Her husband planted a satisfied kiss on his wife’s lips, then returned to a discussion of Spence’s new Callaway irons. Ted tried to join in, but Sunny wanted his full attention, and she knew how to get it. “What’s the tank-to-wheel efficiency of your new fuel cell?”
Meg had no idea what that even meant, but Ted was his normal accommodating self. “Thirty-eight, forty-two percent, depending on the load.”
Sunny, all rapt attention, moved in closer.
Spence invited Meg to dance, and before she could refuse, two sets of female hands grasped her arms and pushed her to her feet. “She thought you’d never ask,” Shelby said sweetly.
“I sure wish Dex was as light on his feet as you are, Spence,” Torie cooed.
Across the table, Emma looked as worried as someone in a sunflower-splashed yellow top could look, and Meg swore she caught the shadow of a frown cross Ted’s face.
Fortunately, the first song was up-tempo, and Spence made no attempt to engage her in conversation. Too soon, however, Kenny Chesney began to croon “All I Need to Know,” and Spence drew her close. He was too old for the cologne he’d chosen, and she felt as though she’d been enveloped by an Abercrombie & Fitch store. “You’re making me more than a little crazy, Miz Meg.”
“I don’t want to make anybody crazy,” she said carefully. Except Ted Beaudine.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Birdie, Kayla, and Zoey settle at a table near the bar. Kayla looked sexy in a tight, one-shoulder white top that hugged her breasts without being slutty and a tropical print mini that set off her shapely legs. Birdie and Zoey were more casually dressed, and all three watched Meg closely.
Spence curled his hand around hers and drew it to his chest. “Shelby and Torie told me about you and Ted.”
Her internal alarm rang. “What exactly did they say?”
“That you finally found your backbone and accepted the fact that Ted’s not the man for you. I’m proud of you.”
She lost a step as she silently cursed both women.
He squeezed her fingers, a gesture she assumed was meant to be comforting. “Sunny and I don’t have any secrets. She told me about you throwing yourself at him at Shelby’s party. I guess the way he rejected you finally woke you up to the truth, and I just want to say that I’m proud of you for facing it. You’re going to feel a whole lot better about yourself, now that you’ve stopped chasing him. Shelby sure thinks so, and Torie said— Well, never mind what Torie said.”
“Oh, no. Tell me. I’m sure it’ll be good for my . . . personal growth.”
“Well . . .” He rubbed her spine. “Torie said that when a woman obsesses over a man who’s not interested in her, it kills her soul.”
“Quite the philosopher.”
“I was surprised myself. She seems a little flaky. She also told me you were planning to get my name tattooed on your ankle, which I don’t believe.” He hesitated. “It’s not true, is it?”
When she shook her head, he looked disappointed. “Some of the people in this town are odd,” he said. “Have you noticed that?”
They weren’t odd at all. They were wily as foxes and twice as smart. She unlocked her rigid knees. “Now that you mention it.”
Torie dragged her husband onto the dance floor and maneuvered as close to Spence and Meg as she could get, undoubtedly hoping to eavesdrop. Meg shot her a death ray and pulled away from Spence. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
She’d barely gotten inside before Torie, Emma, and Shelby stormed in to confront her. Emma pointed toward the closest stall. “Go ahead. We’ll wait for you.”
“Don’t bother.” Meg whirled on Shelby and Torie. “Why did you tell Spence I wasn’t in love with Ted anymore?”
“Because you never were.” Shelby’s brightly colored enameled bangles jingled at her wrist. “At least I don’t think so. Although Ted being Ted . . .”
“And you being female . . .” Torie crossed her arms. “Still, it was obvious you made up the whole thing to avoid Spence, and we’d all have gone along with it if Sunny hadn’t shown up.”
The restroom door swung open, and Birdie came in, followed by Kayla and Zoey.
Meg threw up her hands. “Great. I’m going to get gang-raped.”
“You shouldn’t crack jokes about a serious issue like that,” Zoey said. She wore white cropped pants, a navy T-shirt that read wynette public schools honor roll, and earrings that looked like they’d been made from drinking straws.
“That’s the way Hollywood people are,” Birdie said. “They don’t have the same moral compass as the rest of us.” And then, to Shelby, “Did you tell her she has to leave Ted alone now that Sunny’s fallen for him?”
“We’re gettin’ there,” Shelby said.
Emma took command. It was remarkable how much authority a relatively small woman with baby-doll cheeks and a cheery cap of butterscotch curls could possess. “You mustn’t think no one understands your situation. I was once an outsider in Wynette myself, so I—”
“You still are,” Torie observed in a loud whisper.
Emma ignored her. “—so I’m not unsympathetic. I also know what it’s like to have the attentions of a man to whom you’re not attracted, although the Duke of Beddington was far more odious than Mr. Skipjack. Still, my unwelcome suitor didn’t hold the economic fate of this town in his hands. But I also didn’t try to use Ted to discourage him.”
“You kind of did,” Torie said. “But Ted was only twenty-two at the time, and Kenny saw through you.”
Emma’s wide mouth tightened at the corners, emphasizing her plump bottom lip. “Your presence has doubly complicated an already delicate situation, Meg. You obviously find Spence’s attentions objectionable, and we understand that.”
“I don’t.” Kayla adjusted the rimless Burberry sunglasses she’d pushed on top of her blond hair. “Do you have any idea how rich that man is? And he’s got great hair.”
“Unfortunately, your method of discouraging him involves Ted,” Emma went on, “which might have been acceptable if Sunny hadn’t appeared.”
Birdie tugged on the hem of the silky tomato red top she wore with a cotton skirt. “Anybody with two eyes can see how crazy Spence is about his daughter. You might be able to get away with rejecting him, but you can’t get away with throwing yourself at the man his baby girl is falling in love with.”
Torie nodded. “What Sunny wants, Sunny gets.”
“She’s not going to get Ted,” Meg said.
“Something Ted will make certain she doesn’t figure out until the ink on the land deal is dry,” Emma said briskly.
Meg had heard enough. “Here’s a scary thought. What if your sainted mayor decides to toss you all to the wolves and fend for himself?”
Zoey pointed a principal’s accusing finger toward her, a remarkably effective gesture for a woman who was only a year older than Meg herself. “This is a big joke to you, but it’s not a joke to the kids at my school who are jammed into overcrowded classrooms. Or the teachers trying to make do with outdated textbooks and no aides.”
“It sure isn’t a joke to me.” Kayla stole a surreptitious look at herself in the mirror. “I hate running a resale shop full of old-lady clothes, but right now there aren’t more than a handful of women in this town who can afford to buy the kind of fashion I was destined to sell.” Her eyes swept over Meg’s resale skirt.
“I’ve been wanting to open a tearoom and bookstore next to the inn ever since I took over the place,” Birdie said.
Shelby pushed her blond bob behind one ear, revealing small gold hoops. “I have a husband who barely sleeps at night for feeling guilty because his company can’t provide enough jobs to keep the town afloat.”
“Dex feels the same,” Torie said. “A town this size can’t survive on one industry.”
Meg spun on Emma. “What about you? What reason do you have for expecting me to prostitute myself with Spencer Skipjack?”
“If this town dies,” Emma said
quietly, “Kenny and I have enough money to do just fine. Most of our friends don’t.”
Torie tapped the toe of a studded leather T-strap sandal on the floor. “Between Spence, Sunny, and Ted, you’re making things too complicated, Meg. You need to leave Wynette. And unlike everybody else, I happen to like you a lot, so this isn’t personal.”
“I don’t dislike you,” Emma said.
“I do,” Birdie said.
“I don’t dislike you either,” said Shelby. “You have a very nice laugh.”
Kayla gestured toward the embellished skeleton-key necklace Meg had assembled a few hours earlier. “Zoey and I love your jewelry.”
Birdie puffed up like an angry parakeet. “How can y’all say anything nice to her? Have you forgotten about Lucy? Thanks to Meg, Ted got his heart broken.”
“He seems to have recovered,” Emma said, “so I’m prepared to overlook that.”
Shelby opened her purse, a pink and brown paisley Juicy clutch, and pulled out a folded piece of paper that Meg quickly realized was a check. “We know you’re short on cash, so we have a little something to help you get a fresh start somewhere else.”
For the first time since Meg had met her, Torie seemed embarrassed. “You can consider it a loan if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“We’d appreciate it if you took it,” Emma said kindly. “It’ll be best for everybody.”
Before Meg could tell them all to go to hell, the restroom door swung open and Sunny sauntered in. “Is there a party?”
Shelby quickly slipped the check back in her purse. “It didn’t start out that way, but we got to talking.”
“And now we need your opinion.” Torie deliberately turned to the mirror and pretended to look for mascara smears. “Charlize Theron or Angelina Jolie? Which one would you go gay for?”
“I say Angelina Jolie.” Kayla pulled out her lip gloss. “Seriously. Any woman who says she wouldn’t is either a liar or in deep denial. That woman oozes sex.”
“In your opinion.” Zoey, who’d been so morally righteous earlier, began fussing with her hair. “I’d choose Kerry Washington. A strong black woman. Or Anne Hathaway. But only because she went to Vassar.”
“You would not go gay for Anne Hathaway,” Birdie protested. “Anne Hathaway’s a great actress, but she’s not your sexual type.”
“Since I’m not gay, my sexual type isn’t the point.” Zoey grabbed Kayla’s lip gloss. “I’m merely commenting that if I were gay, I’d want a partner with brains and talent, not just beauty.”
Emma straightened her sunflower shirt. “I must admit that I find Keira Knightley oddly compelling.”
Kayla retrieved her lip gloss. “You always go for the Brits.”
“At least she got over her thing for Emma Thompson.” Torie tugged a paper towel from the dispenser. “What about you, Meg?”
Meg was more than a little sick of being manipulated. “I prefer men. Specifically hunky Texas men. Do you have any ideas?”
All around her, she could hear mental wheels grinding as the crazy women of Wynette tried to figure out how to respond. She headed for the door and left them to ponder.
By the time she’d returned to the table, she’d reached three conclusions: Ted’s problems with Sunny were his own to resolve. She would handle Spence on a day-by-day basis. And nobody was going to drive her out of this horrible town until she was good and ready to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
Meg saw Ted on the course the next day, but he was playing with Spence and Sunny, and he steered clear of her drink cart. When she got home that evening, she found a delivery truck parked at her front steps waiting for her. Ten minutes later, she’d sent the truck, along with its load of furniture, on its way.
She stomped into the hot, airless church. People kept trying to give her things she didn’t want. Last night Shelby had slipped the getaway check into her purse, leaving Meg to tear it up. And now this. Granted, she needed furniture, and when she’d spotted the portable air conditioners, she’d almost set aside her principles. Almost, but not quite.
She threw open the church windows, turned on the fans, and poured a glass of iced tea from the refrigerator. This was the second time in a week that somebody had tried to pay her to leave town. If she let herself think about it, she’d get depressed, and she didn’t want to be depressed. She wanted to be angry. After a quick shower, she pulled on shorts, a tank, slipped into a pair of flip-flops, and set off.
Stone pillars marked the entrance to the Beaudine estate. She wound through a grove of hardwood trees and crossed an old stone bridge before the road branched into a series of meandering lanes. The main house was easy to identify—low and sprawling, built in the Texas hacienda style of limestone and stucco with arched windows and doors framed in dark wood. Behind a low wall, she glimpsed a spacious pool, pool house, courtyard, gardens, and two smaller buildings in the same hacienda style, probably guest cottages. This wasn’t so much an estate, she realized, as a compound, and everywhere she looked, breathtaking views spread before her.
When the road circled back on itself, she chose another lane but found only a putting green and maintenance buildings. She tried again and came upon a small stone and brick ranch with Skeet Cooper’s pickup visible inside the open garage door. Nothing like keeping your caddy close by.
The last lane wound uphill where it opened onto a rocky bluff. And there it stood, a modern structure of perfectly balanced cream stucco rectangles topped by a butterfly roof. Sweeping sheets of glass faced south, along with sharp overhangs to shade the interior. Even without the small, sleek wind turbines mounted on the roof, she would have known this was his house. Its beauty, inventiveness, and functionality spoke volumes about its owner.
The front door opened before she could ring the bell, and he stood before her barefoot in a black T-shirt and gray athletic shorts. “Did you enjoy your tour?”
Either someone had tipped him off or security cameras monitored the property. Knowing his love of gadgetry, she suspected the latter. “The mighty ruler of the Kingdom of Beaudine is indeed all-knowing.”
“I do my best.” He moved back to let her in.
The house was open and airy, decorated in pale shades of gray and white—a cool, calming retreat from the punishing summer heat and the equally punishing demands of being Ted Beaudine. The furniture sat low, each piece carefully chosen for both its comfort and quiet, unimposing beauty. The most startling feature was a glass-enclosed rectangular room suspended above the soaring living area.
The house was almost monastically spare. No sculptures stood in the corners; no paintings graced its walls. The art lay outside in the views of river bluffs, granite hills, and distant, shadowed valleys.
She’d grown up in grand houses—her family’s rambling Connecticut farmhouse, their Bel Air home, the weekend house on Morro Bay—but this was something quite special. “Nice digs,” she said.
As he crossed the bamboo floor, a foyer light that had come on when he’d admitted her automatically shut off. “If you’ve shown up for sex, I’m bored with you,” he said.
“That would explain the large bed on the delivery truck, along with those comfy, man-size chairs.”
“And the couch. Don’t forget the couch. Not to hurt your feelings, but your place isn’t too comfortable. And from the phone call I just got, I hear you want to keep it like that. Why did you send that truck away?”
“Did you really think I was going to take presents from you?”
“The furniture was for me, not you. I’ll be damned if I spend another night on that futon.”
“Good thing you’re bored with me.”
“I might change my mind. As a matter of fact—”
“It isn’t your job to furnish my place,” she said. “I’ll do it when I get around to it. Although I have to admit you almost sucked me in with those air conditioners. Unfortunately, I’ve developed this totally asinine sense of personal pride.”
“Your loss.”
> “You have enough people to take care of, Mr. Mayor. You don’t have to take care of me, too.”
She’d finally caught him off balance. He looked at her oddly. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“Oh, yes, you were.” She did her best to contain the thread of tenderness unraveling inside her. “I came here to rip your head off, but this house seems to have sucked away most of my righteous indignation. Do you happen to have anything to eat?”
He tilted his head. “Back there.”
The stunning stainless-steel kitchen wasn’t large, but it was dauntingly efficient. A limousine-long central island began as a workspace, then seamlessly extended into a sleek table large enough for a dinner party, with four wire-back chairs pushed under it on each side. “I don’t like dining rooms,” he said. “I like to eat in the kitchen.”
“I think you’re onto something.”
Forgetting her hunger, she wandered over to the room’s most striking feature, another colossal sheet-glass wall, this one looking down upon the Pedernales Valley where the river ran like a blue-green ribbon over jagged limestone shelves. Beyond the valley, the setting sun outlined the purple hills in a tangerine blaze. “Extraordinary,” she said. “You designed this house, didn’t you?”
“It’s an experiment in net zero energy.”
“Meaning?”
“The house produces more energy than it consumes. Right now about forty percent. There are photovoltaic and solar panels in the roof, along with rainwater collection. I have a gray water system, geothermal heating and cooling machines, appliances with kill switches to keep them from drawing power in the off mode. Basically, I’m living off the grid.”
Ted had made his fortune helping towns optimize electrical usage, so the house was a natural extension of his work, but it was still remarkable.
“We use too damned much power in this country.” He pulled open the refrigerator door. “I’ve got some leftover roast beef. Or there’s stuff in the freezer.”
She couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice. “Is there anything you can’t do?”