Wanting What You Get

Book 2: Stepp Sisters

by Kathy Love

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In her delightful novel, Getting What You Want, Kathy Love introduced the Stepp sisters, three unique women with wildly different ideas about love and life. Now, meet Ellie, the romantic middle sister who's about to take a chance on having what she's always wanted. . . This Can't Be Happening Is he flirting with me? I must be imagining things. Why would Mason Sweet, the gorgeous mayor of Millbrook, Maine, the man I've secretly been in love with since seventh grade, flirt with me? He's the town golden boy, and I'm, well, the local librarian. The Stepp sister who stayed close to home. The one who bakes brownies. . .then eats them all. My thighs make that whick-whick-whick sound in pantyhose. He can't possibly be flirting with me. So why is he giving me that melt-you-where-you-stand look? Why is he pulling me close? And what is he whispering in my ear. . . Sorry, could you repeat that? Now I'm hearing things, because I swear Mason just asked me if I'd like to. . .well, he wasn't asking for a book recommendation, let's put it that way. Oh my, my, my. Okay, Ellie, stop blushing like a teenaged girl. I'm sure he didn't mean it. Maybe I should just alphabetize something. Be the good girl everyone expects. Eat another brownie. Forget this ever happened. So why is it I can't stop myself from saying, "Yes. . .."

Release date: April 6, 2010

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“Ellie, stop tugging at your dress. You look great.”

Ellie smiled at her younger sister. She knew Marty’s compliment was given just to be kind, but the gesture was appreciated. She ceased fiddling with the bodice of the fitted gown and clutched her bouquet of red roses and cream-colored lilies instead.

“You look great, too,” Ellie told her, but her claim wasn’t an empty reassurance. Marty did look wonderful in her gown. The dark red satin emphasized her lithe curves and flattered her coloring perfectly.

Whereas Ellie looked like a sausage stuffed into a crimson casing. Or, more appropriately, like one of Maine’s famous red hot dogs. But to be fair to herself, Marty could wear a potato sack and look fantastic. Marty was a model; it was her job to look gorgeous. Being a librarian didn’t require looking good—thank goodness.

But today wasn’t about herself, or Marty, or their dresses. It was Abby’s day.

Ellie glanced across the Millbrook Inn’s foyer to find her older sister. Abby looked beautiful, too. Her wedding gown was ivory satin, bias cut and off the shoulders. The style was exactly the same as Ellie’s and Marty’s, except Abby’s skirt was fluted with a slight train. And she didn’t look like a sausage—or a hot dog, for that matter.

Abby’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she beamed at her new husband, Chase. He grinned back, and they just looked so . . . in love.

Ellie had never actually pictured Abby falling head over heels. She had hoped, but to be honest, she thought Abby might be a lost cause. Abby had always been the practical sister. The scientist who needed tangible proof about everything. That had included true love. Then she met Chase Jordan again after years of living away from their hometown of Millbrook, Maine, and suddenly love seemed to be very tangible. As tangible and unavoidable as a well-aimed brick to the side of the head.

The couple kissed, and Ellie smiled with a certain measure of satisfaction. She had once told Abby that true love existed, and Abby had scoffed at her. It was nice to be right, especially about this topic.

“Ladies,” a voice like merlot, rich and smoky, said from behind her.

Ellie’s fingers itched to pull at her gown again, but instead she turned to look at the owner of the wonderful voice.

“Mason,” Marty greeted him like they were old friends, which they never had been. Marty had been three years behind him in school, and then she had moved to New York right after her graduation. They’d probably never spoken before tonight.

While Ellie had seen him around town at least a couple times a week for years, but she wouldn’t consider him an old friend, either. Just an acquaintance. An acquaintance that she was staring at as if he were a total stranger.

But it was hard not to stare. He was breathtaking in his charcoal gray tuxedo with a lighter gray waistcoat and cravat. His hair was shorter than she had seen it in years, and he had it combed back from his forehead, making him look very debonair.

“Drinks,” he offered, with an endearing smile that made him appear more boyish, but no less debonair.

Ellie’s fingers strayed to her dress, but she caught herself before she started tugging.

“Oh, you are a lifesaver,” Marty said with great enthusiasm, accepting a flute of champagne.

Mason took an appreciative sip of his drink, some amber liquor in a highball glass. “Yes, I do believe I got this just in time.”

They both let out grateful sighs.

Marty and Mason would make a perfect couple, Ellie realized, looking at the two of them side by side. They were both tall, lean, and beautiful.

But Ellie was the maid of honor, and Mason was the best man. So that effectively made them a couple for the evening. Much to Mason’s dismay, Ellie was sure.

Though they had only a couple more duties to complete. Walking into the reception, dinner, the bridal party dance, and that was it. Then Ellie could breathe again. Well, as much as a snug satin dress would allow.

“Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?” Mason asked, turning his quicksilver eyes on her.

Ellie blinked. “No, I’m fine.”

Mason shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

He likely thought she was a goody-two-shoes, which she supposed she was, but that wasn’t why she didn’t drink much. She was just on an eternal diet, and she didn’t want to give up precious calories on alcohol. Her theory was, why have a strawberry daiquiri when she could have strawberry shortcake?

“Guys,” Tommy Leavitt, Chase’s other groomsman, called to them. “I think they are getting ready to introduce us.”

Marty joined Tommy, taking his arm. They crossed to join Abby and Chase, and that left Ellie alone with Mason.

She looked up at him. He held up a finger to signify that he was almost ready, downed his drink, and then placed the empty glass on an end table beside a large fern. He offered her his arm. “Ready?”

She nodded and slipped her arm through his. She could feel his warmth and strength through the layers of worsted wool and cotton. And for a brief moment, she wished she had taken his offer for a drink. Maybe it would calm her nerves.

At the large double doors that led into the ballroom, Erin Theriault, the wedding director for the Inn, lined them up.

“Okay, Ellie, you’re with Tommy.” She placed a hand on Ellie’s shoulder and started to maneuver her toward Tommy, but Mason held fast to her arm.

“Erin, Ellie and I are supposed to walk in together,” Mason said.

Ellie found herself tugged against Mason’s side, surrounded by his arm and his spicy scent. It took her a moment to gather her wits and notice Erin was frowning at them, puzzled.

“That’s right, you two are the best man and maid of honor,” the wedding director finally said. “For some reason I saw you with Marty, Mason.”

Disappointment plunked heavily in the center of Ellie’s chest. She’d, of course, had the same thought earlier, but it stung to know someone else saw her sister and Mason as the better match, too. No one would mistake the short, chubby librarian and the tall, dashing mayor as a couple. Not even in the concocted couples of a wedding party.

She straightened away from him, but he left his arm looped around her shoulder.

When Erin left to arrange the train of Abby’s dress, Mason leaned close to Ellie’s ear and whispered, “Now, see, I definitely see myself with you.”

Air rushed out of her lungs, and Ellie didn’t know how to respond, or if she even could.

She glanced up at him. A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes.

He was flirting with her. Mason had never flirted with her, ever. But that was all it was, flirtation, a bit of fun. It wasn’t real. She still felt light-headed and warm. Her cheek tingled where his hot breath had grazed her skin.

He straightened, a frown marring his brow. “You don’t look thrilled with the prospect of being my date for the evening.”

Ellie swallowed, then managed to say with a relatively steady voice, “This is hardly a date. We’re just the best man and the maid of honor.”

“So, you can’t imagine anything more?”

Ellie’s eyes widened, but, thankfully, before she had to formulate a response, the double doors opened, and they were introduced to the waiting guests.

“You look flushed. Are you okay?”

Ellie started, nearly dropping the fork she was using to push around bits of her pecan haddock. She glanced at Abby and forced a smile. “Of course. Just a bit warm. Satin doesn’t breathe.”

Abby studied her for a moment; then her frown disappeared as she accepted Ellie’s explanation. “The dress looks gorgeous on you, though.”

Ellie continued to smile, but her face felt taut and fixed. She knew she should say something more. Make small talk, but she couldn’t think of anything. Not with Mason sitting on the other side of her. So she resumed piling her fish into a small mound.

Mason hadn’t made any other odd comments since they’d sat for dinner. He had escorted her to the table. He’d made the best man’s toast. Most of which she couldn’t recall because her mind had been awhirl with confusion and shock.

Then he had sat down beside her and acted like he’d said nothing unusual. He didn’t flirt. He made observations about their dinners. He chatted with other guests. Ordinary stuff. In fact, everything was so normal that Ellie started to think she had imagined Mason’s earlier remarks.

She had to have. Mason had never given her a second glance. Sure, he was always friendly and polite, but men like Mason Sweet did not flirt with women like Ellie Stepp. It just didn’t happen.

She cast a furtive glance at him. He sat back in his chair, long legs crossed at the ankle, talking with Carly Porter. He and Carly had dated briefly in high school, and it was evident that she was still interested in Mason after all these years. She leaned over him, her cleavage nearly eye level with his face. And in Ellie’s opinion, Mason didn’t seem exactly disinterested in her, either. He seemed quite pleased to be talking with her. And what wasn’t pleasing? As well as having first-rate cleavage, Carly was slender with long, shiny brown hair and green eyes. But she was also engaged to Phillip Daigle, an accountant in Bar Harbor. Still, Ellie got the impression that Carly wouldn’t turn down any invitation Mason offered.

She turned her attention back to her dinner. It was cold, and the cream-covered asparagus had congealed. She started to push that into the shredded pile of fish. Then she set her silverware down and reached for the glass of white wine that had accompanied the meal. Given that dinner was pretty much a wash, why not splurge?

She took a sip. It wasn’t half bad, so she took another.

“I hope the company isn’t driving you to drink,” Mason said, his voice close to her ear.

Startled, she nearly choked but managed to swallow the wine and set the glass aside. She turned to find Mason leaning very close and Carly gone.

“No,” she breathed. “I . . . I decided I wasn’t very hungry.” Her explanation didn’t make sense, really, but it was the best she could do.

“I noticed.” He glanced at her plate. “You seemed to have a real vendetta against that fish.”

She glanced at her plate and winced. Playing with her food, that was definitely poor etiquette. “I’m just not hungry, I guess.” Again the comment seemed sort of lame. Carly would probably have had a witty comeback.

Mason didn’t seem to notice. In fact, for a moment, she thought he wasn’t even listening. He surveyed the room. A restrained look of distaste twisted his lips. “Well, weddings will do that to a person. Take your appetite right away.”

Ellie glanced at the room trying to see what he saw, see what was so unpleasant. Guests sat at round tables; candlelight flickered and crystal glimmered; the soft music of a classical guitarist played under the din of talking and laughter; flowers adorned everything, making the room look magical, beautiful.

“The wedding didn’t ruin my appetite,” Ellie said, feeling the need to defend Abby and Chase’s hard work. “I think everything is beautiful.”

Mason glanced back to her; he seemed almost surprised by her voice. Then his lips curved into a half smile. “Chase and Abby have done a great job with the wedding. I know they will find every happiness.”

She nodded and started to look away.

“And you’re right.”

She paused, waiting for him to continue.

The distaste in his gray eyes disappeared completely, and they became intent. Again he leaned close to her. “Everything does look absolutely beautiful.”

Heat burned her cheeks. She shifted in her chair. He couldn’t possibly have meant that last comment in reference to her. No, not possible. She was imagining things again.

When he abruptly excused himself to go to the bar, Ellie decided she was definitely finding innuendos that didn’t exist. Maybe it was the wine, although she’d started imagining things before her few meager sips. Maybe it was the tightness of her dress. Or maybe it was the romance of Abby and Chase’s wedding. Whatever it was, she was absolutely inventing any signs of flirtation from Mason Sweet.

Mason leaned on the bar and watched the reception.

He lifted his refreshed drink from the bar and took a deep swallow. The whiskey burned his throat. It was a familiar, almost comforting sensation, not foreign and strange like the thoughts and feelings he’d been having all evening.

He had expected to feel uncomfortable about being in another wedding. He’d managed to avoid them since his own nuptials, and he would have been just as happy to steer clear of them forever. But Chase was his best friend, and despite Mason’s own opinion of the state of matrimony, he did believe Chase and Abby were a great couple, and they would have a wonderful life together.

Yeah, he’d been prepared for his usual cynicism, the lingering resentment toward his ex-wife for her duplicity, and even the general self-loathing that always accompanied any thoughts of his past. All those feelings were old news, but what he was feeling tonight . . . Well, this was new news. New and strange and inexplicable.

His gaze roamed over the crowd until he found Ellie standing with her sisters at the edge of the dance floor. She was short, so when people walked up to chat with Abby, he’d lose sight of her. But then the person would move, and he could see her sunny, corkscrew curls, her wide cornflower blue eyes and bowed lips again. She smiled at her sister, Marty, and dimples appeared on either side of her pink lips. She looked like a radiant little cherub fallen to earth.

There! That. That was one of the strange and inexplicable thoughts. Mason shook his head slightly as if he could shake the random, odd thought out of his mind.

He had never noticed Ellie Stepp before, let alone pictured her as a little angel. No, that wasn’t true. He had noticed her—as the nice, shy little bookworm. He had noticed she had a pretty smile. Hell, he’d even noticed she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. But he’d never felt attracted to her.

Although he could pinpoint the exact moment when Ellie Stepp moved from cute acquaintance into the object of his desire—when he saw her walking down the aisle of the church toward him. There had to be something very sacrilegious about the wave of lust that had washed over him. But he hadn’t been thinking of burning in hell at that particular moment. Nope, he’d been thinking that he’d rather be burning up the sheets with Ellie Stepp.

She came down the aisle, her steps measured, the narrowness of her skirt inhibiting any large movements. The restricted movement, however, did reveal the sway of her walk, and the close-fitting crimson satin displayed the roundness of her hips, the fullness of her breasts. Ellie had a striking, voluptuous figure hidden under all her baggy sweaters and long skirts.

Just as she’d reached the front of the church, she’d glanced at him. Just a quick look, but Mason had felt it like a lightning bolt. For that brief second, he could have sworn they’d been on the same wavelength: both attracted, both yearning.

But he’d obviously been wrong. Every time he’d attempted to flirt with her, she had looked uncomfortable. No, more than uncomfortable. She looked like she wanted to run away. That wasn’t the reaction of a lady who was madly attracted. Wildly repulsed, maybe.

He took another swallow of his drink. So, he would ignore this sudden and puzzling attraction and spend the rest of the evening acting like a perfect gentleman. And hopefully, when Ellie was shrouded in her flowing clothes, his libido would start acting normal.

“You aren’t checkin’ out my wife, are you?”

Mason turned to find Chase standing beside him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those domineering, jealous types.”

Chase grinned. “So, how you holding up?”

“Fine.” Other than I suddenly want to jump your sister-in-law’s bones.

“I do appreciate you doing this for me. Let’s face it; if it hadn’t been for your little pep talk, I might not be here today.”

Mason shook his head. “Nah, you’d have come to your senses. It might have taken a hell of a lot longer, but you would have eventually.”

Chase chuckled and clapped Mason on the back. He started to order a drink, but a whistle stopped him and drew both men’s attention in that direction. Both men were shocked to see Nathaniel Peck strutting toward them in full police uniform. Nathaniel was Millbrook’s chief of police and, as far as Mason knew, had not been invited to the wedding. But it was very Nathaniel to just show up. He was a little aggressive and even more abrasive. And for whatever reason, he did consider Chase and Mason his friends.

“Chase, you have this place decked out,” Nathaniel said, looking around.

Chase offered Nathaniel an easy smile, handling the other man’s crashing his wedding with good grace. “I hope no one called the police on us.”

“Nah.” Nathaniel chuckled and leaned against the bar, looking as though he was settling in for the evening. “Yep, this place looks great. Really nice. And look at all the gorgeous ladies here tonight.” He was quiet for a moment; then he added, “Check out that Stepp sister.”

Mason followed his stare toward the three Stepp sisters.

“Mmm, she looks like a delicious, shiny, red apple in that dress,” Nathaniel said with great appreciation. Then he let out another low whistle. Shaking his head, he added, “And I’m just the fella to peel her right out of it.”

Mason set down his drink on the bar with more force than necessary and faced Nathaniel. “I don’t want to hear you talk about Ellie like that.”

Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. “Now, who said I was talking about Ellie Stepp? As a matter of fact, I was talking about the model sister there. What’s her name? Martha?”

“She prefers Marty,” Chase informed Nathaniel, but not before he gave Mason a curious look. When Mason ignored him, he clapped a hand on both men’s backs. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I’ll get back to my wife.”

Mason turned toward the bar and considered ordering another drink. He tried to ignore the remaining tension that constricted his chest. A tightness that had appeared as soon as he’d thought Nathaniel was admiring Ellie in that fitted red gown.

“So, you’re taking this whole best man/maid of honor thing quite seriously, aren’t ya?” Nathaniel nudged him with a shoulder.

Mason suppressed the urge to shove him back. “What do you mean?”

“You got all bristly when you thought I was checking out your date for the evening. I’d say that’s right gentlemanly of you.”

Mason grunted.

Both men leaned against the bar, backs to the rest of the room. Nathaniel ordered a drink.

Mason wished Nathaniel would leave and then he could order a drink, too. “Aren’t you on duty?”

Nathaniel took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “Just got off. Can I buy you a drink?”

Mason was surprised by the man’s offer.

“I mean, you aren’t driving tonight, are you?” There was an undertone to the police chief’s question.

Mason gritted his teeth but then managed to say calmly, “No, I’m not.” He turned to the bartender. “I’ll take a whiskey, straight up. On the police chief, here.”

They both remained silent, sipping their drinks and lost in thought, until a light tap on Mason’s arm gained his attention. He turned and Nathaniel followed. Ellie and Marty stood behind them. Since Marty was closest to him, he assumed she was the one who had touched him. Ellie was keeping her distance, her hands knotted together.

“Well, hello there,” Nathaniel said, before Mason got a chance to speak.

Marty glanced at the tall police chief, the gesture polite but indifferent, the reaction of a woman who was used to men trying to chat with her. “Mason,” she said, “it’s time for the wedding party dance.”

Once more Nathaniel found his voice first. “Did it hurt?”

Marty shot Nathaniel a confused look. “Excuse me?”

“Did it hurt?” he repeated.

“Did what hurt?”

“Did it hurt when you fell to earth?” Nathaniel stepped closer to her and trailed a fingertip down her bare arm. “Because you must be an angel.”

Marty jerked away and shot Nate a look that would have killed a smaller man, or maybe a smarter one.

Mason looked at Ellie. She watched the other two, a slight frown turning down her lips. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d sounded as stupid to her earlier this evening.

Lord, he hoped not.

“I’ve seen some of your modeling work,” Nathaniel said, the sentence filled with innuendo.

Marty glared at him. “Do I know you?”

Nathaniel straightened, traded his drink to his left hand and offered her his right. “Nathaniel Peck, chief of police. And I’d certainly like to get to know you much better.”

Marty’s eyes widened just slightly, and Mason could have sworn he saw hatred flash through them, but then she turned her attention back to Mason, ignoring Nathaniel’s extended hand, her face blank. “I think we’re needed on the dance floor.”

Mason nodded and followed Ellie and Marty as they headed to the center of the room where Chase, Abby, and Tommy waited.

Just as they reached the polished parquet, the first strains of Elvis’s “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You” began.

He suddenly felt ill. He lurched to a stop and tried to take a deep breath. It’s just a song. A wedding standard.

A hand touched his arm.

“Mason, are you all right?” Ellie frowned at him, her blue eyes dark with worry.

He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Yes, I just happen to like other Elvis songs better. Say ‘Kentucky Rain’ or maybe ‘In the Ghetto,’” he said.

Ellie watched him for a moment; then a small smile curved her mouth, merely hinting at the dimples on either side of her lips. “But not particularly appropriate for a wedding.”

Her smile seemed to help. He focused on it. He caught her hand in his, concentrating on how small her fingers were—how warm.

He led her onto the floor to join the already dancing bridal party.

He pulled her against him, tighter than he should. She held herself rigid, and her movements were stiff, but he couldn’t relax his hold. He needed to feel Ellie’s softness, her warmth.

The liquor he’d consumed this evening had started to take its effect. He was a bit light-headed, and he didn’t want to think about the memories this song brought back. He wanted another of Ellie’s sweet smiles.

“It’s not the jumpsuits or anything.”

Her curls tickled his chin as she looked up at him. “Excuse me?” she asked, confused.

“I like Kentucky Rain or In the Ghetto, but not because they were released during Elvis’s jumpsuit phase.”

She blinked; then another smile lurked on her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He was silent for a moment. “It might be the cool kung fu moves, but definitely not the jumpsuits.”

This time a full-fledged smile deepened her dimples and caused her eyes to sparkle. And she seemed to relax a little. “I like early Elvis.”

He nodded. “Now, I can see that about you.” He grinned down at her. She was shorter than he had realized. And softer. He liked the curve of her hip under his hand and the feeling of her small hand in his. She had such tiny hands.

His ex-wife, Marla, had been almost at eye level with him. Her lithe body firm from all the Stairmaster and treadmill she’d been obsessed with doing an hour every day. And her . . .