Crystal whispered, “Hang on, Spright. I’m on the phone.” A screen door slammed. Her voice returned to normal. “Listen man. If you’ve got a problem, it’s not with me. It’s with that Alvarez girl. She’s the one who ordered the goats.”
Evan stood up, staring down at the horseshoe-shaped Alvarez patio. Carmen was pouring her sister some water. “What? Did you accidentally deliver them to my place?” Maybe Carmen had wanted goats cleaning up the orchard near the water during the wedding.
“No. She said they were for you. You’d have someone to look after them and they’d be hanging out for the day. She said they’d have free run of the place.”
Evan felt his face flush with anger. “Oh, they did all right.”
“Yeah. She said they were to come hungry.”
Evan paced, his grip on the phone making his fingers ache. He could see the goats leaping on tables, gobbling wedding cake, chasing the screaming flower girls into the pool. His first wedding ruined. “Oh, they ate plenty.”
“So, we’re good?”
Evan nodded, sitting down, feeling the urge to exact revenge before he could think straight. “We’re good. I’ll pay.”
And so will the Alvarez sisters, Evan thought.
The bride was arriving by carriage. They didn’t know this until the carriage driver from the Lakestream Ranch called to make sure that the driveway was accessible by carriage.
“By what?” Carmen asked, moving the centerpieces out of the driving sun. The marquees that were supposed to shelter the guests from the sweltering heat had been set up at another location, and the flowers would wilt by the time the guests arrived if they stayed out.
“Carriage. Two horses. She’s not too keen on having only the two, but two of our matched set have the runs so she’s not likely to love that either. I’m wearing a wool uniform, so her ladyship isn’t going to suffer as much as me and the horses.”
Carmen walked around to the front of Orchard House, hoping she could tell what exactly constituted a horse-safe driveway. “Yeah, I guess. My cousin used to come here on his horse occasionally. No carriage.” She described Orchard House.
“Fine. Great.”
Carmen hurried around to the back of the house, rushing upstairs to where her sister was still in the shower. Carmen shouted over the great clouds of steam: “The bride is arriving by horse and carriage!”
“What a snob!” yelled Lola.
Carmen came back down the stairs to find her father eating a piece of buttered toast, glancing with agitation at the tables on the back patio. “Who’s a snob?”
“The bride.”
“Why is the bride a snob?” said her father, who, Carmen had noticed, compensated for his memory loss by pretending to know what was happening. Tiny tables meant a wedding. A wedding meant a bride. Things his daughters clearly took care of. He could roam the fields, check on his grapes and drive into town for coffee at the Apple Cup.
“She’s traveling by horse and carriage,” said Carmen.
Someone cleared their throat.
It was the wedding planner, with a wry grin on her face. A middle-aged, spry woman who wore pearls with jeans and somehow got away with it. “Good morning.”
Carmen’s heart sunk. This was the one person in whose good graces she wanted to remain. She booked all the best weddings. And now she’d just heard Carmen calling the bride, who happened to be the wedding planner’s cousin, a snob.
Carmen put her hand over her heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Well,” said the wedding planner. “I’m here to deliver the red carpet. It’s for the bride.”
Carmen held her hand over her mouth and looked at her father, whose eyes crinkled.
Luckily, they all laughed.
Carmen would look back later and think of this as the best part of the weekend.
It was surprising, how much fun he’d had planning it. All Evan’s competitive instincts had risen to the surface as he called in favors and gleefully set about plotting the ruination of his neighbor’s business. It felt wonderful to snicker to himself, imagining a wedding unraveling as thoroughly as the one he’d hosted last weekend.
It reminded him of the Microsoft days. He remembered the CEO of a smaller, very successful software company. She’d told them that a good deal might leave something on the table, but both partners left feeling good about the transaction. That, the CEO had patiently explained, was a good deal.
What she didn’t understand was that their culture wasn’t to leave anything on the table.
Except maybe blood.
Which was why Evan had cashed in his chips and left.
The old feeling came back in a rush. He was going to crush them. Or at least this wedding. It was so easy.
So fun.
Any guilt was swept away by what they’d done to him. Last weekend had been so stressful. Worrying what the guests were saying. Chasing after goats. Trying to think of something to make the teary-eyed little flower girls smile as their mothers rushed for towels. Explaining to the wedding coordinator that it hadn’t been his fault. Did she really think that he had added sixteen goats to the mix on purpose?
When he felt the slightest twinge of guilt, all he had to do was go into his living room and imagine it full of bleating little goats. And envision a goat butting the terrified flower girl into the pool as she valiantly clutched her bouquet.
The only thing missing from his plan was someone to share it with. Someone to share the glory over a bottle of wine.
Because the one person he wanted to gloat with was the one person he couldn’t.
The one person who would hopefully never know what really happened at this Blue Hills wedding.
Because Evan not only knew how to plan a perfect takedown.
He knew how to cover his tracks.
Weather was the problem. Unrelenting heat caused wildfires to jump barriers to the north. Chelan was sweltering before noon. By the time the horses arrived up the hill, they were in a lather, sweat glistening from their coats, tossing their heads eagerly, ready to trot down the hill to the spot where on days like today their driver allowed them a long drink from the lake. Carmen, who’d stepped outside to enjoy the spectacle, felt a flutter of anxiety. It was hotter out here than the sweltering kitchen.
The bride, nestled in the open carriage, swatted flies. Her face was flushed under her layer of tulle which mounded up like a meringue, flying into her face. Dust from the unpaved drive flew out from under the carriage wheels, coating the guests who’d gathered at the end of the garden to welcome the bride. Carmen stood behind the wedding party on the patio, praying none of the elderly guests would suffer heat stroke.
The father of the bride stepped out to greet the carriage, sweating furiously in his light woolen suit. He held out his hand to her while she gathered her voluminous skirts. A horsefly the size of a bee landed on his face. Yelping in pain as the fly chomped down, he swatted at it with the hand he’d extended to his daughter. Her hand gripped air as she leaned out of the carriage and tumbled down the folding carriage steps. Carmen watched in growing horror as a large raised welt appeared on the poor man’s cheek.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Like a cartoon.
She landed with a grunt. “Daddy!”
Her father, applying a handkerchief to his wound, was slow on the uptake, eyes widening when he realized that his daughter was down, and seventy-five people expected him to do something. Carmen wondered if she should do something. Offer him some antiseptic or painkiller. Didn’t his daughter care that he’d just been bitten? A look of determination came over the man’s face, motivated, Carmen thought, by a desire to get this spoiled creature off his hands.
Down went the handkerchief as he gripped his daughter’s hand. He tugged and pulled until he realized that his daughter, in her voluminous dress, would be unable to stand until he bent in the dirt in his elegant suit and pushed his daughter up from behind.
There was a tittering in the audience. The bride glared at him as if t
heir reaction was his fault.
“Daddy!” she hissed.
“What?” He ineffectually dusted off her dress, which seemed to push the reddish dirt deeper into the fabric. “Do you have a better idea?”
“This is a disaster.”
“Don’t be melodramatic!” her dad shot back.
The guests had thoughtfully drifted back to their seats. Carmen dashed inside for an antiseptic wipe. The father of the bride let her gently dab the wound before they walked down the aisle.
The bride fumed, obviously incensed that her grand entrance had been ruined but maybe there was time to make up for it. Her make-up artist ran up, offering a pep talk. “Darling, you’re gorgeous, stylish, utter perfection,” she whispered, while dabbing the girl’s moist hairline with blotting paper.
“She’s expensive,” her father muttered to Carmen, who stifled a laugh.
“There’s nowhere to go but up,” sniffed the bride. She shot a look at her pimply teenaged cousin, slouching with her clipboard by the entrance to the patio where the guests sat on white chairs, still snickering gleefully over her cousin’s misfortune.
Misters, rented at the last moment at horrendous expense, floated a fine spray of water over them, cooling them as the day grew impossibly warm.
The bride’s father, his cheek visibly swollen, thanked Carmen with a nod. He approached his daughter, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
The bride took a deep breath, waved away the make-up artist and took her father’s arm. “From now on, everything will be perfect,” she hissed. “This wedding will be unforgettable.”
As it turned out, she was right.
Carmen watched the wedding from the kitchen steps. The bride appeared serene by the time she reached her groom. The groom watched her every step down the aisle with breathless awe. Everything was back on track, which was why the buzzing in the distance made Carmen faintly nervous. Not alarmed. Not yet. The buzzing grew closer, then louder, as little insects swarmed the wedding party first, then the guests. Except they weren’t insects, Carmen deduced within a minute. They were drones.
“Look out! They’re drones!” The groom screamed, which didn’t help the general chaos that followed. People bumped into each other, into the flower beds, swatting away at the little drones.
They kept coming.
The drones swooped, swarmed and attacked relentlessly. A young man in a goatee dashed past her, hollering something about programmed coordinates and flight patterns. Whoever had access to drones in this number and minute size was no stranger to the tech world. Carmen looked around for anyone within her line of sight, who could possibly be controlling the drones, but they suddenly lifted and disappeared just as most of the wedding party scrambled into the kitchen, shoving aside the startled caterer.
Carmen didn’t have time to think about who had unleashed drones upon the wedding. She was too busy pouring champagne and reassuring the guests with forced cheer that they’d start over again. One (or two) teensy problems weren’t going to get in the way of their fun. Lola had popped the champagne early, whispering to Carmen that a slight buzz would smooth things over. Carmen had to hand it to her sister: in a clinch, she rose to the occasion. Soon, the well-lubricated guests were reseated in their chairs. They’d had time to smooth their hair, sip some wine and nibble a few appetizers hastily extracted from the fridge.
The minister made light of the moment, chuckling that technology certainly invaded every area of life these days, and this couple had the distinction of hosting drones at their wedding.
“Uninvited,” quipped the groom.
Everyone chuckled and sipped their champagne.
Carmen exhaled an endless sigh.
They’d recovered.
The minister had just asked the bride if she took the groom as her lawfully wedded husband, when the cooling misters increased. Instead of a gentle spritz, they began hissing water at such volume that the guests dashed from their seats, blocking one another in the aisle. The bride, standing directly in front of the misters, was instantly drenched, her hair collapsing around her shoulders in stringy strands. Her groom tried pushing down the misters, but they were tied to sand-filled bases weighing over a hundred pounds. He finally took his bride’s hand to help her down the stairs. Her dress was a vast white sponge, making it hard to move. The groom tried to make light of it, spinning her in a dance move, but she stumbled. “Barry, I can’t move. I’m soaking wet.”
The bride’s father rested comfortably in his ruined suit, sipping bourbon while holding the icepack Carmen had given him on his cheek. He raised his glass to the groom, busy mollifying his irritated bride. “Good luck, kid.”
The guests were invited inside for food, but few of them stayed. They couldn’t dry off well enough and went into town to change. Carmen called them back, saying they’d delay the reception, but the bride had reached a tipping point. Her husband said they’d all meet for pizza in town later at Local Myth. Seeing the bride swilling French champagne like it was water convinced Carmen that this was for the best.
“Let’s call it a wrap,” she said to Lola, who muttered under her breath, “Or a fiasco. Where do you suppose those drones came from?”
Carmen poured a glass from an open bottle of champagne. It hit her like a bolt of lightning. Of course. Evan could have hired all the drones, would have known exactly who to call. He could have reset the misters in the middle of the night without anyone knowing.
Carmen swallowed the rest of her champagne, handing the empty glass to Lola.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Eleven
Day Drinking
He was gloating. Carmen couldn’t believe it. If she’d been a cartoon, she’d have steam coming out of her ears. Not that she wanted to know what she looked like.
She’d been so furious; she didn’t bother changing. By the time she’d scrambled up the hill in her sunny yellow dress and gladiator sandals, the damp dress was streaked with red dirt. Her tidy chignon sprung from her head in unruly wisps. She’d reached the top of the hill, scanned the patio for Evan and stomped toward the house. Barry had come loping towards her, tail wagging, eager to see a friendly face. He carried a drool-coated tennis ball in his mouth, dropping it at her feet.
“Oh, Barry,” Carmen said, taking the sticky ball. “Why is your owner such a jerk?”
She turned to toss the disgusting ball.
She hadn’t reached the back door before Barry was back, dropping the dirty ball at her feet. “I’m sorry. I have to go kill someone. Don’t worry, you can live with me. We’d all be better off without him.” She threw the ball again.
“So much for man’s best friend.” Evan spoke through the kitchen window. It was tucked under an expansive awning, opening onto an outdoor bar. He poured two glasses of wine, then came outside with a sigh, turning his face to the sun, offering Carmen a glass which she ignored.
“Here’s to sunny days and award-winning wines.” He took a sip, eying her over the glass rim. “How was the wedding?”
Carmen felt her pulse in her ears. This was clearly an act. This preening self-satisfaction. She decided: she wouldn’t let this smug millionaire get the best of her. Or her family. If it was war, the gloves were off.
“Day drinking, I see.”
“We’re winemakers. Part of the job.”
“Is ruining weddings part of the job, too?”
“Funny thing for you to ask.”
“How was the wedding? Let’s see. The bride fell out of her carriage. Then, mysteriously, she was attacked by drones.” Carmen held her index finger and thumb together to illustrate. “Tiny little drones.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. Maybe at one point she’d thought this was attractive, but today it made him look a self-satisfied jerk. “Drones?”
“Yes, and as if that wasn’t enough, the misters turned into sprinklers and drenched everyone. Ruined dresses, hairdos and the wedding.”
“Sounds awful.” He took a measured sip.
&n
bsp; “Oh, trust me, it was. I can imagine someone around here maybe being mean enough to mess with the sprinklers, but what I can’t imagine is someone local deciding on drones. That sounds like someone who works in the tech world.”
Evan spread his arms. “I’m in the wine world.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it. I thought worrying about the bank, wildfires, soil acidity, irrigation and smoke in the wine was bad enough. Now I’ve got you.”
“Smoke in the wine?”
Plants, Carmen had learned, were as sensitive as humans. “Google it.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed as he offered Carmen the glass of wine for the second time. She took it, holding it pinched between her fingers as if it smelled.
Evan set his wine down, crossing his arms. “Carmen, I agree, this thing has escalated. But you’re hardly the innocent party here. We’re both at fault. I talked to Crystal the goatkeeper.”
“There is no comparison.”
“You only saw the aftermath. The wedding was chaos.”
“The goats didn’t attack anyone!”
Evan sighed. “All right. We can argue all night, or we can just stop.”
“By stopping, what do you mean?”
Evan studied her with a pained expression. As though he was wrestling with himself, holding back something vitally important he was determined not to share. She wondered what was going on in his mind before she stopped, chastising herself. She didn’t care what Evan Hollister was thinking. Not even a little.
He broke the awkward silence. “Carmen, I have made your father a very decent offer. This is the last time. After this, it’s off the table.”
Carmen wiped a stray hair off her forehead. “And if you don’t get my fields?” They weren’t her fields but suddenly this felt personal in a way that it hadn’t been before.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 11
