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“Okay,” Isabelle said. “That’s good.” Neither of them wanted to lose Sophie, but she’d lived her entire life in Jackson, and it was time for her to see the world. On a motorcycle. With her delicious new man.
Isabelle touched her glass to Sophie’s. “I’m proud of you.”
Lauren sniffed a little, but she smiled. “Me, too. As long as you promise to ride through here every year and see us.”
“Oh, come on!” Sophie cried out, her eyes watery. “My dad is here. I’ll be back all the time. A lifetime of crippling family dynamics can’t be magically overcome with the power of one penis. Not even Alex’s.”
“Are you sure?” Lauren drawled. “What about when you throw in the tattoos and the bike?”
“Okay, it’s close.”
Isabelle nudged her a little less than gently. “Shut up already. Everyone in this room except me has access to a penis.”
Jill barked out a laugh from the doorway. “Bite your tongue, woman. None of you need one anyway. You can order high-quality substitutes from the comfort of your own home.”
Sighing, Isabelle sank back into the oversize couch, letting the first flush of sangria wash over her. “I know, but there’s nothing like the real thing. Warm skin and that velvety texture and the smell of a man’s body. God.”
Silence fell, and Isabelle knew why even before she leaned forward and looked toward the front door. “Hi, Tom.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice as neutral as a court stenographer’s.
Isabelle hopped up with a grin. “Nonsense. Your arrival was utterly apropos.” Once she was standing, she saw the young woman behind him. “Veronica? I’m Isabelle. Welcome!”
“Thank you so much for inviting me!” When the woman pasted a smile on her face and stepped forward with an outstretched hand, she looked a little less young and uncertain, but only a little. Her short blond bob swung forward against round cheeks that gave her a sweet, youthful look. The pretty blue eyes didn’t hurt much, either, though they were darkened with smoky gray shadow and black eyeliner.
Lauren sprang up from the couch. “You’re here!” she called out, rushing forward to give Veronica Chandler a hug. “Everyone, this is Veronica. Of the infamous Dear Veronica page.”
Sophie gasped. “Oh, my God, I was in your column! You wrote about me!”
The blonde’s eyes widened. Isabelle could imagine the stories flashing through her brain. She’d been writing the advice column for only a year, but there’d been some do
ozies.
Isabelle tried to keep the grin off her face. “Sophie is the one who had a fling with her stepbrother.”
Sophie howled with laughter. “That’s a lie. I was the man-eating whore who corrupted that poor woman’s son with free sex.”
“Oh,” Veronica said. Then, “Oh!” more brightly. Her surprise slowly faded into a small frown of worry. “I hope I didn’t say anything terrible about you.”
“No, you were great,” Sophie said with a wave of her hand. “I was cheering you on.”
A small smile turned the girl’s mouth up. “So was it true?”
“That I corrupted him with free sex? Absolutely. Every chance I got. Damn, that man is gorgeous.”
“I’m glad it worked out.”
Sophie’s gaze slid to Tom, and her eyebrows rose in question. Isabelle touched his shoulder. “This is Deputy Marshal Duncan. He’s here to watch over Veronica.”
Veronica cringed. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s a pretty big deal,” Sophie said, looking Tom up and down. “And definitely the most adventurous girls’ night in we’ve ever had. Marshal, did you bring your pj’s?”
“I did not,” he said drily, but Isabelle could see red high on his cheeks. He could pretend to be all “Just doing my job, ma’am,” but he was paying attention to everything.
Isabelle leaned a little closer and spoke low. “Can I interest you in a sangria? It’s going to be a long night without it, in case you can’t already tell.”
“No, thanks. I’m just going to head out and talk with Mary for a minute. One of us will be back.”
