Orange Blossoms & Mayhem (Fantascapes) Read Free Page B

kid.” Jeff strolled by with one of the stiletto-heeled bridesmaids tucked up in his arms. Best man for the wedding, he’d been one of the two SWAT team members up in the tower, making certain Marybeth was on the window ledge at the critical moment. I knew the details, of course, because of what I’d had to go through to convince Sheriff Purvis that Jeff wouldn’t let go until Jake took over.
    If people had any idea what we had to do to make things look easy . . .
    I picked up Marybeth’s satin slipper, whacked it gently against my palm to shake off the dust. I bit my lip. The white satin blurred as I shoved aside what had brought me here and, just for a moment, I tried to peer into the future. I’d had my share of opportunities to fulfill my own wedding fantasies, yet here I was. Once again the fairy godmother, never the bride. Truth was, if a guy showed signs of thinking cook, housekeeper, baby machine , I was off and running. That was for some day, but not today.
    I fished a genuine lace-edged linen handkerchief out of my shiny blue alligator handbag and rubbed a stain near the slipper’s satin toe. I held it up to the strong Florida sun. Unless somebody got down and eyeballed it at ground level, it would do. I loped off after the guests who were making their way across the grass. Off to my right, I saw Flint Ramsay jogging toward the tent from the helo pad. I started to wave, my arm freezing in place—sort of like the Statue of Liberty holding up a shoe instead of a torch—as he drew to a halt, grinning down at a ditzy blonde in more skin than dress. Flashing her a broad grin, he clasped her firmly around the waist and whisked her toward the tent with her silly red heels skimming the ground, her mini skirt riding up to where the sun don’t shine. Well, hell!
    If I’d been stupid enough to wear high heels to a wedding at the SWAT team training grounds, it could have been me.
    I glared at the white satin slipper, reminded myself my presence here was partly business. Fantascapes’ honor was at stake. We could not allow a bride to proceed lop-sided down the aisle. Even if it meant ignoring Sergeant Flint Ramsay and his clinging vine wedding guest.
    Maybe I should go to Peru, after all.

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
    “ Morning,” I mumbled to my cousin Grady—Aunt Candy’s contribution to the male population—as I wandered into the Fantascapes offices the next day and headed straight for the coffee pot. Jessie has Saturdays off, holding down the fort on Mondays while Candy, Mom, and I are recovering from whatever weddings occupied our weekend. So my cousin was behind the reception desk, peering at Jess’s computer screen with what appeared to be considerable animosity.
    The truth is, Grady is as myopic as he is good-natured and easy-going. And he only likes his own computer with all its bells and whistles. No matter that his is networked to Jessie’s, it’s just not the same.
    When my brothers left home, it was understood that Grady and I would supply the hustle and muscle Fantascapes needed to compete with the big boys in the field of extra-special Special Events. But since my cousin’s strengths lie in spread sheets and hacking, guess who was left to provide the hustle and muscle. But, hey, Grady is likable, in a nerdish sort of way. On Saturday mornings when he mans the front desk, Candy makes him tie back the frizzy brown curls that usually halo his square face, sort of like Sponge Bob crossed with Albert Einstein. His eyes are a nice rich brown, but he hides them behind black-rimmed lenses so thick they’re almost impenetrable. Take my word for it, Grady cultivates the geek look. I’d like to think he’s pulling a Clark Kent, but every family has to have its black sheep, right? In our case Grady may be the only normal one we’ve got.
    As I wandered back toward the front desk, sipping coffee with nearly every step—a-a-ah!—I examined my cousin with a still bleary, but professional eye. Fantascapes