A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Page 2

  Now what? “Look, I’m sorry.”

  She widened her eyes. “I’m sorry you’re an asshole. It doesn’t improve any part of this situation.” She shook her head and her fist. “Wow, I need a drink.”

  Jeff took a tentative step toward the tin tub. “Let me get you a beer.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “You’ve got nothing stronger than beer? Seriously Jeff, I really need tequila. At a minimum.”

  “I was saving it for later tonight.” Jeff sent a worried glance to Dylan. “Maybe now I’ll save it for another time.”

  The old guy winked. “Probably best you don’t add any fuel to the fire.” He extended his hand to Dylan. “J. D. Murphy.”

  “Dylan Wall.” Whoa, quite a grip. He extracted himself from the viselike grasp. “So, no relation to Clarissa.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “father” and insult the guy again.

  J. D.’s dimples deepened. “None whatsoever.”

  Point taken, though the intense delivery creeped him out. Dylan’s nervous laugh betrayed him. “Cool. Soooo.” Awkward. But not your place to judge. Though what she saw in a geezer with a handlebar mustache, he’d never guess. Clarissa had the grace of a dancer. And the body. Perfect skin. Perfect everything. Even with all those tattoos, crazy, spiked hair, and her killer right hook, she could have any guy at the snap of her fingers. Stupid of him to jump to the conclusion she was a stripper, but one look and his hormones had gone into overdrive. He’d have to find a way to make it up to her.

  “So,” J. D. repeated. “You and Jeff go back a long way?”

  “College. We had the best times.” Bet she’d be a real knockout if she grew out her hair. Even standing across the room, gesturing toward him in what must be a condemnation of his character, she was incredibly striking.

  J. D.’s baritone jarred him. “Nice you came all this way for the wedding.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” Weird, to see Jeff in this artsy-fartsy environment. Even weirder how comfortable he looked. Happy. “Have to give him a good send-off.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” J. D. deadpanned.

  Except to greet more couples entering the café, leaving Dylan to fend off the imitation Clint Eastwood. “In the figurative sense, I mean. To commemorate his single days.” At the vibration from his cell, Dylan drew it from his back pocket and checked the text. Mario checking in, nothing new at work except that Randy worried him. Kind of a loner, didn’t contribute much to brainstorming sessions. After a quick reply to let Mario know to keep an eye on the newbie, he replaced the phone in his pocket, and then braced as Clarissa strode toward them and handed J. D. a bottle.

  The cowboy smiled his thanks at her. “They’ve lived together almost seven years.”

  “Right, I know.” Seven? That long?

  “Seven years next month, Frat Boy.” Clarissa raised her chin and scowled down her nose at him. “You’re one of those guys who complain that marriage is like a death sentence, huh?”

  “Well.” He shrugged. Maybe. He couldn’t stand the thought of it. Linking himself to a woman forever? Please. Not yet, or in the foreseeable future. Unless he found someone beautiful and exciting, someone who knew how to hold his interest longer than a month or two. Laura Croft fit the bill.

  Of course, before that could happen he had to sort out his life. Sell the business? Start a new one? Or head in a new direction?

  “Pathetic.” A noise of disgust erupted from Clarissa before she tilted the bottle up for a long drink.

  The way her throat moved as she drank almost melted him. The beer slipped down his fingers, and he tightened his grip around the bottle’s neck.

  Jeff made his way back to them. “Everything okay here?”

  Clarissa smiled sweetly. “Oh yeah. Dylan’s making lots of new friends.” She linked her arm through J. D.’s. “Buy me another beer?”

  “Anytime, sweetheart.” J. D. touched two fingers to his brow in salute. “Adios.”

  Jeff pinned him with an accusing stare. “What the hell, man?”

  “Hey, I didn’t know. The way she sauntered in here….” Nothing like the way she moved now, all fluid grace and power, steaming into the kitchen. The old man sent him a threatening glare before following. Shouldn’t have been watching them. But he couldn’t help it. Aside from the May-December thing, or more like March-December, he was riveted by her.

  Jeff hunched nearer. “Tonight was supposed to be a low-key, quiet celebration with friends.”

  “When Amy left, I just—”

  “Assumed. Yeah.” Jeff’s blinks didn’t hide the glaze of disbelief in his eyes.

  What the hell did that mean? “Sorry.” Sorry he’d traveled all this way. To stay in a freaking yurt. After starting off the party on such a bad note, he couldn’t even bring up that subject.

  Jeff blew a long breath. “I have to go welcome more guests. Try not to get in any more trouble.”

  “I’ll, uh, mingle. Make some friends.” Yeah, right. He was off to a great start. He waved Jeff and his serious expression away, backed off until he hit the stools at the coffee bar, then plopped onto a seat at the far end. Away from the couples and groups who laughed and chattered and completely ignored his existence. On planet Marfa, Dylan was the alien while Clarissa, the punked-out Grace Kelly, was apparently queen. Can’t wait to see those wedding photos of the best man and maid of honor. They sure as hell wouldn’t sit on his desk. Yet the image of one, a close-up of he and Clarissa, all smiles and heads tilted toward one another, seared into his brain.

  Really weird. The atmosphere must be getting to him already. He heaved a long breath, then took another swig of beer. Two freaking weeks. He’d looked forward to the down time, a chance to mull over the latest bid to buy his business. He leaned toward yes, especially after an old client contacted him about a new gig to patch up their public image yet again. The firm’s reputation could seriously be jeopardized if he took the sleazy job, and it sickened him. Cha-ching and gone, no more spin jobs to cover up the poor choices of other CEOs.

  Whatever new perspective he’d hoped to gain during his time away, this wasn’t it. Maybe this would be the longest two weeks of his life.

  ***

  Clarissa Hartman stomped through the kitchen of the Blue Moon Café straight through the back door and outside. She kept going, barely avoiding trampling the row of lettuce edging the large veggie and herb garden, past the trellis weighed down by morning glories, to the cottage, easy to spot because of the red paper lanterns that ringed the roof, the Texas sun providing an endless stream of energy to keep their solar cells charged.

  Sanctuary. Her tiny house before tiny houses came into vogue.

  Once inside, she slammed the door, wishing Frat Boy had poked his head along the frame in time for her to crush it. She couldn’t stop moving, or she’d smash something. Fists clenched, she paced, wishing for the first time for greater floor space.

  Unbelievable. How am I supposed to get through the next two weeks? Arrogant, narrow-minded, self-centered…how had someone so sweet as Jeff befriended such an asshole?

  You can’t let him get to you. That gives him control. And he’s exactly the type to take advantage of it. He’ll provoke and manipulate you, and you’ll look like the ass instead of him. He’ll flash his perfect-toothed, Frat Boy smile at the photographer, the ideal best man—in 2-D anyway—and you’ll come off as the bitchy maid of honor, grimacing. Worse, you’ll ruin it for Jeff and Amy. They deserve better.

  Okay. Exactly the point. And exactly the reminder she needed. It took all the wind from her sails so she could stop moving. Breathe deep.

  A soft knock at the door jolted her worse than a crash when she imagined Frat Boy on the other side.

  “Clarissa?” J. D.’s baritone vibrated through the thin wood. “You all right?”

  She opened up. “Fine. I needed a little space.”

  His signature lopsided smile appeared as he glanced inside. “That’s what you have, a little space.”

 
“I love it. It’s all I need.” One well-structured room, with a sofa, bookshelves, and work table in front, the kitchen and eating space at the rear, bathroom to their left, and out back, a patio and deck chairs. To the right, the sleeping loft, one of the best features. A skylight directly overhead let her fall asleep under the stars every night. Despite its small size, the place had an airy feel, and definitely more homey than her parents’ McMansion could ever be.

  His smile froze. “Sure you don’t need anything else? An ear to bend? Shoulder to cry on? Any other body part?”

  Shit. Much as she loved spending time with him, she couldn’t think of him as more than an older brother. Much older. “I’m good, thanks. I let out the bottled-up steam, and I’m ready to go back.”

  Disappointment cooled his gaze, but his smile never faltered. “I’ll walk you, if you like.”

  “I’d like. A lot.” What she liked better was the way he never pressured her. Not once during his daily patronizing of the Blue Moon Café or the few times they were alone in his glider or hanging with her at the bar. He stood up for her if someone overstepped their bounds and backed off when she left with another guy. She knew she was breaking his heart, but wished he’d fall for someone else. And sometimes wished Marfa wasn’t quite so small.

  One newcomer in town might interest him. “Hey, have you met the new theater director?”

  He shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Vonnie Seacrest. I hear she has some great ideas.” She gulped. “And she’s hot. And divorced.”

  From the tone of his, “Oh,” he understood but didn’t want to.

  They reached the café’s back door. “She’ll be around for the festival. Maybe you should introduce yourself.”

  Pain sharpened his gaze but his dimples deepened. “I will. Vonnie, you say?”

  “Seacrest.” She hated the false enthusiasm in her voice.

  At his you-got-it-little-lady nod, she went inside. Damn, she hoped some nurturing soul would find him and care for him like he deserved. Like Amy did for Jeff.

  She scanned the room, and her gaze met Frat Boy’s as he sat in the corner like a naughty boy on time out. He snapped straight and froze, as if waiting for her to give him some cue. Some excuse.

  She’d like to give him another pop in the jaw. “I hope Amy’s back soon.”

  J. D. peered past her. “Here she is.”

  “Hey, there you are.” Amy’s sweet voice drew Clarissa’s attention.

  “Yay, you’re here.” And I’m sounding more lame by the minute.

  “With the cake this time. I can’t believe I forgot to pick it up.”

  “You should have let me pick it up so you wouldn’t have to leave your own party.”

  “If I’d known, I would have. Are you all right?”

  Why did everything keep asking her that? “Of course.”

  “Jeff said his friend gave you a hard time.”

  “And I gave him a right hook, so we’re even.” If Amy’s sad stare gave any clue, she wasn’t convinced. Clarissa clasped her hand. “Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about. Now tell me what I can help you with.”

  Amy assessed her a moment, then nodded. “People are starting to look hungry. Let’s feed them.”

  “I’m on it.” Grateful for any excuse to keep busy, Clarissa worked in easy tandem with Amy, their camaraderie a welcome change to the undercurrent of tension emanating from the corner where Frat Boy watched. With that pout, she should call him Brat Boy instead.

  A sting went through her. No. She’d never use the term for anyone but her little brother. His feather graced her right shoulder blade, delicate black ink encasing Brat in scripted letters. Her teasing version of his real name, Brad. Forever eleven, he was the angel on her shoulder who sometimes lifted her up when she most needed it. She could almost hear him whispering, It’s gonna be good. I promise. The same thing he’d told her when he lay wasting away in that damn hospital bed and she’d hugged him before going home. She’d believed him, foolishly, and later the pain almost crushed her until she realized Heaven’s newest angel no longer hurt. She vowed she’d never again believe life would be good.

  “Clarissa, sweetie?” Amy’s hand warmed her back. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She swept Amy into her embrace. “I’m so happy for you and Jeff. You guys are the best.” If her own parents had been half as open and caring, Clarissa might have packed after high school for Columbia University, as they’d hoped. Never gotten in the used Civic her parents gave her the day after high school graduation and drove and drove until she’d landed in Marfa. Never have found her real place in the world, her real home.

  Amy patted her back. “We love you, too. I hate to leave you alone with the restaurant. Are you sure you don’t want a few weeks off, too?”

  “No.” What the hell would she do with herself? “You guys sail off into the honeymoon sunset and have a great time. And don’t worry about anything. You know how quiet the town gets after the festival.”

  “All the more reason you could take some time off. Maybe travel.”

  “I don’t want to leave Marfa.” She hadn’t gone farther than the desert these past seven years, and had no inclination to now.

  “Well, if you change your mind, don’t worry about closing up a day, or a week.”

  Clarissa managed a wry smile. “Then who’d feed J. D.?”

  “Maybe it’s time J. D. found his own someone to cook for.”

  She lifted the tray and headed for the door. “I bet he’s a great cook, too.” And she wasn’t talking about food. Somehow, she seemed the only female immune to J. D.’s sexy baritone, his tall, lean frame suited for jeans and a denim shirt, his hair layered beneath a cream-colored Stetson. And those dimples. The very definition of a silver-haired fox.

  But not the fox for her. Age had nothing to do with it. She’d have gone home with him a night or two, and probably had a great time. But he wanted more than a night or two. What she wanted, she couldn’t define. With parts of her still broken inside, she hoped she wouldn’t find real love, if it even existed for her, until she’d healed. Was ready for it.

  In the main room, her glance went to the corner. Empty. Why do you care?

  I don’t, except now I can walk past the bar without having to deal with him. She left the tray on the table they’d set up along the far wall.

  Her neck hairs prickled, and she froze. Someone’s behind me.

  “Smells delicious.”

  Frat Boy. Instant fury heated her blood. Cool it, Clarissa. Without turning, she lit the candle beneath the tray. “Customers think so, anyway.”

  “What is it?”

  Amy arrived with another tray and set it within the metal frame. “Pork tacos with cocoa rub. And I have beef curried rice.”

  His deep-throated mm might have also been a grunt.

  “Does your caveman reaction indicate approval?” She turned slowly. Shit. He’d cleaned up. And he cleaned up nicely, despite the white band around his eyes where his sunglasses had blocked the rays. Too bad the rest of his face glowed a painful-looking red.

  Light brown eyes sparkled. “It indicates I’m starving.”

  Clarissa had no response. How could anyone smell so great from washroom soap?

  “Good,” Amy said. “We have plenty more.”

  Jeff appeared with another tray. “You’re in for a treat.”

  Despite the heavenly aromas tickling her appetite, Clarissa’s insides twisted. How could Dylan dazzle her one minute, and then stand there and frown at all this food?

  “You cooked all this yourselves?” When they nodded, Dylan’s frown became a wince. “You should have let me throw you a party. You’re supposed to relax and enjoy yourselves.”

  Jeff laughed. “We are.” He tugged Amy to his side.

  Amy kissed his cheek. “We love getting all our friends together like this.”

  “Yes, but there must be a caterer in Marfa. I’d gladly have paid for it.
”

  “Why?” Jeff shrugged. “We enjoy cooking, especially together.”

  Amy smiled. “And we hope you love to eat.”

  Clarissa watched Dylan’s frustration strangle him.

  Then he threw up his hands and laughed. “I do.” He glanced at her, and his humorous look faded.

  His look had the effect of a Taser—stunning, painful. Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks and she fidgeted with the utensils. Damn him, making me feel awkward. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d come here. Before Marfa, awkwardness was one of the few emotions she’d known. Mom asking, Why can’t you join a team sport instead of moping in your room? Dad, always too tired to say or do anything, sighing and giving her his sad-puppy look. When he made it home at all. After Brad died, her parents made her their monkey in the middle. When she didn’t want to play, it all fell apart. Mom finally went back to work and stayed late every night, too. Right before Clarissa graduated high school, Dad moved out.

  No way could Clarissa have stayed, even for the summer. Columbia University would have been one more thing for her parents to hold over her head, a mutual gripe. They were all about success, or the appearance of it. No one could guess how broken they all remained. Hell, her parents didn’t want to hear how much she hurt. You’ll be fine. Go to school, do your work. It will get better.

  It didn’t. They pretended not to notice the cuts on her arms, her legs, the only pain that made her feel real. Feel anything at all. Clarissa knew if she kept slashing herself, one day she’d cut so deep, she’d float away from this world.

  At the thought of it, she’d felt Brad’s anger. He hadn’t wanted to die. She shouldn’t choose to.

  Graduation money funded the road trip to nowhere. Or she’d thought it was nowhere. She never guessed she’d find herself in Marfa. Literally and spiritually.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  Dylan’s voice startled her into motion. There was plenty to do, but the less time she spent around him, the better. “No. You’re a guest.” One who’s leaving. Not soon enough.