With that, she turned on her heel and marched away, back around the corner to Main Street and back to her family waiting for them in Cutie Pies. Where presumably she’d announce her plan to move the wedding reception to Marie’s house. All in the interest of repairing familial bonds.
Ah, crap.
This marriage thing was ending up to be much more work than he’d anticipated.
Fifteen
Jonathon did not want to spend the afternoon becoming reacquainted with his big, sprawling mess of a family.
He did not want to spend the night in the tiny, three-bedroom, two-bathroom tract house where he’d grown up.
Hell, he didn’t even want to leave the comfort of Palo Verde’s one luxury hotel. Luxury being a somewhat fluid term. In this case, meaning historic, not decrepit and possessing a well-stocked bar.
After lunch, he’d drawn out the afternoon as much as possible, his annoyance with Helen surpassed only by his aversion to spending more time with his own family. So he showed Wendy’s family around town, lingering over checking them into the hotel. Anything to avoid bringing Wendy to his sister’s house.
Which was why he was now hiding out in the bar, waiting for Wendy to walk her grandmother back to her room.
He sat there, the ice-cold Anchor Steam almost untouched in front of him, considering his options for getting out of sleeping on his sister’s living-room floor on a blow-up bed.
While the place may or may not be quite the dump it had been when he was growing up, it was still smaller than his sister’s five kids needed. And for some reason he’d never understood, his sister doggedly clung to the damn thing. While he didn’t keep in touch with any of his siblings, he kept tabs on them and their finances. He didn’t want to be involved in their lives, but he didn’t want any of them out on the street either. And he’d made sure his sister could afford better if she wanted it. Apparently she didn’t.
Now he wished he’d given up on being subtle and respecting her pride and had just bought her a damn mansion. Hell, maybe it wasn’t too late. What were the chances he could find a twenty-four-hour Realtor?
He took one last swig of beer and then pushed away from the mostly full bottle. Before he could even stand up, Big Hank sauntered in.
“Thank God, you’re here.” Big Hank pulled back a chair for himself without waiting for an invitation.
“Is something wrong?” Jonathon asked, poising to head for the door if there was.
“No, no,” Hank muttered. The big man pulled off his cowboy hat and settled it onto one of his knees. “I just hate to drink alone.” Then he laughed as if he’d told the funniest joke.
Jonathon smiled, humoring the older man until the waitress could come over to take his drink order. For the first few minutes, while they were waiting, Hank spun his particular brand of good-ol’-boy charm.
Jonathon was too wise to underestimate him. Instead he said little and mostly listened to one over-the-top story after another. He knew better than to take the stories seriously. But also knew that every word out his mouth could be the truth. With a guy like Big Hank, just about anything was possible.
Just as Jonathon was finishing his beer and about to make his excuses, Hank settled back, stretched an arm along the back of his side of the booth and said, “But enough about me.” If the past thirty minutes were any indication, he wasn’t a man who could ever say enough about himself. “I want to talk to you about Gwen.”
Something in his tone gave Jonathon pause. “What about her?”
Hank gave the ice in his scotch glass a little swirl. “When you left the restaurant today, Mema sent me to find you. I overheard your conversation in the parking lot.”
Which could mean almost anything, depending on how much of the conversation Hank had heard. “And?”
“And I know your marriage is a sham.”
“And?” Jonathon asked again.
“You know what I think? I think Gwen put you up to this. I think she’s trying to worm her way into Mema’s good graces, so she can avoid a custody battle.” Hank chuckled, raising his glass as if in toast to Wendy’s ingenuity. “What I couldn’t figure out at first was how she roped you into going along with her.” Hank gestured with the glass he held in his hand. “You’re a smart man. I doubt you’d get involved with this scheme of hers unless it benefited you.”
“I love Wendy,” Jonathon said, the rehearsed words sounding flat on his tongue.
“No,” Hank muttered. “I don’t think you do.”
Jonathon leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “You can’t prove I don’t love her.”