Page 113 of A Dead End Wedding

"I would never forget the whipped cream!"

Of course, with chocolate cake and beds and pot roast and pie and whipped cream, I could get into this whole pampering thing. I smiled as angelically as I could and tried to look fragile (difficult when you're nearly six feet tall).

"Okay," I said, making my voice as weak as I could. "I think I could eat something."

Uncle Nathan shot me a suspicious look, but I just blinked at him, sheer innocence written all over my soon-to-be-stuffed-with-pie face. He rolled his eyes.

Guess I don't do innocent face all that well . . .

Sunday rushed by in a blur, with food, family, and friends, plus naps and wincing around, trying not to jar my head. But by around eight that evening, I was tired of feeling sorry for myself and decided to get some work done. I had two boxes of Faith Deaver's medical records in my living room that weren't going to read themselves.

Naturally, my cell phone rang the minute I'd arranged all the files on my new loaner bed (a full-size, even, not just a twin) exactly to my anal-retentive satisfaction.

The phone was still in the kitchen.

I contemplated ignoring it, and then I contemplated the problem of when I would remember to call to have a land line hooked up so I could have an actual phone. My phone kept ringing, despite my attempts to dither around so long the personcalling would hang up. I sighed and heaved myself up to go get it, and stubbed my toe on the file box sitting right next to the bed.

"Ouch!" I said, and did a hopping step over to the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

I flipped the phone open anyway. "What? This better not be a sales call on Sunday night, because you'd better believe I know all about the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act," I threatened in my scariest voice.

Jake laughed.

"It freaks me out a little that I recognize your laughter, Brody," I muttered. "Makes me think you've been laughing at me a little too much."

"I just called to tell you that your car should be in your driveway by now," he said, in that low, silky voice that even static cell phone reception couldn't disguise. "And I only ever laughnearyou, not at you."

"Right." I walked over to the window and, sure enough, the red convertible was in my driveway. "Oh, great. Magic tricks with cars, but where are the keys? Answer me that, Houdini?" I said, freaked all over again because I hadn't heard anybody drive up with the car.

"Celia figured you'd be napping, so I asked Wrench to be quiet and leave the keys with Emily," he said.

"Celia figured? What are you doing talking to my Aunt Celia? I mean, I appreciate all of your help and everything, but aren't you . . . getting a little too cozy with my family?" I moved away from the window, not sure how I felt about Jake being all buddy-buddy with Aunt Celia.

"I've got a lead on Gina," he said, trying to distract me.

It worked. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

There was a silence. "You know, I can't figure you out, Vaughn. Most people would ask about whether Gina had been behind the car vandalism first."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that. Are you accusing me of not being practical?"

"No," he said softly. "I'm accusing you of having a big heart."

"Oh. Well. Er, don't let it get around." I could feel my ears turning red.

"I'm sure it won't last. Youarea lawyer, after all," he said.

"Nice. Very nice. Sneak in a compliment, then decimate them with an attack," I said. "Are you sureyouaren't a lawyer?"

"Later, Vaughn. Try to stay out of trouble."

"I—"

Click.

I sighed. The man of mystery strikes again. What was it I'd ever thought was wrong with my dear ex-husband? I paused for a moment of wistful thinking.Old, reliable Mike.

---