Torie threw back her head and laughed. "I love love this town!" this town!"

Chapter Ten.

On her way home from work that evening, Meg pa.s.sed the town's resale shop. She loved good vintage stores and decided to stop. Another of the red flyers hung in the window advertising the Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine contest. She opened the heavy, old-fashioned wooden door. The sunny yellow interior smelled faintly musty, the way most resale shops did, but the merchandise was well organized, with antique tables and chests serving both as display areas and section dividers. Meg recognized the clerk as Birdie's friend Kayla, the blonde who'd been behind the front desk at the inn the day of Meg's humiliation.

Kayla's sleeveless pink and gray camouflage-print dress definitely wasn't resale. She wore it with stilettos and a set of ta.s.seled black enamel bangles. Even though it was nearly closing time, her makeup was still flawless-eyeliner, contoured cheekbones, glossy mocha mouth, the personification of a Texas beauty queen. She didn't pretend not to know who Meg was, and like everybody else in this stupid town, she had no regard for tact. "I hear Spencer Skipjack's got a thing for you," she said as she stepped away from the jewelry rack.

"I don't have a thing for him." A quick glance at the merchandise revealed boring preppy sportswear, pastel church suits, and grandma sweatshirts decorated with Halloween pumpkins and cartoon characters-all of it hard to reconcile with this stylish creature.

"That doesn't mean you can't be nice to him," Kayla said.

"I am nice to him."

Kayla planted a hand on her hip. "Do you have any idea how many jobs that golf resort will give people in this town? Or the new businesses that will spring up?"

Useless to mention the ecosystems it would also destroy. "Quite a few, I imagine."

Kayla retrieved a belt that had fallen off a rack. "I know people around here haven't exactly put out the welcome mat for you, but I'm sure everybody would appreciate it if you didn't use that as an excuse to screw us over with Spencer Skipjack. Some things are more important than holding on to petty grudges."

"I'll keep that in mind." Just as Meg turned to leave, a display caught her eye-a gray menswear shirt with a matching bandeau top and short shorts with a paper-bag waist. The pieces were edgy updates of 1950s summer fashion, and she walked over to examine them more closely. When she found the label, she couldn't believe what she saw. "This is Zac Posen."

"I know."

She blinked at the price tag. Forty dollars? For a three-piece Zac Posen? She didn't have forty dollars to spare at the moment, not even with Ted's tip, but still, an incredible bargain. Hanging nearby was an avant-garde dress with a beautifully constructed green and melon corset top, at least two thousand dollars new, but now priced at one hundred. The label bore her uncle's name, Michel Savagar. She examined the other clothes on the rack and found a silky chartreuse tank dress printed with the elongated head of a Modigliani female, a startling origami jacket with steel gray pencil pants, and a black-and-white Miu Miu miniskirt. She pulled a girly fuchsia cardigan with crocheted roses off the rack, imagining it with a T-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors.

"Nice pieces, aren't they?" Kayla said.

"Very nice." Meg put the sweater back and fingered a Narciso Rodriguez jacket.

Kayla regarded her almost slyly. "Most women don't have the body to wear these clothes. You have to be really tall and thin."

Thank you, Mom! Meg did a quick mental calculation, and ten minutes later, she walked out of the store with the Miu Miu mini and the Modigliani tank dress. Meg did a quick mental calculation, and ten minutes later, she walked out of the store with the Miu Miu mini and the Modigliani tank dress.

The next day was Sunday. Most of the employees grabbed a quick lunch in the caddy room or a corner of the kitchen, but she didn't like either place. Instead, she headed toward the swimming pool withthe peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich she'd made that morning. As she pa.s.sed thedining patio, she spotted Spence, Sunny, and Ted seated at one ofthe umbrella-shaded tables. Sunny had her hand on Ted's arm, and Ted seemed perfectly content to leave it there. He was doing all the talking as Spence listened intently. None of them noticed her.

The pool was crowded with families enjoying the long holiday weekend. Conscious of her lowly employee status, she found a spot in the gra.s.s around the corner from the snack shop and away from the members. As she sat cross-legged on the ground Haley appeared, carrying a drink cup printed with the green country-club logo. "I brought you a c.o.ke."

"Thanks."

Haley freed her hair from the ponytail her job required and settled next to Meg. She'd unfastened all the b.u.t.tons on her yellow employees' polo, but it still pulled over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Mr. Clements and his sons are playing at one o'clock. Dr Pepper and Bud Light."

"I saw." Meg checked tee times each morning in hopes of improving her tips by memorizing names, faces, and the members' drink preferences. She hadn't exactly received a warm welcome, but no one except Kayla's father, Bruce, had mentioned getting rid of her, something she attributed to Spencer Skipjack's interest rather than the quality of her service.

Haley gazed at the short pendant nestled inside the open collar of Meg's detestable polo. "You have the best jewelry."

"Thanks. I made it last night." She'd a.s.sembled a small, quirky necklace from bits of the rescued costume jewelry: the mother-of-pearl face of a broken h.e.l.lo Kitty watch, some tiny pink gla.s.s beads she'd taken off a lone earring, and a silver fish that looked as though it might have been part of a key chain. With a little glue and wire, she'd pulled together an interesting piece, perfect for the silky black cord she'd shortened.

"You're so creative," Haley said.

"I love jewelry. Buying it, making it, wearing it. When I travel, I find local artisans and watch them work. I've learned a lot." She impulsively unclipped the cord. "Here. Enjoy."

"You're giving it to me?"

"Why not?" She fastened the pendant around Haley's neck. Its funky charm helped downplay her overly made-up face.

"That's so cool. Thanks."

The gift unlocked some of Haley's natural reticence, and while Meg ate, she talked about attending the county community college in the fall. "My mom wants me to go to U.T. instead. She's being a real rag about it, but I'm not going."

"I'm surprised you don't want to head off to the big city," Meg said.

"It's not so bad here. Zoey and Kayla are always talking about how much they'd like to move to Austin or San Antonio, but they never do anything about it." She took a sip of her c.o.ke. "Everybody's saying Mr. Skipjack's obsessed with you."

"He's obsessed with my celebrity connections, and he's really persistent. Just between us, I've been trying to get him to back off by telling him I'm in love with Ted."

Haley's big eyes grew even larger. "You're in love with Ted?"

"G.o.d, no. I have more sense. That was the best I could come up with on short notice."

Haley pulled at a tuft of gra.s.s by her ankle. Finally, she said, "Have you ever been in love?"

"I thought I was a couple of times, but I wasn't. What about you?"

"For a while, I had this thing for this guy I graduated with. Kyle Bascom. He's going to County Community next year, too." She glanced up at the clock on the snack shop wall. "I have to get back to work. Thanks for the necklace."

Meg finished her sandwich, grabbed an empty golf cart, and drove back to the fourteenth tee. By four o'clock, the course had begun to empty, leaving her with nothing to do except obsess over her failures.

That evening when she pulled the Rustmobile up to the church, she found an unfamiliar car parked by the steps. As she got out, Sunny Skipjack came around the corner from the graveyard. She'd traded in the marigold yellow number she'd been wearing at lunch for shorts, a white top, and a pair of cherry red sungla.s.ses. "Doesn't it bother you, living out here alone?" she asked.

Meg tilted her head toward the cemetery. "They're fairly harmless. Although a couple of those black markers give me chills."

Sunny came closer, moving with a sinuous rhythm that emphasized her round hips and full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She wasn't a woman who obsessed over not being a size zero, and Meg liked that about her. What she didn't like was an aggressive att.i.tude that signified she'd mow down anyone who had the audacity to oppose her.

"I wouldn't object to a cold beer," Sunny said. "I've spent the last two hours with my father and Ted. We've been trudging around the land Spence is considering buying."

"No beer, but I have iced tea."

Sunny wasn't someone who'd settle for less than exactly what she wanted, and she declined. Since Meg was anxious to go for a swim, she decided to speed things along. "What can I do for you?" As if she didn't know ... Sunny was going to warn her away from Daddy.

Sunny waited a moment too long to reply. "The ... dress code for the party tomorrow? I thought you'd know."

It was a lame excuse. Meg took a seat on the step. "It's Texas. The women tend to dress up."

Sunny barely paid attention. "How did Jake Koranda's daughter end up in a hick town like this?"

Meg had good reason to ridicule this hick town, but Sunny was merely being a sn.o.b. "I'm taking a break from L.A."

"Quite a change," Sunny said.

"Sometimes change is what we need. I guess it lets us look at our lives in a new way." And hadn't she turned into the wise philosopher?

"There's nothing I'd want to change about my life." Sunny slipped her bright red sungla.s.ses to the top of her head, where the stems pushed the long layers of dark brown hair away from her face and highlighted her resemblance to Spence. They had the same strong nose, full lips, and air of ent.i.tlement. "I like things just the way they are. I sit on the board of my father's company. I design products. It's a great life."

"Impressive."

"I have a bachelor's in mechanical engineering and an MBA," she added, even though Meg hadn't asked.

"Nice." Meg thought of the degree she didn't have in anything.

Sunny sat on the step above her. "You seem to have stirred up the town since you got here."

"It's a small town. Easy to stir up."

Sunny rubbed a smudge from her ankle that she must have picked up during the land survey. "My father has quite a lot to say about you. He enjoys younger women."

She'd finally gotten to the point of today's visit, and Meg couldn't have been happier.

"They obviously enjoy him, too," Sunny went on. "He's successful, outgoing, and he likes to have a good time. He keeps talking about you, so I know you've caught his interest. I'm happy for you both."

"You are?" Meg hadn't expected this. She wanted an ally, not a matchmaker. She stalled for time by untying her sneakers. "I guess I'm surprised. Don't you worry about ... gold diggers? You might have heard that I'm broke."

Sunny shrugged. "My father's a big boy. He can take care of himself. The fact that you're a challenge makes you even more intriguing to him."

The last thing Meg wanted was to be intriguing. She slipped out of her sneakers, pulled off her socks, and said carefully, "I don't really go for older men."

"Maybe you should give one of them a try." Sunny rose from the step and came down to Meg's level. "I'm going to be straight with you. My father has been divorced from my mother for nearly ten years. He's worked hard all his life, and he deserves to enjoy himself. So don't worry about me getting in your way. I have no problem with the two of you having fun together. And who knows where it might lead? He's never been stingy with the women he dates."

"But ..."

"I'll see you tomorrow at the party." Her business accomplished, she headed for her rental car.

As she drove off, Meg put the pieces together. Sunny had obviously heard about Meg's professed interest in Ted, and she didn't like it. She wanted to keep Meg occupied with her father so she'd have a clear field to stake out St.s.e.xy for herself. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn't have wasted her time.

Meg had no trouble finding the Moorish mansion where Shelby and Warren Traveler lived. According to gossip, Kenny and Torie hadn't been happy when their father had married a woman thirty years his junior who also happened to be Torie's sorority sister. Even the birth of a half brother hadn't appeased them, but eleven years had pa.s.sed since then, Kenny and Torie were both married, and all seemed to be forgiven.

An impressive mosaic fountain sat in front of the house, which was built of rose-colored stucco with a crenellated tile roof straight out of the Arabian nights. One of the catering staff let her in through a set of carved wooden doors bracketed by arched windows. The English country decor was a surprise in a house with such p.r.o.nounced Moorish architecture, but somehow the chintz, hunting prints, and Hepplewhite furniture Shelby Traveler had chosen sort of worked.

A pair of doors with mosaic inlays led to a terrace with high, stucco walls, long benches covered in jewel-toned prints, and tiled tables holding bra.s.s buckets spilling over with red, white, and blue flower arrangements augmented with small American flags. Shade trees and a mist cooling system kept the guests comfortable in the late-afternoon heat.

Meg spotted Birdie Kittle and Kayla huddled together, along with Kayla's BFF Zoey Daniels, the local elementary-school princ.i.p.al. Several country-club staff members were helping serve, and Meg waved at Haley, who was pa.s.sing a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Kenny Traveler stood next to an attractive woman with honey brown curls and baby-doll cheeks. Meg recognized her from the rehearsal dinner as his wife, Emma.

Meg had showered in the ladies' locker room, scrunched some hair product into her rowdy curls, applied lipstick and eye makeup, then slipped into the chartreuse tank dress from the resale shop. With the elongated Modigliani woman's head printed down the front, the dress didn't require a necklace, but she hadn't been able to resist attaching a couple of quarter-size purple plastic discs to each of her Sung dynasty earrings. The dramatic juxtaposition of ancient and mod complemented the Modigliani print and pulled the whole posh-meets-kitsch look together. Her uncle Michel would have approved.

Heads began to turn at her appearance but not, she suspected, because of her great earrings. She'd expected hostility from the women, but she hadn't antic.i.p.ated the amused glances some of them exchanged as they took in her tank dress. It was a perfect fit, and it looked great on her, so she didn't care.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

She turned to see a tall, thin man in his early forties with straight, slightly disheveled brown hair and wide-s.p.a.ced gray eyes visible through the lenses of wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. He reminded her of a college lit professor. "a.r.s.enic?" she asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"If you say so."

"I'm Dexter O'Connor."

"No, you're not!" The words came out before she could stop them, but she couldn't believe this bookish man was the glamorous Torie Traveler O'Connor's husband. It had to be the mismatch of the century.

He smiled. "Obviously, you've met my wife."

Meg swallowed. "Uh ... It's just that-"

"Torie is Torie, and I'm ... not?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean ... I guess that could be a good thing, right? Depending on how you look at it?" She'd just unintentionally insulted his wife. He waited, a patient smile on his face. "I don't mean that Torie's not terrific ..." She stumbled on. "Torie's practically the only nice person I've met in this town, but she's very-" Meg was only digging herself in deeper, and she finally gave up. "c.r.a.p. I'm sorry. I'm from L.A., so I have no manners. I'm Meg Koranda, as you probably know, and I like your wife."

His amus.e.m.e.nt at her discomfort seemed more appreciative than mean-spirited. "So do I."

At exactly that moment, Torie came over to join them. She was startlingly beautiful in a sleeveless, embroidered Chinese red top and royal blue mini that showed off her long, tanned legs. How could a firecracker like this be married to a man with such a quiet, scholar's manner?

Torie hooked a hand through her husband's elbow. "See, Dex. Now that you've met Meg you can see she's not the b.i.t.c.h everybody makes her out to be. At least I don't think so."

Dex gave his wife a tolerant smile and Meg a sympathetic one. "You'll have to forgive Torie. Whatever pops into her head comes out her mouth. She can't help it. She's spoiled beyond belief."

Torie grinned and gazed at her egghead husband with such affection that Meg felt a surprising lump form in her throat. "I don't get why you think that's a problem, Dex."

He patted her hand. "I know you don't."

Meg realized that her initial impression of Dexter O'Connor as a gullible egghead might not be accurate. He had a quiet manner, but he was no fool.

Torie dropped her husband's arm and grabbed Meg's wrist. "I'm getting bored. It's time to introduce you to some people. That'll liven things up for sure."

"I don't really think-"

But Torie was already pulling her toward Kenny Traveler's wife, who'd chosen a cheery tangerine shift with eyelet petals at the hem. The warm color enhanced her brown eyes and b.u.t.terscotch curls.

"Lady Emma, I don't think you've officially met Meg Koranda," Torie said. And then, to Meg, "Just so you know ... one of Lady Emma's closest friends is Ted's mother, Francesca. Mine, too, but I'm more broad-minded. Lady Emma pretty much hates your guts like everybody else."

Kenny's wife didn't bat an eyelash at Torie's bluntness. "You've caused Francesca a great deal of pain," she said to Meg in a quietly clipped British accent. "I don't know all the circ.u.mstances, however, so 'hates' is much too strong a word, but Torie prides herself on creating drama."

"Don't you just love the way she talks?" Torie gave the smaller woman a bright smile. "Lady Emma is a stickler for fairness."

Meg decided it was time to give these blunt-spoken females a small dose of their own medicine. "If being fair toward me is too much trouble, Lady Emma, I give you permission to set aside your principles."