TREY’S PLAN WAS SIMPLE—he would take the bull by the horns. Face the lion in its den. In other words, get in his car and go find those damned goons and straighten this whole mess out. It was a good plan. Risky, yeah. But straightforward. A plan whereby Trey could respect himself in the morning…if he lived to see it.
But then, once he’d told his mother and Cinda what he intended to do, his plan had been shot to hell. And now, it was just embarrassing. Because his mother, Cinda, and Chelsi were now all piled in his car and they were on their stubborn, collective way to Bobby Jean Diamante’s parents’ house. That had to be where her shady husband had gone: where Bobby Jean would be staying. It made sense.
Just like his going to Bobby Jean’s alone made sense to Trey. A man had a problem, he took care of it himself. Stood his ground. A lone wolf. Facing the odds. Yeah, that’s right. A man didn’t take his mother along. Or his sweetheart and her baby girl. Yet, here they were. So how seriously would a bunch of bad guys consider him once they caught sight of his posse?
His posse. His dust-mote-sized mother with her thick glasses and stiff brown hair and flyswatter—who’d wanted to know why the baby’s car seat was in the front seat. Cinda, a sweet, slender blonde whom he hoped to have something permanent with, and for reasons other than her vicious right hook. And Chelsi, a six-month-old little girl who looked just like him by some happy coincidence, a child who was strapped into her car seat and was busy cooing and drooling.
Boy, the four of them would scare the pants right off those tough New York types, wouldn’t they? Trey figured the wise guys would take one look at his backup and would shoot him just to put him out of his misery. And right now, as ticked off and embarrassed as he was at the women for coming along, Trey thought he just might welcome a bullet or two.
“This isn’t a good idea, Trey.”
“Oh, you think?” Trey spared a glance for Cinda, who sat in the front passenger’s seat. Her bottom lip was poked out stubbornly, and she had her arms crossed over her sleeveless blue-linen shirt. Could she be cuter? Or more exasperating? “Cinda, I know it’s not a good idea. I didn’t want you—any of you—to come, remember?”
“That’s not what I meant. Watch the road. I think you should have called Bubba. He has a gun.”
“He also has a town overloaded with happy revelers and only one officer to help him with crowd control. I’ll take care of this myself.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” This came from the back seat where Dorinda Cooper sat next to Chelsi. “We need to be back by noon. I’ve got a pie in the oven. I’m taking it to the picnic this afternoon, and I don’t want it to burn.”
Where could he go with that? Nowhere. But it was a good example of exactly what he meant. His entourage had no concept of the danger here. Trey fumed and drove and refrained from mentioning the obvious—a pie and a picnic were the least of their worries. As if they would live long enough to even see the damned thing thoroughly baked, much less burned.
Cinda made the mistake of commenting on the obvious. “How did my comment about Bubba having a gun remind you of a pie, Dorinda?”
“Well, you put a gun in a holster, right? And a pie in the oven. Seems clear to me, honey. Turn left up here at Mimosa Place, son.”
Trey looked in the rearview mirror at his mother’s reflection. “I know where the Nickersons live, Mother. Bobby Jean’s parents have lived in this house since before I was born. But thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Use your blinker this time. You didn’t on that last turn. I’d think a man who works with cars for a living would know to use his blinker.”
“Not much use for a turn signal, Mother, on an oval track,” Trey commented patiently. “Unless you want it blinking a continuous left turn.”
“Well, I still don’t get the connection,” Cinda persisted. “About the pie and the gun, I mean. One has nothing to do—”
Trey’s lowered eyebrows and frowning expression as he shook his head at Cinda, giving her a clear don’t-go-there signal, cut off her words. Not that she appreciated it. Looking peeved, Cinda wrinkled her nose at him and turned away, looking out her side window. Well, good, now Cinda isn’t talking to me. This is perfect. Just perfect. Trey made a promise to himself right then that never again would he go to another reunion. Not for as long as he lived. Trey turned left onto Mimosa Place. He used his blinker.
“Oh, no,” Cinda intoned. “Oh, Trey, I don’t like the looks of this.”
Trey knew exactly what she meant. He didn’t like it, either. The Nickersons’ property, still several houses away, occupied about two wooded acres in a nicer part of town. But right now it looked like a used-car lot. Maybe twenty cars were parked in the driveway and up and down the street. And a crowd was milling around out front of the two-story Southern Colonial house. Trey frowned, wondering what was going on and why all these people would be here. A private party, maybe, before the town party?
Then, through a break in the gathering, Trey spotted a big black limo parked in the yard, parallel to the house. That explained the gathering. Curiosity had gotten the better of folks. The doors to the vehicle were open. And big ugly men dressed in black stood in front of it, their eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses, their hands folded together in front of them. There were four of them, each one the size of a professional wrestler. Trey’s gut tightened. Cinda’s words from earlier that morning came back to him. We’re all going to die.
Then his mother, who’d obviously undone her seat belt and scooted forward to peer between his bucket seat and Cinda’s, sized up the situation admirably. “Ha. Look at that. There’s four of them and four of us. At least we aren’t outnumbered, son.”
Trey didn’t know whether to laugh or beat his forehead against the steering wheel. But since Cinda laughed, he joined her. God love her, his mother was ever the optimist. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Mom. At least we’re not outnumbered.” He was trying to picture baby Chelsi’s part in all this when it came to a brawl, as it very well could. What could she do? Bite an ankle? Toss up her breakfast onto a goon’s shoes?
Trey parked his red machine at the curb about three houses away from the Nickersons’. It was the closest he could get. He cut off the engine, undid his seat belt, and turned to face his posse. “Okay, here’s the deal. Yes, you tricked me into bringing you along by piling into the car while I was still inside. By the way, which one of you hid my car keys in the freezer? Not funny. Anyway, I may have lost the battle to get you to stay at home, but I’m not going to lose the war. By that I mean you all are staying right here in this very car while I go sort this mess out. I mean that. And I don’t want any arguments. You’re not to get out of this car. Do you hear me?”
Trey looked from one face to the next, seeking a sign of intention to comply. Cinda nodded. His mother nodded. Chelsi, who was happily occupied with chewing on a chubby little fist, just stared at him, her blue eyes big and round. Forcing himself to maintain his stern expression in the face of their wide-eyed sincerity, Trey called the nodding and the gnawing full compliance. Well, finally. He’d actually won one. Maybe the sight of the big men had brought them to their senses. This was a man’s job. “All right then, good,” he said. “We understand each other.”
With that, Trey opened his door, got out, and closed it with a solid thunk. His mother promptly followed suit. Thunk. Then Cinda. Thunk. She opened the fourth door, got the baby out of her car seat, and closed the door. Thunk. The three women—or rather, two women and a baby held in her mother’s arms—converged like planets aligning and stood together in a knot of solidarity. They stared at him, three sets of widened, imploring eyes.
“Dammit,” Trey commented, planting his hands at his waist. “I thought you agreed with what I said.”
Trey saw his mother elbow Cinda into speaking. “We did. You asked us if we heard you, and we nodded that yes we had.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, and you all know it.”
“We want to go with you, Trey. We are going with you.”
Completely exasperated now, Trey jerked his thumb toward the goons. “Did you see the size of those guys, Cinda? What do you think you’re going to do? Pinch ’em? Pull their hair?”
“No. I’m going to stand with you and dare them to shoot you in front of your mother and your wife and child.”
“See there?” his mother piped in. “I knew you two were married.”
“We’re not married, Mother.” Trey hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his denims and shifted his weight to one leg. He stared at his posse. And got tickled. Hell, it just might work. Chuckling, he waved his hand before him in a sweeping gesture to indicate they should precede him. “All right. Come on. Let’s go. We’ve got a pie in the oven we don’t want to get burned.”
Grinning their triumph, his posse stepped through the neighbor’s grass to join Trey. When Cinda pulled even with him, he took her elbow and drew her attention. “If you ever tell that Major Clovis of yours about this, she won’t hesitate to make me a soprano.”
“I know,” Cinda said cheerfully. “She’s very good with a knife.”
Trey felt sick, then fatalistic. “Then I’d give ten years off my life to see her riding up about now.”
With that, he fell in between his mother and Cinda, easing their way across the uneven lawns and driveways with a hand at each of their elbows. Impressed on Trey’s consciousness was the mood of the crowd ahead. They were jovial, celebratory. Friendly. At ease. Even at a glance he realized he knew everybody here. Once they’d achieved party ground-zero, his friends greeted him, offering him and his entourage a beer or a handshake or a clap on the back. Men, women, children everywhere—all of them agog at the sight of the limo and its occupants. Just as he’d figured. An impromptu gathering of the curious that had quickly become an event.
Just then, as Trey was figuring it out, the hometown crowd, the same people who had cheered him on and made him a football god in his high-school days…well, the rotten turncoats now parted for him just as they’d done last night for Bobby Jean. And it was “déjà vu all over again,” to quote Yogi Berra. There she was, Bobby Jean Diamante, not ten feet away. Stunning, as always, the redhead was dressed in white short-shorts and a red, white and blue striped tank top. Her heavy jewelry patriotically bore the stars-and-stripes, too.
“Wow,” Cinda said quietly. “I feel like I should salute her or something.”
“I heard that, honey,” Trey’s mother whispered loudly. “That girl looks like the Statue of Liberty after a cheap makeover.”
“I’ll say,” Cinda followed up, tugging self-consciously at her own modest khaki shorts, as if by doing so she could make Bobby Jean’s shorts longer.
Trey wisely had no response. For one thing, Bobby Jean had spotted him…Okay, them. Trey tensed, trying to watch everyone at once. “Everyone” being defined here as the four big and silent men by the limo, who had yet to move. The crowd quieted. So did the birds in the trees. The dogs in the yards. The kids running around. Everybody.
“Hello, Trey,” Bobby Jean drawled, or tried to. Not even her heavy makeup could hide her fat lip, which also made her speech sound like that of a novacaine-induced lisp. Her gaze slipped to Cinda, and she sniffed, raising her chin a notch.
At his side, Trey felt more than saw his sweetie tense. Then she handed Chelsi off to his mother and all but flexed her muscles. Oh, hell, a catfight was brewing.
Trey quickly greeted his childhood friend. “How ya doing, Bobby Jean?” Then, hoping to head World War III off at the pass, he said, “Bobby Jean, I’ve known you since you were a baby. We had our times together. And they meant something to me. Something good. But what I feel for you now is friendship, one that stretches back a long time. But that’s all. Friendship. I’m with Cinda now. And that’s the way it’s going to be.” Trey firmed his stance in the well-tended Nickerson lawn. “I had some visitors this morning. But they left before I could speak with them. The trail led here. So I came by to see what they wanted. Is your husband around?”
In the silence that followed what was essentially him calling the man out, Trey heard in his head the haunting music from Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti Western, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
Bobby Jean remained unsmiling, her stance as un-yielding as Trey’s. “Yes. My husband is here.”
“I’d like to speak with him, if I could. Maybe clear this up right here before things get out of hand.”
Bobby Jean crossed her arms over her ample and almost exposed bosom. “Things are already out of hand. I’ve got a lawsuit against your little wife there.”
“‘Little wife?’” Cinda all but snarled as she took a step forward. “Who are you calling a ‘little wife,’ you big, overgrown—”
“Cinda.” Trey put a restraining hand on her arm.
“Well, she is,” Cinda hissed at him.
“And I agree. But…look, will you?” He nodded his head in the direction of the four goons.
The big bodyguards were shifting their considerable weight about as if preparing to go into action on Bobby Jean’s behalf. But then they looked toward the front door of the Nickerson house. A muttering went up from the crowd…about like it had last night at the veteran’s hall just before the two women had started to rumble. Trey thought he knew who’d be in the doorway, had a bunch of bodies not been blocking his view.
With his hand still on Cinda’s arm, Trey spoke quietly to her. “Don’t let her bait you, honey. Let me take care of this.” Though her mouth was set in a pugnacious pucker, Cinda retreated. Exhaling a modicum of relief, Trey focused again on Bobby Jean. “Look, if you won’t be reasonable, then my business here is with your husband. I don’t want to disrupt your party, but can I see him please?”
As she was the center of attention, something she loved, Bobby Jean shrugged, her features in a pretty pout. “I don’t see why not. He wanted to see you, too. That’s why he came to y’all’s house this morning.” Her expression became catty, her voice a purr. “Only no one would answer the door.”
Snorting her apparent outrage, Trey’s mother shifted Chelsi to her hip, leaned toward him, and spoke out the side of her mouth. “I believe she’s calling us cowards, son.”
Trey leaned down to her. “I believe we were, Mother.”
Just then, the crowd shifted and people were craning their necks. The four pillar-sized goons left the flashy car and walked, two-abreast, toward the house. Trey swallowed, flexed his hands, and exhaled slowly out his mouth. No one had to tell him that the man himself, Rocco Diamante, was putting in an appearance. Adrenaline pumped through Trey’s bloodstream, readying him for fight or flight. Given his druthers, and being the smart man that he was, Trey knew which one he’d choose. But not in front of this many witnesses.
“I think something’s happening,” his mother said. She bobbed and weaved in place, trying to see around everyone. “Can you see what’s going on?”
Without losing his focus, Trey answered her. “No. But I think we’ll know soon enough.”
He wasn’t wrong. The goons came back into view. A short, heavyset man in a black suit, shirt and tie was in their midst. The five of them were headed in Trey’s direction. All of a sudden this confrontation didn’t seem like such a good idea. “You and Cinda get behind me, Mother. And stay there.”
Neither woman moved. However, his mother did see fit to announce loudly, “Lord, he looks just like the real Mafia men I’ve seen on the TV.”
Trey glanced at Cinda and saw her frowning at the man in the middle. “Yes, he does, Dorinda. A little too much like one, actually.”
BEFORE CINDA COULD do anything, Trey stepped forward, leaving her and his mother to huddle behind him. Peeking around his beloved shoulder, Cinda watched and listened. The men, ever so polite, were introducing themselves, shaking hands, and warily sizing each other up. Cinda looked the goons over…and frowned. Why did they seem familiar?
More than curious now, she settled her attention on the alleged Mafia don. Something about him, too, was naggingly familiar. She couldn’t be sure…because his hair was dyed. It had to be. That color of shoe-polish black simply didn’t occur in nature. And he was heavier, a lot heavier, than the man she was thinking of. And she couldn’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses.
But…could it be? It wasn’t as if she could afford to make a mistake here. That could really cost them big time. She settled on listening to the short, fat man talk. Maybe his voice would give him away.
“…Understand my problem here, Mr. Cooper. I had to come all this way to deal with this situation. I don’t like getting a call from my wife, hearing about her being knocked around,” the mobster said—using a lot of subtly threatening gestures. “You know what I mean, Mr. Cooper?”
Mr. Diamante’s voice was rasping, husky. New York. He spoke slowly. To Cinda’s ear, a poor imitation of Marlon Brando in The Godfather. Or not. She had to be sure. Still, there was something there, something nagging at her.
“I understand,” Trey said levelly, not the least bit subservient as he stared down at the Mafioso. “I guess Bobby Jean told you what happened? Or should I say why it happened?”
“You just hush yourself up, Trey Cooper, you dog you.” Looking alarmed, Bobby Jean rushed over in a jiggling run and latched on to her husband’s arm, rubbing herself suggestively against him. “Don’t listen to him, honey. All I did was say hello to Trey, and I got attacked. Look at me. I’m the one with the bruises and the split lip.”
Rocco Diamante patted his wife’s hand but otherwise ignored her in favor of concentrating on Trey. “You see what I mean, Mr. Cooper? We got a problem. Where I come from, we don’t look none too kindly on men who hit their women, much less our women.”
“We don’t either down here.” Trey’s voice was a growl. “But I didn’t hit her. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”
Rocco Diamante bristled. “You calling my wife a liar, Mr. Cooper? Because I’m standing here looking at her fat lip. How’d she get that, huh?”
Oh, boy, this was getting serious. Cinda looked up at Trey. He crossed his arms over his chest. His mouth was set in a line of stubborn determination. Alarm shot through Cinda. He wasn’t going to say anything—and she knew why. He was protecting her. She couldn’t let him do that. The same instinct that had a parent throwing herself in front of a bus to save her child had Cinda out from behind Trey and in plain view of the Mafia guys.
Trey gasped and grabbed her arm, but Cinda resisted his tug on her and faced the dangerous don. “I did it. I hit her.”
You could have heard a Georgia pine needle drop right there on Mimosa Place.
But the effect of her words—or her mere presence—on the short and stocky man in the expensive suit was astounding. He dropped his tough-guy pose and his mouth rounded with surprise. His cheeks turned red—and his voice changed. It went up about an octave. “Cinda? Cinda Mayes? Is that you?”
“You know her?” Bobby Jean cried, letting go of her husband.
“You know him?” Trey cried.
“He knows her,” spread through the crowd. “They know each other.”
Cinda shrugged out of Trey’s grasp and approached Mr. Rocco Diamante, Mafia don. As if. Angry, upset, and relieved in the extreme, Cinda stopped in front of the man. “Tommy Jenkins, is that you? It is, isn’t it?” She reached out and pulled the sunglasses off the man. And gasped. “Why, you little stink, I thought I recognized you. Does your father know you took his limo and his bodyguards out for a drive down South?”
Tommy Jenkins, aka Rocco Diamante, looked like he was about to cry. “Can I see you over here a minute, Cinda?” She consented and stepped to one side with him. Tommy immediately began to whine. “Don’t tell my father, Cinda. Please? I did it for a good reason.” He leaned in toward her and lowered his voice. “I want my wife back.”
Cinda’s whisper matched his. “Well, there she is. Take her. Please. With my blessings.”
“I can’t. She won’t go.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Tommy, why not?”
“Look at her, Cinda.”
“Uh-uh. I’ve seen all of her I want to, trust me.”
“No, I mean really look at her. And now look at me. I’m a short, fat kid from suburbia. She’d never go for a guy like me. But I love her. So I made up this story about me being in the Mafia, and she fell for me. But then I never did anything dangerous or scary and she got bored and left me. So now here I am like some big man with some clout and she’s buying it. Please help me out here, Cinda. Please? Besides, I have something to tell her.”
Before Cinda could really process that, Trey stepped up to stand at her side. “What is going on here, Cinda?”
She shook her head, signalling for Trey to speak quietly. Then she brought her own voice down to a whisper. “Trey Cooper, meet Tommy Jenkins. Tommy and I went to the same high school. Do I even need to tell you that he was the president of the drama club and he’s not in the Mafia?”
“Get outta here,” Trey said, sounding more like a Mafioso than Tommy ever would.
Bobby Jean flounced over and gripped her husband’s arm. The woman stood a head taller than Tommy. She looked from him to Trey to Cinda. “What are y’all whispering about over here?”
Tommy looked a bit ill. Cinda raised an eyebrow at him and then turned to her nemesis. “Look, Bobby Jean, I’m going to be straight with you. I knew your husband as Tommy Jenkins when he was a kid. But that was before he was…inducted into the Mafia as Rocco Diamante. He’s a big man now in the organization. But don’t worry.” She turned to Tommy and winked, making sure Bobby Jean didn’t see it. “His secret is safe with me.”
Tommy puckered his bottom lip and sent Cinda a silent, wide-eyed thank-you.
“Oh, baby,” Bobby Jean cooed, at her husband. “You never told me that name. I like it better. Tommy. It’s much nicer, you know. It sounds like the name of someone I could cuddle up to at night.”
Tommy puffed up like the big man he so badly wanted to be, turned to his wife, and blurted, “You’re pregnant, honey. Your test results came back. And that’s why you’ve been feeling bad. We’re going to have a baby.”
The crowd sent up a collective and happy gasp. The facts made the rounds in loud whispers. “She’s going to have a baby.” “The Mafia don got her pregnant.” “Who got her pregnant?” “Don somebody.” “Who’s pregnant?”
Bobby Jean’s expression was pretty much the shocked one she’d worn when Cinda had smacked her last night. “What? Rocco—I mean Tommy—a baby? We’re going to have a baby?” She let go of her husband and began squealing and jumping up and down in place. Her tube top had a tough time keeping up. “We’ve got to go tell Mama and Daddy. Right now. We’re going to have a baby! Omigod! A baby!”
Then she set her sights on Cinda. “Oh, sugar, I’m going to have a baby. I’m so happy. I can’t believe it. And here you are—darned near family since you knew my Tommy when he was a boy. Look, I’ll call you. You’ve already had a baby, so you can tell me what all to expect, okay?”
Cinda couldn’t believe it. Good God, we’re girlfriends. “But what about the lawsuit?” was all she could get out.
Bobby Jean waved that away. “Oh, shoot, honey, I was just kidding y’all. I already forgot about that. Now, I’m going to need to know everything from you, okay? Like about breast-feeding and such. We’ll get together.” She then turned to Trey and, to everyone’s surprise, looked suddenly shy. She fiddled with her fingers as she talked. “Trey, I’ve been awful to you. I’m sorry. You’re such a good friend to me. I think…well, I’ll always love you. But like a friend.”
Cinda realized she was actually moved. Someone took her hand. It was Dorinda Cooper. “I told you she was a good girl at heart.”
Cinda nodded and smiled, believing anything today. She listened as Trey said, “I love you, too, Bobby Jean. And congratulations, honey.” He hugged her.
Everyone sighed and aahed. Then Bobby Jean grabbed her husband again by the hand and took off for the house. “Come on, baby. Wait until I tell Mama and Daddy they’re going to be grandparents of a future Mafia don.”
Though he looked a little sick at that, Tommy/ Rocco asked plaintively, “Then we aren’t separated anymore?”
“Of course not, doll. What made you think we were separated?”
The four goons closed ranks around Bobby Jean and her hapless but adoring husband and blocked them from sight. The happy crowd was pleased to follow after them, apparently wanting to see firsthand the elder Nickersons’ response to the joyous news. That left Cinda and Trey and Dorinda and Chelsi standing there alone.
“Well, that’s it,” Dorinda declared. “Let’s go see about that pecan pie. It ought to be done by the time we get home.”
So that was it. Cinda couldn’t believe it. It was over. She looked up at Trey. Ever handsome, the poor man looked shell-shocked. “Are you all right, Trey?”
“I think so,” he said, taking Chelsi from his mother and holding her as the foursome headed back toward Trey’s car.
“So you really knew him in high school?” Trey asked Cinda as he put his arm around her shoulder.
“Yeah. I thought I recognized him when he came outside, but I wasn’t sure. I would have hated to be wrong.”
“I guess. Damn. That ended with a fizzle, didn’t it?”
“Not really,” Cinda said. “I’m happy for Bobby Jean and Tommy. Or Rocco. What a name. That crazy guy. He said he put on that big show to impress Bobby Jean when he met her. And then, when she fell for it, he had to keep it up. But I’m telling you, she’s not the worst of Tommy’s problems. His father is going to kill him.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said. What’s his father do that he needs those guys and that black limo?”
“Oh, he’s in the Mafia.”
Trey stopped. Cinda looked up at him. “What?”
“His father is in the Mafia? The man’s name is Jenkins and he’s Mafia?”
Cinda gently reproved Trey. “The Mafia’s equal opportunity, honey. Anybody can join. You don’t have to be Italian. I guess I was just around it more than you, so I understand it better. A lot of the kids in high school’s dads’ were reportedly mobsters.”
“Child, where’d you go to high school that so many Mafia children were running around loose?” Dorinda chimed in.
“A private one in New York City. Tommy and I were in the same class.”
They started walking again toward the red muscle machine that was Trey’s car. “Then you’re really a Yankee?” Dorinda asked a few steps later.
“Afraid so,” Cinda had to tell her.
“Well, what do you know. My son married a Yankee.” Dorinda didn’t sound happy, just resigned. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“Take heart, Mother. We’re not really married.”
“You are so.”
“We’re not, Dorinda. But we will be,” Cinda boldly announced, feeling her face—and her heart—warming up as she stared into Trey’s eyes.
“We will?” Trey made the mistake of asking. “I mean…we will. We will.”
“Yes, we will. We have to be. And soon, too.”
Trey frowned at her. “I’m not following. I love you and want to marry you. Damn. It’s true. I do. But…what are you talking about?”
Cinda smiled broadly. “My high-school reunion is next month.”
Trey stopped them again. “No. Sorry. Only today I made a promise to myself that I was never going to another reunion ever again.”
Undaunted, happier than she’d been in a long, long time, Cinda shrugged. “Well, you’ll have to break it. Because we’re going. I already sent in my RSVP.”
Cinda watched as Trey tried to look displeased, but he couldn’t. There was too much love radiating her way from his blue eyes. He chuckled happily and kissed Chelsi on her sweet chubby baby cheek. “You hear that, gal? We’re going to New York for a reunion. Yippee. I’ll show you where your mama and I met and where you were almost born.”
So it was settled. They headed again for the car, in no real hurry. They hadn’t gone more than ten steps before Trey broke the silence. “I have to break more than one promise to myself today, I suppose.”
“Really? What promise is that?” Cinda put her arm around his waist, walking easily at his side even though her heart was doing ecstatic loops of sheer joy just knowing that Trey was going to be a real part of her life.
“Well, I promised myself years ago that I’d never marry while I was working on the race car circuit. Too many problems. I see it all the time. The travel. The hours. The divorces. It’s rough, Cinda. I want you to know that.”
“I understand, Trey. I wouldn’t ask you to give up something so important to you.”
“I appreciate that, honey. But it still worries me. I don’t want those things—the fighting, the hurting—to happen to us. I don’t know what to do. Except quit.”
Cinda hated the wistful, resigned note in his voice. Hated even worse that his loving her was causing it. She thought about what to do and came up with a compromise by the time they reached the car. “Trey, maybe you don’t have to break that promise. And maybe you can stay in racing.”
He frowned. “I don’t see how. It’s a very demanding lifestyle. And Jude Barrett doesn’t cut anybody any slack. No, I’ll just have to quit. Because you come first. That’s just the way it is.”
“I really needed to know you believe that. But, listen. For one thing, you’re not married to Jude Barrett. You’ll be married to me. Have you ever thought of sponsoring a car yourself, Trey? Or starting your own team? Then you’d be in control and could set the hours or whatever.”
“Hell, yes, I’ve thought of it. For years. It’s been like a dream of mine. Shoot, I even know which of the guys on the team I’d ask to go with me. But I’ll never have the money.”
Cinda smiled. “Well, I do.” She saw Trey’s protests coming and rushed on. “Don’t let your pride answer for you, Trey. We can do this. I think Richard would approve, too. He was such a daredevil himself that I think he’d love my idea. I personally can’t think of a better way to invest some of his money, can you?”
Trey looked thunderstruck as all the possibilities sunk in. “My God, my own team? Wow.” Then he sobered. “If I went along with this, I’d want to pay you back all the money you’d put in up front.”
Cinda laughed. “You silly thing. When we’re married, it will be our money. So if you want to pay yourself back, go ahead.”
“Well, I’m going to. But I don’t know what to say, Cinda.”
Well, if he didn’t, his mother did. “For corn’s sake, son, say yes.”
Trey laughed and then bent over Cinda to kiss her. When he pulled back from her, he said, “Okay. Yes, I accept.”
“Then it’s settled. Good.” Cinda thought she would faint from so much love and happiness. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how she was supposed to feel. Happy. Complete. Like she was going to die from it.
Trey handed her Chelsi and walked with her around the back of the car to open the door where the baby’s car seat was. “So tell me about this reunion of yours. Oh, jeez, we’ll probably see Rocco—or Tommy—and Bobby Jean there, won’t we?”
Cinda grimaced. “Oh, that’s right. God, Trey, Bobby Jean thinks she and I are friends now.” Trey laughed at her chagrin, so Cinda had to get him back. “What’s so funny, mister? Guess who’s going to the reunion with us?”
Dorinda Cooper’s head popped up on the other side of the car where she’d been about to pile into the back seat. “Besides me, you mean?”
“Besides you, of course.” Cinda turned to Trey. “Well? Are you going to guess?”
He looked suddenly sullen. “I don’t want to.”
Cinda could have devoured him right there, he was so cute. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Major Clovis.”
“Who’s he?” Dorinda asked.
“She,” Cinda corrected. “And you know, Dorinda, I can’t wait to see the two of you together. That ought to be interesting.”
“Ha,” Trey griped, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “I don’t like her. She threatened to hurt me.”
Balancing Chelsi on a hip, Cinda rubbed Trey’s arm affectionately. “And she will, too, honey. She wasn’t teasing you.” Then Cinda remembered something else. “Oh, and Richard’s parents will be there, too.”
“No.”
“Yes. They’re big contributors to the school. Richard also graduated from my high school, but I didn’t know him back then. He was four years older than I was. Anyway, you’ll love Papa Rick. That’s Richard’s father. Oh, you know what, Trey? I bet he will want to invest in your car, too. Oh, that is perfect. You’ll be so good for him. Oh, but then there’s the Dragon Lady, Richard’s mother. She’s a huge pain, but I love her. I’m afraid they’re just going to be in our lives, Trey.”
Looking ill, Trey braced his butt against his car. “Lovely.” Then he smiled at her. “I’m kidding you. That’s fine with me, Cinda. I’ll love whoever you love. But is there anything else I should know?”
Time to come clean. “Yes. I have three brothers. They’re all older than I am, and they’ll be there, too. And my parents. Everyone will be there.” Cinda smiled encouragingly. “Do you still want to marry me?”
Trey reached out for her, drawing Chelsi and Cinda into his embrace. He kissed her forehead lightly. “Yes,” Trey said, “I do. I have since that day I saw you in that elevator.”
“What elevator?” Dorinda Cooper asked.
Cinda and Trey disengaged from their hug and turned to face Trey’s mother on the other side of the car. Trey answered her for them both. “We need to go rescue that pie, so we’ll tell you about it on the way home, Mother. But this elevator is a very important one. So important that if Cinda and I should ever have a son, we’ll have to name him Otis.”