Barbara Dunlop: An After-Hours Affair

“That was lovely,” said Jenny, tucking her tissue back into her compact purse.

“You can’t help but be happy for them,” Mitch replied.

Then she pressed an elbow into his ribs. “Did the game go into overtime or something?”

“Sorry,” he apologized, his mind going back to the debacle of getting out of his driveway.

Truth was, he had been further delayed when a football buddy, Jeffrey Porter, his teammate on the Texas Tigers, had called on the road from Chicago. Jeffrey’s girlfriend of two years had caught him cheating and abruptly ended the relationship.

Mitch was intimately familiar with the temptation of beautiful women when a guy was on the road with the team. There was never a shortage of dates. It was one of the reasons Mitch had always avoided serious romantic relationships. If he couldn’t trust himself to be faithful, he wasn’t going to make any promises to anyone.

It was probably past time someone called Jeffrey on his behavior. Quite frankly, with the way his attention strayed, Mitch was surprised his buddy hadn’t been caught long before this. Still, he’d felt duty bound to sympathize with the wide receiver.

“What happened?” Jenny asked as the front rows of guests began surging down the aisle, following the wedding party out into the foyer.

“It was mostly the flamingos.” Mitch repeated the part of the story he’d decided to use as an excuse, while they waited their turn to exit the lounge. “Somebody obviously paid to have the flock planted on my lawn, and it was all I could do to navigate through the mess.”

She looked up at him, skepticism clear as her brows lifted above her green eyes. “What? Did they gang up on you?”

He did a double take. There was something different about Jenny today. He tried to put his finger on it.

“I took one of them out,” he grumbled. He’d been in a hurry after his phone call with Jeffrey, and one of the flamingos had scratched the front bumper of his ’Vette. He sure hoped he didn’t have to repaint.

“Did you hurt it?” Jenny asked with a carefully schooled, straight face. It was obvious she found the mishap amusing.

“It’ll live,” he responded without missing a beat. “You know, I’d have given them an extra donation without the birds,” he griped. A time-honored local form of extortion, the recipient of the flamingos was compelled to pay a donation to get the birds moved to another unwitting victim’s yard. “A phone call would have worked just as well.” He was a strong supporter of the local women’s shelter that ran the flamingo fundraiser, and he’d have happily bumped up his annual contribution.

“The flamingos are more fun,” said Jenny, turning as the people toward the middle aisle started to move. “I’ll help you pick the new target. Maybe we can plant them on Cole’s lawn next.” Cole Maddison, Mitch’s friend, neighbor and fellow TCC board member had deep pockets.

“Sure,” Mitch answered absently, still trying to figure out what was different about her.

The glasses.

She wasn’t wearing her glasses.

That was unusual for Jenny.

He wondered if she’d forgotten them, or if she’d decided the wedding was an occasion formal enough to warrant wearing her contacts. He knew she didn’t like them.

She started to walk away, and his gaze caught on her short dress. That was also unusual. She normally wore knee-length skirts, or slacks, a crisp blouse and a blazer. Jenny was as buttoned-up and tailored as a woman could get. It suited her precise and meticulous personality. But today, puffy, bold burgundy fabric swirled around her thighs. One of her shoulders was bare, and she was wearing unusually flashy earnings.

What was up?

“Jenny?”

She turned.

Holy cow. From this angle the entire package nearly took his breath away. What had happened to his no-nonsense, efficient assistant?

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Nothing.” He started to move with the rest of the crowd, embarrassed by the reaction he was having to her makeover. She was perfectly entitled to dress up for a wedding, and he had absolutely no business ogling her.

They made their way through the double doors, outside to the back of the clubhouse overlooking the expansive grounds. When Mitch stopped at the rail of the back veranda, Jenny kept going, making her way down the wide stairs toward the lawn and the gardens. He was a little surprised she hadn’t stuck by his side like she usually did. Perhaps she needed to talk to some of the Cattleman’s Club members or to some friends.

As Interim President, Mitch had been aware of the reception preparations for several weeks now. A few days ago, they’d erected a huge canopy tent in case of rain, but the Monday Labor Day evening was clear and warm. A band had set up on the gazebo, and a temporary dance floor had been built on the knoll overlooking the pond. Round, white-linen-covered tables dotted the lawn, and tall propane heaters were discretely placed throughout the dining area to keep guests warm once the sun went down.

The wedding party had assembled in front of the clubhouse gardens for photos. Even from this distance, Mitch could see the tension between maid of honor Abigail Langley and best man Brad Price. As the last remaining descendant of the TCC founder by marriage, Abigail was also the Club’s sole female member.

It was no secret that Brad resented having a woman as a full member of the Cattleman’s Club. He’d taken to using the term “cattle-people’s club,” and suggested they put up lacy curtains and buy a pink gavel for monthly meetings.

Most of the men brushed the jokes off as harmless, but Abigail had recently gotten wind of Brad’s behavior and had been highly insulted. She even challenged him in his run for TCC president. Mitch got the feeling that she avoided Brad as much as possible. But today they’d been thrown intimately together as members of the wedding party.

He scanned the sharply dressed crowd, easily spotting Jenny where she stood beside the dining area talking to Cole Maddison. She laughed at something he said, and rested her hand briefly on his arm. For some reason, Mitch felt a surge of jealousy. Ridiculous.

Just because he’d never known Jenny to date, didn’t mean she shouldn’t date. Hey, if she liked Cole and if Cole liked her…

Mitch found his feet taking him down the stairway and across the lawn toward them.

“Hey, Mitch,” Cole greeted easily as he approached.

Mitch gave his friend a nod.

Jenny didn’t glance his way.

“Nice ceremony,” Mitch offered, wondering why he felt awkward.

“I’m not sure Brad’s going to survive the night,” Cole returned, canting his head in the direction of the tuxedo-clad Brad, who was on the receiving end of a glare from Abigail.

“She’s a pistol,” Mitch agreed.

“Excuse me a moment,” Jenny put in, moving away.

Mitch’s gaze reflexively followed her as she made her way toward the bride and groom.

“That’s a shocker,” said Cole.

“What?” Mitch pulled his attention away from Jenny’s tanned legs and the sexy little sandals that accented her dainty feet. Her toenails were polished a bright plum, he’d noticed.

Cole’s expression was incredulous. “I’m talking about Jenny. She looks like a million bucks.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Mitch allowed, telling himself to get a grip. It was Jenny-sensible, efficient, professional Jenny.

“She’s a stunning woman,” said Cole. “I wonder why she dresses down all the time.”

Mitch frowned. “I wouldn’t call it dressing down. She looks completely professional at the office.”

Cole drew back. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. But you have to admit, it’s a shocker.”

What was shocking was that Mitch couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her.