One of his own making. Tamping down the desire, he helped her out, his hand lingering at her waist a tad longer than necessary. A wide expanse of marsh grass stretched in front of them. The high-pitched cries of tiny tree frogs filled the air.

Her nose wrinkled. “It smells musty.”

He breathed in the pungent, slightly salty smell. “That's the rain we've had. It's left things a little soggy.”

With her in tow, he marched to the edge of her land and arrowed off toward the sign. When they got close enough, he pointed to the trees with the “No Trespassing” posts.

“Do you know anything about this?”

“No.” She walked up to the trees, ran her fingers over the sign. “Who owns this land? It's never been closed to the public.”

“No, it hasn't.” He shook his head. “The same signs are on the boundary line of the property to the south.”