Joe was third in the queue for the camera. Ahead of him, a busty woman in a thong bikini and two triangles of cloth that barely covered her nipples leaned up against a tall, lanky young man with short curly hair. They posed their way through a series of shots.
I held my breath, wondering if the bikini top was going to stay affixed to its target areas, but she must have used a little double-stick tape, a trick I knew about thanks to Harlow, because the cloth didn’t budge an inch. The man posed awkwardly and, even from where we were sitting, I could hear the cameraman swear something about “amateurs,” but finally he finished and waved the pair off.
Joe’s turn was next. As he stepped up to a tree and leaned against it, I gasped. His shirt had disappeared, and his jeans looked a tad bit lower than usual, framing his waist and hips in a delightful way. The bruise on his shoulder looked a bit darker, as if they’d added makeup to make it more symmetrical. As he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, the cameraman stopped and whispered to the EO, who nodded, a smile spreading across her face.
“Dylan, Dylan, come here!” One of the blond vixens in a bikini wandered over. I immediately felt my hackles go up.
“Who’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
Melissa rolled her eyes. “They brought in a couple models to work with the guys. They must think Joe’s got it going on if they want to pair him with her.” She fought back a smile—I could see it creeping around the edges of her lips—and took a quick swig from her Pepsi.
I swung back around to the photo shoot, a knot forming in my stomach. I didn’t mind Joe participating for charity. I’d reconciled myself to the fact that thousands of women might be looking at him, fantasizing. But having him pose with some beach-blanket bimbo wasn’t part of the deal! If I said anything, though, I’d sound like a jealous harpy, which wasn’t far from the truth. I just didn’t want anybody else to know how I felt but me.
“Put your arm around Dylan and let her drape herself over you. It’ll be a good shot and we can tell people she helps out in your station house. Or, if it doesn’t hurt your shoulder too much, pick her up like you’re carrying her to safety.” The cameraman motioned for Dylan to move in on Joe. She sauntered over to him, gave him a thorough up-and-down once-over, and then languidly draped her arm around his shoulder, pushing her boobs against his chest.
Right then, Joe glanced in my direction. I wasn’t expecting him to look at me and had been focused on the eye-candy now oozing into his arms. Positive my jealousy showed like Big Bird at a black-tie formal, I blushed, tears welling up in my eyes. I fought them back. I didn’t like myself this way, I didn’t want to feel threatened.
Immediately, he stepped aside, almost throwing the girl off balance. “I’m sorry, I pose alone,” he said.
The photographer swore. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m doing this for charity, but no way am I posing with a half-naked woman splayed out in my arms. At least, not unless that woman’s my fiancée. You let her pose with me, and we’ll do it up hot for you. Otherwise—no go.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” the EO said. “This is just a photo shoot—”
“That everybody, including my soon-to-be wife and my dear old aunt, are going to see. Make up your mind. There are a dozen different places I’d rather be right now.” He crossed his arms, stiffening. No longer exuding sex appeal, Joe looked downright intimidating.
The EO sputtered but, after a moment, she shrugged. “Whatever. Just shoot him alone. Dylan, we’ll use you with the cop over there. Go see if he has any objections.”
As the model headed toward Sandy, I heard a muffled noise and turned around to see Corrie, blushing brilliant crimson, glaring in their direction. Sandy, however, welcomed Dylan in, drawing her next to him, oblivious to Corrie’s distress. Corrie jumped up and stomped off.
I glanced at Melissa. “Somehow, this is turning out to be a little more complicated than they probably thought it would be.”
She nodded. “Nasty business. Roger knows better than to ever try to get away with anything like that. Actually, Roger’s a lot like Joe. He’d say no even if I wasn’t here. Some men have that internal sense of commitment, some men don’t. Sandy’s one of the latter.”
As if to prove her point, Sandy leaned down and whispered something in Dylan’s ear. She giggled. I could see Corrie, her shoulders slumped, head down, as she trudged out of the park.
“She’ll never make it in a relationship unless she learns how to stand her ground,” I said, wondering if I’d been that passive when I’d been with Roy. Hard to tell, there were times when I looked back and it all seemed a blur.
Just then, they finished shooting Joe’s pics. He grabbed his shirt and came loping over to me, wincing a little as he slid his arms into the sleeves. “I’m done. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said. “And if I ever—ever—get the hare-brained idea to do this again, you are welcome to knock some sense into my head.”
“Are you sure? It’s for charity.”
He ducked his head, laughing. “I’ll make a donation instead. I’m not a model. I’d rather be working, or at home with you. Speaking of home, what are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”
“I’d better go shopping. I need to find another wedding dress. And I’ve got to call Rose soon to find out how Grandma M. is.”
He pulled me to his side, nuzzling the top of my head. “Whatever you buy, you’ll be beautiful in it. You’re so gorgeous.”
I started to say something about Dylan, but then stopped. There was no need. Joe had shown me just what kind of man he was, as if I didn’t already know. I said a quick good-bye to Melissa, and we headed toward the car.
Ten
AS I WALKED through the doors of Joanne’s Bridal Boutique, I felt like I’d been swallowed up by the pages of Modern Bride magazine. Hundreds of yards of satin and tulle billowed around me, along with brilliant creations in brocade, chiffon, and organza. Mannequins throughout the store dripped with lace—Alençon, Chantilly, Belgian, every pattern I could dream of, all worked into veils, handkerchiefs, and trains.
I faced the racks brimming with dresses, wishing desperately that I’d been able to convince Harlow to come with me. She’d take me in hand, steer me clear of the tacky and ill-fitting, and make sure that I bought a dream dress instead of a nightmare. But she’d had a meeting to attend for the Chiqetaw Arts & Crafts Museum, so we’d agreed to meet for late-afternoon tea at my shop to look over what I’d found. I took a deep breath and forced myself toward the counter.
The clerk glanced at me, smiling. “May I help you?”
Feeling slightly green around the edges, I leaned across the counter and introduced myself. “I took my grandmother’s wedding dress in to be altered and just found out that the seamstress skipped town, leaving the dress in tatters. It’s far too late to have it repaired for my wedding and I guess . . .” Never let them know you’re desperate; you’ll end up paying through the nose. I could hear Harl’s voice echoing in my head. My mouth, however, had a mind of its own. “I need help! I’m getting married on the solstice and that’s only a few days away!”
The clerk dropped the pamphlet she was holding—some sort of sales circular—and hurried around the counter. “Oh my dear, you must be just frantic. And so disappointed! We’ll find you something that you’ll be happy with. I guarantee it.” She gathered me up and propelled me toward a the back of the store. “What size are you? Here, let’s get you measured.”
Before I could say another word, I’d been swept into a large fitting room—far more spacious than any I’d ever before seen—where she hustled me out of my skirt and top and fluttered a tape measure around me.
She clucked as she saw my bra. “You’re not wearing the right foundation garments, my dear. You need a bigger cup and a smaller band.”
“Oh hell, I forgot my corset. I have a beautiful ivory corset at home. It’s been fitted.”
“We’ll find something to make do,” she said and flew out
of the room.
I leaned against the wall, wondering what the hell I was doing here. I wanted Nanna’s dress, but I couldn’t have it. So, why not buy a beautiful dress that wasn’t some cookie-cutter gown? Something I loved, that I could wear several times over? All of a sudden I had a glimpse of myself wandering the garden in a white dress, and it all felt so fake. I’d had a formal wedding before and look what had happened. As the clerk buzzed back through the door, her arms full of corsets, I started to protest but then stopped. I was already here and undressed. I might as well have a look at what they had before I left.
She shushed me into sucking in my stomach as she laced the corset in back, tying it with a firm bow. I had to admit, it was almost a perfect fit. Almost too tight, but I could handle it.
“There, that will work.” She stood back, assessing me. “Bend over and shimmy your breasts into position.”
I did the shimmy—every woman with boobs over a B cup knows about the maneuver that positions the girls properly in the cups. After I stood up, red-faced, she nodded approvingly.
“Now tell me, what style of wedding dress were you going to wear?”
I held out the preliminary sketches I’d kept from my first meeting with Janette. “Here, this is what the dress originally looked like, and this is what we were turning it into.”
“Ah . . . very nice. I think we can find something that will be quite suitable for you. I know it won’t take the place of a family gown, but we can make you happy. Do you prefer ivory or white? We also have this style in red, and I believe one in a brilliant green. Of course, your dress color will depend on the overall color scheme for your wedding. And you’ll probably have to change your veil. Oh, and what are your bridesmaids wearing?”
Feeling awash in a sea of choices I really didn’t want to make a second time, I held up my hand. “Nanna’s dress was ivory. I have the veil that matches it at home, so there’s no need for a new one. My bridesmaids and maid of honor have their dresses already, in a lovely pale violet.”
She blinked. “No veil? But you can’t get married without a veil—”
“I said, I have one at home.” Just then my cell phone rang. “Excuse me. Perhaps you could bring in a couple of dresses for me to try on while I answer this?” I grabbed my cell phone out of my purse as she withdrew from the room. “Hello, and thank you, whoever you are.”
Joe’s voice burst into my ear. “Em, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’ve got to get over to the hospital right away.”
“My God, again? What happened? Is something wrong with one of the kids?” Frantic, I struggled to reach the ties on the corset while juggling the phone. Please, oh please, don’t let it be Kip or Randa. Anything but that.
“The kids are fine. Jimbo’s headed in on a stretcher. I’ll meet you there.”
I could tell he was scurrying around, probably grabbing stuff to head over to the ER. “What the hell happened? Is he okay?”
“He was out at his place, napping. Woke up to find the place engulfed in flames. He managed to call 911, but that’s all I know. Roger just called me; he’s on the way to the hospital with Jimbo in the back. I’m picking up Murray. She’ll be in no condition to drive. See you there.” Abruptly, the line went dead.
Hell and high water. I tossed the phone in my purse and again, struggled with the corset ribbons, but couldn’t get a good grip on them. Forget it. I yanked on my skirt and top as the salesclerk bustled in, her arms draped with chiffon and organza.
“What—”
“Emergency,” I said, tossing her my business card. “Call my shop and Cinnamon will give you my credit card number for the corset. I don’t have time to change.” I grabbed my purse and stuffed my own bra into it, slipped into my sandals, and raced for the door, leaving one rather astonished and perplexed clerk in my wake.
I skidded to a halt in front of the car. Unlocking the door, I leaped in, flipped open my cell phone, and punched number two on speed dial. When Cinnamon came on, I quickly gave her permission to charge the corset over the phone and hung up. Making sure traffic was with me, I pulled out of the parking space.
All the way to the hospital, I had to force myself to keep my mind on the road. I wanted to pull over, to take a peek to find out whether Jimbo was okay, but didn’t dare divert my focus from driving. I made a tight left onto Seventh Avenue, into the hospital’s parking lot. Thanks be to the parking goddess, there were a few spots open next to the emergency room entrance. I hoisted my purse over my shoulder and ran for the building.
As I swung through the door, my pulse raced faster than a hummingbird on speed. Damn it, the last thing Murray needed was to lose the love of her life. Coming to a halt in front of the admissions counter, I forced myself to slow down. Wilma Velcox glanced up at me and smiled.
“Ms. O’Brien—who are we seeing today—” Wilma started, but I cut her off.
“Not me or my family. A friend is coming in—Jimbo Warren, James Warren. He’s been in a fire. Is he here yet?” I leaned on the counter, trying to catch my breath. She took pity on me and reached into one of the drawers, bringing out an unopened bottle of cold water.
“Drink this, honey. Your face is too red. Your friend hasn’t arrived yet, but we’ve talked to the EMTs and he’s on his way. Captain Files isn’t out there, is he? With that shoulder wound, he should be resting—”
“No, he’s on his way with Jimbo’s girlfriend. They’ll be here in a few minutes. He called me and told me that Roger’s on the case.” Abruptly, my adrenaline rush decided to exit, stage left, and I slumped, suddenly exhausted. The corset was laced too damned tight and I was having trouble catching my breath.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wilma asked, peering intently at me.
Grimacing, I shook my head. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it, honey?” She looked ready to call for the doctor.
Blushing, I said, “Can you unlace this damned corset I’m done up in? I can’t get it untied.”
Bless her heart, Wilma never said a single word. She just nodded me into a nearby room and loosened my laces. As I slipped into my bra, she held up the corset, looked at me again, then smiled gently. “Honey, you might want to save this for winter, when it’s cooler. And you might want to take the price tag off.”
I silently folded the corset and slipped it into a little bag she gave me. Might as well treat it gently. After all, I was paying . . . what was I paying? I glanced at the price tag and almost fainted. Five hundred dollars! Holy hell, that cost more than a month’s car payment. I’d have to lose another inch or two, because I sure wasn’t going to just tuck it away in my lingerie drawer. For that kind of money, I wanted some use out of the thing. Slipping back into my top, I followed Wilma out to the waiting room.
Joe and Murray arrived ten minutes later. Murray was crying and Joe was trying to calm her down. White Deer was on their heels. She hurried over to me. “Anna’s having a rough time. Is there anything you can do? I don’t want her to pass out before Jimmy gets here.”
Nodding, I slipped off my shoes, crossed my legs on the sofa. I didn’t need to be psychic to see that Murray was radiating panic. I sucked in a deep breath, summoning a wave of soothing energy to flow around her, smoothing over the rough edges of fear. Within a few minutes, she was noticeably calmer. Joe led her over to sit between White Deer and me.
The ER doors burst open, then, and Roger rushed in, adjusting an IV drip attached to the stretcher. Two attendants navigated Jimbo down the corridor, past admissions as Wilma yelled out, “Room three.”
Murray tried to jump up, but I held her wrist as Joe followed Roger down the hall. If Jimbo was badly hurt, there was no sense in her seeing him before the doctors got started with their treatment. I’d seen burn victims before. The wounds weren’t pretty.
Within moments he was back, motioning for Murray to join him. I let go as she sprang to her feet and hit the floor running. White Deer and I caught up just in time to hear Joe
telling Murray, “Smoke inhalation. A few burns but he should be okay. Nothing that can’t be repaired. He’s lucky he’s got Roo. That dog saved his life.”
Roger strode down the corridor, covered with soot and smelling of smoke. Murray jerked around, wide-eyed. Before she could ask, he said, “The doc is with him. He’ll be all right, Detective Murray. Don’t panic. He’s in good hands. That three-legged dog of his is a wonder, I’ll tell you that.”
Once again, Roo had come to the rescue of her loving master. I tapped Roger on the arm. “What about Roo? And the other animals? Are they okay?”
“The house was still burning when we left, but it hadn’t spread to the outbuildings and I think the boys will be able to confine it. So, the livestock should be okay. The dog got out. A neighbor who came over to see what all the excitement was about said he’d take care of her for now. I’d better get back to the station.” He grabbed Joe’s hand. “Miss you, man. See you at the wedding! And Emerald”—he turned to me—“Melissa wants to get together soon.”
As he exited the building, I led Murray back to the waiting room. Knowing that Jimbo wasn’t in life-threatening danger seemed to drain her of momentum and she complied without protest.
Joe had followed Roger out of the building; he could dig up information we might not be privy to. I motioned to White Deer. “Maybe you could rustle up some coffee or tea? And Mur should probably eat something.” I handed her thirty dollars and she went in search of the cafeteria.
“Mur, he’s going to be okay,” I said, tapping her arm. Her face was wet, her expression stricken.
“What’s happening, Em? I don’t understand. It seems like the past week or two have been so full of troubles that I’m beginning to think there’s a curse on us. You sure that dragon is safe?”