All of Me (The Bridesmaids Club Book 1) (16 page)

Logan thought he’d better set Dylan straight on where his relationship with Tess sat. A big, fat nowhere was where. “She’s not my girlfriend. She hates reporters, although I think she’s getting used to me. She likes Chinese takeout, but feels guilty eating it when she’s such a good cook. She’s done some modeling, owns Angel Wings café and lived with her grandparents for a few years.”

“You got her shoes size and dental records in there somewhere?”

“At least I pay attention to the important things.”

Dylan laughed. “And Chinese takeout is so important.”

“Don’t laugh too hard, you’ll give yourself a hernia.”

“Just as well we’re turning into the hospital parking lot, isn’t it, takeout man?”

Logan wasn’t going to attempt to divert Dylan’s attention away from where his brain had taken him. At least he could joke about Logan’s miserable attempt to get to know Tess better. Neither of them had dated in so long that it felt good to laugh about something that involved a woman.

“Does Connie’s mom know we’re leaving the cake with her?” Dylan asked.

“I hope so.” He knew Tess had Connie’s cell phone number. Whether she’d thought to let Connie know they were on their way was another story. “I’ll give Tess a call.”

Dylan jumped out of the truck as soon as Logan found a parking space. “Don’t worry. We’ll go to Connie’s mom’s hospital room. If something has happened, or it’s not going to work, we’ll revert to plan B.”

“Plan B?”

Dylan looked at Logan as though the answer was as plain as the nose on his face. “Hide the cake under a table.”

“I can see why you work in security.” He watched Dylan carefully lift the cake box out of the truck. “Whatever you do, don’t drop it.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to jinx me, would you?”

Logan locked the truck and followed Dylan across the parking lot. The last thing Connie and her family needed was more bad luck. So he walked beside his friend, opened the doors and navigated around anything that could make Dylan drop the box.

Chapter Seven

“Are you sure you know what room Connie’s mom is in?” Dylan stopped beside a nurses’ station and looked at the rooms around them.

“Room thirty-five.”

“It doesn’t look as though this ward goes up to room thirty-five. Don’t move from beside the box.” Dylan put the cake on the counter and walked toward a nurse coming out of a room. “Excuse me. Do you know where room thirty-five is?”

The nurse looked at Dylan, then across at Logan. “Who are you looking for?”

Logan hoped Connie’s mom had the same last name as her, otherwise he’d be making a quick call to Tess. “Mrs. Thompson. She’s in the palliative care unit.”

“You’re in the wrong building. You need to go to the Cancer Center. If you turn right at the end of this ward and follow the blue lines, you’ll end up in a big courtyard. The Cancer Center will be straight ahead of you. Have a good day.” The nurse smiled and went into the next room.

Logan looked at the box sitting on the counter. “I hope the frosting hasn’t melted.”

“At least I haven’t tripped on anything,” Dylan muttered. “Let’s get going in case we get lost again.”

They followed the blue line out of the building. Logan opened the doors into the courtyard and stared at the glass entrance to the Cancer Center. “How did we miss it?”

“We came in the wrong entrance. If we’d parked on this side of the hospital, it would have been right in front of us.”

Logan had traveled through more countries than he could remember. He’d navigated through almost every major airport in the world. He’d never gotten lost. Until he came to Bozeman. There had to be a lesson in there somewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” Dylan asked.

“I’m thinking about the reason I came here.”

“To the hospital?”

Logan shook his head. “To Bozeman. I felt like I was drowning in Seattle. I couldn’t breathe. Everything was too close, too noisy. I was like a frightened jackrabbit.”

“How’s it working out here?”

“I don’t jump as much. If I could get a decent night’s sleep, I’d be the happiest person alive.” Logan looked down at the box in Dylan’s hands. “We’d better get the cake inside. Do you want me to carry it?”

“Not with those puny muscles attached to your arms.” Dylan walked through the automatic doors leading into the Cancer Center.

Logan flexed his arm muscles, pleased to see bulging biceps under his t-shirt. “I don’t have time to work out in the gym for two hours every day.”

“It’s all about priorities.” Dylan grinned. “My next priority is finding a girlfriend.”

A nurse walked past them and glanced at Dylan.

Dylan nodded. “Ma’am.”

Logan could imagine him tipping his cowboy hat if he’d been wearing one. He waited until the nurse left the corridor before continuing their crazy conversation. “You don’t like anyone touching you.”

“I’m working on that, too.”

“How are you working on the touching thing when you travel with your job all the time?”

Dylan frowned. “It’s all theoretical at the moment. I figured there’s got to be the perfect woman out there somewhere, or why else would I be in Bozeman?”

“For your job?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

Logan studied the map in the foyer. “Is that why you invited yourself to the wedding?”

“I didn’t invite myself. Kristine suggested it and I accepted. It wouldn’t hurt you to find someone special. If Tess isn’t interested, there’s bound to be others that are.”

“I’m not interested in anyone else.” Logan pointed to the red dot on the map that showed where they were. “We need to take the elevator up to the first floor. Mrs. Thompson’s room should be at the end of the corridor.” They walked toward the elevators and Logan pushed the button.

“Does Tess know you’re interested in her?”

“No, and she’s not going to find out from you.”

Dylan leaned the cake box against a handrail that ran around the wall. “You’ve got to tell her sometime. Does she know about what happened in Afghanistan?

“Some of it.”

The elevator doors opened and Dylan stepped inside. “Have you read the letter?”

Logan didn’t need to ask which letter he was talking about. The envelope Pastor Steven had given him was sitting on the coffee table in his living room. Every time he walked past the table he felt a cold dread work its way along his spine.

“I take it your moody silence means you haven’t opened the envelope?”

“It’s on my coffee table.”

“Dude, you need to read the letter.”

Logan glared at the green number above the elevator buttons. The doors opened and he stepped into the corridor. “It’s not that easy.”

“It never is. If I can flirt a little and work on my touchy-feely issues, you can open the envelope. If you want company when you open it, just call me.”

Logan knew that once he read the letter there was no going back. It might tell him what had happened after the explosion. But he didn’t know if he was ready to find out, or even if what was written would be the truth.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, to read that more children than he thought had survived. And he didn’t want to know who had died. The soldiers and the children at the school had become his friends. They’d trusted each other, laughed with each other and a year ago, most of them had died together.

Logan walked to the end of the corridor and stopped outside room thirty-five. A pale blue curtain had been pulled around the bed, shielding whoever was behind it from the rest of the ward. He hoped Mrs. Thompson was behind the curtain. If she wasn’t, they’d have to admit defeat and ask another nurse for directions.

Dylan stared at the open doorway. “There’s something you need to know.”

Logan didn’t like the panicked expression on Dylan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom died of cancer.”

Dylan’s voice was so quiet that Logan had to lean forward to hear him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“And you’re not?”

Dylan looked down the corridor. “It’s the smell. It was the same on mom’s ward. If I need to leave, I’ll meet you back at the truck.”

Logan looked at the box in Dylan’s arms. “Would it help if I took the cake to Mrs. Thompson? It won’t take long.”

Dylan looked at the room. “I can do this.”

Logan didn’t know which of them Dylan was trying to convince, but either way he had a determined scowl on his face. Logan stepped into what he hoped was Mrs. Thompson’s room and made sure Dylan was behind him.

Connie was sitting in an armchair by the window. She looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Hi. Tess said you’d be arriving soon with the cake.”

Dylan put the box on a table at the end of the bed.

Mrs. Thompson eyes were closed. She’d wrapped a bright orange scarf around her head and knotted it at the side. It added a layer of color to her pale, almost transparent skin.

“Mom’s been asleep for most of the day.”

“But I’m not now.” Mrs. Thompson slowly opened her eyes and smiled. “Who are these lovely men?”

“Mom, this is Logan Allen, the reporter I was telling you about.” Connie looked blankly at Dylan.

“I’m Dylan. Logan’s friend. I’m helping.”

Mrs. Thompson smiled. “If you got the cake to us in one piece I’d say you’re doing a great job. Are we able to open the box?” She looked at Dylan and tilted her head to the side. “Are you okay, honey?”

Dylan swallowed. “I’m fine, Mrs. Thompson.”

Logan knew he wasn’t fine, not by a long shot.

“Lift the lid a little. I just want a peek.”

Connie put her magazine down and walked across to the table. “I’ll open it, mom.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the box and undid the flap. Her eyes widened when she looked at the cake. “It’s beautiful.”

She pushed a button to raise the angle of her mom’s bed, then moved the table closer. Logan caught a brief glance of white frosting, red roses and a bride and groom.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Mrs. Thompson said. “How did they make it so quickly?”

“Tess had already baked the cake and Annie decorated it.” Logan stepped forward to take a closer look in the box. He expected to see an ordinary wedding cake, but what Annie had created was really nice.

She’d swished the white frosting into peaks, like the waves on a beach, and added a ring of red roses around the edge. Red rose petals, made of the same fondant as the roses, were scattered over the white frosting. In the center of the cake, a mini groom was kneeling on one knee in front of the bride. He had a single rose in his hands, holding it toward her.

If Logan was being poetic, he would have said the groom was offering the bride his heart, his love and everything in between. But poetry seemed out of place in a palliative care unit.

Logan glanced at Connie. Her eyes shone with tears as she looked at her mom. This was a lot harder than he’d thought it would be. It was all very well knowing Connie had brought the wedding forward because her mom was dying. It was different being here, feeling the sense of loss they were both trying to hide.

Dylan stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at Connie and her mom. “It was nice meeting you both. I’ve got something to do. I’ll see you later.” Before anyone could reply, he left.

Mrs. Thompson looked worried. “Is he okay?”

Logan looked at where Dylan had been standing. He didn’t know much about Dylan’s life apart from his time in Afghanistan and the basic family stuff that slipped into a conversation. He knew he had a brother and three sisters. Apart from what he’d learned today, Dylan never talked about his past.

“He’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Thompson sighed. “Knowing someone’s going to die isn’t an easy thing to deal with.” She reached for Connie’s hand. “But we’ve all got to begin our next journey at some point. I’m just thankful I got to see my girls become such wonderful women. I’m very proud of them.”

The look that passed between Connie and her mom was enough to bring tears to Logan’s eyes.

Mrs. Thompson squeezed Connie’s hand, then looked at Logan. “Tell me what my girls have been doing this morning?”

He watched Mrs. Thompson smile. She’d pushed aside whatever grief she was feeling and focused on the here and now.

“We can tell you ourselves.” Denise pushed back the blue curtain and smiled at her mom. “Joanne’s dress isn’t finished yet, but Kristine and I couldn’t wait to show you what we look like.”

Mrs. Thompson waved them forward. “Come closer so I can see.”

Logan wasn’t much of an expert about bridesmaids’ dresses, but they looked good to him. With simple bodices and skirts that hugged their hips, Kristine and Denise’s red dresses were elegant and sophisticated.

“Don’t you look pretty,” Mrs. Thompson said. “And you’ve curled your hair, Kristine. It’s lovely.”

Kristine shot a quick glance at Connie and grinned. “Tess did our makeup for us. I feel like a new person.”