A Small-Town Homecoming. Terry Mclaughlin

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      Actually, it had been Jack who’d found Charlie. He’d arrived in the Cove nearly three months ago, investigating the area’s sand and gravel supply for his employer. Within two weeks of checking out the local situation—and meeting Charlie—he’d quit his job, made an offer to buy out her competition and slyly cornered her with a deal she couldn’t refuse: combining their two ready mix companies with a wedding. At first she’d fought him with every weapon in her arsenal, but in the end she’d agreed to a mutually beneficial business arrangement and accepted his marriage proposal.

      For a man whose words tended to ramble along in a syrupy drawl, Jack Maguire could do some fast talking when it suited him.

      Tess lifted the period knocker and let it fall against the hammered plate, pleased with the solid thwump of the heavy iron. The man had taste. He also had an ego the size of the Pacific, but at least that Southern-fried charm of his helped soften the most outrageous excesses.

      More than she could say for the prickly contractor she’d had to deal with before dinner. Nothing soft or charming there.

      Charlie opened the door. “Thought you’d never get here,” she said as she snatched the bag from Tess’s hands and tugged her inside. “Addie brought a stack of bridal magazines, and she’s making me look at pictures again. Tell her to stop, or I’m going to shoot you both right now and eat all the cookies myself.”

      Tess tossed her jacket over the arm of a club chair and settled beside their friend, Addie Sutton, on the plump sofa. Addie owned a stained-glass shop a block from Tess’s office, where she was creating some fabulous windows for Tidewaters. She had more artistic talent in her dainty fingers than Tess had in her entire body, and yet Tess loved her in spite of it. Everyone loved Addie, in the same way everyone loved puppies and pizza. It was inevitable.

      “Where’s Jack?” Tess asked. “I brought one of Marie-Claudette’s cookies just for him. One shaped like a big, fat mouth.”

      “Baseball practice.” Addie turned a thick, glossy magazine in Tess’s direction and pointed to a photo of a model buried in clouds of white tulle and baby’s breath. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”

      “Yeah, if you’ve got something to hide—like the bride and half the wedding party.”

      Leave it to Addie, who could pass for a French bisque doll with her spun-gold hair and long-lashed eyes, to go for the ruffles. But anyone who knew Charlie knew she was allergic to frills. Tess took the magazine and flipped through more pages, looking for something sleek and simple. A classic gown with a touch of pizzazz or a hint of drama, just to keep things interesting. “Do we have a date yet? Or a venue?”

      Charlie shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

      “That’s what you said last week.” Tess paused to admire a striking bouquet of calla lilies. “You mustn’t be working very hard.”

      “Don’t nag.”

      “Don’t worry. I figure Maudie and Ben are double-teaming you on a daily basis.” Charlie’s mother, Maudie, had recently announced her own engagement to Ben Chandler, Geneva’s relation by marriage and a distant cousin of Tess’s. But Maudie had made it clear she wouldn’t begin planning for her own wedding until she’d seen her daughter walk down the aisle.

      Tess turned the page and sighed over a picture of a dark-haired bride in an elegant sheath with a plunging back. “How about this?”

      Addie craned her neck to study the shot. “It would look great … on you.”

      “Yes, it would. Too bad I’m not in the market right now.” She closed the magazine with a sigh and slumped against the cushions. “I’ve got news.”

      Charlie leaned a shoulder against the arched entry to her dining room. “Champagne news or beer news?”

      “Beer doesn’t go with cookies.” Addie wrinkled her turned-up nose in disgust.

      “Neither does champagne,” Tess said, “but hey, don’t let that stop us. If you’ve got any,” she added.

      “Please.” Charlie grinned. “Jack would be insulted to hear you question the quality of his wine cellar.”

      “Jack’s not here.” Tess raised one eyebrow. “And since when did he start missing out on an evening with you?”

      “Since he got sucked into his own plot to prove his community spirit and volunteered to coach Little League.” Charlie straightened and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll go get the party plastic and be right back.”

      “What are we celebrating?” Addie tucked a long blond curl behind one ear. “Is this about your waterfront project? About the windows?”

      Addie’s shop forever teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, but that wasn’t the only reason Tess had incorporated touches of stained glass in her design. They added a vintage detail that would help the building blend with its Victorian-era neighbors.

      Charlie walked into the room carrying a bottle and a small stack of plastic cups and paper napkins. “I hear Quinn got the job.”

      “So much for my big news.”

      Charlie shrugged. “Small town.”

      “Big mouths.” Tess took the napkins and fanned them across the coffee table. “Bigger noses. I don’t know why The Cove Press bothers competing.”

      “Isn’t Quinn the contractor who left town a few years ago?” asked Addie. “Something about an accident on a job site?”

      “Yeah.” Tess sighed dramatically. “But he’s back.”

      “Heard his wife left him.” Addie frowned. “Heard he had a drinking problem, too.”

      “Had being the important word here.” Charlie popped the cork from the bottle. “Jack likes him.”

      “Jack likes everyone,” Tess pointed out. “He’s been seen buying crushed cans from the crazy guy who sells trash down by the wharf. He even continued to like you while you were trying to run him out of town a couple of months ago.”

      “You shouldn’t lump Charlie in the same sentence with Crazy Ed.” Addie folded back a page in the magazine on her lap and passed it to Tess. “How about this gown? The lace is so delicate.”

      “You shouldn’t lump Charlie in the same sentence as delicate,” Tess said, handing back the magazine.

      “Don’t bother showing me,” Charlie mumbled around a mouthful of sugar cookie. “I’m only the bride.”

      Tess watched her soon-to-be-married friend stack her booted heels on the rickety coffee table. The tom-boyish redhead would be horrified to hear that her pint-size frame and pixie-style nose were two of the most obvious items on a long list of features that could be termed delicate.

      “Isn’t Quinn the guy who drives that big black truck?” asked Addie. “The one with the gold shamrock on the door?”

      “That’s him.” Tess scowled. “He was at the site tonight when I swung by to gloat. Spoiled a perfectly СКАЧАТЬ