A Small-Town Bride

by Hope Ramsay

  “Oh no, you can’t do that,” Mia said. “Danny will stay home with the baby. He’s devoted to Scarlett.” Since Danny had done diaper duty, and bottle duty, and was even now holding the baby in his lap, this pronouncement went unchallenged.

  Julie turned a mother’s adoring smile in Danny and Scarlett’s direction. “Yes, he is,” she said, the candlelight flickering in her dewy eyes. “But I’d still like to stay home and help. Really, Mia, if you want someone from the family to go with you, you should take Amy. She’s got a wonderful sense of fashion. And she’s helped several of her sorority sisters choose their dresses.”

  Oh shit. How had the ball landed in her court? Damn. She sucked at tennis and golf and every other sport known to man or woman.

  Mia turned her critical gaze in Amy’s direction with a look so sharp it hurt.

  “I can’t,” Amy blurted before Mia said a word. “I have to work.”

  Pam rolled her eyes. Julie’s mouth dropped open. The boys reacted as if Amy had just dropped in from another planet.

  “Since when do you have a job?” Andrew asked.

  “Since a few days ago. I—”

  “She’s working for Willow at the inn,” Pam said, shooting David a daggerlike look.

  “For real?” Mia cocked her head. “What do you do there? Can you help me plan the wedding? That would be so fun, having Danny’s little cousin Amy help with the arrangements. He talks about you all the time.”

  “That’s a wonderful—” Pam started, but Amy interrupted.

  “I’m a gardener,” she said, sitting up straight in her chair. “I help maintain the grounds and set up for events. I love it. For the first time in my life, I’m independent.”

  “You are not independent,” Pam said in that holier-than-thou tone that Amy hated. “You’re relying on Willow’s kindness, and you’re living in Thomas’s cabin. You don’t even have enough income to get your hair done. You need to stop this foolishness and call Grady right now and say yes to his marriage proposal. Then you and Mia can both go to Kleinfeld and shop for dresses together.”

  Amy’s face burned hot and then cold. How dare Aunt Pam criticize everything, including her job? She wanted to scream at her, but of course she couldn’t do that with the cameras rolling. Hell, she couldn’t do that, period.

  So she took a huge breath and tried to think of something to say that would de-escalate the conversation. Before she could say anything, Mia spoke again, her girlish voice turning hard. “The shoot in New York is only about my dress, Amy. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Wait a second,” Andrew interrupted. “You didn’t say yes to Grady’s proposal? He’s told everyone that you’re getting married.”

  “Then he’s a liar. I told him no. Quite emphatically.”

  “But you’ve been together for more than a year,” Andrew pointed out like Captain Obvious.

  “Yeah, and he’s worth millions, which makes him perfect for you.” Edward’s follow-up comment put the hurt in the one-two brotherly punch.

  Mia’s mouth dropped open. “You said no to a man worth millions?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t love him.” Amy gave the cameraman a quick, nervous glance as he zoomed in on her. Why had she signed the release form that the Vegas Girls producer had shoved at her earlier in the evening? This was bad. The producer looked like she’d just had a shot of caffeine. All boredom had fled, and suddenly Amy’s love life had turned into a subplot in a reality TV show.

  She needed to change the subject, but her public declaration of independence turned into a full-on family discussion in which her brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and three Vegas showgirls offered their opinions about how Amy should grow up, recognize the truth, and say yes to Grady Carson, hedge fund manager and millionaire.

  The final humiliation came when Ivory said, “Honey, if you don’t want that man, can you give me his number? Mia’s found herself a rich sugar daddy, and I want me one too.”

  Chapter Nine

  Amy excused herself from the table the moment the dinner conversation turned back to Mia’s appearance on Say Yes to the Dress. She pretended to go to the bathroom but instead made a mad dash through the rain to her car. Thank goodness the synthetic material of her Bec & Ridge dress was water-friendly.

  She had no idea how long it took before the family discovered her missing because her cell phone had been turned off and the fishing cabin didn’t have a phone. And since the weather had turned downright stormy, no one followed her up the road either.

  So she was fine.

  Except for the fact that she had no clue how to start a fire in the woodstove, and without her iPhone, she couldn’t exactly ask Siri for help. She made several attempts, but they produced more smoke than fire or warmth. So she and Muffin curled up together in the small bed in the back room with three heavy quilts that she’d found in the old chest at the foot of the bed. They were warm.

  After a while.

  Muffin turned out to be a super alarm clock, too, even if walking her in the early morning without a caffeine fix required more dedication than Amy had ever shown to anything in her life. It was a drag, quite literally, since Muffin pulled incessantly on the leash and had her own ideas about where to go, usually into mud puddles left by the rain.

  Waking up to walk the dog had one saving grace—Amy got to work early enough on Tuesday to discover that Antonin, the head chef at Eagle Hill Manor, kept a pot of coffee going all day for the staff. So she was properly caffeinated when she reported to the barn at 9:00 a.m., ready to work and feeling surprisingly in charge of her life.

  The “in charge” feeling disappeared the moment she laid eyes on Dusty. Her mind went back to that moment with a wiggly dog in her arms and soap in her eyes. She totally needed to cut out the memory of that particular lust-filled moment. And she had to stop thinking of him as Dusty and get back to thinking about him as Mister McNeil.

  He made it easy when he scowled at Muffin. “Why is she here?”

  “I couldn’t leave her alone. I did that last night, and she howled the whole time. She’s been traumatized and abandoned before. And besides, I don’t have the gas money to run back and forth between here and the cabin in order to walk her.”

  His mouth twitched, but his dimples didn’t come out this morning, as if they were hiding behind a big rain cloud. Mr. McNeil’s shoulders also seemed tense, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn’t slept well last night.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  His brows drew together. “I’m fine.” The words exploded from him like bullets from a machine gun, conveying the unmistakable message that he most definitely was not fine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He stood up. “What part of ‘I’m fine’ did you not understand? Come on, I need you to spread mulch and compost this morning. I’m afraid it’s going to be muddy work after last night’s downpour.”

  He walked right past her with his long-legged stride, and once again she found herself rushing after him, her own legs pumping hard to keep up. Muffin thought they were playing chase. She woofed and nipped at her heels a couple of times.

  Uh-oh, not good, because that earned both of them another thunderous look. “If you want to bring that dog to work, you have to keep her on a leash and teach her manners. Get a book on dog training.”

  “I will, as soon as payday comes.”

  Dusty stopped, turned, and jammed his hands onto his hips. “Amy, have you ever been inside a library?”

  “Sure. They had one at the college I attended even if it wasn’t an Ivy League school.”

  “That’s good to know because you’ll find the Jefferson County Library on Washington Avenue near the county courthouse. And if you go down there, the nice librarian will give you a library card, which costs nothing. And then you can borrow books.”

  “Cool. I didn’t think about that. I guess I should have. There are a lot of things I’m learning ab
out, you know, like the dollar menu at McDonald’s.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He turned and continued striding off to the garage area of the barn.

  “You think the library would have a book on how to build a fire in a woodstove?” she asked to his retreating back as she jogged to keep up. “Because I’m a total dud at that. I tried last night, honestly, but I couldn’t get the fire going.”

  He stopped again and cocked his head in her direction. Something changed in his bright blue stare. “You didn’t have a fire last night?”

  “I was okay. Muffin and I snuggled under the covers. The dog gives off lots of body heat.”

  He exhaled sharply as though he’d lost his patience with her, although she couldn’t see why he should care whether she had a fire or not. Still, Amy had to choke back the “I’m sorry” that wanted to come out of her mouth. What was she sorry for, exactly?

  Good thing she didn’t say it because Dusty—Mr. McNeil—surprised her by saying, “After work I’ll come up to the cabin, split some wood for you, and give you a lesson in how to start a fire in a woodstove, okay?”

  She couldn’t help it; she grinned at him. “That would be so nice, thank you. You’ve been…” She lost the ability to speak. An emotion much deeper than lust lodged under her heart. She wanted him, yes, but more than that, she liked him. Dusty was a kind human being.

  “I’ve been what?” he asked.

  “Kind and helpful. And I appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever.” His quick dismissal raised the same hurt inside as Aunt Pam’s derision of her job and her choices last night.

  She chided herself for that slipup. Dusty McNeil didn’t act out of kindness. Like everyone else in the world, he served his own agenda. And now that she thought about it, it only made sense that Willow had asked Mr. McNeil to be nice. Maybe Willow had actually hired him to babysit Amy.

  * * *

  Danny and the Vegas Girl entourage breezed into Eagle Hill Manor around midmorning. Amy saw them arrive, the camera crew swarming around the stars. An hour later, Danny turned up at Amy’s elbow as she hauled mulch from the pile behind the barn. The minute Muffin saw Danny, her little tail wagged like a flag.

  “Hello,” he said, squatting down to pet the dog. “What’s your name?”

  “Muffin. I found her a few days ago. She was abandoned.”

  “You have a dog? I’m surprised.” Danny stood up.

  “Like I said, it’s a recent thing.”

  “And you bring her to work?”

  Yes, she did, because she didn’t have any other option and also, probably, she got away with it because Willow had paid Mr. McNeil to look the other way.

  “Yeah,” she said, spreading the compost and mulch.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Taking care of the azaleas.” She said the plant name with authority. “Mr. McNeil says these plants are very thirsty, and the mulch will help them retain water, especially after they bloom.”

  “Dusty McNeil?” Danny said in a voice chilly with disapproval.

  Amy straightened and leaned on her rake. “Yeah. He’s my boss.”

  “That’s actually funny.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah it is, sort of—the idea of a McNeil bossing around a Lyndon.”

  Amy saw red. “Danny, if you want to ruin your life and marry that showgirl, go ahead and do it. But don’t come here and judge me, okay? Daddy locked me out of the house and told me to marry Grady or get out. I chose the latter. And since, unlike you, I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on, I had to get a job. And since I’m not qualified to do much, this was the best I could do. So get used to it.”

  “Amy, come on, don’t be so dramatic. You have other options. In fact, I’m here because everyone thinks it would be a fabulous idea if you would help Mia with the wedding plans.”

  “Everyone? Really?”

  “Well, Aunt Pam suggested it.”

  “Aunt Pam wants me to convince you to have a small, private ceremony. I think Aunt Pam is right, so if I took this job, I would be in constant conflict with your bride. And, of course, the producers would try to make my non-relationship with Grady a part of the story line.”

  “Uh, well, I guess…”

  “You guess? Look, Danny, I think you should break up with Mia.”

  “Come on, Amy. Be reasonable.”

  “No. I don’t want to be on TV. I don’t want a job you’ve arranged for me. And I’m not going to help you plan a wedding so you can marry someone you don’t love.”

  He blinked at her. “What are you talking about? Of course I love Mia. And besides, I have to consider Scarlett.”

  Amy turned her back on him and continued spreading mulch. “Okay, whatever, be like everyone else in the family. I never thought I’d see the day when that happened. But here’s a news flash for you. I don’t have to help you screw up your life or embarrass the family.”

  “Amy, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Explain to me why you’re willing to walk away from a nice, rich, smart guy who wants to marry you. And why you think working as a gardener is a better deal.”

  She gripped the rake and thought about braining her cousin with it, but she didn’t do violence. Besides, he towered over her and always had.

  “You know what? I like being a gardener.” Amy said the words like an affirmation. Maybe mulching azaleas wouldn’t bring world peace, but from the azaleas’ point of view, getting mulched was a big thing.

  “Amy, come on,” Danny said. “I can give you a loan, and we can find you something better. Something more—”

  She turned on him. “I don’t want a handout. I want to explore my options on my own. Can’t anyone understand that?”

  “I do understand, but being a gardener is not a real option.”

  “How do you know? Come on, Danny. You’re the one who made a stand and went off to do something different. I loved you for being brave and doing the thing that you wanted most in life. But I don’t see you making films right now.”

  He paled slightly, and Amy wished she could take her angry words back.

  “You don’t know anything about my life,” he said. “So stay the hell out of it.”

  “Danny, I’m s—”

  He put up his hands, palms out. “I get it,” he said before turning away and heading in the direction of the Carriage House, where Mia and her entourage were making plans for turning his wedding into the greatest show on earth.

  * * *

  Morning came and went, but Dusty’s foul mood stuck around. He’d started his morning dragging Daddy out of the Murphy bed in the A-frame’s tiny living room, handing the old man a cup of coffee in an old travel mug, and showing him out the door.

  Daddy didn’t force the issue for once. Maybe the bump on his head had knocked some sense into him. Dusty didn’t really care. He only hoped the bastard would go someplace else and never darken his door again. But Dusty knew that was wishful thinking. Daddy would turn up tonight drunk as a skunk.

  Maybe Daddy’s return was a message. Maybe the time had come to give up the fight, pull up stakes, sell the damn land, and move far, far away, where people didn’t know his sad story. Someplace Daddy could never find him again.

  The fishing in Montana was good. He’d always wanted to go there.

  On vacation. Not to live.

  Dammit, Dusty had been fishing the streams that fed into the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers all his life. He’d learned where the trout hid in the deep pools during the spring season. He could find the bass in the summer. He could pick the right flies and lures for winter and fall. If he wanted to start a fishing camp and guide service, he needed to do it here, not someplace he’d never been.

  These thoughts tumbled around in his head as he trimmed the boxwood hedge using a pair of old-fashioned hand shears instead of a power trimmer. The quiet back here on the terrace soothed him as he worked until someone bellowed, “Yoo-hoo, cute garde
ner guy.”

  Being called “cute gardener guy” annoyed him since he’d worked his way through Virginia Tech, earning a degree in horticultural science. He glanced over his shoulder. An Amazon on spike heels with pink hair, coffee-colored skin, and an enhanced chest waved at him. “Bombshell” didn’t even come close to describing this woman. She was built curvy and her legs were so long she could have gotten a tryout with the Rockettes. The beading on her tight little tank top sparkled in the afternoon sun, momentarily blinding him.

  “Can I help you?” Dusty asked.

  She giggled. “I declare, you Virginians are all so polite,” she said in a stupid, fake Southern accent. He swallowed back his annoyance. Guests were always right, even when they were wrong.

  He put down his garden shears and faced her but said not a word. She was a beautiful specimen of womanhood, but he resented the way she flirted with him as if he were a Virginia mountain cabana boy.

  “Hi,” she said, with a showgirl simper that didn’t attract him in the slightest. “I’m Ivory. Mia Paquet’s girlfriend?”

  Was he supposed to be impressed by this information? He had no idea. “Yeah?”

  She batted her eyes a few times, and when that didn’t get her what she wanted, she frowned. “Antonella, our executive producer, sent me to talk to the gardener about making some changes. You’re the gardener, right?”

  He nodded.

  She pointed to the stand of Portuguese laurels that he’d planted last fall in order to create drama for brides getting married out at the gazebo. The laurels screened the walkway to the house, allowing weddings to be staged and brides to make their appearance in grand style. “Antonella wants you to remove those shrubs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have to put the cameras there so they can get a long shot of Mia walking down the footpath in her wedding dress.”

  Dusty almost shook his head. It was amazing the things brides asked for. And when their requests were refused, they often turned meaner than pit bulls.

  He had no desire to prolong this encounter, so he put on an I-just-work-here expression and said, “I can see that, but you’ll have to ask Willow Lyndon to authorize that.”