Unchained (17 page)

Calder reached for her hand and kissed it. She liked the way his lips on her skin made her feel. Sometimes, he’d do it in the middle of the night if one or both of them got up for any reason. He kissed her hand every time she greeted him. He kissed her hand when she was being a twit. He kissed her hand across the dinner table. It was all good in her book.

Tori commanding the spotlight like a boss brought a wide smile to her mother’s face. She’d lucked out in the kid sweepstakes. Victoria was a spectacular human being, and she wasn’t just saying that ‘cause she birthed the girl. Not everyone could bounce back from a personal and professional crisis and land in a way that changed several lives for the better.

“Before we crack open the champagne and toast my beautiful mother’s birthday, we have to let two people who couldn’t be here today weigh in on the festivities.”

There was some activity at the table next to them, but she was too focused on her daughter to pay much attention.

“As y’all know, our intrepid leader, Major Alexander Valleja-Marquez and his Irish bride, the fantabulous Mrs. Meghan Marquez, are still honeymooning.”

Snickers broke out all around. “Is that what you call it?” she heard Parker growl to Angie.

Calder played surrogate Big Daddy and chastised him to, “Be nice,” which got the handsome lawyer an elbow in the ribs from Angie.

“But they sent along a video greeting that we’re gonna project on the tent wall to my left,” she announced as she pointed toward it.

Chairs moved as people jockeyed for position, and all Stephanie could do was laugh when Calder leaned in to whisper something. “Seriously? A video greeting?” he mocked. “Sheesh. What? No hologram?”

Tori pointed to a new face in the crowd. A girl named Remington, who Stephanie thought had the most beautiful black hair she’d ever seen, was at the next table fussing with a laptop and some other gadgets. All of a sudden, the theme song from
Star Wars
came booming through a PA system.

The thundering song ended, and Meghan’s voice followed. “Give it a rest, Major.” Then what was best described as Celtic river dancing music rang out followed by the Marquez bride giggling and saying, “Glenfiddich. Still for pussies.”

Everyone laughed and stared at the tent wall waiting for an image to appear. When it did, a loud gasp followed by gales of laughter filled the room.

A wide shot appeared of what looked like the inside of a trailer littered with clothes, empty pizza boxes, crushed beer cans, and ripped open bags of cookies and Cheetos strewn everywhere.

In the middle of the chaotic scene were two people sitting together on a sofa. As the camera zoomed in and the wide shot focused, projected on the wall had to be the funniest thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

It was Alex and Meghan. Only, it was an Alex and Meghan that no one had ever seen before.

Wearing a ripped, dirty form-fitting tank top she heard commonly referred to as a wife-beater and his hair a complete mess was the big man himself. He had several days of beard growth on his face and a comical heavy gold chain hung with a garish looking ‘M’ covered in some sort of tacky bling. He was relaxing on the sofa, the top of his pants undone and a hand slipped just inside the waistband.

A couple of Cheetos were also stuck to his gut.

Next to him was Meghan. Or who she thought was Meghan. Hair looking more brown and dirty than auburn and beautiful, she was hulling peanuts over a brown paper bag with an honest-to-god cigarette hanging from lips smeared with some mighty awful looking fire engine red lipstick.

Alex took a swig from a beer can, turned a toothy grin on the camera, and let loose with a world-class burp and what sounded suspiciously like an answering fart.

His greeting? “Yo. People.” Which he growled through a series of near belches. Cramming a handful of Cheetos into his mouth, he chewed and wiped a hand across his lips a few times.

When Meghan took the cigarette out of her mouth and ashed it in a beer can wobbling precariously on a lopsided coffee table, Stephanie turned wide, disbelieving eyes on Calder who was slack jawed at her side.

“Baby,” Alex grunted to his wife. “Get Daddy another cold one.” Meghan pursed her lipstick-smeared lips but said nothing. When she rose from the sofa and stepped over Alex’s outstretched legs, he thumped her on the butt as she passed and grumbled, “Hurry it up, wife.”

Parker laughed first. Then Draegyn. And not just a small, amused chuckles. Nope. They immediately went for full-throated guffaws that spread like wildfire around the tent.

When Alex started speaking again, the laughter died, and a hush fell over the gathering. Calder squeezed her fingers, and she swung her gaze to his. His subtle nod was full of meaning. Even if Alex Marquez was a deadbeat on Skid Row, when he spoke, people listened.

“So I hear you’re having a blowout party at my place. Really?”

The deadpan expression on the Major’s face and the sardonic edge to the question actually made the man holding her hand squirm a little. A quick glance at Drae revealed he too was looking a bit sheepish. Only Parker sat grinning like a loon.

Alpha men. Who can figure them out?

“Imma let that one go.” He paused for dramatic effect, burped again, then stared into the camera and added, “For now.”

Meghan reappeared and shoved a can of beer in her husband’s face. He looked at it, raised a brow, and then looked up at her. After a second, you could hear her sigh heavily before cocking her hip and cracking the flip top open on the can as all the while the cigarette dangled from her lips.

These two needed a web show! Their act would be a rollicking good time, if only for the amusement of Family Justice.

After Meghan stepped over her husband’s legs again, sat down, dropped the cigarette into a can, and resumed cracking open the peanuts, he took a long pull of the beer and smirked at the camera.

“Got ‘er trained up real good now.”

Meghan huffed and looked at him incredulously, shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and went back to what she was doing.

“Take note, Stephanie. This is what life will look like if that old fart gets off his lazy ass and asks you to marry him.”

At that, Angie started giggling uncontrollably. Her laughter was infectious because it only took a second for Stephanie to join. She heard Tori say, “Red! He’s ruined you, girl!”

Calder groaned, “Oh, for the love of god,” hung his head for a moment, cleared his throat, and resumed watching. What in the world was that reaction all about?

“Anyway, anyway …” Alex snorted while a sly grin appeared. “Bummed that I’m missing your big five-oh, Steph!”

Steph? Steph? Who the hell was Steph? Nobody ever called her that.

“Fifty,” he groaned. “God.” Shuddering for effect, he mugged for the camera and let everyone know how he felt. “I hope Drae remembered to install safety grips in your shower.”

Stephanie nearly choked on the drink she was sipping when Calder leaned in close. “He means those fuck handlebars.” The amusement in his voice made her tummy flutter. Calder was an expert when it came to creative uses for those handy shower safety aids.

As if the funniest thing ever had just occurred to him, Alex sat forward and slapped a hand on his knee as he chuckled. “Guess after this we should see about getting some wheelchairs, walkers, and a couple of those riding scooter things you see in Wal-Mart.”

The sidesplitting, exaggerated visual Alex managed to create with just a few words was enough to send the entire room into an eruption of laughter.

Holding up his can of Budweiser—that alone was funnier than hell because Alex did not enjoy a cold Bud as much as his crew did—he offered a snarky smirk and asked everyone to raise his or her drinks in a toast.

“Stephanie Bennett. Happy birthday, girl. Here’s to turning fifty! The ultimate F word, right?” he joked with a wink, wink.

Turning to Meghan, he asked, “Baby. You got anything to say?”

It wasn’t until then that Stephanie keyed in on Meghan’s outfit. Her white t-shirt with the word Bride in bright pink script showed a black line drawn through the word with ‘wife’ scribbled beneath. She was also sporting an enormous hickey, visible when she pushed some of the tangled, dirty hair off her shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Stephanie,” Meghan muttered.

Alex growled. “Come on. You can do better than that. People expect more of my wife than two words.”

Meghan’s head whipped to the side, and her glare was easy to read. “Oh, shut up,” she spit out.

Alex’s hand shot out, grabbed her arm, and right before everyone’s startled eyes, yanked her hard until she flew over his legs like a bad child about to get an ass whupping.

The laughter in the room turned to roars of approval. Alex and Meghan’s Shut-Up Game was the stuff of tongue-in-cheek legend around the compound.

“And on that note, folks, got a wife to tame.” Looking directly into the camera as it zoomed in for a close-up of his face, her last view of Meghan was of her sputtering and wiggling as she sprawled across Alex’s legs. “Stephanie … much love, lady.”

That seemed like it until Alex laughed and murmured low as if what he had to say was for her ears alone. “Oh, and I left you a present. In the barn.” He chuckled. “It’s up to you to find it, though! I suggest starting in the tack room,” he said with a wicked leer and a wink.

And then the image of Mr. and Mrs. Marquez faded and the words
Happy birthday, Stephanie
appeared. It was a perfect greeting. One that was going to get a lot of people talking and laughing, and something she’d always remember.

T
ORI WAS HAVING
a cloud nine moment. Her mom was happier than she’d ever seen her. Calder’s over-the-top birthday rodeo was a huge success. From beginning to the almost end, the day had been memorable and damn near perfect. So far.

She was strolling with Draegyn along the winding pathway leading to the back of the barn. Calder asked them to meet him and Stephanie for a private moment away from the crowd of partygoers.

Their hands entwined, she focused on how small hers seemed within her husband’s powerful grasp. Her eyes drifted to the wedding ring he wore. She remembered the day he put it on and how Draegyn’s simple expression of his commitment to their marriage had made her feel.

Shit. Not even a year had gone by since that day. Thanksgiving, it was. And all she felt now was turmoil and, yes, fear. Was she losing her husband’s affection? The very thought shook her up so bad she stumbled over her own feet.

He caught her, of course. He always did. In many ways, he was still the cocky, arrogant mystery he’d always been although becoming a family man had certainly softened Draegyn’s cynical edges. In that respect, she trusted him with her life. With the life of their son.

“Easy m’love,” Drae murmured. “Can’t have you face-planting in the dirt.”

With a wan smile, she clutched his hand harder. “Thanks.”

Taking her hand from his grasp, he moved it into the crook of his arm and kept his hand atop hers where it wrapped around his bicep.

Always so attentive.

Tori kept her sigh as quiet as she could. Dammit. Tears were starting to well in her eyes. What was wrong with her? Sometimes, she felt like the dialogue track on an out-of-sync movie. Frustrated and disturbed by her careening emotions, she internally acknowledged her recent propensity to laugh at the wrong things and just as easily cry for no reason.

Maybe Lacey was on to something about the postpartum blues. Certainly might explain some of the weirdness she felt.

Hmmm
. Tori saw an Internet search in her future. But still, having some hormones out of whack didn’t fully explain the subtle changes in her marriage. Changes she was not imagining.

Dismissing her worries, she injected a note of happy curiosity into her voice and asked, “What do you think this is all about? Seems kind of weird leaving the party to sneak off for lord knows what.”

Draegyn patted her hand and pulled her closer. “Nobody’s gonna miss us for a little while. The Chixie Dicks can be the main attraction for a bit.” He snorted out a laugh. “Did you see Ria and Ben getting their freak on out on the dance floor? Dear god. Ben is a walking advertisement for men who have zero rhythm.”