The Man She Married
“Honey, are you ready for bed?” Maizie channeled her inner seductress as she struck a pose in the door.
No response.
“Clayton. Did you hear me?”
“Sure,” he answered, but didn’t take his eyes off the T.V. screen. “Let me catch the rest of the news and I’ll be right with you.”
The moron would rather watch the weather than make love? If that didn’t beat all! She counted to ten and decided to give him one more chance.
All Southern belles had an arsenal of tricks, and Maizie was no exception. She treated her oblivious husband to a little swish, a more pronounced sashay and a coup de grâce—a naughty hip grind—all done right in front of him for maximum effect.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This was war. Clay didn’t know it yet, but he was going to live to rue this day.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever thought about spicing up your love life? After more than twenty years of marriage, Mary Stuart “Maizie” Walker is ready for a little rockin’ and rollin,’ and that’s when she comes up with the perfect plan. She’s going to make her hubby jealous by flirting with the handsome tennis pro. However, that scheme, like the best-laid plans of mice and Southern belles, backfires—big-time.
Welcome back to Magnolia Bluffs, the hometown of Maizie and her cohorts in mischief—Liza and Kenni. There’s never a dull moment when the Steel Magnolias are up to their antics, and this time Mama and the aunts get involved. The Man She Married is fun, it’s funky and I hope it makes you laugh out loud.
Ann
Here’s a great snack for football parties.
Georgia Munchies
6 cups popped popcorn
1 (6-ounce) bag corn chips
2 cups bite-size pretzels
1 (3-ounce) can Chinese noodles
1 stick margarine
2 teaspoons Worcestershire
1 teaspoon Tabasco
1/8 teaspoon garlic powder
Combine popcorn, chips, pretzels and noodles. Melt margarine; stir in sauces and garlic. Pour over popcorn mix and toss to coat. Bake at 250 degrees for 1 hour. Stir every 15 minutes. Cool and store in airtight containers. Yields 12 cups.
The Man She Married
Ann DeFee
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ann DeFee’s debut novel, A Texas State of Mind (Harlequin American Romance), was a double finalist in the 2006 Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Awards.
Drawing on her background as a fifth-generation Texan, Ann loves to take her readers into the sassy and sometimes wacky world of a small Southern community. As an air force wife with twenty-three moves under her belt, she’s now settled in her tree house in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, their golden retriever and two very spoiled cats. When she’s not writing, you can probably find her on the tennis court or in the park with her walking group.
Ann loves to hear from her readers, so please visit her Web site at www.ann-defee.com. Or contact her by snail mail at P.O. Box 97313, Tacoma, WA 98497.
This book is dedicated to the terrific folks at
Harlequin who make our books a reality, with
special kudos to Megan Long, Paula Eykelhof and
Kathleen Scheibling. And a special thanks to my
good friends Geri Krotow and Debbie Macomber.
Without the help and support of these extraordinary
ladies I’d probably still be writing comprehensive
plans. And this is a whole lot more fun!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter One
“Do these jeans make my butt look fat?” Mary Stuart “Maizie” Walker realized she was asking a no-win question. And she knew she was being unfair—honestly she did—but the devil on her shoulder kept poking her.
Clay, her husband of twenty-two years, glanced up from the paper. The expression on his was face was classic “deer in the headlights.” It was so typical it was almost humorous, and that partially explained why Maizie was going out of her way to shake up their “we’ve been married forever” life. She was determined to inject some rockin’ and rollin’ into their intimacy.
Intellectually she recognized she was in the middle of an empty-nest crisis. Hannah, her baby, was a freshman at Emory University in Atlanta. And although the school was only fifty miles from Magnolia Bluffs, she was missing her daughter like crazy. Okay, she wasn’t being rational, but who could blame her?
“Uh, well, uh.” Clay threw up his hands. “What do you want me to say? Lately, I can’t seem to get it right. I feel like I’ve walked into the middle of a pop quiz and I didn’t even know I was in school.”
Poor Clay. Maizie had loved him her entire adult life, and a good portion of her adolescence. That love hadn’t changed, so why was she being such a shrew? Lord love a duck, was she going into early menopause? Or was she merely losing her mind? For months there had been this pervasive sense of dissatisfaction that she couldn’t seem to shake.
Stop it right this minute! She had a wonderful life and it was time to get a grip.
“No answer?” Clay asked before giving her the same sexy wink she’d fallen for in the sixth grade.
“No,” Maizie admitted. She sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling funky.”
Clay nestled her against his chest. “I know, baby. I know.”
And he probably did. Over the years they’d achieved a Spocklike mind meld. Besides completing each other’s sentences, they were also able to communicate without saying a word.
Clay nuzzled her neck, paying special attention to her favorite erogenous zone behind her ear. When he did that Maizie couldn’t help but melt into a puddle of lust.
He was a laid-back kind of guy with a quirky sense of humor, which was only one of the many things she loved about him. Clay had the same twinkly blue eyes and shaggy blond hair that had caught Maizie’s attention in elementary school. Way back when he thought a spit wad attack was foreplay. Thank goodness his technique had improved since then.
“I don’t have to be at the shop until ten.” Maizie tried her best flirtatious smile. “Do you think you could stick around for a while?”
Clay gave her neck one last nibble. “Oh, honey, I wish I could. Honest to God I do. But I have an important meeting with the Department of Transportation people.” Clay and his partner, Harvey, owned Magnolia Bluff’s premier engineering firm. “I can’t miss it.” He kissed the end of her nose. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“No big deal,” Maizie said as she jumped up and sashayed out of the room.
CLAY WATCHED MAIZIE walk away. Despite what she said, he knew it was a big deal. He was a smart guy and he’d been married long enough to recognize high dudgeon when he saw it. Lately he seemed to be screwing up all the time. Everything he tried blew up in his face, especially when it came to his wife, the sexiest, funniest, most appealing woman he’d ever met.
Maizie reminded him of a 1950s movie star—a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Pamela Anderson, sans surgical enhancements. She griped about the few pounds she’d gained, but as far as Clay was concerned her curves were perfect.
Straying had never entered his mind. His theory was why go out for chicken nuggets when you had cordon bleu at home, but lately, whew! The trouble had started when Hannah left for college and the situation was rapidly going downhill.
Maizie was the owner/operator of Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir. Her boutique was the emporium of all things girly in Magnolia Bluffs, Georgia, and it truly was the happening place. So if boredom wasn’t the problem, what was it—other than missing her baby?
Then Clay froze as a horrible thought struck him. Was his wife getting tired of him? Maizie and Hannah were his entire world. He didn’t think he could survive without them.
God, he didn’t need this right now, not on top of the trouble at work. Thinking about the debacle at the office made him want to beat his head against the wall.
Then Clay had a brilliant idea. Even he could admit it was time to call in an expert and who better than her fraternal twin, Liza. They were about as simpatico as two people could be.
Add in their cousin Kenni Whittaker and you had the Three Musketeers. Yep, Liza and Kenni would know what to do.
Pleased that he had a game plan, Clay grabbed his car keys and headed off to work. He’d call Liza when he had a spare minute—not that he had many of those.
Chapter Two
It had been a lousy morning. Maizie hated fighting with Clay, but sometimes it felt like a black mood hijacked her brain. And when that happened, dealing with it was worse than getting rid of a bad case of fleas.
Maizie was doing some deep breathing exercises in the back room of the Boudoir, getting ready to put on her happy face, when she heard a screech followed by a crash. Then someone growled, “Let’s go outside and settle this.” That was something you’d hear at the Honky-Tonk Inn, not at Miss Scarlett’s.
Enough was enough. Damn it all! Maizie threw her half-eaten Godiva bar in the cabinet and stomped out into the shop. A quick look revealed there wasn’t much to worry about. The combatants were two middle-aged women armed with nothing more lethal than their razor-sharp tongues. Her employees, PJ and Bambi, stood by helplessly.
“What in the Sam Hill do you two think you’re doing?” Maizie demanded, slamming her hands on her hips for emphasis. She had at least a seven-inch height advantage on both women and she wasn’t afraid to use it. “This isn’t a junior high cafeteria.”
Sue Belle Pennington and Lucy Albright had been mortal enemies since cheerleading tryouts in the eighth grade. Add the unfortunate fact that neither had the sense God gave a turnip—and voilà—they were an incident waiting to happen.
Maizie tapped her toe. If they weren’t going to behave they could get out of her store. “I’m waiting for an explanation, and it had better be good.”
“She, she…” Sue Belle pointed a bony finger at her archenemy. “She thinks she’s smart enough to run the Girl Scout cookie sale. God knows she came out of the shallow end of the gene pool.” The commentary was bad enough, but her wicked-witch cackle was the icing on the cake.
Lucy lunged for Sue Belle, ready to draw blood, but Maizie grabbed her in midflight.
“You’re having a catfight, in my store, over who’s going to be the cookie mama?” Maizie would’ve slammed their heads together if she’d thought it would do any good.
Sue Belle raised her hand in preparation for a rude gesture, but obviously reconsidered when Maizie shot her a lethal glare.
Lucy, however, didn’t know when to quit. “Her mama stole the Brownie money when we were in third grade. And everyone knows the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She accompanied her snarky remark with a smirk.
Oops! The ass whoopin’ was about to commence.
“Grab Sue Belle,” Maizie yelled to PJ, praying that her assistant manager would be able to restrain the enraged woman. Considering Sue Belle outweighed PJ by at least seventy-five pounds there wasn’t much hope of that.
“Call my brother-in-law.” Maizie tossed the cordless phone to Bambi, her after-school clerk. “Tell him to send someone over immediately.”
Zack Maynard, Liza’s husband, was the county sheriff. Sometimes it was handy to have a relative with a badge.
“Stop it right this minute!” Maizie screamed. Lordy, she hadn’t yelled that loud since her own cheerleading days. But it worked. Everyone in the shop went stock-still.
“Sit down. I will not tolerate a brawl in my store.”
Lucy sputtered and Sue Belle straightened her blouse where PJ had latched on to her arm. Although the combatants looked as if they’d rather have tea with Satan, they reluctantly complied, settling on opposite ends of the brocade Victorian fainting couch near the change rooms. The cease-fire, however, didn’t stop them from shooting baleful looks at each other.
“The dispatcher said someone would be here soon. But not to worry, the doughnut shop’s not too far away.” Bambi punctuated her report with a typical teenage giggle.
From her lips to God’s ears.
Ten minutes later Deputy Bubba Watson strolled in, a trail of white powder dribbled down his uniform, and it wasn’t cocaine. The poor man wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was the law. And if he could scare the bejeezus out of the nitwits, everything would be fine.
“What’s this I hear about a fight?” he drawled, snapping his suspenders in unison with the popping of his gum.
Maizie indicated the two women. “There they are.”
“Whatcha gals up to?” Bubba asked. His interrogation techniques weren’t exactly FBI approved.
Sue Belle started to speak, but Lucy interrupted. “She wants to—”
Not to be outdone, Sue Belle launched into her own spiel.
“That’s it! Bubba, get them out of here before I do something I’ll regret,” Maizie demanded. She turned to Lucy and Sue Belle. “You two are permanently banned from the Boudoir. Do not darken this door again. Do you hear me? Never ever come in here again.”
“Aw, Maizie. Don’t be that way,” Sue Belle wailed.
She was on the verge of tears, but that was too darned bad.
“Yeah.” Lucy never had been able to keep her mouth shut. “If we can’t shop at the Boudoir, we’ll have to drive to Atlanta to find decent stuff. You can’t really mean it.”
“Oh, I do. Believe me.”
Lucy’s next words sealed her fate. “I’ll sue you. Sure as shootin’ I will.”
Maizie managed to suppress a belly laugh. “Go ahead. My lawyer’s a lot meaner than yours.”
Cousin Kenni’s husband, Win, was a former member of the D.C. legal scene. He was also Magnolia Bluff’s newest and finest attorney and even though he specialized in criminal actions, he was perfectly capable of handling himself in civil court. That man could jump into a pool of sharks and come out without a scratch.
“Bring it on, baby.” Maizie waved her fingers in the universal sign for “come and get it.”
Bubba might’ve been a little slow, but even he recognized a good exit line. “Okay, ladies, let’s go.” He indicated the door. “One at a time, please.” He gave Maizie a conspiratorial wink and a piece of advice before he escorted the offenders out. “Be good, now, ya hear?”
Maizie plopped on the couch, suddenly aware that her knees were knocking. “I can’t wait to tell Clay. He won’t believe this.”
“Such dimwits.” PJ shook her head in disgust. “Can’t you just picture them rolling around on the floor and yankin’ each other’s hair out?”
PJ had been working for Maizie since she graduated from high school. When she wasn’t helping run the boutique she was the happily married mother of two little mop-heads. A chubby version of Rachael Ray with curly blond hair and Hershey-brown eyes, PJ was as cute as a speckled pup. Plus, she had a ready smile, a sharp wit and the common sense of Solomon.
“On that note I think we deserve some chocolate.” Maizie strolled to the back room and returned with a box of Belgian candy.
“Eat up,” she said. “To heck with the calories.” Maizie saved her “good stuff” for emergencies and celebrations, and this situation definitely qualified.
THE REMAINDER OF THE afternoon went by without incident. It was a typical Friday at the Boudoir—purchases were made, returns were processed and customers were accommodated.
The gold-leafed sign on the window read Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir, and if the inventory was any indication, Miss Scarlett had had herself a grand old time. It was a treasure trove of lace pillows, frothy undergarments and feminine apparel. Even the bell above the door sounded girly.
It was kitschy, it was fun and it had something for everyone. The blue-hairs loved the bath and beauty selection and the teens were hot for the trendy collection of jeans. Best of all, Maizie and PJ were known throughout the area for the exclusive line of French cosmetics they applied with a flourish. If you were in the market for a makeover, the Boudoir was definitely the place to go.
Under normal circumstances the boutique was a fantastic place to work, but this day had been a doozey and Maizie was dead on her feet.
“PJ, would you close the shop today?” she asked. “I need to run by the grocery store. We’re having a family football party at my house tomorrow.”
“No problem. It’s almost six o’clock anyway.”
“I won’t be in tomorrow. Bambi and Jerry Sue will be here to help you.”
“Gotcha. Don’t worry about a thing.”
MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE Piggly Wiggly parking lot. She was hoping to run in and out quickly but the chances of that happening in Magnolia Bluffs—where everyone knew everyone else’s business and loved to discuss it—were slim.
Before Maizie could make it to the cash register, Laverne Hightower, the town’s rumor maven, had managed to share a play-by-play of her gallbladder attack. Not to be outdone, Shirley Smith had launched into a full rundown on her daughter’s wedding preparations. And everyone wanted to talk about the commotion at the Boudoir. The next time Maizie needed food she’d go to the big box store out on the bypass.
By the time the groceries were bought, the errands were run and the day was over, she was ready to pull her hair out. No doubt about it—today had been one of those days.
Maizie breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the detached garage behind her rambling white turn-of-the-century bungalow. Her home was typically Southern with green shutters, a wraparound veranda and a trellis of honeysuckle.
When things got too hectic, Maizie loved to sit on the porch swing with a frosty glass of sweet tea and watch the world go by. It was her way of sweeping out the mental cobwebs. However that was an indulgence for another day.
“Clay!” Maizie called as she dropped her purse and a bag of canned goods on the kitchen table. “I need some help.”
The television was blaring in the family room, and hubby dear was missing in action.
“Clay, where are you?” Maizie was perfectly capable of carrying in the rest of the food, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Clayton!”
That apparently got his attention. “What do you need, Babes?” he answered, not bothering to move away from the television.
“I want some help with the groceries.”
“Can you wait a minute? I’m watching something.”
Maizie stomped into the family room to see what was so important. Bass fishing? Clay wasn’t waiting for a touchdown to be scored or a home run to be hit. No—he was sitting in his favorite leather chair with his feet propped on the ottoman, watching some guy in an expensive boat troll for fish.
Maizie was normally even-tempered—except when she was in a snit, and she didn’t really count that—but she grabbed the remote, hit the Off button and marched out. Making a grand exit was a talent she’d learned at her mama’s knee, and she happened to be darned good at it.
CRAP. CLAY KNEW HE was in a mess of trouble, again. What had he done this time? All he’d wanted to do was see if Skeeter Jackson would win the tournament and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. He could have used that kind of cash himself. It would go a long way toward solving at least one of his problems.
But immersing himself in that pipe dream had only irritated his sweetie, so clearly Clay had to make amends. Should he go with the “I’m so sorry, I’m an insensitive jerk” defense? That usually worked, especially if he followed up with some heavy necking—and a promise to do the dishes, take out the trash, clean the bathroom, yada, yada, yada.
“I’m sorry.” Clay was honestly remorseful. He hated upsetting Maizie.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a Coke,” he suggested. Without waiting for an answer he retrieved a soft drink and handed it to her.
Clay was about to give himself a big pat on the back. Then he saw his wife’s face. Something was drastically wrong, and it had nothing to do with bringing in the groceries.
“Clay.” Maizie sat at the pine trestle table, rubbing the cold can against her face. “Is this all we have to look forward to?”
That question scared Clay silly. When your wife got philosophical, all hell was about to break loose.
Chapter Three
It was a beautiful October Saturday, the leaves had changed, the air was crisp, and the University of Georgia was in the hunt for a national football title. Everyone in town was infected by gridiron fever and the Walkers were usually no exception. Back in the dark ages, Maizie had been a UGA cheerleader and Clay had been a star linebacker on the team. Needless to say, they were huge fans.
Regardless of the hoopla, Maizie was having a hard time getting into the “rah rah” mood. In fact, she was in more of a “kick ’em in the knee” frame of mind. On that depressing thought she answered the annoying ring of the phone, hoping it was a telemarketer, not someone she’d actually have to talk to.
“What’s wrong?” Only her twin would pick up on trouble from a simple hello.
“Nothing. I’m just feeling out of sorts.” Maizie normally shared everything with her sister, but this situation felt different.
“Is Hannah okay?”
Maizie chuckled, thinking about her flower child. “She’s fine, but her dad almost flipped when she told him she was considering majoring in pottery.”
Maizie was inclined to be a bit zany. Liza, on the other hand, was a lawyer and practical to the max, so she probably didn’t understand the pottery thing, either.
“Well, uh.” Liza paused. “I didn’t know they offered that major at Emory.”
“It was news to me, too,” Maizie said. “That’s why I decided to worry about it later. Next week she’ll have changed her mind again.”
A fan of Gone With the Wind, Maizie had long ago adopted Scarlett’s fiddle-dee-dee attitude, and so far it had worked perfectly. “What time are you guys coming over?” She could segue at the drop of a hat.
“The game starts at six, so how does five or five-thirty sound?”
“That works. Kenni and Win won’t be here until around seven. He has to meet with a client.”
“The only thing they’ll miss is the pregame hype. What do you want me to bring?” Liza asked.
A casual observer might assume Liza had forgotten about her sister’s funk, but Maizie knew better.
“See you soon,” Liza said. “Oh, by the way, don’t get smug. We’re going to have a little chat when I get there.”
Darn, that girl was like a dog with a juicy bone. No wonder she was an attorney.
THE GUYS WERE BONDING over the pregame show and pigging out on chips and salsa. That allowed Liza carte blanche to start the inquisition. Before she pulled out the thumb screws, though, she grabbed two bottles of Heineken from the fridge and a couple of frosty mugs from the freezer.