The Wedding Gift. Sandra Steffen
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“Which is he?” Amanda asked, scooting her chair closer.
“Maybe both,” Ruby said. “He accused Madeline of trespassing and practically threw her off some property earlier.”
Ruby, Amanda and Sissy were brimming with curiosity.
“He looks tall,” Amanda said. “If you don’t go talk to him, Ruby here will.”
“Would you stop with the height references already?” Ruby sputtered.
Madeline laughed out loud, and it surprised her. She wanted to grasp these young women’s hands and thank them for failing to soften their voices around her. They didn’t handle her with kid gloves. Of course, they didn’t know her history. That anonymity felt breathtakingly liberating. “Would you excuse me?” she asked, surging to her feet.
She’d changed into boots with heels, snug jeans and a black knit shirt. Several people watched her as she made her way to the bar, but she kept her gaze trained on the man watching in the mirror.
“What are you doing here?” she asked after she’d taken the stool next to Riley.
“I thought it was obvious. I bought you a drink.”
Oddly, that gruff tone was as refreshing as Ruby’s, Amanda’s and Sissy’s curiosity had been. Eyeing the drop of condensation trailing down her bottle, she said, “I don’t drink.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
In the mirror she saw Todd slip his arm around Amanda’s shoulder. It was such a pure and simple gesture of intimacy it sent an ache to her chest. “I just lost a game of eight ball and it wasn’t pretty.”
“Losing never is.”
Riley was a study in contrasts. He was a risk-taker who didn’t like to lose, a wealthy business owner who worked alongside his crew. Practically every guy in the bar had at least a few days’ whisker stubble on his face. Riley was clean shaven. His shirt had a designer logo; the beer bottle held loosely in his right hand didn’t.
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” she said.
“You even sound like my mother. I hope she paid you in advance.”
Riley seemed accustomed to interference from his mother. It might have annoyed him, but Madeline got the distinct impression it didn’t intimidate him. “I told you,” she said. “She didn’t pay me anything. Are you this distrusting of everyone in the medical field?”
She noticed an easing in his expression and a warming in his eyes, and it occurred to her that he was enjoying himself. Some men puffed up their chests or swaggered in order to be noticed. Riley’s self-confidence was more subtle.
Someone jostled her from behind and a loud whooping sounded from the group at the pool table. Three middle-aged men yelled at the ref on a television mounted on the wall, drinks were plunked down, a blender started. Sitting in this bar in this town of strangers, her elbows on the marred countertop, the heel of one boot hooked over the rung of her stool, she felt a weight lifting.
“I met a friend of yours today,” she said. “Kipp Dawson could use some training in social graces.”
“I’ll let you tell him.”
She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he threatened me.”
“Kipp threatens everyone.”
She found herself staring at Riley’s mouth. It was broad, the lower lip just full enough to entice a second look. “He told me he has your back.”
“What else did he say?” he asked.
“I won’t repeat it verbatim, but he was very poetic.”
He leaned closer, as if to tell her a secret. “The only time Kipp waxes poetic is when he’s referring to sex.”
Was he flirting with her? Her heart fluttered wildly at the thought. “Just so there’s no confusion,” she said, her beer a few inches from her mouth. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Madeline?”
They were nearly shoulder to shoulder now, their bottles raised, gazes locked. “Yes?”
“I didn’t ask you to.” He took his time taking a long drink, set his beer back on the bar, then added, “But I was thinking about it.”
Her beer remained suspended in midair. Her mind remained blank. With two fingers placed gently beneath her chin, Riley closed her mouth for her.
“Once more,” she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest, her gaze still on his.
“Pardon me?”
“That’s my answer.”
“What was the question?” he asked.
“How many more times will my mouth go slack today?”
He didn’t quite smile, but she thought he wanted to. Feeling a curious swooping pull in the pit of her stomach, she raised her beer to her lips and drank it down.
Chapter Three
Are you okay over there?” Riley asked as he backed out of a parking spot behind Sully’s.
Huddled low in his passenger seat, Madeline forced her eyes open and tried to focus on the lighted dials on the dash. “It must have been that last margarita.”
“More like the last three margaritas,” he said. “You and your friends were the life of the party. The bartender said their karaoke machine hasn’t seen that much action all year.”
She held a hand to her forehead, remembering. Madeline had jumped in to harmonize as Ruby sang the greatest Pat Benatar song of all time, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot.”
And somebody had, a shot of tequila for each of them, that is. Things were a little blurry after that. She couldn’t quite recall how she came to be missing one earring. Was she wearing Riley’s jacket? Where was hers?
Moaning softly, she said, “This is why I don’t drink.”
“I saw how you don’t drink.”
She considered telling him a gentleman wouldn’t have mentioned that, but then he probably would have said a gentleman hadn’t, and she just wasn’t up to that kind of banter. When his tires splashed through a pothole, she placed a hand over her poor stomach.
“Hold on,” he said. “These streets are coming apart. I can turn the radio on if you think it’ll help, but if I go any slower, we’ll be moving backward through time, and I doubt you want to relive the past ten minutes.”
“What I want is someone to start an IV to put me in a medically induced coma.”
“So it’s true.”
“What’s true?” she asked miserably. “Doctors and nurses make terrible patients.” “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been a patient.”
She paused a moment before broaching a very delicate subject. “What kind of patient were you?”
“The impatient kind, to hear my brothers tell it.”
She liked the mellow tone of his voice and the way he didn’t take himself too seriously. She wished he would keep talking. “Kipp said you have two brothers.”
“Kyle and Braden. Between us we had one father and three mothers, all of whom have a wide array of yappy little dogs that are obnoxiously high-strung, and too many grandmothers and aunts to officially count, most of whom are also obnoxiously high-strung. Kyle calls the women in the family The Sources because they leak information when it suits their hidden agendas. I don’t know how much my mother told you about me.”
Obviously he hadn’t called his mother. If he had, he would