“Do you think I enjoy walking around with half a grocery store hanging off me?” Zoey whispered, snatching a roll from the basket and ripping it in half. “But Hunter Gray’s mother is sitting at the next table, and I need her to organize this year’s book fair.”
Torie looked up at Meg. “If I was Zoey, I’d establish stronger boundaries between my work and my personal life.”
“That’s what you say now,” Zoey retorted, “but remember how excited you got when I wore those macaroni earrings Sophie made for me?”
“That was different. My daughter’s artistic.”
“Sure she is.” Zoey smirked. “And you set up the school phone tree for me that very same day.”
Meg somehow managed to clear the dishes without dumping leftovers in anyone’s lap. The female golfers asked if she had any Arizona iced tea. In the kitchen, Chef’s face was slicked with sweat as he pulled the perfectly puffed individual chocolate soufflés from the oven. “Hurry! Get these on the table before they collapse. Gently! Remember what I told you.”
Meg heaved the heavy tray into the dining room. Serving the soufflés was a two-person job, but she braced the edge against her hip and reached for the first pot.
“Ted!” Torie exclaimed. “Look who’s here, everybody!”
Meg’s heart leaped into her throat, her head jerked up, and she wobbled on her pink platforms as she saw Ted framed in the doorway. In the space of seconds, the soufflés began to shift . . . And all she could think about was the baby carriage.
Her dad had pointed out the phenomenon when she was a kid. If you were watching a movie and you saw a baby carriage, you knew a speeding car was heading its way. The same went for a florist’s cart, a wedding cake, or a plate-glass window being maneuvered across a street.
Sit back in your seat, kiddo, and hold on because a car chase is coming your way.
It was just like that with the chocolate soufflés.
She barely had the tray supported. She was losing her balance. The soufflés had started to slide. A car chase was heading her way.
But life wasn’t a movie, and she’d eat the broken glass off the kitchen floor before she’d let those white pots fall. Even as she teetered on her shoes, she shifted her weight, repositioned her hip, and focused every ounce of her willpower on regaining her balance.
The pots resettled. Francesca rose from her chair. “Teddy, darling, you’re just in time for dessert. Come and join us.”
Meg lifted her chin. The man she loved was staring at her. Those tiger eyes that grew so smoky when they made love were now clear and fiercely perceptive. His gaze shifted to the tray she was carrying. Back to her. Meg looked down. The soufflés began to deflate. One by one. Pfft . . . Pfft . . . Pfft . . .
Chapter Sixteen
Ladies.” Ted’s gaze flicked from Meg’s white server’s apron to his mother, who’d suddenly turned into a whirlwind of motion.
“Find a chair, darling. Squeeze in next to Shelby.” Her small hand flew from hair to bracelets to napkin, a bird of paradise searching for a safe place to land. “Fortunately, my son is a man at home in the company of women.”
Torie snorted. “You can say that again. He’s dated half the room.”
Ted inclined his head toward the assemblage. “And enjoyed every moment.”
“Not every moment,” Zoey said. “Remember when Bennie Hanks plugged up all the toilets right before the fifth-grade choral concert? We never did make it to dinner that night.”
“But I got to see a dedicated young educator in action,” Ted said gallantly, “and Bennie learned a valuable lesson.”
A momentary yearning softened Zoey’s features, an indulgence in the memory of what might have been. To her credit, she shook herself out of it. “Bennie’s at space camp in Huntsville. Let’s hope they do a better job of guarding their toilets.”
Ted nodded, but he’d fixed his attention back on his mother. His eyes were steady, his mouth unsmiling. Francesca lunged for her water glass. Emma darted an anxious glance between them and quickly stepped into the breach. “Did you have a successful business trip, Ted?”
“I did.” He slowly withdrew his gaze from his mother and focused on Meg. She pretended she didn’t notice and served the first of the soufflés with a flourish, as if the dessert was intended to have a giant crater in its middle.
He came toward her, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Let me help you, Meg.”
Yellow caution lights flashed in her head. “No need.” She swallowed. “Sir.”
His eyes narrowed. She picked up the next pot. Francesca and Emma both knew she and Ted were lovers, and so did the mysterious nighttime Peeping Tom, who might also be her home invader. Was that person here right now, watching them? The possibility accounted for only part of her growing sense of foreboding.
Ted took the ramekin from her and began serving each guest with an easy smile and a perfectly chosen compliment. Meg seemed to be the only person who noticed the tension lurking at the corners of that smile.
Francesca made cheery conversation with her guests, acting as if her son always helped out the serving staff. Ted’s eyes darkened when Shelby announced that the bidding to Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine had hit eleven thousand dollars. “We’ve got bids coming in from everywhere thanks to all the publicity we’ve gotten.”
Kayla didn’t seem as happy about that as the others, which suggested Daddy had cut off her bidding money.
One of the golfers waved to catch his attention. “Ted, is it true a crew from The Bachelor is coming to Wynette to tape background footage?”
“Not true,” Torie said. “He couldn’t pass their stupidity test.”
The tray was finally empty, and Meg tried to make her escape, but as she dashed for the kitchen, Ted followed.
Chef was all smiles when he saw who’d barged in. “Hey, Mr. Beaudine. Great to see you.” He abandoned the coffee carafes he’d just filled. “I heard you were out of town.”
“Just got back, Chef.” Ted’s effortless good humor vanished as he focused on Meg. “What are you doing serving at my mother’s party?”
“I’m helping out,” she said, “and you’re in my way.” She grabbed an extra dessert from the counter and shoved it at him. “Sit down and eat.”
Chef tore around the center island. “You can’t give him that. It’s already fallen.”
Fortunately, Chef didn’t know about the twenty others that had met an identical fate. “Ted won’t notice,” she said. “He eats Marshmallow Fluff straight from the jar.” She was the one who did that, but life in Wynette had taught her the value of prevarication.
Ted returned the dessert pot to the counter, his mouth grim. “My mother set you up, didn’t she?”
“Set me up? Your mother?” She lunged for the coffee carafes, but she wasn’t quick enough, and he snatched them out from under her. “Give those back,” she said. “I don’t need your help. What I need is for you to get out of my way so I can do my job.”
“Meg!” Chef’s already florid face developed a purple tinge. “I apologize, Mr. Beaudine. Meg hasn’t served before, and she has a lot to learn about how to treat people.”
“Tell me about it.” Ted disappeared through the door with the coffee.
He was going to mess everything up. She didn’t know how. She only knew he was going to do something awful, and she had to stop it. She grabbed the iced tea pitcher and charged after him.
He’d already started filling cups without asking what anybody wanted, but even the tea drinkers didn’t protest. They were too busy fussing over him. Ted wouldn’t look at his mother, and twin furrows had formed in Francesca’s otherwise smooth forehead.
Meg headed for the opposite side of the dining room and began refilling iced tea glasses. The woman Zoey had identified as Hunter Gray’s mother gestured toward Meg. “Torie, that looks just like your Miu Miu skirt. The one you wore when we all went to see Vampire Weekend in Austin.”
Ted broke off his conversation with Franc
esca’s agent. Torie flicked her lazy, rich girl’s eyes over Meg’s skirt. “They knock off everything these days. No offense to you, Meg. It’s a fairly decent knockoff.”
But this was no knockoff, and Meg suddenly understood the veiled looks she received whenever she wore any of the garments she’d picked up at Kayla’s resale shop. All this time, she’d been wearing Torie O’Connor’s castoffs, clothes so immediately identifiable that no one else in town would buy them. And everyone had been in on the joke, including Ted.
Birdie shot Meg a smug look as she handed over her iced tea glass. “The rest of us have too much pride to wear Torie’s old clothes.”
“Not to mention, we don’t have the body for it,” Zoey said.
Kayla fluffed her hair. “I keep telling Torie she’d make a lot more money if she sent her things to a consignment shop in Austin, but she says it’s too much trouble. Until Meg came along, I could only sell her things to out-of-towners.”
The comments would have stung, except for one thing. All of the women, even Birdie, kept their voices low enough so only Meg could hear their barbs. She didn’t have time to ponder why they’d done that because Ted was setting down both coffee carafes and heading right toward her.
Although his easy smile was firmly fixed, his determined eyes told a more dangerous story. A car crash was heading toward her, and she couldn’t think of a single way to avoid it.
He stopped in front of her, pulled the iced tea pitcher from her hand, and passed it over to Torie. Meg took a step back only to feel his fingers curling around the nape of her neck, anchoring her in place. “Why don’t you go help Chef in the kitchen, sweetheart. I’ll clear off these dishes.”
Sweetheart?
The engine roared, the tires squealed, the brakes smoked, and the speeding car slammed into the baby carriage. Right there in front of the biggest gossips in Wynette, Texas, Ted Beaudine lowered his head, sealed his legendary lips over hers, and announced to the whole world that there’d be no more sneaking around. Meg Koranda was the new woman in his life.
A furious Kayla came out of her chair. Shelby groaned. Birdie knocked over her iced tea glass. Emma buried her face in her hands, and Zoey, who looked as befuddled as one of her second graders, cried, “I thought she was making it up to get rid of Spence.”
“Ted and Meg?” Hunter Gray’s mother exclaimed.
Francesca sagged back in her chair. “Teddy . . . What have you done?”
With the possible exception of her agent, everyone else in the room understood the import of what had just happened. Kayla watched her boutique slip away. Birdie saw her new tearoom and bookstore go up in smoke. Zoey mourned the school improvements that would never happen. Shelby and Torie envisioned more sleepless, guilt-ridden nights for their husbands. And Francesca saw her only son slipping into the grasp of a scheming, unworthy woman.
Meg wanted to cry from the sheer, exhilarating joy of knowing he’d do something so colossally stupid for her.
He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “Go on now, sweetheart. Mom appreciates the way you stepped in to help her today, but I’ll take over now.”
“Yes, Meg,” Francesca said quietly. “We can handle it from here.”
Meg was more important to him than this town. Her heart surged with a giddy intoxication that made her dizzy, but the woman she’d become didn’t let her enjoy the moment for long. She dug her nails into her palms and faced his mother’s guests. “I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry you were forced to see that.” She cleared her throat. “He’s, uh, had a tough time lately. I’m trying to be kind, but . . .” She took a shaky, shallow breath. “He can’t accept the fact that I’m . . . just not that into him.”
Ted picked up what was left of Torie’s soufflé, took a bite, and listened patiently as Meg tried her best to do the right thing and dig him out of the beautiful mess he’d created. “It’s me, not you.” She turned to him, urging him with her eyes to go along with her. “Everybody else thinks you’re fabulous, so it has to be me, right? Nobody else seems to find you just a little bit . . . creepy.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
Francesca swelled up in her chair. “Did you just call my son ‘creepy’?”
Ted spooned up another bite of chocolate, interested in what else she’d come up with. He wasn’t going to help at all. She wanted to kiss him, yell at him. Instead, she returned her attention to the women. “Be honest.” Her voice gained strength with the rightness of what she was doing. “You all know what I mean. The way the birds start to sing when he walks outside. That’s creepy, right? And those halos that keep popping up around his head?”
No one moved. No one said a word.
Her mouth had gone dry, but she plowed on. “What about the stigmata?”
“Stigmata?” Torie said. “That’s a new one.”
“Marking-pen accident.” Ted devoured the last spoonful of chocolate and set the dish aside. “Meg, honey—and I’m only saying this because I care so much—you’re acting kind of crazy. I sure do hope you’re not pregnant.”
A dish banged in the kitchen, taking her resolve with it. He was a master of cool. She was merely a wannabe and she’d never be able to beat him at his own game. This was his town, his problem to solve. She grabbed the iced tea pitcher and made a dash for the kitchen.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he called after her. “Same time. And wear that dress of Torie’s. It looks a hell of a lot better on you than it ever did on her. Sorry, Torie, but you know it’s true.”
As Meg slipped through the door, she heard Shelby’s wail. “But what about the contest? This is going to ruin everything!”
“Screw the contest,” Torie said. “We’ve got bigger problems. Our mayor just gave Sunny Skipjack the finger and San Antone a new golf resort.”
Ted wisely didn’t return to the kitchen. As Meg helped Chef clean up, her mind was spinning in a dozen different directions. She heard the guests leaving, and before long Francesca came into the kitchen. Her face was pale. She was barefoot, her party clothes exchanged for shorts and a T-shirt. She thanked Chef and paid him, then handed Meg her check.
It was twice what Meg had been promised.
“You did the work of two people,” Francesca said.
Meg nodded and gave it back. “My contribution to the library fund.” She held Francesca’s gaze just long enough to display a little dignity, then returned to her work.
It was almost dinnertime before the last dishes were put away and she could leave, toting the generous sack of leftovers Chef had given her. She couldn’t stop smiling all the way back to the church. Ted’s truck was parked by the steps. As tired as she was, all she could think about was tearing his clothes off. She grabbed the leftovers and dashed inside only to come to a screeching halt.
The church had been ransacked. Overturned furniture, slashed pillows, strewn clothing . . . Orange juice and ketchup were smeared on the futon, and her jewelry supplies were scattered everywhere—her precious beads, the tools she’d just purchased, tangled lengths of wire.
Ted stood in the middle of the mess. “The sheriff’s on his way.”
The sheriff found no sign of forcible entry. When the subject of keys came up, Ted said he’d already put in a call to have the locks changed. As the sheriff advanced the theory that a vagrant had done the job, Meg knew she had to come clean about the message smeared on her bathroom mirror.
Ted exploded. “You’re just getting around to telling me? What the hell were you thinking? I wouldn’t have let you stay here another day.”
She just looked at him. He glared right back—no halo in sight.
The sheriff asked with a straight face if anybody held a grudge against her. She thought he was putting her on until she remembered he worked for the county and might not be tuned in to local gossip.
“Meg’s had some run-ins with a few people,” Ted said, “but I can’t imagine any of them doing this.”
The sheriff pulled out his notebook. “What people?”
She tried to pull herself together. “Basically anybody who likes Ted isn’t too fond of me.”
The sheriff shook his head. “That’s an awful lot of people. Could you narrow it down?”
“There’s not really much point in throwing out random names,” she said.
“You’re not accusing anybody. You’re giving me a list of people who have a grudge against you. I need your cooperation, Miz Koranda.”
She saw his point, but it didn’t feel right.
“Miz Koranda?”
She tried to muster the energy to begin. “Well, there’s . . .” She barely knew where to start. “Sunny Skipjack wants Ted for herself.” She gazed at the destruction around her and took a deep breath. “Then there’s Birdie Kittle, Zoey Daniels, Shelby Traveler, Kayla Garvin. Kayla’s father, Bruce. Maybe Emma Traveler, although I thought she’d come around.”
“Not a single one of them would tear the place up like this,” Ted said.
“Somebody did,” the sheriff replied, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Go on, Miz Koranda.”
“All of Ted’s old girlfriends, especially after what happened at the luncheon today.” That involved a brief explanation, which Ted thoughtfully provided, along with his commentary on the cowardice of people who wanted to sneak around instead of being up front about their relationships.
“Anybody else?” The sheriff turned another page in his notebook.
“Skeet Cooper saw me mash one of Ted’s golf balls into the ground to keep Ted from winning his match against Spencer Skipjack. You should have seen the way he looked at me.”
“You should have seen the way I looked at you,” Ted said with disgust.
Meg picked at a hangnail.