Eighteen
Emma was in the bathroom, getting dressed for the presentation ceremony when the phone rang.
“I think the jig’s up,” Nate said without preamble. “A couple reporters from the Enquirer just dropped by the mayor’s office, asking questions about you.”
“I’m surprised it took them this long,” Gabe said. He’d been half expecting the hungry hoards to descend on him since he’d first arrived. He’d also decided that if any reporter tried to intrude on his and Emma’s weekend, he would’ve dug out Nate’s old twelve-gauge shotgun. “Do me a favor.” He told Nate what he had in mind.
“No problem. Just make sure you send Regan and me an invite to the wedding.”
“The lady hasn’t said yes, yet.”
“Women can be funny that way,” Nate allowed. “Lord knows, my bride, she tested my resolve when it came to settling down. But I convinced her to see the light.”
That was an understatement. When they and their adopted teenage son had visited him in L.A. last fall, Gabe had never seen two people more enthralled with each other’s company.
It was then that he’d first started thinkin’ that maybe that’s what he wanted for himself. And, as always, whenever his mind went wandering down that path, it led straight to Emma Quinlan.
The entire town showed up for the ceremony. Even Emma’s mother and father were there, looking tanned and fit after two weeks spent on a ship cruising the Greek Islands.
Neither looked all that pleased to see their daughter enter the high school auditorium with Blue Bayou’s former bad boy.
“Broussard,” her father said.
“Sir,” Gabe responded. As far as he was concerned, the guy was nearly as much of a dickhead as Emma’s ex, but since she’d been unfortunate enough to have him for a father, Gabe was going to pay him respect if it killed him. Only for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his lush, lusty wench.
“Gabriel.” Angela Quinlan somehow managed to hold her surgically perfected nose in the air while looking down at him. Which should have been even more difficult since she was a good foot shorter than his six feet two. She was also so bony a stiff wind would blow her away. Which had him suddenly wishing for a hurricane. Or maybe a tornado.
“Miz Quinlan,” he said politely, smiling as he imagined a house dropping out of a stormy sky onto Emma’s mother.
“I was surprised you’d come back to Blue Bayou,” she said. If her tone had been any icier, there’d be frost all over the green, purple, and gold crepe paper strung across the ceiling. “Now that you’re so famous, or should I say infamous”—her teeth flashed like a barracuda’s as she layered the acid scorn onto the word—“there’s nothing here for you anymore.”
“Mais, oui, there sure enough is,” he drawled, rocking back on his heels as he gave Emma a look hot enough to melt the metal rafters. He put an openly possessive arm around a shoulder he knew was sporting a little love bite from this morning when they’d gotten a little frisky in bed with the beignets.
“Emma?” From her tone, Gabe figured that if it weren’t for the Botox keeping her forehead an expressionless slate, Angela Quinlan’s brow would’ve climbed into her perfectly coiffed blond hair. “What is this”—she paused, as if seeking some word allowable in public—“actor talking about?”
Before Emma could respond, Nate was calling her name over the microphone, asking her to come present the elderly teacher with her award.
Obviously torn, Emma’s concerned gaze moved from the stage to Gabe to her parents to Gabe again, then back toward the stage. Her green eyes reminded Gabe of the time a bird had gotten caught in the cabin, and had been frantically trying to find a way to escape.
“You’d better go do your deputy mayor thing,” he said. “I’ll just stay here and chat with your maman and dad.”
“I don’t know—”
He pulled her up against him for a quick, hard kiss and was pleased when, even while her mother was emanating enough frost and ice to cover Jupiter, he could still make her blood heat.
“It’ll be okay,” he said. He ran a hand down her hair, which she’d smoothed out before leaving for town, but was already breaking into those bright curls he loved. “I promise.”
“Okay.” She breathed out a sigh.
He caught her arm as she began making her way through the crowd, which had begun talking about that hot public kiss they’d just witnessed between Emma Quinlan and bad boy Gabriel Broussard. “When you get done with your speechifying, why don’t you call me up to give Mrs. Herlihy that plaque.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Her smile lit up her face. That lovely, generous face Gabe knew would still be able to make his heart turn over when he was an old man, retired from the movie business, sitting out on the gallerie at the camp, making love to his Emma in that wooden swing.
“There’s somethin’ you both should know,” he said to her parents, who were still looking properly scandalized by that kiss as Emma walked to the stage. Mon Dieu, Gabe was enjoying pissing off these two! “I’m gonna marry Emma, me. Now, you can make things difficult, or you can go along with the program. Which I suggest you do, ’cause, if Emma agrees we’ll be making ourselves a lot of babies. Now, personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you ever visit your grandchildren or not, but I’ve got the feeling Emma will care. So, we may as well all just pretend to get along. For her sake.”
“You haven’t changed, Broussard,” her father said. “You’re still a bastard coonass.”
“Well, that may be. But at least I’m not doin’ time in prison like the dickhead.”
Suddenly he heard Emma calling his name. Gabe had never heard it sound sweeter than when it came from her sweet lips.
The elderly mentor blushed to the roots of her lavender hair as Gabe told the gathered crowd how every success he had in the movie business, he owed to his former teacher. Then he kissed her, a smack right on her scarlet tinted lips. The crowd cheered. Gabe didn’t care. All that mattered to him was the pride in those faded blue eyes and the love in Emma’s gaze as both women looked up at him.
“I’ve got one more announcement to make,” he said. “And, lucky for us, we’ve got some esteemed members of the press, from the Enquirer, in the back of the room.”
Heads spun around. The two reporters, thought Gabe, though those words were stretching what they did for a living, looked uncomfortable. And more than a little nervous. Which vastly added to his enjoyment of the situation.
“There’s been talk about my getting engaged recently, and I’d like to go on record saying that some of that story’s true.”
There was an audible gasp.
“I’m lookin’ to get myself married.” He reached out and took Emma’s hand, knowing that she’d truly trusted him when it didn’t turn cold at the unexpected remark. “If the lady will accept me.”
Her eyes filled with moisture as she flung her arms around his neck. “It’s about time you asked that question, Gabriel Broussard.”
There was more cheering. As he carried his Emma past Nate, his friend looked nearly as pleased with himself as Gabe was feeling.
“What about Every Body’s Beautiful?” Emma asked.
“Roxi says she’ll be happy to run it while you open up a western branch. What do you say, Emma? There are a helluva lot of ladies out there who could use a place where they can feel pretty and pampered. Even if they haven’t dieted themselves down to skin and bones. And believe me, their menfolk will be real happy with the idea, too.”
“I love it.” She snuggled into his arms as he marched past the reporters. Wanting to make sure the entire world knew that this story was true, Gabe made a point of pausing to kiss her again. Their cameras snapped. Busy kissing him back, Emma didn’t seem to notice.
“There’s just one thing,” she said as he buckled her into the seat of the truck.
“What’s that, chère?”
“Are you sure you can keep a woman of my vastly voluptuous hungers satisfied?”
He laughed, feeling, for the first time in his life, as if he’d come home.
“I gau-ran-tee it, mon coeur.”