Jules, the Bounty Hunter

  In other words, it was way, way over the top, and certainly nothing I would ever consider wearing.

  “Oh, Gerard, that is amazing,” Mom cooed, running her fingers over the material. “Julianne, you will look exquisite in this gown.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I replied.

  Both Mom’s and Gerard’s faces fell. “What don’t you like? The color? The beading?” Mom asked.

  “No, it’s not the color or the beading or the…poofiness.”

  “Then what?” Gerard asked.

  I narrowed my eyes at Mom. “Don’t you remember anything about what I liked or didn’t like? This dress—it’s not me. I’m sure it would be right up Bryn’s alley, but I’m not her. You can’t just dress me up and make me into what you want me to be!”

  And with that, I turned around and stormed out the store. When I got out on the sidewalk, I realized that A). I had no idea where in the hell I was going, and B). I had just thrown a hissy fit in the middle of a high end store, and acted like a two year old having a tantrum on Toddler’s and Tiaras. I’d been in Savannah all of twenty-four hours, and I’d been acting like an asshole for most of them.

  “Julianne! Come back here!” my mother shouted behind me.

  Instead of facing Mom and my issues, I chose to do the completely immature thing and kept stalking down the sidewalk. Mom must have been secretly doing cross training or something because she quickly caught up with me. I whirled around to face her.

  “I can’t believe how childish you acted in there over clothes!” she panted, then took a moment to catch her breath before she spoke again. “I thought after last night, things were going to be better between us.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, that was before Gerard and the rich bitches clothing store.”

  Mom shuddered slightly. “Julianne, we are on a public sidewalk! Do we really have to have this discussion right now?”

  “Yeah, we do. I thought I was coming out here to ‘reconnect’ with you or whatever it is that Dad wants me to do. Since the moment I’ve been here, you haven’t been at all interested in me—the girl who loves horses and dogs and doesn’t care about fashion or being a girly-girl! It’s all about packaging me into something you can be proud of at some fancy ass party or making me appear presentable to your friends.”

  Glancing around, Mom checked to see if anyone was openly staring at our tirade. Finding no one, she stepped closer and whispered, “I don’t know how in the five minutes you’ve been back you’ve gotten in it your head that I want you to be Bryn. That is totally not true! You are my daughter, and I love you just for you. Okay?”

  I weighed her words for a moment before nodding. Pushing my hair back, Mom rubbed her hand on my cheek. “Julianne, I do love you. I always have, and I always will. You have so much more to offer the world than Bryn does.”

  “Give me a break.”

  Mom shook her head. “You have a wonderful heart and a fantastic mind. You’re beautiful inside and out, sweetie.”

  Wow, I wasn’t expecting that one at all. “Thanks,” I murmured.

  Mom smiled. “Now about the clothes…it’s perfectly clear that we aren’t going to see eye to eye on them, so can’t we find a compromise?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of rusty at this parenting thing.” Before I could say anything, she wagged a finger at me. “Yes, I know that’s no one’s fault but my own.”

  I held up my hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you wanted to.” She paused, clearly inspired by a sudden idea. “What if we agreed that after Friday night you don’t have to go to any more parties this summer?”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I want you to be happy while you’re here, Julianne.”

  “Okay, so no more parties and no more society stuff where I’m put on display,” I countered.

  Mom appeared to be contemplating my offer. “Okay, that sounds reasonable. But, you will agree to a ball gown and to let me buy you some new clothes to wear while you are here.”

  “Fine, I’ll wear the stupid ball gown. But I get to veto any other clothing choices that I think are too fancy-schmancy for my tastes.”

  Mom stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

  “Deal,” I replied, as I shook her hand.

  “Can we go back to the shop now?”

  I nodded.

  When we got back, Aunt Vivian and Gerard pretended they hadn’t been craning their necks out the door to see what was going on.

  “So?” Aunt Vivian asked.

  I smiled sweetly. “So, I think the dress is pretty cool, and I’d like to try it on.”

  Both Aunt Vivian and Gerard tried to hide their surprise. “Well, good then,” Aunt Viv replied.

  Gerard nodded. “I’ll go put this away for you, and then I’ll pull some things off the racks.” He marched off to the dressing room. Once he had deposited the ball gown, he started snatching and grabbing items off the racks. After he amassed an armload of clothes, he jerked his head towards the dressing room, and I reluctantly followed.

  For the next half hour, I felt like I’d been transported into the “good” shopping experience in Pretty Woman. I tried on several of the outfits and modeled them for Mom and Aunt Vivian. They tried to keep their appreciation to a minimum, but I could tell which outfits they really wanted me to get.

  From time to time, I caught glimpses of myself in the trio of mirrors. Shockingly enough, I looked pretty good. Of course, these clothes would never be me. I was a down-on-the-ranch jeans and boots wearing girl who occasionally traded up for a simple dress or skirt. But while I was with Mom, I guess I could deal with them.

  In the end, Mom and her platinum Visa card settled on three sundresses, two Capri pant suits, and two skirts with matching tops. I was also allotted two pairs of jeans, designer of course, along with an assortment of “casual” tops.

  When it came time to try on the formal dress, Gerard wedged himself into the dressing room holding what appeared to be a medieval torture device. Standing in my bra and panties, I was grateful that Gerard was very apparently gay. I mean, no guy had ever seen me like this before.

  Gerard pressed the torture device into my hands. “Now hon, you’ll need a bustier for the formal.”

  “Um, just what is a bustier?”

  He appeared astonished at my ignorance. “A bustier helps to suck you in and push you up.” He motioned to my gut and boobs.

  Gazing warily at the bustier/torture device, I said, “Fabulous.”

  Thankfully, Gerard left me alone to work the bustier onto my body, and that was no easy feat. After I had grunted, wiggled and f-bombed my way into it, I was finally able to slip the dress on.

  Gerard poked his head in again. “Need some help with the buttons?”

  “Um, sure.”

  His fingers furiously worked at the row of intricate satin buttons. When he finished, he spun me around. I stared dizzily at him. “Oh sweetheart, you are an absolute vision of perfection!”

  Jerking my arm, he dragged me out of the dressing room and pushed me in front of Mom and Aunt Vivian. Both of their faces lit up. “That is simply divine,” Aunt Vivian said.

  Mom nodded. “You look breathtaking.”

  My cheeks flushed to match the dress’s color. “Thanks. It really is a beautiful gown.” When I turned around to gaze at my reflection in the mirror, I did a double take. I looked like a combination of Cinderella and a Civil War Southern Belle. “It’s hard to believe that’s me.”

  Aunt Vivian chuckled. “Just wait until we get you all gussied up with your hair and makeup. You’ll feel just like a princess!”

  “So, I suppose you’ll be taking that as well?” Gerard asked, with a smile.

  Mom nodded. “I couldn’t imagine finding a better dress anywhere in Savannah.”

  “Fabulous. I’ll wrap it up for you.”

  After Mom paid for the dress, Gerard
got several of his minions from the shop to take all my clothes out to the car. “What about the ball gown?” I asked, as they loaded up the trunk.

  “They’ll deliver that separately,” Mom replied, sliding into the back.

  “It gets its own delivery?” I shook my head. “Nothing like the VIP treatment for my dress,” I murmured, hopping in the car.

  Once Aunt Vivian had air kissed Gerard good-bye, she climbed in the front seat. “Whew, glad we got that out of the way.” She then turned to Andrew. “Please take us to the Serenity Spa.”

  Andrew nodded and eased the car into traffic. “Now I’ve signed us up for a half day of beauty.”

  Leaning forward in the seat, I asked, “Just what all is going to be forced on me?”

  “A facial, manicure, pedicure, and an hour massage. Oh, and some waxing.”

  I gulped. “Waxing? Like bikini area waxing?”

  Andrew coughed while Mom shot me a look. “Don’t be vulgar, Julianne,” she said with disdain.

  “Exuuuuse me!” I huffed. Sheesh, you would’ve thought I’d brought up a truly heinous word like blow job or something.

  The Serenity Day Spa was exactly as I’d imagined: Lots of ladies being petted and pampered. Their idea of heaven…my idea of hell. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  Chapter Six

  The next three days were, well, epically intense. Although Dad had claimed he wasn’t sending me to Savannah for Charm School, I’d been inducted into one all the same. And regardless of how much I pissed and moaned about the whole thing, there was one light at the end of the tunnel—the knowledge I would never, ever have to do it again.

  The hours were so packed with party preparations that I didn’t have any time to trail Jackson or work on Emmett Marshall’s case. I didn’t even get to go down to Raye’ again, which bummed me out. But I also had to remember that the party and getting closer to Jackson went hand and hand. If I played my cards right and managed to break down Jackson’s walls, then I might have the whole evening to dig for details.

  Aunt Vivian was the slave-driving instructor, and since we had only forty-eight hours until the party, she had to get tough.

  First, she had me practice walking up and down the grand staircase. “Posture, Julianne. Make the most of the height God blessed you with!” I stood up as straight as I could, only to receive more orders: “Don’t look down. Always retain eye contact!”

  “It’ll be real hard to maintain eye contact when I trip over my feet and fall face first down the stairs,” I countered. Aunt Vivian chose to ignore me.

  Once my walk looked more like a graceful young lady entering a ballroom and less like Godzilla taking a small city, we moved on to table etiquette.

  “Pinch delicately on the glass’s stem, Julianne. Do not paw it like a dog,” Aunt Vivian instructed. “Tip your bowl forward to catch the last of the soup. Never scrape the bowl. And for heaven’s sake, don’t slurp!”

  “Why am I learning how to eat soup if we’re only going to be serving hors d’ouevers?”

  Aunt Vivian sighed exasperatedly. “I’m not instilling etiquette and manners for only Friday night. You should use them for the rest of the summer and in the future.”

  Sitting back in the chair, I shot her my signature wise-ass smirk. “You expect me to finish eating Big Mama’s prize winning Chili by tipping the bowl? Colt and Remy would laugh me out of the house.”

  Aunt Viv tried not to lose her cool. “Perhaps some of your refinement might rub off on them?”

  “Or maybe they can do Etiquette 101 with you someday?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen,” I grumbled.

  On Thursday afternoon, the day before the party, I had been hiding out in the sunroom practicing Tai Chi when my presence was suddenly requested in the ballroom. Now that I’d graduated from table manners, it was time for me to ‘perfect the art of dance’. I was on my way to the dreaded lesson when the front door rang. I knew Alice was upstairs cleaning, so I yelled, “I’ll get it.”

  I threw open the door. Jackson Marshall grinned at me. “Oh hi,” I said.

  “Trying to take Alice’s job?” he asked.

  I laughed. “No, I was just on my way to the ballroom for dance lessons.” I pulled the door open wider. “Won’t you come in?”

  After he stepped inside the foyer, Jackson peered up the staircase. “I’m supposed to pick up Bryn. Is she not here?”

  Uh-oh. How was I going to explain to him that his asshat of a girlfriend was nowhere on the premises? Stalling, I asked, “Are you sure you were supposed to pick her up here?”

  His expression darkened. “She’s not here, is she?”

  I shook my head. “She’s at her dad’s…I think.”

  Jackson jammed his hand in his pocket and snatched out his cellphone. Just before he started jabbing at numbers, his face lightened. “Oh, she just sent me a text. She’s running late and will be here in an hour.”

  When he furiously started texting her back, I wanted to smack him for being such a doormat. Aunt Vivian’s shrill voice made me jump. I whirled around to see her head sticking out of the ballroom doorway. “Julianne, it is poor form to be tardy.”

  “Tell that to Bryn,” I muttered. When Jackson jerked his head up in surprise, I flushed and turned away. Jeez, what was it about him that turned me into a blushing fool?

  Aunt Vivian stepped out into the hallway. “Oh, hello, Jackson. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “Hello Miss Vivian. You don’t mind me hanging around until Bryn gets here, do you?”

  Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, she smiled, and said, “No, as long as you don’t mind doing me a little favor.”

  There was that charming grin again. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. You see, I need to teach Jules the waltz for Friday night. And Andrew was going to help me, but bless his heart, he has absolutely no rhythm.” She paused and cocked her head. “At least not on the dance floor anyway.”

  I pinched my eyes shut in horror. She had actually made an Andrew sex reference…and in front of Jackson! Mortifying. I didn’t want to even peek at him to see what his expression looked like.

  “Anyway, I was wondering if you would help me out by being Jules’s dance partner.”

  At this suggestion, I frantically sought Aunt Viv’s eyes to try to get her to reconsider. When she winked and then turned away from me, I said, “Um, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea imposing on Jackson like this. I’m sure he has better things to do while he waits. Not to mention, I’m basically unteachable when it comes to dancing.”

  Aunt Vivian swept a hand to her hip. “I vaguely remember you took ballet for at least ten years.”

  “Yeah, and I sucked at it,” I countered.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “Hey, I really don’t mind helping out.” When my gaze met his, he said, “I totally feel your pain. Bryn gives me shit all the time about being the worst dancer in the history of Savannah.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave a sheepish grin. “Of course, she might as well be on Dancing with the Stars or something with all her dance training.”

  “See, Jackson is fine with helping, so shall we proceed?” Aunt Vivian asked, ushering us into the ballroom.

  “I seriously appreciate this.” I whispered to Jackson, “I mean, I feel like I owe you dinner or something for having to do this.”

  He laughed. “It’s really no biggie.”

  Aunt Vivian held out a pair of strappy heels that we’d bought the other day. “Why do I have to wear those?”

  “One, you need to break them in. Two, they’ll help with your dancing posture, and finally, you don’t want to try these steps without practicing in heels.”

  “Fabulous,” I grumbled, sliding off my boots and slipping into the heels. I teetered over to Jackson, trying not to pitch forward on my face.

  Once we were ready to go, Aunt Vivian’
s expression became gravely serious. “Proper dancing is not that sweaty dry humping that you young people do today. It involves artfulness and grace.”

  “Please tell me you just didn’t say the words ‘dry humping’?” I moaned while Jackson snickered across from me.

  Aunt Vivian waved her hand dismissively. “Being able to properly waltz is imperative for every finely bred young lady.” Before I could protest that I wasn’t a “finely bred young lady”, she pointed her finger at me and said, “You will be one, at least for tomorrow night!”

  She turned on one of those Bose sound systems, and strains of classical music floated back to Jackson and me. “Okay, you begin by facing each other. Julianne, you will put your right hand on top of your partner’s.” Aunt Viv took my hand and put it over Jackson’s. “As for your other arm, you will place it on the shoulder if he’s of average height, but if you’ve snagged a tall drink of water like Jackson,” she paused and winked, “then you’ll put it on his upper arm.”

  “Fine,” I muttered, silently pleading for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

  “Then your partner will bring his hand to your waist.” She nodded and Jackson’s hand slid around my waist. It was both terrifying and electrifying.

  “On the first count, you will step back on your right foot while Jackson will step forward on his left. Then you will bring your left foot back. Finally slide your left foot to meet your right.”

  “Sure,” I replied, although I was anything but sure. Okay, maybe I was absolutely sure that being this close to Jackson was seriously flipping me out.

  Aunt Vivian restarted the music. Jackson went forward with his left foot, and I went forward with my right. “Oomph!” he cried, as my pointy heel speared his foot.

  “Oh, jeez, I’m so, so sorry!”

  He shook his head. “No problem. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

  “Let’s try again, shall we?” Aunt Vivian asked.