Best Laid Wedding Plans

by Lynnette Austin

  “Okay, sweetie,” her dad said. “Mom and I thought we’d drive into town and catch a movie. It’s a lot cheaper if we hit the matinee.”

  Not too many years ago, that wouldn’t have crossed his mind. Jenni Beth longed for a couple of ibuprofen.

  She gave them both a quick kiss and watched the two walk hand-in-hand toward the back of the house. The sun, drifting through the bay window, caught in her mother’s hair, and Jenni Beth sighed. That beautiful dark blond hair had turned totally white in the first months after Wes’s death.

  Charlotte, hands on her ample hips, asked, “You tellin’ the truth, little girl?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. I put a new bottle of headache tablets in your bathroom yesterday. Look like you need them.” Without another word, she turned and trudged flat-footed back to the kitchen.

  Alone in the foyer, Jenni Beth raised her eyes to the ceiling. A crack ran from the light fixture to the far corner. When had life become so complicated? All through school, she’d been envied as the girl who had it all. The brains, the handsome older brother, the huge house, and great parents.

  Even Santa, as good as he was, couldn’t deliver a wish list like that.

  But somewhere along the line, everything had started to go wrong. She grew up and saw behind the facade. Recognized the peeling paint on the eaves, the crumbling plaster, the water-stained ceilings.

  Six months after she’d kissed her brother and sent him off with smiles and promises to write, she’d stood in the Atlanta Airport, tears nearly blinding her. Unsure who’d held up whom, she and her parents had met the plane and Wes’s flag-draped coffin.

  Nothing had been the same since.

  Two steps up the curving stairway, she stopped beside his ornately framed photograph.

  “I miss you, big brother. Every single day. You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last at night.” She kissed her fingertips, laid them gently on his cheek. “I wonder. Could you have saved us?”

  On leaden feet, she continued up the stairs to her third-floor room. The higher she climbed, the worse the deterioration. But scattered amidst the ruins? Some incredible antiques. She’d collect the best and move it downstairs.

  Hand on the railing, she considered the renovation of the first upstairs bedroom. The bridal suite—a dressing room, a hair and makeup area. The perfect photo-op spot with maybe a fainting couch, a huge fern on a stand. In her mind’s eye, she saw it, finished and ready.

  The groom’s room could be downstairs. But the bride and her attendants? They had to be on the second floor. Any bride reciting her vows at Magnolia House would want to walk down this magnificent staircase to her groom. Only natural.

  And it would be up to her to make sure all those dreams and wishes came true.

  She couldn’t wait!

  Jenni Beth took her time changing. After all, until Richard approved the loan, there wasn’t a lot she could do. Her paltry savings wouldn’t make a dent in the necessary renovations. She intended to check out the front porch floor this afternoon to see how many boards could be salvaged, then draw up a list of the supplies she’d need for the job.

  Her mother constantly reminded her that a person never got a second chance to make a good first impression. Jenni Beth figured that held true for both women and businesses, so she’d better do this right the first time.

  With her parents gone, the time was right to roll up her sleeves and get started. Hopefully, the movie would take their minds off the real world for a couple hours. Maybe they’d have lunch or stop at the bakery afterward. An afternoon out would be good for them.

  Since the porch would be hot, sweaty work, Jenni Beth decided on her oldest pair of denim shorts and a pink, well-worn tank top. She pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.

  Nobody would see her, so what the heck. No first impressions to make today.

  Heading down the stairs, she called out, “Charlotte, do you know where Daddy keeps his work gloves?”

  “Humph. I don’t know if he actually owns any. But Vernon left his on the back patio by those rosebushes he just pruned. Meant to put them up for him, but guess I forgot, what with the heat and all.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She slammed out the door to search for them.

  After looking all over and back, she finally unearthed the gloves in the greenhouse, neatly placed on a shelf. Charlotte really was getting forgetful. She thought she’d forgotten to put them away, but in truth had forgotten she’d actually put them away.

  Jenni Beth shook her head. There was sense to that somewhere. She dug around a bit more and found an old rusty tape measure.

  Back inside, she picked up a pad and pencil and, from the faucet, refilled this morning’s empty water bottle. Another cutback. Things were bad.

  * * *

  Cole turned down the long drive to Magnolia House. Huge oaks on either side formed an overhead canopy, the trees draped with Spanish moss. Sunlight filtered through, forming a pattern of light and dark. It was a little like driving into his past. He and Wes learned to ride their bikes right here, practiced their pitching and tossed around a football. Good memories.

  He wished they’d had time to make more.

  His conscience gnawed at him along with a deep sorrow. He hadn’t visited nearly enough since Wes’s funeral. Hadn’t been around for his pal’s parents, for his sister, but he meant to rectify that. Starting today.

  Jenni Beth would be the most problematic. And whose fault is that, you big doofus? he asked himself. He had so completely screwed up. He doubted she’d ever forgive him.

  The house came into view, and he slowed. Huge magnolias flanked the sides of the once stately plantation home. There’d been a time when this place had been a real beauty. Now? She cried out for a complete makeover. Top to bottom, inside and out.

  The porch roof, held up by little more than spit and a promise, sagged in the middle. If a bad storm blew in, they’d be picking up the pieces in this county and the next.

  He stopped his vehicle and got out, closing the door quietly. Zeke, the Beaumonts’ old yellow Lab, raised his head and opened one eye. Recognizing Cole, he wagged his tail but didn’t bother to get up or even bark.

  Looking past the dog, Cole’s mouth went dry. Jenni Beth knelt on the front porch, her cute little denim-clad tush swinging back and forth to Katy Perry’s latest hit.

  The stereo, cranked on high, masked his approach. Her mom and dad must not be home because he seriously doubted they’d put up with that volume.

  Her back to him, she stood and did a little shimmy. Using the pencil in her hand as a microphone, she belted out a few lines with Katy. Little girl, big voice. He’d always loved listening to her sing. The only time he hadn’t put up a fuss about going to church were the Sundays she had a solo in the choir.

  Still singing, she reached for a tape measure lying on the old swing. The same swing where he’d spent lots and lots of summer evenings with Wes, arm wrestling, drinking sodas, and swapping tall tales.

  Some nights they’d sneak outside after his parents went to bed and sit on that swing, flashlight in hand, giggling and drooling over the Playboy magazine they’d bought from an eighth grader who’d probably snitched it from his old man. They’d both chipped in their entire week’s allowance, and it had been worth every penny.

  More than once, he’d wondered what it would be like to spend time on that swing with Jenni Beth. They wouldn’t arm wrestle. He grinned. Nope. They’d find better ways to keep busy.

  She went down on her knees again, her butt still keeping time to the music. Despite himself, he was impressed with her use of the tape measure. After each measurement, she jotted notes on her pad before inspecting the next board. Every two or three planks, she ran the tape.

  Yep. She was getting dirty. Doing work she really shouldn’t have to
do. And, despite his ribbing this morning, that bothered him.

  She’d been raised to be a princess.

  His Cinderella.

  He admired her. Her work ethic, her dedication. Her. Period.

  The song switched to one of Luke Bryan’s first hits, “Country Girl (Shake It for Me).” Luke belted out to shake it for him, and, oh boy, did she ever. Those hips moved to the beat, and her long blond ponytail swayed right along with them. Cole found himself stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. His fingers itched to undo her hair and bury themselves in those golden strands.

  And that wouldn’t do. He’d come on business.

  He cleared his throat, raised his voice. “Hey, good-lookin’. What are you doin’ there?”

  She whirled around, a startled expression on her face, blue eyes wide. Just as quickly, they narrowed. “Cole Bryson, are you following me?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Her brows quirked. “And you’re here because…?”

  The grin spread. “Honey, believe it or not, I came to talk business.” He moved to the porch, stooping long enough to give the yellow Lab’s head a scratch.

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Through Katy Perry and well into Luke Bryan. You have eclectic tastes. And some real nice moves.”

  In her eyes he read the war waging between anger and common sense with just a touch of self-consciousness thrown into the mix.

  She flicked off the music. “I’m sure my song choices didn’t have you driving all the way out here.”

  “Nope. Like I said, I came on business.”

  “We discussed your business already, and I said no.”

  “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to hear my proposal?”

  She wiped a hand down her neck and chest and glanced at her empty water bottle. “It’s hot today. Why don’t you come in? I’ll fix us a glass of tea. You can actually have your own.”

  He grinned, remembering the glass they’d shared before Dee-Ann came to Jenni Beth’s rescue. “Is Charlotte here?”

  “She is.” She opened the door.

  He followed her inside, the temperature a good ten degrees cooler.

  “Charlotte? We’ve got company.”

  “Who is it?” The housekeeper came around the corner, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Cole Bryson himself.”

  After a hearty hug, she stepped away. “Where have you been keepin’ yourself? A body could die waitin’ for you to show up.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve missed you, beautiful.” He leaned in again and gave her a peck on the cheek. “The job’s been keepin’ me busy. I’ve been spendin’ a lot of time in Savannah and Atlanta.”

  “Hear your business is doin’ real good.”

  “It is,” Jenni Beth said. “He gets off on tearing down old houses, then picking their bones to sell the pieces, like a scavenger. He wants to do exactly that to Magnolia House.”

  Disapproval darkened Charlotte’s face. “Jenni Beth, you watch your mouth.” Hand on her hip, she rounded on Cole. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  He felt like a three-year-old caught sticking a paper clip in the electric socket. Dangerous ground here. “Jenni Beth is exaggeratin’.”

  “Oh really?” Those gray-blue eyes focused like a laser on his own. “Maybe I misheard our conversation this morning.”

  Cole’s mind went to the phone call he’d eavesdropped on at the bank. He definitely hadn’t misheard that one-sided conversation. He’d spent most of the drive here trying to decide how to broach it with her.

  “Cole? Cat got your tongue?”

  “You made some assumptions. Not all of them are correct.”

  “Well, maybe you can illuminate me now. Which part of our talk did I misunderstand?”

  “Didn’t you offer me some iced tea?”

  “Oh, you’re slick, Cole. Nice try, but it won’t work.”

  “I’ll get that drink for you,” Charlotte said. “You want one, Jenni Beth?”

  “Yes, please.” She tapped her sandaled foot on the old oak floor. As soon as Charlotte was out of sight, she asked, “So?”

  As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t come totally clean with her. At least not until he knew a bit more. Who had Richard been talking to? And exactly what in the hell had he meant by a “little nudge”?

  How badly did the banker want her to fail? What would he be willing to do to make that happen?

  Without the answers, along with some alternative plans, Jenni Beth would tell him to go away and mind his own business—something he didn’t intend to do.

  Without the money Richard would loan her, this place hadn’t a chance of surviving. But sure as shooting, if he even hinted at what he’d overheard of the banker’s conversation, she’d get her back up and refuse the loan. Everything would be lost at that point.

  And it would be his fault. Didn’t matter he already thought it was a scatterbrained scheme.

  Damned if he wouldn’t be the loser either way in this one. If she caught wind of the banker’s conspiracy—and that he’d known about it—he’d be dead meat. His plans would go up in smoke right along with hers.

  “So nothing,” he lied, praying he’d made the right decision.

  “I don’t like you, Cole Bryson.”

  “So you say.”

  “It’s true.”

  He saw the flicker in her eyes, thanked God she wasn’t being truthful, either. Still, the words hurt. But he’d play along with her because he’d certainly given her reason to think less than highly of him.

  “Okay.” He tucked a stray strand behind her ear before she could pull away. “Want me to not like you back? Unfriend you on Facebook?”

  She punched his shoulder. “Why are you here?”

  “You’ve got some Herculean plans.”

  “Dream big,” she quipped.

  He ignored her. “They’ll be expensive and time-consuming.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t be naive. At least walk into this project with your eyes open.” He pointed a finger at her. “And don’t underestimate Richard’s motives. The bank is in business to make money.”

  “I understand that. It’s called interest.”

  “He’ll make more if you default on your loan.”

  “What are you saying?” Jenni Beth came to full alert.

  Shoot. He’d stepped into the deep end of the pool, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d take in a heck of a lot of water before he resurfaced.

  So he went on the offensive. “Nothing you don’t already know. Use your head. You go into something like this with the bank, you’d better damn well be sure you can pull it off.”

  “I can.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  She hesitated. “Why would you want to do that?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, quelling the urge to shake her. This woman went beyond infuriating. “What? I can’t offer my help without an interrogation?”

  “No, I don’t think you can. You want to destroy my house, board by board. You said so. Why the hundred-eighty turnabout?”

  “You make me crazy.”

  “Then leave.”

  His jaw tightened. “No. You want a reason? Because I promised Wes I’d look after you.”

  Tears misted her eyes, and he swore under his breath. Why in the hell had he said that? Full of regret, he stepped toward her. “I’m sorry.”

  She held out a hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  He threw up his own hands. “Fine. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to take a look at those porch columns before I leave. Don’t know how they’re still standing. One strong wind and they’ll come tumblin’ down.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

/>   She followed him back outside. Ignoring her, he ran his hands over the columns. Examining them up close, he realized they were worse than he’d suspected. “These posts are rotten clear through. They need to be replaced.”

  Charlotte, teas in hand, stepped outside. “Here you go. You ought to offer the boy a seat, Jenni Beth.” She nodded at the swing. “Either of you want a cookie?”

  “Cookies? We’re not ten anymore!” Jenni Beth closed her eyes. Shaking her head, she apologized. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. That was rude. I—”

  “It’s okay. Something’s goin’ on between the two of you, so I’m goin’ to take myself off to a safe zone before things start flyin’.”

  Neither said anything as she disappeared into the house.

  “I miss him, too, Jenni Beth. Wes was my best friend.”

  Her chin came up. The defiance drained from her. “I know. I’m sorry. Again. It’s just—”

  “I’m steppin’ on your toes.”

  “No.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s not that. Not really.” Her gaze traveled over the porch, the columns, the windows that were all but falling out. On a half-sob, she said, “Look at this place.”

  He did exactly that, taking in the decay, the overgrown gardens.

  “Will the money you asked for cover materials and labor?”

  Bright spots of red colored her cheeks. “No. Not if I hope to have any start-up money.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I don’t mean to sound rude—”

  She stopped when he snorted. “Whether you believe it or not, I really don’t. I know I can’t do this alone. But why are you making it so easy for me?” Her voice held suspicion.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  When she remained quiet, he had his answer.

  “Show me around.”

  “Now?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Now. I’m here.”

  Her body language made it clear she wanted to refuse.

  “Come on,” he urged. “I’m not takin’ inventory, sizin’ up stock for my store.”

  “You sure about that?”