hate to admit it,” Rhonda confessed, “but it was a good thing you didn’t listen to me.”
“I listened,” Leah protested innocently. “I just didn’t pay attention.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes and shook her head despairingly, but in the next moment all teasing was gone.
“You are going to take the Mackey wedding, though, aren’t you? I mean, you’ve worked with Myra Jo before, so you know she’ll be fun. And you have to admit, being around her sexy, single daddy would have some...interesting... advantages.”
Leah grimaced. “I don’t have to admit any such thing, and Wade Mackey’s sexiness is irrelevant. I have to weigh whether this wedding is going to repair my reputation or damage it further.”
“Oh, come on! You’ve only lost three weddings since the Robertson fiasco. And, I might add, you didn’t make Penelope Robertson walk out of her own wedding.”
“No, but her mama sure let everyone think I’d upset Penelope-poo so much she had to leave the church.”
“So she made you a scapegoat. The weddings that went south were worth losing, if the people believed those stupid rumors. Besides, you haven’t exactly had to declare bankruptcy. ‘Babies’ is doing a great turn this quarter, so quit worrying.”
“I can’t be as casual about this as you are, Rhonda. This business is my life, and I take those lost contracts personally. The money isn’t the issue. My reputation is.”
Rhonda put a perfectly manicured hand on Leah’s shoulder. “Forgive me for being flippant. No one knows more than I do how hard you work. I guess that’s why I don’t understand your reluctance about the Mackey wedding.”
Leah gave her friend an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right? The bride’s daddy is a well-known rancher who hates politicians, and the groom’s daddy is the most well-known senator in Texas. If those two men go after each other, it’ll make the Robertson affair look like a cakewalk.”
Rhonda tried to be positive. “Surely they wouldn’t do anything foolish at a big wedding.”
Leah shook her head. “Experience has taught me that the bigger the opportunity for disaster, the greater the chance for abominable behavior.”
Leah took another sip of cola and listened as the vendors around them dismantled their stalls. The noise distracted her, making her think about the job ahead of her. She’d hired a textiles major from the university to arrange her booth, but she’d decided to save money by taking the stall down herself. Even with Rhonda’s help, she wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours.
Voices from beyond the curtain caught her attention. Leah felt sure the deep one belonged to Wade Mackey, and was irritated by her pulse’s response.
She never allowed anyone to interfere with her business, and she was frustrated by Wade Mackey’s failure to follow the rules. She’d only met the man once, but she’d had to remind herself constantly since the Griffen wedding that she was not interested in lean, dark cowboys with disconcerting gray eyes. The lean and dark were fine, even the gray eyes were fine, but she had no interest in a swaggering, overbearing cattle baron.
Her conscience scolded her. Nothing about Wade Mackey supported her choice of adjectives. Confident, maybe, but hardly swaggering. Assertive, maybe, but hardly overbearing. He was the kind of man a woman could depend on, snuggle close to and feel, just for a moment, as if she wasn’t alone.
Quieting her conscience, she checked to be sure no hair had escaped her sleek chignon. She most assuredly didn’t need a man’s protection. She’d been dating Brandt off and on for almost three years now, hadn’t she? And she certainly didn’t feel protected when she was with him. She’d made it to the advanced age of thirty-five on her own, thank you very much, and if she needed security, she’d buy a guard dog.
Straightening her suit—her favorite as it did wonders to hide her hips—Leah stepped into the display area.
And nearly stumbled. Even though she’d been expecting him, she must have forgotten just how right Rhonda could be at times. Handsome was an understatement.
He was tall, Texan tall, at least six-two or -three. His shoulders looked broad enough to battle a reluctant calf, or maybe a dragon, or to support a woman’s tired head. His arms were hidden beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, but she remembered the steely strength in his fingers, even though his grasp had been gentle. She didn’t dare glance down at the hips she knew were narrow or the thighs hidden beneath the denim of his jeans. Just the memory of him in slacks and a sports jacket was enough to make her lightheaded.
The beautiful girl at his side was his daughter, Myra Jo. The gossips had been tripping over their figurative tongues to give the juicy details of her courtship with Pennington Bradford, son of the wealthy and powerful Senator Johnson Bradford.
“Mr. Mackey, Myra Jo! How nice to see you again. Welcome to Brides and Babies,” she said to announce herself.
“Ma’am,” he said, nodding as he switched the straw cowboy hat from his right hand to his left so he could accept her handshake. “And please, it’s just Wade, remember?”
How could she forget? The memory of Tammy Griffen’s wedding, and of his fingers against hers, came back in a powerful rush. She remembered how she would turn at the oddest times and find Wade’s eyes on her. She had hated knowing his penetrating gray gaze had pierced the shield of her professionalism. He had flustered her the entire evening.
Pulling her attention away, she clasped Myra Jo’s fingers warmly. “Best wishes on your engagement. I hope you and Mr. Bradford will be very happy.”
Myra Jo tossed her a cheeky grin. “Mr. Bradford’s already happily married, but Pennington and I plan on proving all the doomsayers wrong.”
She cast a quick glance at her father before returning innocent eyes to Leah.
Leah chuckled, remembering Myra Jo’s quirky sense of humor from the usual prewedding ruckus in the bride’s lounge. She had kept Tammy Griffen laughing so hard she hadn’t had time to be nervous.
“You were a good friend to Tammy. She made it all the way up the aisle without tripping. That girl was—”
“A hoot?” Myra Jo interjected.
Leah’s answering smile widened, despite her best effort. “A good choice of words, I think.”
Myra Jo tucked her palm in the curve of her father’s arm. “I think Tammy picked those awful bridesmaid dresses just to make us look goofy.”
Leah was grateful Tammy had not chosen her attendants’ gowns at Brides and Babies—not that her shop would have ever carried such monstrosities—because Myra Jo was right. The hideous burnt orange satin had made the girls look like something out of a Halloween nightmare next to their black-clad escorts.
“You were awfully good-natured about it,” Leah said, trying to be diplomatic.
“What could we do? It was her wedding. If she wanted seven pumpkins walking down the aisle, who were we to argue?”
A full-throated laugh burst from Leah. Again, Myra Jo was correct. The little hats Tammy had chosen, with a net veil and
