From the seat next to me, my Yorkie-Poo, Precious, snored like a chain saw taking down pine trees. I couldn’t really blame the noisy little mongrel. She was getting old now. We all were. Well, not that a woman in her midthirties was considered old, but I felt my age more than ever, especially with this pregnancy. I didn’t bring it up—didn’t dare—but I secretly wondered if I’d gotten in over my head, supervising the renovation of a new facility while expecting a baby. Oh well. I’d survived tougher things. I’d get through this too.
As we drove, D.J. chatted about the new facility, the smile never leaving his face. On and on he went, talking about how beautiful it would look once the construction team did their work. How perfect it would be for our vow renewal service, which he’d taken to calling our “wedding in the country.” I still hadn’t acclimated myself to the idea that we were going to have an actual ceremony with guests, reception, and the whole thing, but D.J. had his heart set on it. In Splendora, the town of his birth. Maybe he just wanted to reminisce about the old days in the piney woods of east Texas.
As we turned off of Highway 59 onto the access road leading to Splendora, I noticed the American flags and a sign left over from last week’s Fourth of July parade. The whole thing reminded me of another trip I’d taken to Splendora years ago, for my first-ever Fourth of July party at the Neeley homestead. Of course, these days his parents spent more time in Galveston than Splendora, but as I gazed at the flags, my thoughts flashed back to that infamous holiday picnic when D.J. and I had strolled across his parents’ property. He’d kissed me underneath the pine trees. What a lovely day. Sweet people. Sweet tea. Sweet kisses from my Texas cowboy. Oh, and yummy peach ice cream. These were my memories of Splendora.
Now, as the flags faded from view behind us, I tried to recapture those feelings. There was so much to love about small-town living. Simplicity. Quiet. Quaint homes and businesses enveloped by the forest, tucked away in the comfort of the towering pines. I closed my eyes and whispered up a little prayer of thanks that God had merged my crazy, loud world with this beautiful, rustic silence.
Okay, so it wasn’t so silent right now, not with the kids in the backseat going at it and D.J.’s country music station blaring on the radio. And the snoring coming from the dog didn’t help either.
With D.J. at the wheel, we wound our way down a lovely country road underneath a covering of trees, passing the sign for Rigas Roses, a local nursery. I’d be visiting the nursery later today to chat with Jasmine and Lily, two new friends. They would—I prayed—prove to be very helpful to me in the coming months.
Right now, though, we had a wedding facility to look at. D.J. had made the purchase of the building without me, but I trusted his judgment. He continued to drive down the narrow, tree-lined road until the building—Is that it?—came into view.
I couldn’t help but sigh, and not in a good way, as I looked at the dilapidated, old wood-framed building, a onetime community center. The paint, what little one could still make out, was a chipped mess. And the windows—most, anyway—were cracked or completely broken. I’d seen photos online, but they didn’t look like this.
I couldn’t tell if the front door was still usable, but the whole place looked like a scene from a creepy movie. I half expected to hear the Deliverance theme song playing when we got out of the car, such was the state of disrepair and deterioration. The building looked as broken down as I felt as I stared at it. It would take an act of God to whip this place into shape, especially in just a few short months. Then again, I’d seen the Lord move in miraculous ways before. If he’d done it then, he could do it now.
D.J. pulled the truck into the driveway, the tires crunching their way across the gravel below. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” His voice carried the same excitement I’d heard on the day of his proposal. Glancing down at my emerald ring, I convinced myself to take a few deep, cleansing breaths.
“Hmm.” I stared at the worn-out building in front of me and wondered if perhaps we’d lost our minds by agreeing to purchase this place. Could we really turn it into a thing of beauty in such a brief time? As I took in the rotting wood, the shattered windows, the broken shutters, and the sagging porch, I had my doubts.
D.J. had just turned off the engine when my cell phone rang. I glanced down, surprised to see Brock Benson’s number. I’d known the Hollywood superstar for years, ever since he served as best man in a wedding I’d coordinated. Still, it wasn’t like he called me every day. I did my best to shush the kids, who continued to squabble in the backseat, before answering. Doing my best to act calm, cool, and collected, I took the call, starting with a cheerful “Howdy!”
“Well, howdy to you too.” Brock’s happy-go-lucky voice rang out from the other end of the line. “You busy?”
“Just arrived in Splendora.”
“Ah. Working on the new place already?”
“Yes.” I stared at the rotting building in front of me. “It’s going to be . . . amazing.” Hmm. Maybe amazing wasn’t the right word.
“Everything you and D.J. touch turns to gold, Bella.” Brock went off on a tangent, singing our praises.
This almost worked to boost my confidence. Almost. Then I looked at the building once again.
“If you see the Splendora trio while you’re there, give ’em my love,” Brock continued. “I miss those ladies.”
Now I couldn’t help but smile. The women he referred to—Twila, Bonnie Sue, and Jolene—were three of my favorite people in the world. Just knowing they were nearby, all three of them Splendora residents, made me breathe easier. “I’ll be sure to give them your love,” I said. But Brock hadn’t called to talk about them. I felt sure of it. Might as well get to the point. “Is everything okay on your end?”
“Yes. I’ve been in meetings with the producer of the new sitcom. Filming is going to begin in a couple of months, and Erin and I will be looking for a place to stay while we’re on the island.”
I grinned when he mentioned his wife’s name. I didn’t know her very well but loved her already, based on our short time together and the smile I saw on Brock’s face whenever he looked at her.
“Maybe someplace with a one-year lease?” Brock asked. “Or maybe we’ll buy a vacation home and hang on to it for a while.”
“That sounds great, Brock. I’d like to think that you and Erin and the baby will be around awhile.”
“Me too. I know she’s anxious to get to know you better.”
“I’d love that too.”
“Well, I just wondered if you had any leads about housing before I contact a Realtor.”
“Better let me put this call on speakerphone so D.J. can chime in. I’d be willing to bet he does.”
I changed the settings on the phone, and seconds later, after Brock and D.J. said their hellos, they dove into a conversation. “I know the perfect home on the west end of the island,” D.J. said. “We just finished renovating it for a client who lives in Houston. He’s anxious to rent it out, but I think it’s going to eventually be a lease-purchase deal. It has an elevator and a great deck that runs the full length of the house. It’s right on the water. Just far enough from town to give you some privacy and yet close enough that you won’t have to drive far to get to work.”
This led to a lengthy chat about the upcoming sitcom, which would be filmed in part on the Strand, Galveston’s most famous historic street.
In the backseat, Rosie and Tres went at it again. I finally got busy setting them free from the confines of their car seats, then waited with them in the parking lot while D.J. finished the call. The kids took off running toward the yard, and I called out, “Watch out for snakes!” which only got Tres more excited.
A couple of minutes later, D.J. joined me. He handed me back my phone and I dropped it into my purse.
“I think Brock and Erin will love that house,” he said. “It’s going to be just what the doctor ordered.”
Just what the doctor ordered. I stared at the house—er, community
center—in front of me and did my best not to groan aloud. Surely if D.J. and his men could work on a high-end property in Galveston, one fit for a Hollywood star, they could turn this money pit into a thing of beauty. I hoped.
As if reading my mind, D.J. slipped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. “I know the building is in rough shape, Bella, but I promise we’ll get it looking better than it ever did, even in its glory days.”
“Was it here when you were a kid?” I asked.
“Yep. I think it was here when my mom was a kid, actually. Lots of history here.”
“Wow. Didn’t realize it was that old.” Not that I was calling his mom old. These days his motorcycle-wheelin’ mama seemed younger than ever.
“This community center was always a part of my upbringing. I went to many a party here—it was the go-to place for birthday celebrations and anniversaries. Lots of great events took place in this spot. Celebrated my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary in this very building.”
Aha. That explained it. He wanted to renew our vows in the very place where his parents had celebrated their anniversary. I’d sure married a sentimental cowboy. Not that I’d trade him for all of the white-collar office workers in the great state of Texas. Give me a cowboy any day.
“Ready to go inside?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Let me check it out first.” D.J. walked a few steps ahead of me. He took a tentative step up on the first stair, and his boot-covered foot went straight through the rotting piece of wood. “Ow!” He yanked his foot back out and groaned aloud.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to his side, but he gestured for me to stand back.
“It’s unstable, Bella. Don’t want you to get hurt too.”
“Ah.” Still, I wanted to make sure he was fine. Judging from the way he hobbled away from the steps, probably not. But my cowboy was too much of a man to complain.
“Guess we’ll have to take the back entrance,” D.J. said. He led the way around the side of the building, hobbling all the way. Behind us, Tres and Rosie ran and played in the spacious property. I continued my silent prayer vigil, willing away any snakes or rodents.
Or old tires. Off in the distance I noticed a pile of them, surrounded by what looked like a massive swarm of mosquitoes. My son was headed right for them, obviously thinking he’d stumbled across some sort of rustic playground. No way. Not on my watch.
“Tres Neeley, stay away from that pile of tires!” I hollered.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said, “Stay away from that pile of tires.” At our Victorian home in Galveston, we didn’t have piles of tires lying around. Or rotting timbers on the house. Or broken shutters. And the steps leading up to our home were as solid as a rock.
A shiver ran down my spine as I reached to take Rosie’s hand. “Stay close to Mommy, baby girl.” I glanced down at her mismatched shoes and sighed. Poor kid.
With D.J. leading the way, we managed to get beyond the rubble to the rear entrance of the old building. Turned out we didn’t even need a key. The back door was propped open. Propped being the key word. Oy vey.
“Looks like the doorjamb is a little crooked.” D.J. ran his hand along the rotting wood.
“A little?” The whole thing looked cockeyed to me, but what did I know?
“I can tell you’re worried, Bella,” he said. “But don’t be. My crew will put a Texas spit-shine on this place, and it’ll be good as new in no time. Maybe better.”
“Mm-hmm.” I didn’t doubt his construction skills. I just thought perhaps it might be wiser to tear this old building down and start fresh. Then again, my construction-lovin’ cowboy enjoyed a challenge, and he surely had a plan.
Yep. He had a plan all right. And once inside the place, he filled my ears with it as we made our way from room to broken-down room. “This here’s gonna be the chapel.” He pointed at a space off to our right. “It’s going to be great, Bella. Just like a real church sanctuary, but smaller. With pews and everything. My dad knows someone who can get pews for us from a church that updated to chairs.”
“Sounds great.”
“And this over here is where we’ll put the reception hall.” He pointed to a nice big space, then turned to the left. “This little room right here’s gonna be where the bride gets decked out.”
“Decked out?” I had to chuckle at that one.
“You know.” D.J. reached over to take a squirming Rosie out of my arms. “Where she gets gussied up.”
“Got it. Gussied up.”
“A’course, you’ll be the first bride to use this room, so I want it to be perfect.” D.J. went off on a tangent about how he planned to put in all of the items a bride would need. “Not that I’m a decorator, but I’m thinking a big full-length mirror over here”—he pointed at a narrow wall—“and a large clothing rack over here to hang gowns from.” He gestured to a wider area. “And a couple of cushioned benches instead of chairs for seating.” He offered up a nod. “Because those brides take up a lot of room sometimes, if you get my drift. So chairs won’t be wide enough.”
“Are you calling me fat?” I asked.
My honey’s face flushed. “Well, heck, Bella. I wasn’t even thinking of you at all, to be honest. I was talking about those weddin’ gowns with the big fluffy skirts and such.”
Shame washed over me. D.J. had never spoken a critical word to me during any of my pregnancies, so why did I think he might find me chubby this time around?
We continued to move from room to room, and I found myself feeling a bit nauseous as the strangest musty smell enveloped me. And I got the feeling, once we walked into one of the smaller rooms in the back, that we were in one of those tilted rooms at a carnival where nothing was perfectly square. Weird. Might be quite the sensation for a kid in a fun house, but it was not something I wanted my guests to experience.
In the foyer, the room where guests would first enter, the walls were covered in multiple layers of wallpaper, some of it dating back to the late sixties. Lovely. Still, the worst—the very worst—were the bathrooms. I’d been in some antiquated facilities before, but nothing like this. D.J. assured me he could bring them up to par, but I had my doubts.
He paused in the reception hall to examine a piece of Sheetrock up close. All the while he chatted calmly, as if these findings were completely normal and healthy. I tried to see it all through his eyes. Tried to allow the excitement in his voice to propel me to catch the vision.
When the tour ended, we got back into the truck to head over to the Neeley property, where D.J. had grown up. He always seemed to love these visits “back home” as he called them, and today was no different, judging from his upbeat tone.
“Mom and Dad are off on one of their motorcycle ministry things,” D.J. said, the lilt in his voice evident. “Between that and the months they spend in Galveston, the old homestead is needing a little work. Dad said the yard is overgrown, so I thought I’d mow while we’re here.”
Turned out “overgrown” didn’t begin to describe the fiasco we found when we arrived at the Neeley homestead—a rambling piece of property with a double-wide situated squarely in the middle of it. Weeds had grown up around the place, and the fence in back was leaning dangerously to the right.
“Oh my.” From inside the cab of the truck, I surveyed the place. “It’s a mess.”
“Yeah. I was afraid of that.” He pursed his lips as he surveyed the damage. “Do you want to take Rosie with you when you go to your meeting with the twins? I think it’s too dangerous for her to stay here with me while I work.”
I smiled as he said “twins.” Lily and Jasmine Rigas had become good friends over the past few weeks, and I knew that offering them the position of co-managers of the new wedding facility would be a great idea. Couldn’t wait to spring it on them.
“And leave you and Tres here alone to work?” I asked. “Hardly seems fair.”
“Well, you’ve got your work to do, I’ve got mine. So go on
over to meet with the twins, and Tres and I will whip this place into shape. Right, son?”
Before he could say a word, Tres had unbuckled himself from his seat belt and tried to get out of the truck. Looked like our son was a country boy at heart, just like his daddy. Go figure.
“Sounds good to me.” I had a lot to discuss with Jasmine and Lily. Taking Rosie along would be fun. Without her brother to goad her on, she was usually pretty quiet. And judging from the yawn, she’d be out like a light before I got there anyway.
D.J. climbed out of the truck and came around to open my door. After all these years, his gentlemanly ways remained. Just one more thing I loved about him.
“Just let me get my stuff out of the back of the truck and you can be on your way,” he said. “But promise to bring back some of those chocolates that Jasmine makes?”
“If she has anything handy, sure.”
I gave my boys quick kisses, then walked around to the driver’s side of the truck. After adjusting the seat—pulling it up several inches—I gave D.J. and Tres a little wave, checked my rearview mirror to see that Rosie had dozed off in her car seat, and slipped the truck into reverse. It wouldn’t take long to get to Jasmine and Lily’s place, but I’d better be on my way. We had much to do and little time to waste.
3
The Keeper of the Stars
I’m not bitter. Why should I be bitter? I’m thrilled to death with life. Life is—the way God has given it to me was just a platter—a golden platter of life laid out there for me. It’s been beautiful.
Johnny Cash
Little Rosie and I made the short drive to Rigas Roses, the fabulous estate where my new friends Jasmine and Lily lived with their parents. Pulling up to the front of the property, I couldn’t help but be a little envious. Between the gorgeous house and the expansive piece of land, this place was idyllic. From what I’d heard, the family had only been in their new house a couple of weeks. I couldn’t wait to see inside.
That's Amore (Weddings by Bella Book #4): A Novel Page 2
