A Country Wedding

by Duncan Leigh

  Bradley cringed when the springs squeaked. Could this moment get any more embarrassing? The tabloids would pay a king’s ransom for pictures of him in bed with some strange woman. As for Catherine… Heat burned his cheeks.

  “Maybe…” Ms. Hartford’s tone doused a bucket of cold water all over her client’s enthusiasm. “Maybe we should let Mr. Suttons wake up a bit and, uh—”

  “That’d be nice,” Bradley agreed quickly.

  “—and, uh, put some clothes on,” she ended in a whisper.

  “I don’t mind.” Though disappointment clouded the woman’s features, she rose slowly.

  “We’ll come back later.” Ms. Hartford threw the comment over her shoulder while she practically shoved both her clients from the room. Sorry, the real estate agent mouthed as she closed the door firmly behind her.

  Bradley expelled a breath.

  The air had barely crossed his lips before the door popped open again. Ms. Hartford’s face reappeared in the opening. “I love your music. You’re my favorite singer. You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together? I used to be Sally Brunswick?” She laughed as if uncertain of her name, the time of day, or even where she was.

  “Yeah, no. I—I’m sorry. I don’t.” For Pete’s sake, he hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet. His brain wasn’t firing on all six cylinders.

  “Okay.” The fact that she’d been trying to carry on a conversation with a groggy, half-dressed superstar must have finally sunk in. Sally’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m just going to go now.” This time, when she closed it, the door stayed shut.

  Bradley shook his head and laughed. What else was there to do? He’d told Jimmy Fargo he wanted to sell the house as soon as possible, but he hadn’t bothered to tell anyone that he’d changed his mind about staying on for a few days. So, he supposed he was at least partly to blame for this morning’s surprise visit. Well, at least no incriminating pictures had been snapped, no videos taken. If it happened again, though, he might not be so lucky. To make sure there wasn’t a next time, he’d swing by Sarah’s and tell her he’d be sticking around for a few days…as soon as he put on some decent clothes.

  Sarah snipped the stem of a perfect blue iris and immediately plunged the cut end into a bucket of fresh water. “That’s fifty-five and the last of them,” she murmured. The florist had requested four dozen of the elegant flowers for the Thompson wedding, but she always provided a few extras. And she wasn’t alone. The women of the Ladies Auxiliary usually baked two cakes, not one, for the annual Cake Walk. At the ice cream parlor, the sales girls added an extra scoop to each cone. Going above and beyond the need of friends and customers was just part of Mill Town life, part of what made living here so special.

  Tucking the snippers into the back pocket of her jeans, Sarah rose. Her knees protested the hours she’d spent in the flower garden this morning, but the job was worth the effort. The money she’d make on this delivery would cover her bill at the feed store for another week.

  She stretched and rubbed her back where the muscles had knotted while she’d bent over the plants. A smile tugged at her lips. Beneath the shade of towering maples, healthy blooms and waxy leaves swayed in the light breeze. A heady scent of roses mingled with the sweetness of the peonies. Marigolds and carnations added a sharper note, and she inhaled a lungful of the heavenly smell before she hefted the heavy bucket and tucked it in among the rest of her orders in the back of her truck.

  “Best get these delivered,” she told the dogs that waited for her at the garden gate. “Ya’ll mind the ranch while I’m gone, and there’ll be a treat in it for you when I get back.”

  Driving slowly so as not to jostle the cut flowers any more than necessary, she followed the graveled track that led toward the main road. As she passed by the Suttons’ place, she spotted Bradley bent over his daddy’s old guitar on the swing out front. She gave him a passing wave, but her plan to mosey on into town changed when he motioned her to a stop.

  “Hey!” He shoved the guitar aside and hustled down the hill toward her. “Those are beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She shifted into Park, but left the motor idling. “I’m just driving them into town to some of the florists. We got three weddings this weekend.” The designers would stay busy all week turning the blossoms into table arrangements and wreaths and such. “I really think it’s the flowers that make a wedding.”

  “Yeah.” Bradley’s head bobbed just enough to tell her he didn’t have much of an opinion on the subject.

  Poor guy. He was probably feeling a little lonely. After he’d stopped by to tell her he was sticking around a little while longer to work on his music, she’d put the word out that everyone needed to respect his privacy. As far as she knew, he’d been holed up in the house for the past two days, just him and his guitar. Did he need a break?

  “You know what?” she asked, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. “Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna do fishing, if you want to come.”

  Bradley laughed out loud. “You’re going to do fishing, huh?”

  His reaction warmed a spot in her heart, but she pursed her lips and put her best efforts into mimicking the serious scowl he sometimes wore. “That’s just an expression.”

  “Is it now?” Bradley’s raised eyebrows told her he was onto her joke.

  The laughter she’d been trying so hard to suppress escaped to join his. When she stopped giggling, she asked, “You want to come?” She doubted he would. She and Adam had tricked him into going with them on Sunday, but surely, a country music superstar had better things to do than wet a line at the old fishing hole.

  Apparently not.

  At Bradley’s quick, “Yeah, sure,” she put the truck in gear. She had flowers to deliver and, now that she had a fishing partner, she’d make a stop at the grocery store to replenish her supply of lunch meat and sodas. After all, someone like Bradley would expect more than her usual PB&J with a side of water.

  On her trek to the barn, Sarah caught a snatch or two of Bradley’s voice along with the faint strum-strum of his guitar. She snugged her vest a little closer and smiled. As long as Bradley was working on his music, she could take her time with the horses this morning. Which was a good thing because, despite a calendar that said they were well into spring, temperatures had taken a nose dive the night before. The horses burned more calories trying to stay warm on days like this, and it’d take longer than usual to dish out the extra rations of hay and oats they needed.

  Two hours later, as she loaded the rods and reels, the ice chest, and a couple of folding chairs into the back of her pickup, Sarah crossed her fingers. Daybreak offered the best odds of catching a fish, and they were getting a late start. Still, she hoped Bradley would get his first bite today. She’d love to show him how to set the hook, to coach him through the art of landing a big one. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he held a wriggling, glistening fish in his hands. It sounded like his life in the big city kept him far too busy to enjoy the simple pleasures of standing in a stream of icy-cold water while the sun warmed his back and a trout tugged at the end of his hook.

  A short time later, she stared down at a mass of knotted line on her spool and bit back an urge to laugh. Here she was, supposedly showing the town’s guest of honor the ropes, and she’d netted a terrific backlash with her first cast. Meanwhile, the man beside her tossed his line into the fast-moving current as if he’d been doing it all his life. Gritting her teeth, she set to work untangling the mess.

  “You know, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time.” If he noticed he was the only one fishing, Bradley was kind enough not to mention it. “I’m usually running to catch a plane. Or play in a concert.”

  “Well, that sounds excitin’.” She freed just enough line to set the bail. With her next cast, the lure plunked into the water not five feet from where she stood. Great. At this rate, she’d go hom
e empty-handed and there’d be no supper on the table tonight.

  “It was. At first. But it gets old fast. Waking up in a different hotel suite every morning. Not knowing what city you’re in until you open up the door and look at the newspaper. The Cincinnati Post. The Oregonian. The New York Times. L.A. Times.”

  She and Bradley definitely operated on different planes. Why, he was so busy complaining about life at the top of the heap, he hadn’t even noticed that she’d barely gotten her lure wet. She gave him a sidelong glance. Bradley was a nice guy. He probably had no idea how he sounded to someone who’d never lived among the rich and famous. Maybe all he needed was a gentle reminder that many people would kill to live the life he led. But who would tell him? He didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. At least, not the kind who’d clear their schedules and come to Mill Town with him. That left just her. Sucking air in over her teeth, she gave him her best smirk.

  “Yep. All those first-class flights. And fancy hotel suites. And big bank accounts. Being rich and famous sounds rough.”

  “You’re making fun of me again.” Bradley inclined his head.

  “Am I?” She hiked her eyebrows. “I thought we were just catching up.”

  Although, so far, Bradley had been the only one doing the talking. How would he react if she confessed her fears, her problems?

  She shook her head. Someone like Bradley probably couldn’t understand what it felt like to mark off the days on the calendar, knowing that every day that passed brought her one day closer to losing everything.

  Chapter Six

  “Yeah, I don’t know what it is about being back here in the house I grew up in, but I’m writing music like I did years ago. I mean, it’s just flowing out of me.”

  “That’s great. I’m so happy for you.” Standing on the raised platform before the three-way mirror in L.A.’s most exclusive bridal salon, Catherine watched the sales consultant fluff the delicate chiffon on a gown that, even by her standards, cost a pretty penny. Was it worth the price? She struck a kittenish pose. The layers of gossamer fabric rippled.

  Oh, yes! This was it. This was the gown. She had to have it, no matter what the cost. With a wave of one finger, she signaled Margaret to cue the rest of the bridal party.

  “I’m not going to Nashville,” Bradley’s voice sounded in her ear. “I’m gonna stay here and write.”

  Good. The longer he stayed tucked away in some little-bitty town where there was absolutely no chance of him running into one of the horde of journalists and reporters who’d be covering their wedding, the more she could focus on finalizing her plans. Though, to tell the truth, if she’d had any idea how much work throwing the party of the decade involved, she might have opted for something a tad simpler. Not the Plain Jane affair Bradley had in mind, of course. Why, if she didn’t at least hire a string quartet to play the wedding march, her friends would all assume she was washed up, a has-been. No, what she had in mind would definitely leave everyone with the right impression: that she and Bradley were at the top of their game…and still climbing.

  Besides, they weren’t a pair of lovebirds like the ones in her last movie. Theirs wasn’t some sappy, sentimental union. No, what they had was more of a business relationship. Oh, sure, she definitely liked Bradley. She even loved him…in her own way. She’d be a fool not to, and she was no one’s fool. Bradley truly was a sweetheart. He treated her better than anyone she’d ever dated.

  But once they returned from their honeymoon, she’d go straight to work on her next big picture while her brand-new husband crisscrossed the country on his record tour. As for their future, things would go on pretty much as they had been. With her career centered in Los Angeles and his in Nashville, she didn’t see the point of trying to set up house together. It wasn’t like she planned to quit acting and become a housewife or anything. At that ridiculous thought, her smile tightened.

  Suddenly aware that the man on the other end of the phone had stopped talking, she filled the gap with the words she knew he wanted to hear. “I miss you.”

  “Yeah, uh, you know, I—I wish you were here. I could take you out on a long hike before dawn and then fishing in the creek.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Catherine paused to give herself a pat on the back. No one in Hollywood could have poured more sincerity into a line that was so patently false. She pulled her cell phone away from her ear for a second. Did Bradley honestly think she was the kind of girl to go hiking and, ugh, fishing? He couldn’t be serious. She got plenty of exercise…in a perfectly air-conditioned gym. As for the other, watching her stunt double wade into a fake stream on the movie set last year was as close as she ever intended to come to a fishing rod or those slimy things that dangled from hooks.

  She glanced up to watch a parade of young starlets hand-picked for their symmetry and grace form a line of perfectly matched attendants. As glad as she was that things were going well for Bradley—and she was, really she was—it was time to dial back his enthusiasm for all things country. “I’m so excited to see you in Italy for our wedding.” She shot Margaret a questioning glance.

  From her perch on the arm of a plush leather sofa, her agent signaled the attendants. “Now, turn.”

  On cue, the actresses spun in lazy circles. Catherine caught her breath. In the icy blue gowns with their crystal-studded halter tops, her attendants looked like Greek goddesses. Second tier, to be sure, but their near-beauty complemented her stardom. Perfect.

  “Now, just you and me and the Italian countryside, right?”

  And about three hundred of our friends and business associates. As well as a hundred or so caterers, florists, and wait staff who would see to their guests’ every need. Plus, reporters from every major media outlet.

  Still holding onto her cell phone, Catherine managed to cross her fingers. “Of course. I mean, there are some minor details to consider. It isn’t a wedding without flowers and a cake. I’ve been so busy working, I’ve hired someone to take care of all that.”

  That was her out, her excuse. If Bradley objected to any part of the extravagant plans she’d made, she’d just blame it on the wedding planner. She grinned as two adorable little girls decked out in silky skirts and matching headbands joined the rest of the bridal party. The children hit their marks like the pros they were. Choosing child actresses to act as flower girls had been a stroke of genius. She’d have to remember to thank Margaret for suggesting them.

  Bradley’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Well, I just want to get married in a place that reminds us that being together is all that matters. Some place where the world can’t find us.”

  Aw, he always said the perfect thing. She supposed that was one of the reasons she was marrying him. His old-fashioned notions about weddings aside, they were perfectly suited to each other. “Just you and me where the world can’t find us. That sounds wonderful.” And they’d have it…after the wedding. She’d make sure they spent two whole days of their honeymoon alone, not a single reporter in sight.

  “Good,” Bradley said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Another turn.” Margaret aimed her camera.

  Catherine propped one hand on a cocked hip while her bridal party slowly rotated. Yes, she nodded. Everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be. Bradley might think he wanted a quiet ceremony in the middle of a vineyard where no one could find them, but once images of their picture-perfect wedding were splashed across the front pages of every tabloid from New York to L.A., he’d thank her for the boost she’d given both their careers.

  Bradley flexed his fingers to work out the kinks that came from his latest three-hour songwriting session. He’d meant it when he’d told Catherine the music was flowing. After months of not being able to draft so much as a shopping list, he couldn’t believe how good it felt to put pen to paper and actually write song after song. Why, if he stuck around here another week or so, when he did get to Nashville,
he’d probably be able to go straight into the recording studio and come out with a complete album.

  His stomach rumbled a reminder that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He anchored his notes down beneath a paperweight he’d unearthed from one of the boxes in the living room. That done, he fixed himself a sandwich, which he ate over the sink while he enjoyed the view out the kitchen window. Feeling the need to stretch his legs a bit and maybe share a little company before his next writing session, he wandered down the hill to the Standor ranch.

  In the main yard, he looked around for Sarah. She was nowhere to be found, so he ambled toward the barn. There, the smell of leather in the tack room mingled with the earthy scent of horses and hay, just as it had done when he was a kid.

  How many times had he climbed to the top level with Adam in hot pursuit, both of them determined to rescue Sarah from the evil villain of the day? How many lazy afternoons had they escaped the summer heat by plopping down on top of a hay bale with their library books? Or swung from the rope in the loft? Too many to count, that was for sure.

  Those carefree days had come to an abrupt end the day his parents had died. Before the week was out, his aunt and uncle had whisked him off to Nashville, where he’d begun a new chapter in his life. There, in a bedroom that had held no reminders of his past, in a neighborhood where all the houses had looked alike, he’d found comfort in his music. In the end, the move had served him well, but he often wondered how his life would have turned out if he’d stayed in Mill Town, if he’d never left, if the accident had never happened.

  Awash in memories of the day his life had taken a hard left turn, he mounted the stairs into the loft. He studied the spot where Adam had married him and Sarah. They’d come here straight from the funeral, so the three of them had already been wearing their Sunday best. Sarah had sworn they couldn’t have a wedding without flowers and had pinned boutonnieres to his and Adam’s suit coats. He’d never asked her where she’d gotten either them or the bouquet she’d carried but, looking back, she must have plucked the flowers from a couple of the funeral arrangements. Goodness knew, there’d been enough of them. He was pretty sure, between the wreaths and baskets at the gravesite and the ones that had filled the house, there hadn’t been a single blossom left in all of Mill Town. Adam had insisted he had to have a Bible to make things official, but none of them had wanted to risk sneaking back into the house where well-meaning relatives might ask what they were up to. Without a copy of the Good Book handy, the preacher’s son had grabbed the first one he’d been able to lay his hands on—Sarah’s history textbook—and they’d gathered in front of hay bales they’d lined up like pews.