Auntie P. and her beau, Hank, had been in her bakery shop not an hour ago choosing the cake for their upcoming Matrimony Valley wedding. The older couple seemed to be flat-out in love despite knowing each other for only a handful of months. Sure, the quickness of their engagement took everyone by surprise, but she wasn’t about to confess her few niggling doubts to this man. “Not really my call, is it? Or yours.”
She’d seen several control freaks as part of Matrimony Valley’s now-thriving location wedding business, but this son’s interference with his father’s wedding topped the list. It was usually mothers of the bride who made life difficult. Son of the groom was a new one, to be sure.
“My dad just told me they ordered a chocolate wedding cake.”
Yvonne put on her best bridezilla wrangler voice, which seemed ludicrous to use on the handsome yet brooding cowboy currently standing in her bakery. “Yes, Pauline wants me to make my signature Black Forest cake. Because she knows how good it is and how everybody loves it.” It was true. That cake had been written up in Southeastern Nuptials magazine as the best, most unusual wedding cake in the region. It was her signature cake. She pointed to the article and photograph framed on the bakery wall to underscore the point.
Were he not currently boasting a scowl cold enough to have frozen Matrimony Falls despite it being a very warm September, she might have called Chaz downright attractive. “My dad hates chocolate. She up and ordered a chocolate cake. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
She’d met too many men like this—ones who could never understand why the rest of the world wouldn’t bend to their will on even the tiniest of issues. Neal had been exactly like this. Isn’t that just the way? she thought to herself. The first good-looking single man to show up in the valley in a long time, and he turns out to be a self-centered know-it-all. And about something as innocuous as his father’s wedding cake, to boot.
Yvonne and her partners in the valley didn’t do cookie-cutter weddings. They created amazingly individualized nuptials. With a determined smile, Yvonne pulled out her sample book and paged over to a gorgeous white-iced Black Forest cake with luscious cherries and powdered-sugar-coated chocolate shavings piled on top. “Maybe your dad enjoys giving his bride a cake she likes. Couples do that, you know. At least the happy ones.”
Unhappy Chaz Walker glared at her for a moment, as if stunned by her refusal to see his side of things. Yvonne glared right back until the man silently turned on his boot heels and left the bakery.
She watched his long strides take him back across the street to where Chaz was staying with his father. Clearly he was strong, for when he reached the heavy front doors of Hailey’s Inn Love, he yanked them open as easily as if they were paper. Auntie P. was about to become this grumpy cowboy’s stepmother. Hadn’t Mama always said, “You don’t just marry a man, you marry his whole family”?
“Bless your heart, Auntie P.,” Yvonne said aloud as she watched the door shut behind the broad-shouldered man. “I think you’ve got one rough ride ahead.”
* * *
Yvonne sat down next to her aunt half an hour later as the high noon sun cast glorious colors on the Smoky Mountains behind Matrimony Falls. “Auntie P., I need to talk to you about something.”
The clearing where they sat looked as beautiful as an oil painting. Almost two dozen happy brides and grooms had been united in the open-air “cathedral” that had been built in this grove. The grand and peaceful spot was among her very favorite places on earth—and perhaps the best place to have what might be a tough conversation.
Pauline gave her a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”
Yvonne had rehearsed six different ways to bring the subject up, but she opted to ditch them all in favor of a direct approach. “How do you think Chaz feels about your wedding?”
Pauline surprised her by frowning. “Oh, he’s not especially in favor of it.”
Yvonne fought the urge to pick her jaw up off the grass. “You knew?”
“Well, of course I know. The man’s about as transparent as glass—not that he goes to much effort to hide his concerns.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
Pauline raised a dubious eyebrow. “Have you spent even ten minutes with Chaz?”
“He came into the bakery a bit ago.” She might have found his eyes stunning were they not framed in a face that seemed to be stuck in a perpetual scowl. As it was, Chaz bore little resemblance to the happy, love-struck groom who had told Pauline to “order whatever cake her heart desires.” Like father, like son? Hardly. “He gave me an earful about your wedding cake.”
“Our cake? Oh, the chocolate part, I’m sure. He and Hank are die-hard vanilla fans. It’s why I chose the white icing, but I expect he didn’t give you a chance to explain that.” Pauline folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sure you realized Chaz doesn’t have a high opinion of anything. I don’t take his doubts personally.” She gave a small laugh. “Shame to waste those fine features on such a sourpuss, don’t you think? Some days I think he hates everything and everybody.”
Yvonne couldn’t believe Pauline’s laugh. “So you’re okay with this?”
Pauline fluttered one hand. “Well, of course not. Why do you think he’s here? It’s not as if I need his help to organize a wedding. That’s what y’all do here, isn’t it?”
Not just Yvonne’s, but the jobs of most people in the valley now centered on creating weddings. Mayor Jean Matrim Tyler—who herself was married in front of these falls just last winter—had cast a vision to reinvent this dying mill town into a destination wedding location. That dream had started to really take hold, and several brides—another of Yvonne’s dear friends, the town florist, Kelly, among them—had followed suit earlier this year. In fact, the prime wedding season just wrapping up had been the most successful to date.
None of which could explain the restlessness in Yvonne’s soul. Even the chance to give Pauline the wedding of her dreams hadn’t drowned out the hum of dissatisfaction. “I don’t think bringing him here helped convince him to get on board.” Aunt Pauline was never one to back down from a challenge, but Yvonne thought she might have chosen a monster of an obstacle in trying to gain Chaz’s endorsement.
“What is it you always say?” Pauline asked. “Folks argue about cake and flowers when they can’t bring themselves to argue about the real stuff? Chaz thinks we’re moving way too fast.”
Yvonne had to give her aunt credit. Most brides she knew would take serious offense at that, but Pauline seemed to accept it without bile.
“Of course, it’s not really me he’s wary of. It’s change. He can’t stomach that his daddy—we all know Hank is Chaz’s stepdaddy but that doesn’t change anything—is moving on and making choices Chaz doesn’t agree with.”
As a matter of fact, she didn’t know Chaz was Hank’s stepson. He referred to Hank as “Dad” in the bakery. She’d called Hank “your dad” right in front of Chaz and he’d not corrected her. Pauline had told her Hank was a widower with two sons. Yvonne had assumed Chaz and his brother were from that earlier marriage. Evidently not. “Hank’s been married twice before?” It would have been nicer not to sound so shocked.
“Wyatt is from Hank’s first marriage when he was very young. Wyatt’s mama left Hank when Wyatt was still a little thing.” She gave a sigh. “I think that’s why Wyatt is such a mess. Little boys don’t get over things like that, even though they’d never admit that. Mariah—who’d had a terrible marriage of her own—came along with Chaz in tow about seven years later. They had loads of happy years together before Mariah died. So only Wyatt is Hank’s blood son. He treats both boys well, but I think they still feel the difference. Those two men couldn’t be more different.”
“How so?”
“Well, you’ve met Chaz. A handsome fella, but a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Sure he knows how everything ought to be.”
She’d h
ad only one conversation with the man, but handsome know-it-all seemed a fair assessment of Chaz. “And Wyatt?”
“The opposite of all that. A lost soul. Bit of a black sheep who’s never rebelled far enough to actually leave home. Can’t quite get his ducks in a row and isn’t even sure he wants to.” Pauline looked at Yvonne. “In other words, everything Chaz isn’t...including blood.”
“And you want to marry into this mess of a family?” Yvonne winced. When was she going to learn to think before blurting things like that out?
Pauline got that dreamy look in her eye Yvonne saw on every Matrimony Valley bride. “I’d marry into ten messes for Hank. I’ve waited a long time to lose my heart, honey. I’m not about to let a whopping case of sibling rivalry scare me off my chance.”
“I don’t think there’s anything that scares you, Auntie P.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. But I don’t expect you young people to understand how easy it is to be certain of what you want at our age.” Her aunt’s choice of words sent a pang of guilt between Yvonne’s ribs. After all, she’d had her own doubts about the speedy engagement and not had the nerve to say anything that might dampen Auntie P.’s happiness.
“So you’re sure about Hank?” was the most she could muster.
“No one’s ever sure, darlin’. But waiting for sure doesn’t make much sense when you’ve only got so many years left on this earth.”
Yvonne never liked it when Pauline talked like that. Pauline was younger in her seventies than most people in their fifties. “Oh, Auntie P., you’ll live forever.”
Pauline put her arm around Yvonne and gave her a big hug. Pauline gave the best hugs—no holding back, never the first to let go. So different from Mama’s careful embraces. “I will in heaven, baby. That’s where eternity happens. But here on earth, the clock’s a tickin’.” She plopped a big kiss on the top of Yvonne’s head, just the way she’d done since Yvonne was a little girl. “Hank says he has a big announcement to make at dinner tonight. Let’s just say a big prayer that whatever it is will smooth things over a bit.”
A big prayer indeed. Yvonne put her head on Pauline’s shoulder. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. Faith-filled and feisty and fearless.
Copyright © 2019 by Alyse Stanko Pleiter
ISBN-13: 9781488042942
Healing the Cowboy’s Heart
Copyright © 2019 by Ruth M. Blodgett
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