Runaway Bridesmaid

by Karen Templeton

  “This has nothing to do with—”

  “Old girlfriend?”

  “How’d you…?”

  “And she’s still unattached?”

  “She’s been pretty busy….”

  “Aw, man…nobody’s that busy.” A few seconds ticked by while Dean realized he’d been suckered. “And something tells me she won’t leave Sweetleaf—”

  “Sweetbranch.”

  “Branch, leaf…some part of a dang tree, who cares? In any case, am I right? That she won’t leave?”

  Dean dropped onto the arm of the sofa, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Since I can’t seem to get past Door Number One, who goes where is moot. I told you, this has nothing to do with her.”

  “Uh-huh. What the hell you do to her?”

  Dean let out a hiss of air, realizing resistance was futile, then explained. Forrest was silent for, oh, maybe two seconds, then said, “Shoot, man, you’ll be doing well to even see Door Number One, let alone get through it. But, hey, I wish you luck.”

  “Thanks,” Dean said dryly.

  Another couple of seconds drifted by. “Well…” Dean could imagine Forrest scratching his head. “I suppose it could work, having a factory outside the city. Tell you what— I’ll call these people tomorrow and tell them we’re negotiatin’ for a place, and they can just damn well keep a lid on it for another couple of weeks. But you don’t have a whole lot of time to mess around here, man, you know?”

  Yeah. He knew.

  After Forrest hung up, Dean just sat, staring at the cast-iron pug, who seemed to giving be him this mocking sneer.

  What on earth was he thinking?

  “Hey, bro…” Lance came through the front door, jangling car keys in his hand. “Any messages for me?” he asked, dropping his suit jacket over the arm of the sofa.

  Dean shook his head. “Where’s Jen?”

  “We’re going out in a while.” Lance headed for the kitchen. “She decided she was hot and sticky and wanted a bath—”

  “Listen,” Dean interrupted. “You know if there’s anyplace around that might be suitable to set up a factory?”

  Lance poked his head out the kitchen door, popping the top off a Dr. Pepper. “You serious?”

  “You think it might work?”

  “I think it’d be great,” Lance said with a grin, loosening the knot in his tie. “I can give you the names of at least five, six woodworkers off the top of my head who’d give their right arms to have a steady job doing what they love. And, yeah, you should have no trouble finding a place either in Opelika or Auburn.”

  “Would you be interested in handling the books?”

  Lance gave a low laugh as he slid off his tie, undid the top two buttons of his shirt. “I dare you to give the job to anyone else.” He tossed the tie on top of the jacket, took a swig of the soda, then asked, his dark eyes twinkling, “What does Sarah think about this?”

  Dean glared at the pug. “This has nothing to do with Sarah.”

  His brother seemed to consider this for several seconds, then said quietly, “You’re not sure this is going to work out, are you?”

  “The factory?”

  “No. Sarah.”

  “You know,” Dean said on a sharp breath, “you’re the only person around who doesn’t seem to think our getting back together is a done deal.” He eyed his brother. “I take it you know all the sordid details by now?”

  Lance snorted, leaning against the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. “Probably, assuming Jen didn’t embellish.”

  Folding his hands behind his head, Dean leaned back, propping his stockinged feet up on his aunt’s wooden coffee table. “So…what’s your take on the situation?”

  Lance hesitated, then dropped onto the damask-covered wing chair in front of Dean. “I don’t know. Something’s going on, though. Something Jen doesn’t know about, or I’m sure she would have told me by now. That woman couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.”

  Frowning, Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of something?”

  Lance threw one hand up in the air, the universal male gesture for “beats me.” “Sarah’s just been…I don’t know. Evasive? I mean, she’s made no bones that she thinks the two of you have nothing in common anymore, but I don’t buy that. I see how she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching—” A grin hitched up one corner of his mouth. “Sorry, bro—afraid I have to side with Jen on that one. Sarah’s…scared.”

  “Lord. You and Jen aren’t even married yet, and you already sound like each other.” Lance chuckled; Dean massaged the crease between his brows. “I hurt her, Lance. Badly.”

  But Lance was shaking his head. “It’s not that, I’m sure of it.”

  “Then what?”

  Lance shrugged. “Got me. I just call ’em. I don’t explain ’em. But you know what?” He wagged his Dr. Pepper can at Dean. “That is one lonely lady.”

  “How could she possibly be lonely? She’s never alone.”

  Lance shook his head. “Not the same thing. Her mother and sisters are no substitute for…” He paused. Blushed.

  A smirk crossed Dean’s features. “A toss in the hay?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But that’s what you meant.”

  “Actually, no. Sarah’s worth a helluva lot more than that.”

  To his surprise, Dean felt his eyes go scratchy. His baby brother was all grown up. Had his own business, was about to be a husband. And more perceptive than most men were at any age.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.” He sighed. “But, to answer your original question, whatever relationship I might or might not have with Sarah has nothing to do with my decision to put the factory here.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s time I came home.” He let his eyes rest on his brother’s face. “Been away far too long as it is.”

  “Even if Sarah isn’t part of the package?”

  Rising from the chair, Dean walked over to the open window and looked out at the humidity-hazed sky. Robins darted across his aunt’s just-watered lawn, stopping occasionally to listen for worms. He could smell earth and petunias and roses and the faint, constant whiff of farm animal that pervaded the countryside. Smells from his childhood, smells from a time when everything made sense. Even though he knew things might look hopeless tomorrow, right now he felt confident and peaceful and downright cocky.

  A crazy man, is what he’d become.

  He thought of how warm Sarah’s hand had felt under his that morning at breakfast. How damn much he’d missed her. How much it would hurt, being here and not feeling comfortable enough with her to kid, to pal around. Not being able to touch her.

  “Hell,” he said softly. “It’s not as if I can force the woman to trust me again. But I’ll do anything to prove she can.” He turned to his brother. “Anything.”

  “I’d be careful if I were you.” Lance wagged the can at him again. “Never known a woman yet who wouldn’t take a man up on an offer like that.”

  That got a pair of raised brows. “Oh? And how many women might that be, little brother? Two?”

  He ducked as Lance’s loafer came sailing toward his head.

  She almost missed the roses on the reception desk the next morning.

  Despite being up half the night with a foaling mare, she’d left a terse note for her mother telling her not to let her over-sleep. So she was up and clean and fed. But not awake. Shoot, she was one step removed from comatose.

  Jolene called to her as she passed. “Hey, girl—you blind?”

  Sarah backed up and stared blankly at the receptionist. “What?”

  “The flowers?” She jabbed a hooked red fingernail in their direction. “They’re for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you, missy.” Jolene cocked her head, one hand on her hip. “You know of another Sarah Whitehouse around here?”

  Now Sarah stared at the flowers.

 
The receptionist had resettled herself at her computer. “You know, it usually is easier to figure out who sent them if you read the card.”

  As if she didn’t already know. But Jolene would give her no peace until she followed her suggestion, so she played along, gritting her teeth. While she was fumbling to get the teensy card out of its envelope, her boss came up behind her. “Mornin’, Sarah. Got an admirer, huh?”

  “Seems that way.” Finally, she just tore the envelope.

  I’m not giving up that easily. D.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things. “Jolene?” She leaned over the desk, plunked the flowers in front of the startled woman. “Congratulations. You just got yourself two dozen roses.”

  Enormous dark eyes lit on her face. “You’re kiddin’? These are gorgeous. Who sent them to you?”

  “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  She felt a light touch on her shoulder. Doc. “Come into my office, Sarah.”

  Like a little girl, she obeyed.

  She sat across from Clarence Jefferson, her elbows resting on the arms of her chair, her hands dangling awkwardly at the ends of her wrists. The elderly man settled himself across from her behind his desk and pinned her with walnut brown eyes the same color as his face. His deep voice seemed to originate somewhere around his knees. “I’ve never seen you like this. You wanna tell me what’s up?”

  She studied the round face for a second and sighed. “If you’re concerned my work is going to suffer…”

  “No, Sarah. I’m concerned that you’re suffering.” Large hands tented in front of full lips. “You’ve been acting strangely all week. Now, this business with the flowers. You looked like the Devil himself sent them to you.” His white eyebrows dipped in concern. “Is somebody scaring you?”

  She brought one hand to her face, then lowered it again. Oh, yeah—somebody was scaring her, all right. But not in the way Doc thought. “No.” She let her gaze get caught in his, then sucked in a breath. “Look, something personal’s come up that I can’t really talk about, but…it’s thrown me. That’s all.” She shrugged, then allowed a small smile. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He shot her a look that said he didn’t believe her for a minute. “Really. I’m sorry if I’ve caused any disruption…”

  Doc Jefferson held up a hand. “I have no quarrel with your work, Sarah. You’re one of the best vets I’ve ever worked with. I just hate to see you so unhappy.”

  Her eyes widened. And here she thought she’d been doing such a good job of hiding it. “I’m not unhappy, Doc.” She gave a smile bright enough to light up a ride at the state fair. “See?”

  The old vet huffed and stood up from his desk. “Coulda fooled me, young lady.” He paused. “Take your flowers home, Sarah.”

  She stood as well, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I already gave them to Jolene….”

  “She’ll get over it. Take the flowers home. Work out whatever it is about them you have to work out. You got that?”

  She lowered her head slightly. “Yes, sir. I got that.”

  The flowers had been Vivian’s suggestion. Dean hadn’t really been sure they were such a good idea. But he didn’t know what else to do and he had to do something.

  There hadn’t been much time to worry about it, though, which was just as well, probably. He’d spent most of the morning shuttling his aunt on various errands, including a visit to the mall in Opelika, which had just about done her in. He’d had to laugh to himself, wondering what her reaction would be to one of those megamalls in Atlanta with their two-hundred-plus stores. She’d probably drop her store-bought teeth at the crowds. Not to mention the prices.

  “What’re you going to do this afternoon?” Aunt Ethel asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  The morning had actually been somewhat pleasant. He peered over at her, perched like a sparrow on the end of the truck seat in her crisply ironed cotton dress. “I hadn’t thought about it. You still need me for anything?”

  “Oh my, Lordy, no. The only thing I’m going to do this afternoon is take a nap.” She flapped her left hand at him. “You’re on your own.”

  Dean pondered his freedom for several seconds, his lips pursed. “Fishing,” he announced, a wide grin settling across his face. “I haven’t been fishing for years. Hey—maybe I’ll see if Katey’d like to go with me.”

  He almost expected an objection, mostly because it was just his aunt’s habit to come up with a reason why anything anyone wanted to do was wrong. Instead, she was strangely silent as she watched the road for the occasional critter darting across. At last she said, “That’d be nice. And I’m sure Vivian wouldn’t mind at all having an antsy child out from underfoot for an afternoon.”

  So that’s what he did. He wasn’t sure who was happier about the outing, Katey or her mother. Apparently, his aunt had been correct, as usual. Vivian had a picnic lunch packed for them within five minutes, tucking a change of clothes for Katey into the old-fashioned wicker hamper.

  “In case she falls in. Which she always does,” Vivian said with a wink for her baby girl, who was hopping from one foot to the other. With impatience, Dean figured.

  Vivian figured otherwise. “You gotta pee?”

  Katey nodded once, then dashed to the bathroom.

  “You’d think by this age she’d figure out what the pressure meant without being reminded,” Vivian said with a chuckle, handing Dean the basket. “So…you send the flowers?”

  “Two dozen red roses. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Okay?” A low whistle spun from Vivian’s lips. “Nothing like going for broke, boy.”

  He frowned, shifting the heavy basket to his other hand. “You really think it’ll make a difference?”

  Vivian sighed. “Shoot, honey, I don’t know. One thing I learned a long time ago was to never try and second-guess my children…. Hey, baby,” she said to Jennifer, just coming in the back door, looking uncharacteristically hot and frazzled in a brightly patterned sundress, her upswept hair coming loose from her topknot. “What’re you doing home?”

  “Hidin’ out,” Jen said, sweeping through the kitchen, her arms full of shopping bags. “Do me a favor, y’all—” she dropped a bag as she backed through the swinging door, muttered something unladylike as she contorted herself to pick it up “—and shoot me if I ever decide to get married again.”

  With a low laugh, Vivian returned to rolling out a piecrust at the counter, the chore Dean interrupted when he’d arrived twenty minutes earlier.

  “You don’t regret at all having a baby late in life, do you?”

  She twisted to him, her eyebrows raised. “Now, where on earth did that question come from?”

  With a nervous half laugh, he replied, “I’m not really sure.”

  Vivian lay down the rolling pin and turned to him, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on his with a steadiness that was almost unnerving. “Katey was a surprise, certainly, but a gift all the same. I’ve never had one moment’s regret about her being here.”

  “Wasn’t the pregnancy hard on you, though?”

  Her mouth twitched at the corners. “At my age, you mean?” Before he could apologize, she resumed her task. “Lots of ladies have babies past forty, Dean. Doesn’t mean they have problems.”

  Jennifer reappeared, hair subdued, outfit changed to a pair of shorts and a prim little cotton blouse, just as Dean said, “Oh…I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that Lance said you had to go to Montgomery for the last few weeks because there were some complications…?”

  “Y’all talking about when Mama had Katey?” Jennifer asked, pouring herself a glass of iced tea. “Shoot, Mama was healthy as a horse the whole time she was carrying Katey.” She glanced over at Vivian, who was peeling the piecrust off the floured counter, folding it into quarters. “Weren’t you, Mama?” Vivian tossed her a brief smile, then went about unfolding the piecrust over a mountain of peaches. Jen settled back against the counter, the ice tinkling in her glass, add
ressing Dean again. “But you know about Sarah’s having mono, how she’d gone to stay with Aunt Ida over in Montgomery, on account of they didn’t want me to get it, for one thing, and, anyway, Daddy didn’t think Mama should have to take care of her with the baby coming and all—”

  Out in the living room, the phone rang.

  “You want me to get that?” Jen asked, but Vivian had already wiped her hands on a towel.

  “No, baby,” she said, oddly subdued, it seemed to Dean, and went to answer the phone.

  Jennifer craned her neck for a minute, to see if the call was for her, presumably, then went on. “See, it was a long, drawn-out affair. Sarah’s mono. Most cases are over and done with in six weeks, but Sarah had let herself get run down some, so she kept having these relapses. So Daddy and Mama decided it would be better for her to stay over there while she recuperated. Only, Mama couldn’t stand it, being away from her so long, so she asked if Daddy and I wouldn’t mind if she went on up for a while.” She laughed. “And of course, Katey decided to come while she was there. My nose was bent out of shape for months about that one!”

  Vivian returned, immediately returning her attention to crimping the edges of the pie’s two joined crusts. He noticed her face was flushed, but then that was hardly surprising in the oven-heated kitchen.

  “Who was on the phone?” Jen asked.

  “What? Oh, nobody. Wrong number,” Vivian said, looking very relieved when Katey came bounding out of the bathroom, ready to go. “Oh, honestly—would you look at yourself?” she said, grabbing her youngest daughter to straighten out her crooked shorts.

  “Hey, Jen,” Katey said as her mother jostled her this way and that, “you wanna come fishing with me and Dean?”

  “In a word—” she bent over, kissed her sister on top of her head “—no.”

  “Okay, you two.” Vivian gave Katey a quick hug, then wagged her finger mockingly at Dean. “You take care of her, young man, you hear?”

  “Like she was my own,” he replied, and something in Vivian’s eyes set off a whole mess of alarms in his head.