A Wedding in Truhart (21 page)

T
he dim light cast a glow on half of Nick's face, making him look like a character in an old B horror movie. His shadow lurking on the wall was twice as large as my own and his hand was braced on the wall in front of me, blocking my path to the door. The half of his mouth I could see was turned up in the corner. He was obviously amused at my funny scream.

“You scared me to death, Nick.”

“Really?”

I waited for an explanation, but he said nothing.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wondering if I should lock you in and leave. Would that make us even, Annie?”

I looked beyond him to the doorway. Would he be that vindictive? He tilted his head and crossed one leg in front of the other as if he was enjoying my fear.

“Only if you tell my mom about it,” I said. “I mean, that's what I did. Told yours you were locked in . . . so . . . so, you should be fair.” I clutched the bag of salt to my chest, wondering halfheartedly if it would be a decent weapon. Nick would never hurt me. But he was mad at me, after all.

“Hmm. You know, I would hate to wake up your mom,” he finally said.

He stood up straight, removing his hand from the wall, and took a step forward. Feeling like a stalked animal, I took a step backward.

I juggled the bag in my arms and held up a hand. “Okay, I know I deserve your anger. In fact, I have a lot to apologize for.”

“Why does it seem like you are always apologizing, Annie?”

“Because I feel like I do a lot of stupid things.”

He took another step toward me and grabbed the bag from my arms. Putting it on the floor, he straightened up and asked in a soft voice that sounded like a caress, “Why is that?”

Without my salt-bag shield I felt defenseless. I crossed my arms and tried to figure out how to explain myself. He reached out and ran his hand down my shoulder until he reached my elbow. Then he grazed my forearm and tugged until my arms loosened. He was closer now, so close I could feel his breath on my face. His eyes glittered like black diamonds in the lamplight and I couldn't look away. His fingertips stroked my limp arms and moved to my waist. I was having trouble concentrating.

But what I had to say was important. I couldn't be distracted.

I raised my hands to his chest, which was a big mistake. It was the only enticement he needed to wrap his arms around my back.

This wasn't what I expected. Was he actually trying to seduce me? “Hang on a minute, I thought you were mad.”

He bent his head until his mouth nuzzled my neck. He smelled of pine and soap and something else. I breathed deeply and tried to collect my scattered thoughts. But with the prickly feel of his chin against the soft skin of my neck, I couldn't concentrate.

“I decided to forgive you . . .”

“Nick, wait, I have so much I want to say . . .”

“Shit, Annie, why are you always talking?” He moaned, and then he bit my ear.

One hand moved away from my back and brushed over my chest. I could feel my nipples responding. His hand at my back pulled me close.

Then he lowered his head and kissed me. But the word
kiss
was a feeble description. The moment his lips met mine was pure combustion. Every touch, every kiss, was like a rocket blast. I would have screamed if my mouth wasn't so busy trying to breathe in between kisses.

I fought to get to his skin as my hands traveled under his shirt and tried to pull it off. What started out eager turned frantic. Our hands tangled as we fumbled to remove each piece of clothing. We couldn't stop. His touch was like a drug that magnified my sensitivity. I wrapped my legs around him and pulled his hips closer. He lifted me toward him and groaned.

His mouth trailed down my body, scorching a path along the way. I ran my hands through his hair and he looked up at me, his hair mussed and his eyes unfocused.

“Annie, I don't know if I can stop . . .”

“I don't want you to.”

I pulled him back and shivered as his tongue flicked across my nipple and then tugged harder. Nick mumbled against my breast, “Are you cold?”

I shook my head. It wasn't the cold that made me shiver. But he slowed his pace for a moment and lifted me up, placing me on the couch and covering me with his body. I arched against his weight, wanting him closer, and smoothed my hands over his shoulders as my tongue explored his mouth. His smooth chest with its thin layer of hair rubbed against my wet nipples, making me crazy. I bent my head and bucked, pushing him up so I could trail my mouth down his body. He froze and then shuddered. I kissed his nipples and I heard him gasp, trying to catch his breath above me. He pressed his lower body into mine and I opened up to him.

I reached down and ran my hands around him, overwhelmed with anticipation. He took several jerking breaths, “God, Annie, that feels so good, but you have to stop or I'll—”

I stroked him again, loving the fact that I could make him lose control. He tried to pull my hand away.

Giving up, he moved his fingers lower, sliding them up my leg until they were inside me, making me cry out and loosen my hold on him. My teeth sank into his shoulder. He kept teasing me with his fingers, lightly stroking and then plunging. When he finally removed his hand, I protested. But he kissed me and slowed his pace. He took a deep breath and propped himself on his elbows, positioning himself between my parted thighs until he was pressed against me. His face glowed above me in the low light. Our eyes locked and I clutched both of his hands in mine. He moved forward slowly. Like steel on velvet, until he was all the way inside me.

I sighed just a little at how exquisite it felt to be connected like this. But then he ground against me, making me cry out at the explosion of pleasure that radiated through me. I smiled up at him an answered invitation and he looked down, surprised at my response. Every thrust, sent me into a sensual haze.

Finally we reached the peak together. Clinging. Sweaty. Struggling for breath. And calling out each other's names in wonder.

I lay in the crook of Nick's shoulder, one arm draped over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Our breathing had returned to normal and Nick gently caressed my shoulder. His eyes were closed and I smiled as his hand moved slower. He was falling asleep.

“I know you don't want me to talk, Nick. But there is something I have learned about you and me that I want to say.”

“Annie, every time you open your mouth I'm afraid.”

“But that's just the point. I realized today how terribly I've treated you.”

“Trust me, I don't even notice it anymore,” he mumbled.

“Nick, this is important.” I took a deep breath and started. “I was always chasing you and bugging you when we were growing up. And you were always so nice to me. I still don't know why. And since this whole wedding between Charlotte and Henry, I've been even worse. I didn't understand how upsetting it was for you to come home. When I ran into your mom this morning she told me how guilty you felt about your father's death and what happened with the county commission.”

“She shouldn't have said anything to you.”

“Well, I forced her into it. Don't blame her. I was trying to understand why you never came home—and I get it, Nick. I mean, I would be totally pissed at George Bloodworth and everyone else in this town too, if I were you.” I reached up and traced my finger along his brow. “I'm sorry. I really didn't have a clue what was going on.”

“Well, how would you? In case you didn't notice, sharing my feelings isn't exactly my strong point.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows. Nick leaned down and grabbed our coats from the floor nearby and draped them across us. I wasn't cold, but it felt nicer under the coat. Like a glowing ember after a bonfire. He was silent as his gaze strayed to the ceiling. He took a breath. I lay my hand on the side of his head and stroked his temple.

“Dad must have called me a dozen times that fall and winter to talk to me about the project, but I barely listened. I was wrapped up in my own career and all the projects our firm was designing. Truhart's buildings seemed so insignificant compared to all the skyscrapers we were working on.” He turned to me. “So you weren't wrong when you accused me of caring more about granite than my own family. I treated my dad like that.”

I hated how he turned my words back on himself. I wished I had never said them. Burrowing underneath the coat, I sank back and sighed. “Oh, Nick, don't—”

He moved his lips to the corner of my mouth and hushed me. His lips traveled toward my ear and then the tender skin of my neck. I savored the feel of them.

Then he said into my neck, “Don't think you're off the hook now, Annie. Especially after locking me in the barn.”

I closed my eyes as Nick ran his tongue along my collarbone.

“Was it awful? Being in there so long?”

“No.” He lifted his head and I saw a smile spread across his face. “Actually, I ended up wandering around checking out the old equipment again. Did you know the heater and the plumbing in the bathrooms are still working? Nothing has been running for years in that barn and everything just started right up as if it had been turned off overnight. That place is more solid than most new buildings. Damn, my dad was a great builder!”

“Like father, like son.”

I climbed on top of him, ran my hands up his chest and pressed my hips against him. “I just noticed how good you are at keeping your equipment running too.”

It was a while before we were able to talk again.

I would never think of the golf shack in the same way.

Much later, we were back under the mound of coats.

“Annie?”

“Huh?” I had collapsed on top of him, too exhausted to move.

“I was just wondering . . .” he said in a groggy voice, his mouth buried in my hair.

“What?” I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Is that a box of macaroni reindeer next to the couch?”

M
y bedside alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m. like it always did. But this morning felt anything but normal. I lay in my bed, holding my old camera, and stared at the faded floral wallpaper and discolored pictures taped to my headboard. I was tempted to pinch myself but afraid I might discover I had been dreaming. Everything was where it had been the day before, yet the world had shifted. In the dim light before dawn, I touched my face and trailed my hand down my body. My lips felt swollen. My body seemed new to me. My skin felt as if a new layer of nerves had been added overnight. I moved my hand back to the familiarity of the camera. I couldn't seem to wipe the smile off my face.

In the early hours of the morning, Nick had walked me back to the house. A gentle snow had started to fall and we lingered over snowflakes and kisses. When I finally fell into bed I slept like a baby. I might have had only a few hours of sleep, but I didn't feel it.

Little girls dreamed of princes in white gleaming castles. Big girls dreamed of passionate kisses, candlelight and roses. But I had always just dreamed of Nick. Last night as we made love for the first time, spread out on an old plaid couch in the golf shack, I realized that reality beats dreams any day.

As much as I wanted to linger and relive last night in my head, I knew Nestor and Mom would be working on breakfast. I showered and dressed, trying to focus on the busy day ahead. But all I could think about was the night before. Taking one quick look in the mirror, I stopped and stared.

At five foot ten, I had always felt like an awkward stork. But this morning, as I looked closely, I saw a different person reflected in the mirror. My wide hazel eyes and arching brows seemed more exotic. The color in my cheeks emphasized high cheekbones that I never knew existed. There was no need for lipstick on my bruised lips. Even my hair, which was always just dark blond to me, came alive in burnished honey tones. For the first time I felt, well, beautiful. I turned my head back and forth and wondered if this was what Nick saw.

A smile still lingered on my face as I entered the kitchen.

“Is Charlotte up yet?” asked Mom, her back to me as she poured water into the coffeemaker.

“No. Her door was still closed. You know she can sleep forever,” I said. I waved at Nestor, who was swirling a crepe in a pan. Beside him was a stack of crepes he had already made and two large bowls of berries.

“Well, I guess she needs her sleep.”

“You never say that about me,” said Ian as he opened the door from the dining room. His hair stuck straight up and once again he hadn't shaved. Of course, it made no difference to his looks. For some reason, dishevelment suited Ian.

“Because you sleep all the time,” Mom answered. “Charlotte has to get up for that morning show every day at four.”

“That's bedtime for me when we've got a gig. So my sleep is important too. I sleep during the day to catch up for
not
sleeping at night.”

“Stop whining, Ian. It makes you sound like a wimp,” I said. He picked up a strawberry from the bowl on the counter and threw it at me.

“Virginia, if you don't keep this young man out of the kitchen, I'm going to hop on the next plane to Key West,” said Nestor.

I was pretty sure he was only half joking. So was my mother, because she threw Ian a frown. “You better get the shovel out and start working on the steps. I have a call into Don Cooly to make sure we get the snow plow down our road and up the driveway several times today. This snow makes me nervous.”

For the first time I looked out the window. My curtains had been closed this morning and I had been too lost in my own world to notice the weather. The sky was still dim, but there was a glow on the horizon and I could see the reflection of white on the ground. Last night's gentle snowfall had turned into something else entirely. I moved to the kitchen window to get a better view while Mom and Ian trailed behind me.

“I guess Charlotte will get her wish,” Mom said.

“She might get more than that,” said Ian.

Thick flakes of snow the size of cotton balls fell at an alarming rate. A blanket of snow already coated the branches of the blue spruce trees next to the inn, and as I looked farther toward the front parking lot, I realized that the snow completely covered the rental cars that had arrived yesterday.

My mother shook her head. “The weatherman on the GATE Network says this is just a dusting of snow. They should fire that man.”

“What do the local guys say?”

“The local radio station says this is the first winter storm of the season. It's moving slowly right now. But the worry is that if it stalls over the state, we're going to get a lot of snow.”

I turned to my mom. “How much is a lot?”

“Two feet or more.”

“Don't tell Charlotte!” Ian and I said in unison.

 

Not much later, as I set out breakfast dishes, I heard a commotion. The sound of the front door opening and closing and men talking drew me to the lobby. Ian stood in his snow-caked boots and coat just inside the front door, looking puzzled. Two men were in the process of shaking the snow from their hair and coats as they stood, surrounded by cases and bags.

I almost swore out loud.

She didn't!

“We're staying at the Grande Lucerne and we thought we would come out here early this morning to film some of the pre-wedding activities.” I couldn't remember the man's name, but I remembered his face from the bridal salon. He turned, recognizing me as well. “That snow is falling like crazy. We almost ended up in a ditch.”

My heart dropped to my feet and I clutched a chair. Ian looked at me with concern. The crew introduced themselves and shook Ian's hand. Ian still looked perplexed as he put his gloves back on. I pulled myself together and took their coats.

“It looks like the wedding is going to be part of
The Morning Show
,” I said through gritted teeth.

Ian grinned. “Really?”

Of course Ian would think this was great. I wanted to kick some sense into him, but he was already busy telling the guys where to go. “Go get yourselves some coffee. Everyone will be eating in the dining room and you can set up there. Later we'll be enjoying some of the local talent.”

Oh great. I knew what he was thinking. When they were out of earshot I pointed my finger at Ian. “This is
not
fun and games, Ian. I can't believe Charlotte would allow her wedding to be broadcast on TV.”

“Why not? Everyone does it these days. What's the big deal? I kind of like the idea. America can watch a wedding on TV and eat their cornflakes at the same time. Cool.” He put his hands up in the air and started singing as he made his way out the door and back into the snow.

While the camera crew set up in the dining room, I found my mom standing in the kitchen talking on the phone. “Let's just hope they're wrong, Mary. If you don't mind, maybe Nick can come over and help with things.”

I listened with one ear as I helped Nestor finish breakfast. Thinking of Nick made me daydream all over again. I wondered if we would ever wake up together and do the kinds of things couples did, like sipping coffee in bed, reading the paper, and then, well . . .

“Oh my God! Have you seen it out there?” My dream bubble popped the minute I heard Charlotte's high-pitched voice.

“Charlotte's up, I gotta go,” Mom told Mary.

When she hung up, Mom smiled. “Hi, honey. It looks like your wish for snow is going to happen,” she said too brightly.

“But there's so much. Is it going to slow down?”

Mom walked over and hugged her. “No worries. The weather report says this is just a dusting.” She turned the volume up on the old TV in the corner on the kitchen counter so Charlotte could see the weekend edition of
The Morning Show
. Not a single snowflake showed up on the brightly colored weather map. The weatherman finished his report and smiled before the map faded from the screen.

Mom placed a cup of coffee in Charlotte's hands. “See,” she said.

Charlotte didn't look overly convinced as she watched the weatherman join the weekend anchors on the couch. “ ‘Don't forget, next week we'll bring you Charlotte Adler's wedding highlights from the great North. Sorry there's no snow up there for New Year's after all. I guess it won't be a white wedding . . . ahem.'” He laughed at his stupid pun. “ ‘But we wish you the best of luck anyway, wherever you are, Charlotte!' ”

Mom put her hand on her hip and turned to Charlotte. Charlotte took a long sip of coffee.

“I was just going to say, uh, it looks like your camera crew is here,” I said, breaking the silence.

Charlotte sent us a guilty look. “I guess I forgot to tell you.” She had forgotten to tell us many things lately.

“Why would you do this?” Mom asked.

“The network thought the wedding would be a great story. It's not a big deal, really. There are two cameramen who will be filming. It's really no different than having someone videotape the wedding. People do that all the time.” She saw the way my mom clamped her lips shut and rushed to explain. “It's an idea Scarlett has been really hot on. You know, small-town girl comes home and gets married. Scarlett says that since my name and face are becoming more and more recognizable as part of
The Morning Show
team, this would be a great way to promote me. She told me this could even get me a spot as a substitute anchor.”

“Televising your wedding will promote your career?”

“No. It's not like that, Mom. It's just part of the television personality thing. The audience relates to me. Everyone wants to feel part of the wedding.”

“But you didn't even talk to us about it.”

“I—”

She was interrupted by the voice of June Lowell. “Good morning.” June stood by the swinging door of the kitchen. She took in her first glimpse of the kitchen and looked around with interest. “Well, isn't this just the homiest place?”

Mom turned to her with a smile pasted on her face. “Well, it's not as fancy as most big restaurant kitchens, but it has everything we need.” She gestured around the room to the large industrial stove, the eight-foot counter, the farmhouse sink with the large picture window framed by cheery yellow curtains, and raised her chin.

“Will you be able to handle all the wedding food tomorrow night?” June looked a little panicky.

Nestor turned from the sink. “We might be busier than a stump full of ants, but we don't need no fancy kitchen.”

I tried not to laugh at the alarm in June's eyes.

“Don't let Nestor fool you, June,” said Charlotte, ruining Nestor's fun. “He is going to have plenty of people and some extra equipment to help. We employ lots of local aspiring chefs for special occasions like this.” The words rolled off her tongue, sounding as convincing as a veteran politician. Our local aspiring chefs were teenagers and a few bored grandmas who needed extra spending money.

Charlotte escorted June into the dining room and I knew her well enough to recognize a retreat. It was obvious she didn't want to explain anymore about the filming. When the door swung closed I put my hand on Mom's shoulder and looked closely at her for the first time. She was pale and there were circles under her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She ran a hand over her eyes. “I'm fine. Absolutely fine.” Then she turned away. Something in the way she carried herself worried me. My memories of the weeks after Dad's death came back to me. I hadn't been able to get her out of bed, much less eat.

This wedding was putting too much stress on her. I clenched my fists and vowed to keep things running smoothly for the next two days.

The guests gathered in the dining room while we served a light breakfast of crepes, fruit, cereals, and breads on the long buffet. By the time the last of the wedding party was finished eating, the camera crew was set up in the corner. I was too busy to worry about the snow, or the film crew, or my mother's tired eyes as I ran plates back and forth to the kitchen and tried to make sure coffee was flowing hot.

“Hello, everyone!” said a familiar, piercing voice. “We rode over to see how things were going.”

I looked up to see Marva and Corinne standing in the doorway of the dining room, their snowsuits on, their snowmobile helmets in their hands, and big smiles on their faces. They hugged Charlotte with gusto, then looked around the room, zeroing in on Scarlett.

No one was fooled. This wasn't a casual drop-in. They gazed at Scarlett Francis with fanlike adoration in their eyes.

Mom introduced them to everyone and after quick nods they dumped their helmets, tore off their suits, grabbed seats across from June and Scarlett, and made themselves comfortable. June and Scarlett's eyebrows were almost lost in their hairlines as they stared at Marva's green sweater covered in cherries, and Corinne's penciled-in black eyebrows and over-bleached hair.

“So, what was Tom Cruise really like when you interviewed him last winter?” I heard Corinne ask Scarlett.

“He's old news, Corinne,” Marva interrupted. “I want to hear about that actress who had the wardrobe malfunction at the Academy Awards. Don't you think that was a publicity stunt?”

Mom and I were clearing the last of the serving dishes when Charlotte walked over and put her hand on Mom's arm. “Mom, isn't there some way you can get rid of them?”

“Now, honey, they're harmless. Just let them get it out of their system. Scarlett must know how to field those types of questions, after all. Why don't you relax?”