Manhunting in Mississippi

“Nada.”

“UPS man?”

“He’s a woman.”

“Well, you’ve got three whole months to come up with a dance partner for the wedding—all the men in the wedding party are taken.”

Piper flopped down on top of the dress pile, sending the hangers clanging. “Oh, well, that should be a cinch. After all, ballroom dancing is such a popular pastime in Mudville.”

“You’ll think of something. Cheer up—I’ll bet every happily married woman had a strategy to snag their man. Take Stew, for example. He dragged his feet for three years. Then, when I told him I had a job offer in Tennessee, he fell to his knees.”

Piper frowned. Her bedroom ceiling needed to be painted. “I didn’t know you had a job offer in Tennessee.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Piper, it’s our job to convince men they can’t live without us. Keep your eyes open for someone older—maybe a divorced man.”

“I’m not so sure I want a retread.”

Justine clucked. “Sophie says men are better husbands the second time around—you don’t have nearly as much training to do.”

“This is starting to sound like a lot of work.”

Justine sighed noisily. “Piper, do you want to grow old alone?”

Shutting her eyes against the welling misery, Piper relented, puffing her heated cheeks. “No.”

“Then you’d better start doing something about it.”

“Okay, okay, I get the message. Can we please change the subject?”

“Aha!” Justine whooped. “I just thought of the perfect color for my bridesmaids’ dresses—salmon!”

Piper bit back a groan, bounced up from the bed and walked her fingers over the collection of gowns still hanging in the cramped wardrobe. Burgundy, tangerine, moss green, silver, baby blue, pink, coral, eggplant, peach and plum.

But no salmon.

IAN BENTLEY BLINKED at the thick gold band, topped with two rows of sparkling diamonds, then glanced across the table to Meredith. “M-marry you?”

“Sure.” She shrugged her lovely shoulders, a dry smile curving her glazed red lips. “I won a trip to Europe for top sales, but I’m only allowed to have a spouse go with me—no ‘significant others.’”

Ian pursed his lips and studied her classically beautiful face and mane of blond hair, which no doubt contributed to her sales success. Meredith was a walking billboard for the line of cosmetics she sold to department stores, more striking than most of the supermodels who endorsed the products. But was hers a face he could wake up to for the rest of his life? “Meredith, forgive me, but a trip doesn’t seem like a great reason to get married.”

She laughed and waved off his concern. “Silly, I know that, but the trip started me thinking. Why the hell not get married? We spend most nights together anyway—when we’re both in town,” she added. “Getting married is the next logical step.” She leaned forward and touched his hand. “Come on, Ian, neither one of us is getting any younger.”

The uneasiness that gurgled in Ian’s empty stomach ballooned into dread, then full-fledged terror. In the space of a few seconds, the innocent, quick lunch had morphed into a life-altering experience. Meredith was an elegant woman, an immaculate dresser and a skilled lover. He enjoyed her company very much. But did he love her?

Ian skewered the elusive concept and turned it over in his mind like a rotisserie. Would he even recognize the emotion if it sneaked up on him? He always thought he’d be married, perhaps even have a child or two, before the age of forty. But forty was approaching more quickly than he’d expected, and he was still waiting for someone to capture his heart the way his mother had captured his father’s nearly five decades ago.

Meredith’s flawless face lost some of its sparkle. “Gee, Ian, you look like you siphoned gas and swallowed a mouthful.”

Straightening in his suddenly uncomfortable chair, he squeezed the gray ring box and grappled for the right words. “You caught me a little off guard, Meredith.”

She angled her blond head at him. “That would be the idea behind a surprise, wouldn’t it?”

A weak laugh erupted from his tight throat as moisture broke out along his hairline.

“Try it on,” she urged, lifting her wineglass for a sip, then added, “your left hand.”

His gaze dropped back to the ring. Ian extracted it carefully, marveling how an expensive bauble could come attached with so much emotional baggage. “It’s very nice,” he murmured, estimating that two carats’ worth of diamonds studded the gold band. Meredith’s taste ran a bit on the flashy side. With his heart pounding, he slid the ring onto his third finger, then gave her a tight smile. “Perfect fit.” Dammit.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” she offered, withdrawing a black-cased lipstick and mirror for a quick touch-up. “Wear the ring for a few days, see how you like the idea of being a married man. If you say yes, we’ll simply buy me a band to match.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow on business,” he blurted, changing the subject awkwardly, but suddenly anticipating the trip he’d been dreading only moments ago.

Meredith’s eyes lit up. “Anywhere interesting?”

Although she occasionally accompanied him from Chicago to Los Angeles or New York, Ian felt nearly giddy with relief that she wouldn’t be so eager to join him on this trip. He forced disappointment into his voice. “Afraid not—Mudville, Mississippi, population twelve hundred.”

Her slender nose wrinkled. “What’s in Mudville, Mississippi?”

“The plant that packages desserts for my Italian diners.”

“Oooh, the butterscotch cheesecake?”

He smiled and nodded. “Among others.”

Wincing, she patted her flat tummy with a manicured hand. “That settles it—with bathing-suit season around the corner, I definitely can’t go.”

Ian made a clicking sound with his cheek and tried to look disappointed. “Maybe next time.”

“Why are you going?”

“I’m planning to franchise the coffeehouses next year, and I think a designer dessert would improve their marketability—you know, something catchy.”

She narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. “I meant, why are you going? Don’t you have someone to take care of that kind of thing?”

“Well…yes,” he admitted, not without a certain amount of guilt. His vice president of marketing had made the same point just last week when Ian had returned from a plant in Illinois. And his doctor had warned him only yesterday to delegate more work at the office. Frustration pushed at his chest, causing him to respond more vehemently than the situation warranted. “But I think the importance of this project justifies a firsthand consultation with the company’s food scientists.”

Meredith’s eyes widened slightly, then she inclined her head. “When it comes to food, you seem to know what the public wants.” One eyebrow arched and she smirked. “How are the kiddie parlors selling?”

Glad for the change in subject, he smiled wide. “Great so far. Pizza and trampolines seem to be a profitable mix.”

“Go figure,” she said, her dry tone a clear indication of how she felt about having kids, hearing kids or just plain seeing kids—a fact which needled him slightly. She blotted her lipstick with her folded napkin. “How long will you be in…Mudville, is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know…as long as it takes to get a good prototype. Maybe a week, maybe more. Sometimes these small-town plants are not as prepared as they should be for presentations.”