BEVERLY BARTON - Whitelaw's Wedding

“Supper’s ready,” Jack called from the kitchen. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”

After opening the front door, Hunter repeated Jack’s invitation to Wolfe, who had escaped outside over an hour earlier. Then he walked halfway up the stairs to holler at Matt. Hunter waited for Wolfe to enter from the front porch and for Matt to emerge from the upstairs bedroom, where he’d been playing games on his laptop computer. Once the two men joined him in the living room, he followed them straight to the kitchen table. They all laughed when they saw Jack in a large floral apron, apparently left there by the last people who’d rented the cabin.

“Hey, don’t laugh at my stylish attire.” Jack plopped lightly breaded and browned catfish on each of the four plates. “You guys would starve if it wasn’t for my culinary talents.”

“Don’t think you’re indispensable,” Matt said. “There’s a steak house less than ten miles from here.”

The four men gathered around the wooden table in the kitchen and quickly delved into the catfish meal. Three of them ate, talked and laughed. Wolfe just ate. Hunter couldn’t figure the guy out, couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was about the man that bothered him. He had to be an okay kind of guy or he wouldn’t be working for the Dundee agency. Sam Dundee, the agency’s owner, had personally hired Wolfe. And no one was hired without a thorough background check. But Wolfe’s former life was a mystery—to everyone at the agency, even the CEO, who usually did the hiring.

“So, are y’all interested in watching the Braves on TV tonight?” Matt asked.

“I thought we had satellite TV here,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t mind checking out the Playboy channel.”

“Is that all you ever think about?” Hunter smiled. “If you don’t slow down, Jackie boy, you’re going to burn out before you’re forty.”

“That gives me two more years to burn the candle at both ends.” Jack downed the last drops of coffee from the earthenware mug, then got up to pour himself another cup. “Anybody else want more coffee?”

“Only if you baked us an apple pie for dessert,” Matt said.

The good-natured comradery between Hunter, Matt and Jack continued throughout the evening as they shared a couple of six-packs. Wolfe watched part of the Braves game with them, then excused himself to take a long walk. He returned after dark, said good-night and went upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Matt.

“What do you think it is?” Matt asked.

“Huh?” Jack stared quizzically at his buddy.

Matt nodded toward the stairs. “Wolfe. What do you think his story is? Why is he such a mystery man?”

“Who knows?” Jack shrugged.

“Whatever’s going on with him, past or present, is none of our business,” Hunter told them. “The guy obviously has some demons chasing him, but if he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.”

“What about you Whitelaw—you got any demons on your tail?” Matt asked.

Hunter chuckled. “Sure. We all do, don’t we? But it’s not something any of us talk about, so why should Wolfe?”

Jack stood, stretched and then glanced at his companions. “I think I’m going to go take a dip in the river. I sort of have a date to meet up with the gals staying in the cabin down the road. Either of you want to join us?”

“How many gals did you meet?” Matt asked.

“Two,” Jack replied. “A brunette and a redhead.”

“I’ll go.” Matt stood. “You don’t mind, do you, Hunter? I know you have a thing for blondes, so—”

Motioning a get-out-of-here wave, Hunter said, “Go on. I think I’ll grab another beer and then read for a while.”

He did just as he’d said. Got himself another beer, kicked back on the sofa and opened Tom Clancy’s latest bestseller. But for some reason, he couldn’t concentrate. The words on the page seemed to blur together. Hell, maybe he needed to have his eyesight checked. He was nearly forty. Bifocals were probably a part of his immediate future.

Forty in six months. Where had all the years gone? And just what did he have to show for his life? One marriage gone bad, ending in divorce ten years ago. No children. Not even a damn dog to call his own. However, he did have a job he liked and a fat bank account, and that wasn’t bad for a poor Georgia boy who’d grown up on his grandparents’ farm. From the age of sixteen when he’d first become friends with fellow Dearborn High football player Perry Munroe, Hunter had known that someday he wanted to be part of the privileged world in which the Munroes lived. A fine house on North Pine Street. A sleek sports car. Entree to the country club and the best homes in Georgia. But most of all he wanted a woman from that world, a lady who possessed a pedigree back to Adam.

Eventually, he had acquired everything he’d ever wanted. As a member of the top secret Delta Force, he had lived a life of excitement and danger. With some shrewd investments, he had acquired enough money to buy that big house and the sports car. And he had married Selina Lewis, a Virginia debutante. His wife had been a spoiled heiress to whom marriage vows meant nothing. Her affair with one of his Delta Force comrades had ended their three years of trying to make their mismatched union work. In the end, he had admitted to himself that no amount of education, money or polishing could completely erase the redneck Georgia boy from his personality.

The phone rang. Hunter eyed the source of the insistent ringing, wondering who would be calling any of them during their weekend getaway. No one from the agency would dare disturb them, not after Jack had given boss-lady Ellen fair warning that they weren’t to be disturbed.

In no hurry, Hunter rose languidly from the sofa and made his way across the room to the wall telephone near the staircase. He lifted the receiver and said, “Whitelaw, here. This had damn well better be important.”

“Hunter, this is Perry Munroe. And this is damn important.”

“Perry, how did you know where to find me?”

“I contacted the Dundee agency and told them it was a family emergency.”

“I don’t have any family left since Granny’s death two years ago, so it must be your family emergency and not mine.”

“Look, old buddy, I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

“Name it.” Although he and Perry hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years, Hunter still considered the man one of his best friends. And if for no other reason than the good times they’d shared in the past, he would always be there for Perry, if and when his old pal ever needed him.

“I have a job offer for you,” Perry said. “A bodyguard job.”

“You need a bodyguard?”

“Not me.”

“Your wife?”

“No, not Gwen.”

“Then who?”

“Manda.”

“You want to hire me as Manda’s bodyguard?”

“Sort of,” Perry said. “Actually, there’s more to the job than just acting as her bodyguard.”

“Exactly what do you want me to do?” Hunter asked.

“I want you to marry my sister.”

M anda had no choice but to attend tonight’s gala celebration. After all, how would it look to Dearborn society if she didn’t show up for her sister-in-law’s birthday party? Throughout high school and college, she had loved parties and had given her share of them. But that had been years ago. Before Rodney died. Before Mike was murdered. She could barely remember the person she’d been before tragedy had struck her life. Everything had been fun once. Lighthearted enjoyment. Boyfriends and parties and laughter. Manda realized that she would have been forced to grow up, sooner or later, and take on adult responsibilities. She had thought those duties would include being a wife and a mother. But the fulfillment of those long-ago dreams was as out of reach for her as grasping a distant star and holding it in the palm of her hand. As unlikely to come true as her teenage fantasy of Hunter Whitelaw loving her the way she had loved him.