Marrying Money. SUSAN MEIER
auburn hair tucked into a neat chignon and just the right amount of makeup accenting her round brown eyes, Tanner believed it. He had always been proud of his parents and proud of his life. He simply didn’t want to live it in Wilmore.
“You know that’s not it,” Tanner replied. “It’s just that I really don’t care to see Emmalee, that’s all.”
“I don’t know why. Your divorce was final years ago,” Doris said, adjusting her son’s paisley tie. “Emmalee’s married to the mayor now. She moved on years ago.”
“And so did I,” Tanner said. Though everyone else wore a standard-fare black or navy suit, Tanner didn’t feel out of place in the expensive cocoa-brown suit and ivory shirt he’d had specially made for him, because he knew people in this town expected him to look the part of who he was. “In case either of you has forgotten, I just sold my trucking company for a small fortune. I’ve more than moved on. I’m moving on again.”
“We know, dear,” his mother said, using her calm, conciliatory voice. “You’re a rich, successful ex-college football star who blew out his knee his first game in the pros and used his compensation money to start a trucking company that you sold for millions. We haven’t forgotten any of that.” She paused long enough to smile at her son. “But you’re also not married.”
“And we don’t have grandbabies,” Jim put in, peeking around Doris as the trio began to walk across the parking lot to the crowded, noisy church hall.
“Oh,” Tanner said, sighing with understanding. “So that’s what this is all about.” He looked over at the town celebration with new eyes. “You think I’ll find a wife tonight.”
“No better place to find a good woman than your hometown,” Jim said.
“There are at least fifteen lovely young women who are unattached and who would make you a fabulous wife,” Doris added as if spouse shopping were an everyday occurrence and Tanner shouldn’t be insulted that his parents had brought him to their version of a matrimony mall.
Over his mother’s head, Tanner scowled at his father.
“Hey, don’t make faces at me. Your mother and I are in this together,” Jim said.
Passing the small groups clustered in front of the entry, Tanner and his parents issued greetings and exchanged pleasantries but didn’t actually stop to talk. They walked to the admission window immediately inside the open door of the church hall. A petite blonde was collecting tickets.
Wearing an ink-blue sequined tank dress with a filmy, frilly ruffle at the hemline about five inches above her knees, and earrings and a necklace that seemed to be the exact hue of her dress, she looked as though she should be on television or on a magazine cover, not welcoming patrons to a dinner dance in a tiny town in the Appalachian Mountains.
“Hello, Mr. McConnell, Mrs. McConnell…” She paused and looked at Tanner. “Tanner,” she added softly.
Her voice reminded him of a lullaby. Wistful, light, airy and full of warmth. Her eyes were the color of wild violets. Her thick yellow hair was piled on her head in some sort of fancy hairdo that made him think of a Greek goddess. Strands slipped and curled from the main mass, and a long strip hung from the back like a silken waterfall. Spellbound, he stared at her.
“You remember Bailey Stephenson,” his mother said. “She owns the beauty shop.”
Tanner smiled. Of course…who else would have hair that looked like a work of art? “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” he said, then extended his hand, suddenly awfully darned glad his parents had insisted he attend this celebration of the town’s triumphant renewal after the unexpectedly severe spring flooding.
She took Tanner’s hand, her smooth, thin palm sliding along the calluses of his much bigger, much stronger palm, and Tanner could swear his heart stopped. She had skin like warm velvet and small, delicate, feminine bones that reminded him that he was not only considerably larger than she was, but also that he was a man and she was a woman.
Heat tingled through him. Mesmerized, confused, he gazed into her eyes, and he couldn’t seem to let go of her hand. With women throwing themselves at his feet at every turn, some because of his money, some because of his looks, it had been a long, long time since Tanner had spontaneously reacted to a woman. Not only did he like the feeling, but he wanted it to go on forever.
“I didn’t think you would remember me,” Bailey said, smiling at him, not like a woman who was flirting, but like a woman who saw him as an equal, as a person, not a personality.
Full-fledged attraction shot through him. There was no doubt about it. He liked this woman—instantly, instinctively liked this woman. Not merely because she was beautiful but because he knew that if she were attracted to him it would be for reasons other than superficial ones.
“I’m a little younger than you are,” she added. “When you left town I was probably only starting high school.”
Before Tanner had a chance to do the math on that and fret over the fact that she might be too young for him, his father muttered an oath.
“Ah, damn,” Jim said, as he patted his suit jacket pocket. “I forgot the tickets.”
“That’s okay,” the pretty beautician said, smiling at his parents. “Your names are on the list. The tickets are only a formality.”
“Are you sure?” Doris asked.
“Of course I’m sure. I chaired the committee, remember?” Bailey said with a laugh. “But, if you would like to give the committee a good-faith gesture, your son could—”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Tanner cut in with a grin, happy to seize any chance to get close to and stay close to this woman.
“Well, don’t speak too soon.” Bailey bit back a smile. “I was about to volunteer you for the revitalization committee.”
Tanner’s grin faded. “What?”
“The members of the restoration committee, which managed the actual flood cleanup, decided we need a revitalization committee because there are so many things this town needs that one committee couldn’t handle it all.”
He stared at her.
She began ticking off items on her fingers. “We need a park for the kids. We could use some bike trails. A community college would be the best thing that could happen for our young people. And we need a senior center. There are grants and Federal money available for most of that, but we need people dedicated to going after them.”
“I—” Tanner began.
“Tanner can’t serve on a committee,” his mother interrupted, speaking for him as if he weren’t standing right beside her. “I think he would be perfect—all that business experience of his could help the town enormously—but the entire time he was building his business, he dreamed of retiring in Florida. Buying a boat. Taking people on chartered fishing tours to make pocket change while he played. He’s not interested.”
“Too bad,” Bailey said casually. “Well, you three have a good time tonight,” she added, turning her attention to the incoming group behind them.
Tanner didn’t want to serve on the committee, but he should have had the opportunity to make up his own mind. “Thank you very much, Mom. The least I could have done was hear Bailey out about the responsibilities of serving on the committee.”
That stopped him. Actually, hearing her out was the least he could do to get another five, ten or maybe even twenty minutes with her. He certainly wasn’t going to let the first woman who had piqued his interest in ten years get away without a conversation.
Bailey Stephenson watched Tanner walk into the main room of the church hall, which was decorated in a sea of red, white and blue crepe paper, the rows of long narrow tables covered with white plastic cloths and sporting fat red candles and miniature flags as centerpieces. She bit her lower lip as she collected the