Pamela Macaluso - Christmas Wedding

Chad interrupted his thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll make her look like Little Red Riding Hood. All sweet, trusting innocence.”

“Besides,” Rorke said. “If we make a big deal out of this thing, they’ll start broadcasting the picture and more people will see it. Once it gets that much exposure other people might decide they want one, too.”

“And then it will end up on T-shirts,” Alex said.

“Baseball hats,” Rorke said.

“Coffee mugs,” Alex added.

Jesse looked at Rorke. “Don’t you dare say refrigerator magnets.”

“I was going to say bumper stickers, but refrigerator magnets are good.”

“Chad, be the voice of reason in this wilderness,” Jesse said.

“As I told you before, Jesse, I really think the best thing for us to do would be to ignore this particular tattoo,” Chad said.

Maybe the sight of Chad and his briefcase would be enough to scare her into throwing out the design. “Could you at least go over there with me and take a look at the drawing?”

Chad shrugged. “I don’t see what good it will do, but you’re the boss.”

Jesse looked at his agenda for the next day. “Tomorrow at two o’clock, then?”

* * *

Holly made an appreciative sound as she washed her face free of her at-work makeup. The extra makeup went along with the sexy image of her clothes. She liked the effect, but by the end of her shift she was always ready to get rid of it. After toweling dry, she smoothed on some moisturizer and brushed on light brown mascara.

She changed into a colorful camp shirt and khaki walking shorts and braided her hair. Picking up her backpack, she headed for class.

Holly paused briefly on the front porch of the white-clapboard house. At one time the house had been a large, single-family home, but then had been converted into apartments. Similar changes had been made to most of the houses on the block, including the one next door where her father lived.

It was a nice arrangement having Red in the next building, giving them both the privacy of living alone while allowing them to share a car. They each had their own motorcycle for regular transportation, but they shared the car on those few days when the Florida weather wasn’t conducive to motorcycle riding. Holly usually took the car to school because it was easier to transport her portfolio back and forth.

Once in the car, she drove the familiar oak-and palm-lined route to school. She caught herself checking every motorcycle she passed. It was normal for her to look at the bikes, but today she was also looking for a particular biker.

Jesse Tyler. A Yankee Hunk with an attitude.

She’d looked through a stack of motorcycle magazines her father kept at the shop until she’d found one with a picture of the Yankee owners. The man who’d been in the shop today was Jesse Tyler. Two months ago, when the article had been published, he was the only one of the three owners who was still single.

So what?

The guy hadn’t looked twice at her. Besides, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with any man. She had a career to build and didn’t need the hassle of dealing with a member of the opposite sex at this point in her life. From what she’d seen her friends go through, she couldn’t imagine any man being worth the trouble and heartache they brought with them.

But Jesse sure was a pleasure to look at. She hoped she didn’t have the opportunity to watch him from opposite sides of a courtroom.

With his usual endearing optimism, her father had told her not to worry about lawsuit threats, but Holly couldn’t help it.

She wished she had promised Jesse they wouldn’t use the design again. She would have, but his attitude had annoyed her. If he’d asked nicely, instead of demanded, she probably would have complied.

And if he’d been the least bit congenial, she might have been able to ask him about the rumor going around school that Yankee Motorworks might be adding a line of motorcycle clothing to their business. It would be an incredible coup if she could get in on the ground floor of such a project.

It would be the chance she wanted—to make a name for herself.

Once she’d found her own success, she could stop worrying that she might fall into the trap of basing her self-worth on the man in her life. Her mother had done it; Holly was determined not to.

And once she established her self-worth, she wouldn’t repeat her mother’s mistake. She wouldn’t have to leave broken relationships, and possibly children, behind to upgrade the man in her life.

She turned into the school parking lot, pushing away all thoughts of her future, her mother, and Jesse Tyler from her mind. Leaving her free to concentrate on the class ahead.

* * *

The next afternoon Holly was putting the finishing touches on a pencil sketch of a jacket for her midterm project when the ringing of the bell by the front door signaled that someone had come into the shop.

“Holly, can you get that?” Red Bryant called out to her.

“Sure, Dad.”

There were two men wearing business suits in the display area. One stood just inside the door, facing the window. The other, holding a briefcase, stood by the counter. Holly guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. Medium brown hair, deep brown eyes—he was attractive in an Ivy League sort of way.

He gave her a visual once-over, then glanced over his shoulder at the other man before turning to her again. He smiled.

“May I help you?” she asked.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and laid it on the counter. “Chad Ralston. I represent Yankee Motorworks.”

Holly’s heart sank to her toes. She picked up the card, trying to look casual.

Stay calm. Don’t let him see he’s got you rattled.

“So, what can we do for you, Mr. Ralston? A tattoo of a nice heart that says Mother? Or perhaps a shark? How about a great white?” The words poured out before she could stop them.

The man by the window laughed, then turned and walked toward them.

Holly was bowled over again by how good-looking Jesse was—even in today’s civilized business attire. But she would sleep on a bed of tattoo needles before she let him know she thought so. “Oh, so you like lawyer jokes, Mr. Tyler?”

When the laughter stopped, his face took its grim lines again. “It appears so, Ms....”

“Bryant. Holly Bryant.”

“I brought Chad in to see the design we discussed yesterday.”

“You’ll have to take him to see Tiny.”

“You said you had a copy.”

“I had the original drawing. I don’t anymore.” It was at home, hanging on her refrigerator, and the picket sign now read Jesse Tyler Go Home.

Chad shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then.”

Jesse held up one hand. “Hold on a minute.” He turned to Chad. “What’s to keep her from drawing it again?”

Holly planted a fist on each hip. “You can’t stop me from drawing anything.”

“Chad?”

“She’s right. She can draw it.” He turned to Holly. “But you can’t sell it or use it in any way to profit your business.”

“And what if I do?” The words were for Chad Ralston, but her eyes were on Jesse.

Holly felt her father’s hands settle on her shoulders. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He stepped to the side and held his hand out across the counter. “Red Bryant.” He shook hands with Chad and then Jesse. He was about the same height as the other men, but he had an extra twenty years and an extra fifty pounds on them. “What can we do for you today?”

Jesse answered. “We’ve asked Ms. Bryant not to reproduce a particular design. If she agrees, then we can all avoid the cost and headache of a lawsuit.”

Holly looked at her dad. “Tiny’s tattoo...I mentioned it yesterday.”