Sean Patrick O’Brien ducked behind the counter of the nearly empty bar and glanced through the spare bottles for a new Bacardi. He knew he had one; he saw it only last night. Dusty perhaps, but available. His brother, Dylan, prided himself on having a variety beyond the longneck standbys. He spied the tall clear container behind a Jose Cuervo and snagged it, setting the potent brew blindly on the counter above him as he did a quick account of the stock. By the time he stood again, he realized he’d broken cardinal bartending rule number one.
Never let your guard down.
Of course, his grandmother would say that rule number one, bartending or no, is that you cannot escape your fate. Very Irish, his grandmother. Considering who had just entered the room, it was only fitting he could hear his grandmother chortling, for certainly his Fate had just entered the room.
He sensed it in the way the young woman squared her shoulders; the way she surveyed the bar with searching liquid eyes; and the way she fooled with the train on her poofy, white wedding gown.
She held a wedding bouquet in one gloved hand, and the other hand lifted to rearrange her veil which seemed to have caught itself momentarily in the door. Her bare shoulders were a creamy alabaster white, like she and the wedding gown had been carved from one piece of marble. She straightened her tiara without having to look in the mirror, no doubt a crown being a part of her everyday wardrobe. This town was only big enough for one princess: Julia Trinity Davenport. She even had a princess-like name.
The bar clatter quieted almost instantly, Pete and Tommy’s baseball debate pausing in mid-rant. The final tinny strains of Hank Junior on the jukebox tinkled to silence as Sean and the sporadically seated customers watched her every move with rapt stares. With the shutting whoosh of the bar door, the hush became as eerie as the eye of a hurricane, and they waited for the rest of the storm to follow.
Actually, he waited to see the storm to follow. Brides did not float into Dylan’s Wild Irish Rose in full wedding regalia everyday, and this was hardly the place for a wedding reception. Dylan had certainly said nothing about hosting one. The dark wood and smoke dirtied walls made a stark contrast against her pristine white gown. She looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of Today’s Bride, perhaps a depiction for ‘themes of the Middle-of-Nowhere’.
With a final nervous arrangement, Julia Trinity Davenport squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and glided to the bar as if nothing were out of the ordinary, her heels clicking invisibly beneath her satin gown and echoing throughout the room, her wedding veil sailing behind as if caught in the trade winds. And Sean Patrick O’Brien fell in love for the second time in his life, with the same girl no less. His heart thudded in his chest as the familiar waves of awareness swept over him, and he shook his head to clear the lustful fog that suddenly enveloped him. Whoa, old man, what are you thinking? You’re over her, remember? Especially since she’s obviously just married someone else.
Yeah, right, tell that to his subconscious. He’d been dreaming about her for months now, ever since he started working on the corporate merger. He had a better chance of forgetting his own mother. His dreams never even came close to the reality though. God, she was gorgeous. Middling height, dainty, and full of aching curves, she was his every high school fantasy. He remembered her bouncing blonde curls she wore in a ponytail, and her long slender legs in her private school uniform.
She wasn’t a young girl now, but wonderful ripe and ready woman. She stood nearly eyelevel now, obviously stepping up on the barstool step that ran the length of the counter floor, leaning against the bar top on her elbows. A hint of expensive perfume wafted up to tease him, a scent that was all too familiar. Coconuts and lime. Put the lime in the coconut and drink them both up.
Her wide thickly-lashed blue-eyed gaze held his with no hint of recognition in their Pacific depths, and she grinned and thumped her empty hand on the counter.
“I need a goddamned drink.”
It was like hearing an angel swear. He could almost see the white feathers fluttering to the ground. He hadn’t heard her right. He was sure. Though it had been twelve years since their night together, her words would not be about liquor and lack utter recognition of the man she lost her virginity to.
She looked utterly composed and unruffled, as if she thought this was an ordinary request, which it might have been if the customer weren’t garbed in a wedding dress. “Pardon?”
“A drink,” she enunciated slowly, continuing to smile her famous Davenport smile: white, perfect, and slightly fake. “A shot, a pint, a nip, a bit of mother’s milk, or the hair of the dog that bit me, whatever. Set ‘em, Joe. A bride walks into a bar, what do you think she’s looking for? Honeymoon tips?”
Julia’s brow wrinkled and another unangelic word fell from her lips. Sean blinked, and she sighed in explanation. “I seem to have forgotten my credit card. This dress didn’t exactly come with a credit card holder, I’m afraid, an oversight, I’m sure, but I seriously need a drink.” She turned her attention to the still watching customers, Ed, Pete, and Tommy, and widened her grin. “I can’t begin to tell you how badly I need a drink.” She reached for the Barcardi, eyeing it speculatively before setting it back. “Not this though. Not strong enough.”
Tommy lifted his half-empty longneck to point at Sean. “You heard her, Joe. Pour the girl a drink already.”
Julia beamed, turning her attention back to Sean. “Finally, a man after my own heart. A shot of Jose, please. Make it a double.”
“Tequila?”
She slapped her white rose and orange blossom bouquet on the counter, flower petals flying upwards from the abuse. “Seriously, if you’re going to repeat everything I say, I’m going to pour it myself.” She lifted her skirts and climbed onto the barstool before flinging her body across the countertop and hanging over the side, her veil flipping over her head and trailing onto the floor.
Before Sean could motion her away or even gape in wonder at her cleavage nearly popping its borders, she opened the cabinet, snagged the bottle of Jose from its location, and wiggled back onto the barstool, batting away yards of the veil’s gauzy opaque material. This time when he took in her appearance, one lock of champagne colored hair fell from its orderly topknot and curled against her forehead, over her eye. She blew at it twice before giving up.
“Seriously, I’m not above drinking straight from the bottle. If you want this done in an orderly manner, I suggest finding a shot glass.”
Sean reached above the bar where the glasses were kept and plopped a glass for her use. She poured a drink, then set the bottle aside. “Lime please.”
When Sean turned back with a saucer of limes, Julia was staring at her hands as if just realizing she wore gloves. “Here, tug this….” she demanded, as Sean scooted a shaker of salt near the limes. She held up her satin-gloved hand, and Sean obliged her. How could he not? She might ask for help removing the dress next and he didn’t want to be disqualified because he wasn’t willing to help with a mere glove.
Come to think of it, this is how several of the dreams had concluded. Though in his dreams, he never removed wedding gowns from her delicious sweetly-curved body.
He helped remove her glove, and she picked up the shaker of salt, licking her wrist. As she sprinkled, she slanted a look back at him. “Thanks for the assistance. You are?”
She licked her wrist again to get the salt. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more provocative than her pink, kitten-like tongue stroking her skin. Too bad he hadn’t offered his own wrist, or even a body shot. A body shot would have been good.
She snapped back her drink and popped the lime piece in her mouth. She was a curious blend of lady and bawd. Her shoulders shimmied as she swallowed the taste of tequila away, and she grinned again. “Better. Couple more of these, and I might forget just how much I paid for this gown.” She leaned on her folded arms, intense and candid in her demeanor. That, at least, had not changed a whit. She cocked an eyebrow at him to indicate she had not forgotten she had asked him a question and was waiting for a hint of verbal intelligence.
Sean poured her another shot instead. She didn’t recognize him. Sure, he’d been gone for almost twelve years, but hell, he’d been their gardener that entire summer before the night in the gazebo. Didn’t women remember their first time?
Oh, the ironies. He dreamed about her; and she couldn’t even remember his name.
“Joe, of course; you knew me right off. You must be psychic.” Sean narrowed a warning look at the others to keep silent. He didn’t know why he gave her a fake name. Only that if by chance she recalled Dylan had a brother named Sean, a boy she used to kiss and more, he didn’t want her suddenly going, “Oh, gosh, it’s so great to see you again! I almost didn’t recognize you.” Yeah, well, no almost to it. She didn’t recognize him at all.
“Joe,” she repeated, oblivious to his ill-humor. “Well, keep ‘em coming, Joe. This has been a hell of a day.” Lick, salt, lick, drink, shudder, suck, thunk. She wiggled on her perch, her dress rustling. “Oh, yeah, this is more like it.” She looked back at the regulars, her gaze seeming to narrow slightly on the tall, lanky regular in the Cardinals t-shirt. “Tommy, right? Tommy Powers. You played pitcher on the baseball team in high school, right?”
Oh, sure, she remembered him.
Tommy straightened on his barstool as if he had been acknowledged by the Queen. “Yes, Miss Davenport…er….” He stopped.
A pained looked flickered on her angelic features before she schooled herself back into poker-player composure. “Call me Julia, Tommy. We’re all on a first name basis here. Your name is still on the boards for most strikeouts, you know.”
Sean filled her shot glass a third time without prompting. Maybe there hadn’t been a wedding. She tossed it back like a frat boy, then smiled at Pete. “Peter Lansing.”
“Everyone just calls me Pete,” the shorter, slightly balding man corrected, then flustered to a halt.
“You bet. Your daughter, Emma, is in my kindergarten class. She is a sweetie. Got your wife, Katie’s, eyes. You’re a good man, Pete. You showed up for your wedding.”
Oh, hell.
Julia looked back at Sean, her blue eyes slightly watery from unshed tears, but she blinked them away, took the Jose from Sean and poured her own drink. She did the ritual again, more slowly this time as if every movement was an effort.
Then she shook her head, snapping her shoulders back defiantly. She looked over at Ed, smiling again, an empty shell of a smile. “Hi, Ed, I’ll probably be going to your place next.”
“Order anything you want, sweetheart, it’s on me,” he returned. “In fact,” he nodded at Sean, “put this on my tab too.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She tapped her empty glass again. “Pour another, Joe. I don’t want to spill any.” She slurred it ever so slightly. “Joe, Joe. It doesn’t sound right. Can I just call you Irish? You look rather Irish, you know, must be the hair.” Her gaze focused on him intently, narrowed a bit as she studied him, a wrinkle forming in the middle of her forehead.
“Princess, you can call me anything you want,” Sean promised, reluctantly pouring her a fourth shot. She was going to need help getting home. No way was she fit to drive in this condition. Come to think of it, how did she get here?
“Thank you, Irish.” So polite. So much a Davenport. Polite to the core.
“You want to talk about it, Princess?”
Her fingers reached out and rubbed one of the loose rose petals between her bare pads. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and it was as if he held his breath for her answer. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he could hear the others breathing either. “Not really. He just didn’t show up.”
She downed the fourth shot without preamble, pushing it forward for a refill. “He called this morning to say he had to go to a business meeting, and I told him if he didn’t show up at 2 p.m.” She glanced at the others. “That’s when the wedding was supposed to be, you know. Of course, you know. The entire town knows I was supposed to get married today, and now they’ll all know I didn’t.” She shook her head. “Anyway, if he didn’t show up by two, I was leaving.” She twisted the shot glass in her hand. “Two-o-clock came without him, and I left. Anne helped me out the window.” She nodded, in her own world. “Good friend, Anne. I didn’t snag the dress or anything.”
Sean poured a fifth shot. Perhaps not a great idea, but anyone who got left at the altar deserved as much liquor as they could hold. He did not know what else to do with a crying woman, a jilted bride no less, and he had a feeling none of the others did either. The responsibility would fall to him since he was the one in charge of the bar and tequila, and his instincts said pour.
Pete cleared his throat. “It’s a fetching dress. You look quite beautiful.” The others immediately followed suit with agreeing nods and grunts.
Julia sniffed before smiling at him. “Thank you, guys. I appreciate it.” She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip a moment. “I should be angry, shouldn’t I?” She nodded to answer her own question. “I mean, I’m angry, don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking pissed, excuse my French, but at the same time I want to sit in the middle of the floor and cry.”
Sean opened his mouth to try to convince her not to, but the others beat him to it. Actually Ed reached into his pocket for a clean white handkerchief and handed it over. “Go right ahead, darling. A good long cry never hurt anything.”
She tucked the handkerchief in her gloved hand, and Sean couldn’t help but ask. “Your groom didn’t show up to the wedding because he had a meeting?”
“Richard. Richard Harrison. I forget, you wouldn’t know who he is, Irish, not like Tommy, Ed, and Pete here.”
“Yeah, we know Richard,” Tommy said, sounding less than enthused by the acquaintance. “Good riddance, I say. Sweetheart, you deserved better than him. Be lucky you don’t know him, S…Joe.”
Sean was all too aware of who Richard Harrison was. He wouldn’t have wished him on anyone, let alone on Julia Trinity Davenport, even if she didn’t remember him.
Julia sighed. “Richard had a last minute meeting pop up at noon, an emergency meeting that would be the life and death of, well, everything, and he decided it took priority over our wedding. I would wait; New York would not.”
Ah, New York. The Brookering Brothers. They had been pacing in the sidelines, twisting their hands and wondering if they really wanted in. Apparently they did. Interesting.
“You mean to tell me no one else in his office could take care of it while he got married?” Of course not. Richard was the one with the connections with the Brookering Brothers, not Oliver Davenport. No time to waste once they agreed. Sean wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t have cancelled a wedding if they had been on the line.
Well, surely not. Who in their right mind would leave Julia at the end of the altar? Hell, he knew Richard was an idiot, but he didn’t think he was that big of an idiot.
Julia waved her salt hand. “Exactly my point; however, Richard said the CEO of the company was used to dealing with him and refused to work out the situation with anybody else.”
“And Richard chose the meeting?” He really needed to come to grips with this. Still, he had Harrison and Davenport panicked. This was good.
She nodded. “A million dollar deal? You bet he did. In financial loss, my wedding was nothing compared to what he would have lost with this company. He promised to pay for a new wedding if it came down to it.”
Sean nodded, sliding her new drink toward her. “And what did you say?”
“Oh, I couldn’t repeat it,” she said, her voice at once demure. She finished the fifth drink as peculiarly as the first, making the same grimace-smile. She sighed, relaxing on the barstool. “I think I feel a little fuzzy.” She stared up at the ceiling.
“Good.” He reached for a water glass and filled it with ice water. “Here. Before you fall under the counter.”
“Good idea.” She picked it up to take a sip. As she had it halfway to her mouth, a cell phone rang. He heard it, he knew. Only it seemed to be coming from her breasts.
“Are your breasts ringing?”
She gave him a look and put the glass back down, reaching into the top of her gown with one hand and pulling out a tiny cell phone. She waved it at him, and he couldn’t help himself. “Anything else you’re hiding in there?”
She ignored the comment, but not before she let an unladylike snort escape her lips. Yeah, she was definitely buzzed. A Davenport would never snort. She flipped open the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” She definitely didn’t sound friendly now. Peevish, he thought. Very peevish, and very clipped and clear for someone who had just downed five shots of tequila. She seemed to listen for about two seconds before she snapped the phone closed and disconnected the call.
It immediately rang again. Julia didn’t pause as she dropped the ringing phone into the glass of ice water. The trendy looking hardware gave a watery trill before gurgling, then dying outright. The sound was rather disturbing. Sean swallowed and looked back at her. He had a feeling it wasn’t the phone she wanted to dump in the icy deep.
“Who called?”
“Wrong number.”
“And the second time? The one you didn’t answer.”
She shrugged, one alabaster shoulder lifting. “Also a wrong number. If I had known you were so interested in being my personal secretary, I’d have let you screen the calls for me.” She clapped her palm against the counter. “So how about another drink? I think I’m getting my second-wind for this now.”
He nodded, grabbing another water glass and filling it with ice. She frowned when he slid the ice water to her. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
“Just what exactly do you have in mind, Princess?”
Her mouth opened to reply, most likely with something smart, but a sudden noise interrupted them. “Julia!”
“Oh, no,” she said instead, almost hunching on her perch. Sean looked over her head at the tall, stodgy looking man who strode into the bar as if he owned the place. Richard Harrison.
Well, it seemed the real storm had arrived.
Sean immediately glanced back at Julia who’d straightened, her expression clear of any intimidation her ex-fiancé might have caused. She was tugging her glove back on, her shoulders drawn back so far she looked like a candidate for the Marines.
“Richard,” she drawled. He watched her turn on her seat and meet his gaze coolly. Sean wanted to grin like a simpleton at her proud behavior. She certainly had style. “How did you find me? I was sure I removed the ankle tracking device….”
“The white limo outside with the ‘Just Married’ sign was a dead giveaway. Never mind this is the only bar in town, and you have a weakness for Cuervo.” Richard drawled superciliously, “Not unlike your mother really.”
Julia frowned. “Oh, let’s not discuss mothers, Richard, or we’d have to get into who you’re the son of. Aren’t you supposed to be at a meeting?”
“The meeting concluded a while ago. I came to the church, but you weren’t there.”
“Funny. I had the same experience about forty-five minutes ago. Maybe we could form a support group. People who get left at the altar.”
Richard frowned, and Sean decided Richard didn’t seem as amused by her wit as he was. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. I told you I was only going to be a little late. I would have explained, again, if you hadn’t hung up on me.”
“And I already told you what I thought. This conversation is over.” She paused for effect. “We are over.”
“Let’s not discuss this here. Come home with me. Let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain. You explained it quite effectively this morning, and when I told you if you were not there for our wedding we were over, I thought I made myself crystal clear. You didn’t show; we are over.”
Richard tsked, closing the final bit of distance between them. His voice lowered, but the occupants of the bar were so quiet it didn’t matter. “You’re overwrought. Come home with me now; calm down and think this over. You’ll see this is not as bad as you’re making it.”
“Negotiation with me is not an option, Richard. Now if you don’t want a scene, I suggest you leave.”
“Julia,” his voice warned. Richard took a deep breath. “You have no where to go. Your apartment lease ran out last week, and you’ve been spending the last few days with your parents. It’s either them or me.”
Julia’s laugh sounded hollow. “And you think I’d pick you over them. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t plan to spend the night with either of you.”
“Where will you go? The bed and breakfast? It’s full of wedding guests. Anne’s one-room basement apartment? Where’s she going to put you? In the kitchen pantry?”
She shook her head, pointing her thumb behind her. “Nope. I’m going home with Irish.”
Sean suddenly found himself the recipient of several stares, most of them intrigued, one of them angry, and one of them mischievous and daring. Two realizations occurred to him. Number one, he was in big trouble, and number two, it seemed Princess did indeed want help in removing her gown.
