“Don’t worry, hon, she’s not even looking this way,” Thomas said.

“She?” Annajane pulled up to her knees, crawled over to the window, and peeked out.

A petite woman in tight black slacks, a slightly askew silver halter top, and high-heeled silver mules peeked out the door of unit 12. She had short, white-blond hair and a large overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

Annajane gasped and ducked again.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is she looking this way?”

Harold walked over to the window and looked out. “Not really. She’s talking on her cell phone. Do you know her?”

“Afraid so,” Annajane said. “Her name’s Celia. She’s the one who’s marrying my ex-husband today.”

Now Thomas was standing at the window, too. “Hmm. She’s certainly blessed. Do you think those are real?”

Harold went back to the reception desk and fetched his bird-watching binoculars. He studied the set in question. “Ooh, look, here comes Mr. Harry Dix.”

Annajane’s heart was pounding in her chest as she poked her head high enough to see out the window. Sure enough, a man had stepped onto the tiny porch of unit 12. His dark wavy hair looked damp. His white dress shirt was rumpled and untucked, and he carried his expensive pin-striped suit jacket over one arm. He glanced around furtively, ducked his head, and headed around to the back of the unit, in Celia’s wake. A moment later, the black Boxster came roaring from the rear of the unit.

“Oh. My. God.” Annajane breathed. “I should have known.”

“So you do know him?” Harold asked. “What’s his real name?”

“His name is Davis Bayless,” Annajane said, standing slowly, hoping her head would stop pounding. “He’s the groom’s baby brother.”

“Uh-oh,” Thomas and Harold said in unison. They did a well-choreographed fist-bump. “Undercover lovers!”

40

Pokey was fifteen minutes late, which was actually early by her own standards. She slid onto the cracked orange vinyl dinette bench opposite Annajane and automatically reached for the oversized laminated menu.

“I already ordered your french toast and sausage,” Annajane said.

The Country Cupboard was jammed as usual on a Saturday morning. There were other breakfast spots in Passcoe, but none as popular as the CC, as everybody in town called it. The long counter at the bar was filled with people tucking into their runny eggs, country ham, bacon, hash-browns, grits, and biscuits, and every table and booth in the restaurant on the town square was full.

“What’s up?” Pokey asked.

Annajane took a sip of ice water and looked around nervously. She should have picked a quieter, more private place, she realized. The tables were set close together, and everybody in the CC knew everybody else.

“I have news,” Annajane said, trying to keep her voice low.

Pokey eyed her best friend with unguarded curiosity.

“You look different this morning,” she said.

Annajane blushed.

“Wait a second. Oh, yeah. I remember that look. You’ve got afterglow!” Pokey exclaimed. “Or maybe it’s beard burn. You did it, didn’t you? Finally.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “Yay! I’m so glad.”

“Shh!” Annajane whispered. “Lower your voice! Everybody in here knows us, and they all think they know what we’re talking about. So, can we not talk about what they think we are?”

Pokey leaned forward. “Okay, we won’t discuss. Just nod your head, or tap your glass once for yes, two for no. Did you or did you not? Do it with you-know-who?”

“All right,” Annajane groused. She tapped her glass once with the side of her spoon.

“Was it amazing?” Pokey demanded.

“Pokey! None of your business,” Annajane said, and then, with a shrug, she tapped her glass once. “Now, can we change the subject? Because that is not what I need to talk to you about.”

“Sure, after you tell me where the deed was done.”

Annajane looked away. “Some things a lady doesn’t discuss.”

“I’m no lady,” Pokey replied. “Despite Sallie’s best efforts. Did you do it at his house? Or did you go back out to the farm?”

“No! God, no.”

“Where? You might as well spit it out, because you know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

Annajane did know. “All right. It was at the Pinecone.”

“Oooh,” Pokey said, rubbing her hands together gleefully. “Perfect. Your own little love nest.”

Annajane glanced around the room and leaned her head toward Pokey’s. “Not as perfect as you might think. Guess who else was checked in at the love nest?”

“The baby mama? For real?”

Annajane tapped her iced-tea glass once with her spoon.

“And she had company! When I saw him sneaking out of her unit this morning I almost wet myself.”

“Who?”

“It was almost a family reunion,” Annajane whispered.

“Davis?” Pokey’s eyes widened.

Annajane tapped her spoon once against her glass. “And he’d signed the guest register with a pseudonym. Harry Dix!”

A plume of ice water erupted from Pokey’s nose.

“Oh my God!” Pokey said, dabbing at her face with a paper napkin. “You can’t tell me that kind of stuff without a warning.”

“I know,” Annajane whispered.

“Day-yummm!” Pokey exclaimed. “Harry Dix! That must be his porn name.”

Annajane snickered. “Wonder what Celia’s is?”

“Lotta Lays?” Pokey offered. She reached for the basket of biscuits in the center of the table, selected one, and sliced and buttered it. She took a bite and chewed slowly.

Annajane sipped her coffee and waited.

“You have to tell Mason,” Pokey said.

“No way,” Annajane said.

“Somebody needs to. We can’t let him marry that, that, woman. Not now.”

“I can’t be the person to tell him his brother betrayed him like that,” Annajane said. “And neither can you. He and ‘Harry’ might not get along all the time, but it would destroy Mason to find out that ‘Harry’ slept with ‘Lotta.’ Anyway, we don’t really know for sure what they were actually doing there.”

“Oh, please. You saw good old Harry coming out of a room with you-know-who at the Pinecone Motor Lodge this morning. And we both know that’s where Harry has always stashed his girlfriends over the years,” Pokey said.

“Maybe he was just dropping off some papers to her,” Annajane said. “Or they were plotting how to overthrow Mason at Quixie.”

“And maybe I’ll be the cover model for next year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition,” Pokey said. “We always knew she was a skank. And now she’s a double skank—sleeping with brothers. Eeeewww.”

The waitress brought Pokey’s french toast and set it down on the table. Pokey carefully drizzled maple syrup across her plate. “You’re not eating?” she asked.

“Not hungry,” Annajane said. “I’m just so … sad and mad. And maybe a teensy bit hungover. I wish I knew how to save Mason. I wish he wanted to save himself. But he’s resigned to marrying her and making the rest of his life miserable.”

“Don’t forget he’s ruining your life, too,” Pokey added.

“I don’t have to live with her,” Annajane pointed out. She slumped against the back of the vinyl bench. “Are you going to the wedding?” she asked.

“I’m not invited,” Pokey said. “Not that I’d go even if I were invited. I’m going to go pick up Sophie after I leave here and take her over to spend the night at my house.”

“Sophie’s not going to the wedding, either?” Annajane asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. According to Mama, it’ll just be her and the happy couple. Oh yes, and Bonnie and Matt Kelsey, who will be the witnesses.”

“Interesting that old Harry Dix won’t be performing best man duties today,” Annajane said.

Pokey gave a smirk. “My guess is, he’s already performed for Lotta.”

41

Mason sat behind the desk in his study, stone-faced, as his sister made one last attempt to change his mind.