“So are you coming to The Wedding?” she asked as she hauled herself up to the front seat. The truck’s tires seemed to increase in diameter every time she climbed into the cab.
“What wedding is that?” Otto climbed up beside her easily, sliding his key into the ignition.
Janie stared at him. “Docia’s wedding. Next week. She said you hadn’t RSVPed.”
Otto frowned slightly. “She’s taking that RSVP thing seriously? I mean, hell, who knows whether they’re coming or not this far in advance?”
“It’s a wedding!” Janie grasped her purse tightly and worked on keeping that grating edge out of her voice. “They have to know how many people are going to be there so they can plan and order the food.”
“Oh, okay, I guess.” Otto shrugged, glancing sideways. “I don’t think I’ve got anything else going on then. You want to go with me?”
“I’m Docia’s maid of honor,” Janie said through clenched teeth. “I’ll already be there.”
Otto shrugged again. “Well that makes it easier. We can hook up afterwards at the reception.”
Janie smoothed out the slight marks her nails had made in the leather of her purse and worked on keeping her breathing steady. “Right. Just remember to RSVP.”
“Ah, hell, sweet thing, you just tell ’em I’m coming, okay?” Otto grinned at her devilishly, raising an eyebrow. That look probably sent the cheerleading squad into double back flips.
As far as Janie could tell, nothing about her felt remotely like flipping, most certainly not her heart.
Pete changed his clothes before he headed off to dinner at Brenner’s, but he told himself doing that had nothing to do with his mother. He’d put on khaki slacks and a dark blue knit shirt because Cal and Docia, not to mention Docia’s folks, had gone to a lot of trouble. He was just being supportive. Changing his clothes had nothing to do with the frequent, pointed references his mother had made to his T-shirt and jeans on the unusually long ride back to Konigsburg from the airport.
Of course, his mother probably wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a sport coat, preferably a suit and tie. Pete had no intention of putting one on, even to keep the peace.
At Brenner’s, the main room glowed with the light of the setting sun while candles threw circles of warmth on each table. Lee Contreras nodded in his direction, then pointed toward a door at the side of the room. “They’re in there. The private dining room.”
Pete veered to the right as the door opened behind him and Docia’s mother swept into the restaurant.
Pete envied Cal for a lot of things, but he didn’t think Reba Kent was one of them. In fact, he found her a little scary. None of the women he knew in Iowa looked like Reba—sort of like she was outlined in neon.
At the moment, she wore a flowing, floor-length dress made out of something soft and shimmering. The dress was patterned in the kind of purple and green Pete usually associated with Mardi Gras. The multi-colored jewels that glittered at her ears were probably real, given the net worth of Reba and her husband, Billy. She was almost as tall as Docia in flats, and her high heels elevated her eyes well above Pete’s shoulder.
She caught sight of him just as he turned toward the dining room door. “Why Mr. Toleffson,” Reba trilled. “Looks like I’m just in time to have an escort to the dining room.” She widened her large cornflower eyes and batted her eyelashes at him.
Pete hadn’t gotten used to the eyelash-batting thing yet—he’d never actually seen anybody do it before, and it still made him feel vaguely under attack. But apparently Reba didn’t mean anything by it. Just some kind of all-purpose, southern belle greeting. Pete extended his arm in her direction. “I’d be delighted, ma’am.”
Batting her eyelashes again, Reba laid a hand on his sleeve. “Lead on, sir, lead on.”
Pete took a couple of steps inside the private dining room and stopped cold. The room looked like something out of
Dallas
. Dark oak paneling stretched on three walls. The fourth was a massive fireplace made of white limestone blocks—a huge brass star hung on the front. Lush, bright red carpeting cushioned his feet. Pete felt like he should be wearing boots and muttering nasty cracks about J.R.
Some people in the room glanced up as he and Reba came in, but then turned back to their conversations. Two pairs of eyes bored into his chest, however—one pair belonged to Reba’s husband, Billy Kent, who looked like he could buy and sell Pete with his pocket change. The other pair belonged to his mother.
Of the two, Mom’s look was considerably more lethal.
Pete gulped, glancing at Reba’s hand where it rested on his arm. Reba batted her eyelashes again. Terrific timing.
I’m not replacing you, Mom, honest!
Cal waved at him. Grinning, of course.
Pete steered Reba politely toward the group, then took up a neutral position between Docia and Cal while Docia busied herself introducing Reba to Mom.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Reba gushed. “Cal’s told us so much about you.”
Pete watched his mother’s expression become smooth. She was wearing navy blue pants and jacket with a red, white and blue silk scarf tucked into the collar. She looked a little like a senior officer on a particularly grim cruise boat.
“A pleasure,” she murmured, then straightened her shoulders. “I’ve just been hearing all about the…ceremony from your husband here. I need to firm up the details about the rehearsal dinner before my husband gets here. I’m not sure where we should hold it. I guess this place would do.”
That little pause before “ceremony” was the mark of a master, Pete decided. Mom wasn’t going to say anything openly critical about Texas and/or the wedding extravaganza, but somehow he knew she’d get her point in. She’d fired her opening salvo.
“Hey, bro.” Cal’s voice sounded a little strained. “Did you try the dip? I think there’s some pita chips to go along with it. Lee’s one fantastic cook.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. Pete knew that look. Amateurs. No way she was backing off yet. “I’ve never been to Texas before. I guess it’s always this hot in the summer.” She fanned her face with one hand. “But after all, the wedding will be inside, so the air conditioning will help.”
“Yes, of course it will.” Reba glanced pointedly at Docia. “Sweetheart, did you talk to Janie yet about the arch?”
Pete considered it a nice attempted lateral.
“Iowa is hot in August too, of course. But it’s just lovely in June,” Mom continued, undeterred. “That’s when most of the weddings in our family have taken place, when it’s still cooler in the evening. Although some have been at Christmas. That’s lovely too. All the snow. I always say Christmas isn’t Christmas without snow. But I suppose you do without it here.”
Oh, nice one, Mom. Points for trashing the Texas summer weather, the date of the wedding and the lack of snow. Pete glanced around the room. Janie Dupree stood next to a pillar-shaped guy who was inhaling a plate of cocktail shrimp. Pete raised an eyebrow at Docia. “Who’s that?”
“Who’s that who?” Docia shook her head as if she was trying to clear it.
Pete took a deep breath. Mom sometimes had that effect on people. “Janie’s date.”
“Oh.” Docia pasted on a smile again. “Otto Friedrich. He’s the high school football coach. Janie said he was a star player when he went to school here.”
Pete narrowed his eyes. The guy really did look like some kind of architectural feature—a solid column of muscle, his head balancing on his shoulders apparently without benefit of neck. Beside him Janie Dupree glanced up. Her gaze caught Pete’s.
She was wearing an amazing dress, white with bright splashes of orange, cut low in front to show more of her bosom than he’d noticed before. Smallish but perfect. The white of the dress set off the slight olive color of her skin and her flashing dark eyes. If she’d started tangoing around the room, Pete wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
Unfortunately, Otto didn’t look like much of a tangoer.
The corners of Janie’s mouth stretched up in a slight, mysterious smile, and Pete experienced the first rush of arousal he’d felt in longer than he liked to consider.
One hell of a time for it to come back to life!
“Peter.”
His mother’s voice cut through the fog in his brain and he glanced back at her, trying not to look guilty. He had a sneaking suspicion she could see every unclean thought that had ever crossed his mind. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you find me a drink, please?” She made it a question, but he knew there wasn’t anything questionable about it. In reality she was saying,
Get your sorry ass in gear and take care of your mother.
“Sure. What would you like? Looks like they’ve got some champagne over at the side there.” A couple of bottles rested in silver ice buckets on a marble bar against one wall.
His mother frowned slightly. “Oh. I was thinking of a margarita.”
“They don’t do margaritas here, Mom. This is strictly a wine bar. It’s good champagne, though.” Cal’s grin began to fade for one of the few times in the four days Pete had been in Konigsburg.
Mom shrugged. “Oh, well, then. Champagne. That’s fine. I’ll have a margarita some other time, I guess.” She gave Cal a small, sad smile as she accepted yet another Texas disappointment. “Champagne will do.”
Cal glanced at Pete. The grin was gone entirely. His eyes had taken on a hunted look. “It’s really good champagne, Mom. Billy had Ken bring it in, and Ken knows more about wine than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s the other owner here.”
“Of course.” His mother nodded. “It’s a wedding. I’m sure we’ll be drinking lots of champagne over the next week.” She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh. “Might as well start now. Go on, Peter.”
Pete went, although he suspected it was a fool’s errand at that point. The champagne could be Cristal and it still wouldn’t be quite good enough for Mom.
Janie Dupree and her date were standing next to the bar as he reached the silver ice bucket. Pete gave her a quick grin, hoping for another of those sinful smiles. “Care for a glass of champagne while I’m pouring?”
“Yes, please.” She turned to the human support beam beside her. “Otto, this is Cal’s brother, Pete Toleffson. Wouldn’t you like some champagne too?”
Otto extended a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt. “Otto Friedrich.”
Pete allowed his hand to be crushed without crushing back. He hadn’t played the handshake game since the last time he’d prosecuted a corporate embezzler. “Champagne, Friedrich?”
Otto scrunched his tanned forehead in thought. “They have any beer?”
“I’ll look.” Pete stepped behind the bar and found a refrigerator stocked with bottles. “Here’s some.”
Otto stepped beside him, squinting at the contents of the refrigerator. “Hell! No Bud?”
On Otto’s other side, Janie Dupree suddenly looked less than entranced, which Pete found interesting. “Doesn’t look like it,” he said cheerfully. “Just imports.” He poured three glasses of champagne and handed one to Janie.
She took a sip, licking wine from her upper lip with a quick swipe of her tongue.
Pete suddenly forgot his mother was waiting. “So, any news on the ring bearer front?” He raised an eyebrow.
Janie shook her head. “I think Pep’s out of the running. In fact, I think they’re going to just have you carry it. Apparently, no kids are available.”
Pete’s jaw tightened. “Daisy’s not coming?”
“Daisy?”
“Lars’s daughter. Our niece. She’s about a year old.”
Janie shook her head. “Docia didn’t mention it. Maybe she forgot.”
Or maybe Sherice had been up to something again. “Maybe.”
“Peter!” His mother’s voice cut through the murmur of conversation.
Pete turned and got the full impact of her look. He felt like ducking. Busted again! He glanced down at the glass in his hand. “Oops.”
Janie gave him another of her elfin grins. His groin tightened painfully.
Behind him he heard pillar man clear his throat. “Isn’t your mother calling you, Toleffson?”
Pete turned slightly to glance at him. A couple of years ago, when he’d had time to go to the gym, he could have taken Otto. Now he’d probably get his ass whipped. Still—the idea had a certain appeal, particularly when he saw Otto’s faintly superior smirk.
He turned back to Janie Dupree, lifting the glass of champagne. “I’d better get this to Mom.” He smiled one last time and was rewarded with a quick flash of brown eyes until Otto stepped beside her.
Oh well. Pete was just passing through Konigsburg anyway.
His mother narrowed her eyes at him when he arrived at her side. “Mercy, I hope it’s not too warm. You spent so much time over there.”
“Talking to the maid of honor.” Pete took a quick sip of champagne. “Wedding stuff.”
His mother pursed her lips slightly as she sipped. “I guess this is all right. A little flat maybe, but all right.”
Pete took another sip from his own glass. Seemed bubbly enough to him. “So what’s up with Daisy—isn’t she coming?”
Mom shook her head. “Sherice thinks Daisy’s too young to come to a wedding. She’s staying with Sherice’s mother.”
“She didn’t want to be a flower girl?” Granted, his niece was a little young, but Pete would be willing to bet she could throw handfuls of flower petals around. Although they might have a hard time getting her to stop.
“I asked Lars,” Cal said, quietly. “At first, he thought it would be a good idea. Then it wasn’t.”
Pete’s jaw tightened again. “Sherice.”
“Don’t start, Peter.” His mother’s voice was sharp. “Sherice knows her daughter better than you do.”
“I doubt it,” Pete muttered. At the last family picnic, he and Lars had taken turns making sure Daisy didn’t fall into the lake. Sherice had been busy reading
The Star
.
“That reminds me—” Mom turned a gimlet gaze on Cal, “—what do you have Sherice doing in the wedding?”
“Doing?” Cal’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be right for her to be an usher, of course, although I understand some weddings have female ushers too. I suppose she could look after the guest book.”
“Actually, my cousin Deirdre is in charge of the guest book.” Docia’s grip on Cal’s arm looked tighter than before. “Cal didn’t mention that we needed to put Sherice in the wedding.”