not gawking over a movie star, for heaven’s sake.”
He should talk. Former brother-in-law or not, Zane Williams was a country superstar hunk. Dark-haired, six foot two, a chiseled-jawed Grammy winner, Zane wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. The tabloids painted him as an eligible widower who needed love in his life. So far, they’d been kind to him, a rare thing for a superstar.
He picked up his crutches and lifted one to gesture to a table. “This okay with you?”
Two adjacent places were set along a rectangular glass table large enough for ten. Votive candles and a spray of flowers accented the place settings facing the sunset. “It’s nice, Zane. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. I don’t expect you to entertain me.”
“Not going to any trouble, Jess. Fact is, I eat out here most days. I hate being cooped up inside the house. Just another week and I’ll be out of these dang confinements.” He raised his wrapped wrist.
“That’s good news. Then what will you do?”
Inclining his head, he considered her question. “Some rehab, I’m told. And continue working out details on the restaurant.” He frowned, and the light dimmed in his eyes. “My tour’s not due to pick up until September sometime. Maybe.”
She wouldn’t pry about the maybe. He hobbled to the table. Leaning a crutch against the table’s edge, he managed to pull out her chair—such chivalry—and she took her seat. Then he scooted his butt into his own chair. Plop. Poor Zane. His injuries put him completely out of his element.
Mrs. Lopez appeared with platters of food. She set them on the table with efficient haste and nodded to him. “I made a pitcher of margaritas to go with the enchiladas and rice. Or maybe some iced tea or soda?”
“Jessica?” he asked.
“A margarita sounds like heaven.”
He glanced at the housekeeper. “Bring the pitcher, please.”
She nodded. Within a minute, a pitcher appeared along with two bottle-green wide-rimmed margarita glasses. “Thanks,” he said. Zane leaned forward and gripped the pitcher with his wrapped hand. His face pinched tight as he struggled to upend the weighty pitcher. He sighed, and she sensed his frustration over not being able to perform the simple task of pouring a drink with his right hand.
“Let me help,” she said softly.
She slipped her hand under the pitcher and helped guide the slushy concoction into the glasses. She gave him credit for clamping his mouth shut and not complaining about his limitations.
“Thanks,” he said. He reached out, and the slide of his rough fingers over hers sent warm tingles to her heart. They were still connected through Janie, and she valued his friendship now. She’d made the right decision in coming here.
The food was delicious. She inhaled the meal, emptying her plate within minutes. “I guess I didn’t know how hungry I was. Or thirsty.”
She reached for her second margarita and took a long sip. Tart icy goodness slid down her throat. “Mmm.”
The sun had set with a parfait of swirling color, and now half the moon lit the night. The beach was quiet and calm. The roar of the waves had given way to an occasional lulling swish.
Zane sipped his third margarita. She remembered that about him. He could hold his liquor.
“So what are your plans now, Jess?” he asked.
“Hit the beach, work on my tan and stay out of your way. Shouldn’t be too hard. The place is huge.”
Tiny lines crinkled around his eyes, and he chuckled. “You don’t need to stay out of my way. But feel free to do whatever you want. There are two cars parked in the garage, fueled and ready to go. I can’t drive them.”
“So how do you get around?”
“Mariah, usually. When I’m needed at the restaurant site or somewhere, she’s drives me or I hire a car. She’s been a trouper, going above and beyond since my accident.”
Mrs. Lopez picked up the empty dishes, leaving the margarita pitcher. A smart woman.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lopez. Have a good night,” Zane said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” she said to both of them.
“Thanks for the delicious enchiladas.”
On a humble nod and smile, she exited the patio.
Zane pointed to her half-empty glass. “How many of those can you handle, darlin’?”
“Oh, uh...I don’t know. Why?”
“’Cause if you fall flat on your face, I won’t be able to pick you up and carry you to your room.”
He winked, and a sudden vision of Zane carrying her to the bedroom burst into her mind. It wasn’t as weird a notion as she might’ve thought. She felt safe with Zane. She truly liked him and didn’t buy into his guilt over Janie’s death. He wasn’t to blame. He couldn’t have known about faulty wiring in the house or the fire that would claim her life. Janie had loved Zane for the man that he was, had always been. She wouldn’t want Zane’s guilt to follow him into old age.
“Well, then, we’re even. If you got pie-eyed, I wouldn’t be able to pick you up, either.” She took another long sip of her drink. Darn, but it tasted good. Her spirits lifted. Let the healing begin.
Zane cocked a crooked smile. “I like your style, Miss Holcomb.”
“Ugh. To think I would’ve been Mrs. Monahan by now. Thank God I’m not.”
“The guy’s an ass.”
“Thanks for saying that. He sure had me fooled. Up until the minute I was having my bridal veil pinned in my hair, I thought I knew what the future had in store for me. I saw myself married to a man I had a common bond with. He was a high school principal. I was a grade-school teacher. We both loved education. But I was too blind to see that Steven had commitment phobia. He’d had one broken relationship after another before we started dating. I invested three years of my life in the guy, and I thought surely he’d gotten over it. I thought I was the one. But he was fooling himself as well as me.” A pent-up breath whooshed out of her. A little bit of tequila loosened her tongue, and out poured her heart. The unburdening was liberating. “My friend Sally said Steven looked up his old girlfriend seeking sympathy after the wedding that never happened. Can you imagine?”
Zane stared at her. “No. He should be on his knees begging you for forgiveness. He did one thing right. He didn’t marry you and make your life miserable. I hate to say it, darlin’, but you’re better off without him. The man doesn’t deserve you. But you’re hurt right now, and I get that. You probably still love him.”
“I don’t,” she said, hoisting her glass and swallowing a big gulp. “I pretty much hate him.”
Zane leaned back in his seat, his gaze soft on her. “Okay. You hate him. He’s out of your life.”
She braced folded elbows on the table and rested
