How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  “Really?”

  “Maybe,” Grant corrected. “I’m planning to go fishing tonight so you can handle the plant mulch maker, right?”

  “Matchmaker.” Mac had forgotten all about the garden club meeting.

  She blamed that on Ethan too.

  A pale yellow moon peeked out from behind a cloud as Mac parked the car in the driveway. A light glowed in the living room window, a good sign that her dad had taken her advice to relax after the first day of practice.

  “I’m home—”

  A muffled cry drowned out the creak of the front door and Mac’s satchel hit the floor with a thud.

  “Dad?” She sprinted down the hall, a silent prayer—Please, God, let him be all right—tumbling from her heart as she skidded around the corner into the living room.

  “Hi, sweetheart.”

  It took Mac a moment to process the scene that greeted her.

  Coach, sitting—upright—on one end of the sofa, a bowl of popcorn separating him from Snap, their black Lab.

  And sprawled in Mac’s favorite chair, wearing jeans that molded to the muscular contours of his legs and a faded Red Leaf Lions sweatshirt, was Ethan Channing.

  “Is everything all right?” Coach tore his gaze away from the television long enough to frown at her. “You look a little flushed.”

  “I thought . . . never mind,” Mac gasped. “I’m fine.” Now that she knew her dad wasn’t having another heart attack.

  “You remember Ethan.”

  Because it was phrased as a statement and not a question, all that was required was a nod. Which was a good thing, because at the moment a nod was the only thing Mac was capable of.

  “Your dad mentioned you were covering a meeting tonight.” Ethan’s easy smile made Mac’s heart skip another scheduled beat. “We didn’t expect to see you until ten.”

  Funny. Mac hadn’t expected to see him at all. “Coach didn’t mention we were going to have company.”

  “Ethan isn’t company,” Coach interjected. “He stopped by to say hello, and we decided to watch some of the old games. Relive the glory days.”

  High school hadn’t exactly been the glory days for Mac, but it was impossible to miss the light shining in Coach’s eyes.

  Her dad never played favorites when it came to his players, but Mac could tell he had a soft spot for Ethan. After practice they would hang out in Coach’s office and talk about plays and strategies or watch footage from the previous game. Mac didn’t mind. It had given her an opportunity to watch Ethan.

  “You’re welcome to join us.” Ethan’s smile had grown wider, and with a jolt of horror, Mac realized she was guilty of doing it again.

  “It’s almost nine.” She cast a pointed look at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “I’m sure Coach is tired after the first day of practice.”

  “Coach is fine,” her dad grumbled. “And I don’t need two kids ganging up on me, making sure I get enough sleep and eat all my vegetables.”

  “You’re helping me out.” Ethan didn’t appear the least bit insulted that Coach had just referred to him as a kid. “I’m a rookie doctor—I need the practice. No pun intended.”

  Mac refused to smile, knowing it would only encourage him. “I thought that news was strictly off the record.”

  “I made an exception for your dad.” Ethan stretched out his legs, looking way too comfortable for Mac’s peace of mind. “He’s going to be my first official patient. Isn’t that right, Coach?”

  Coach’s gaze slid back to the television. “I’ll try to work it around the practice schedule.”

  A statement, Mac thought wryly, that pretty much summed up her entire childhood.

  When the trees turned scarlet and bronze in the fall, the town of Red Leaf turned blue and gold, the windows of every storefront on Main Street proudly displaying the school colors. Following a Red Leaf tradition that predated Mac’s years at high school, before every home game the players and cheerleaders would ride to the field on the back of a flatbed truck decorated with crepe paper streamers.

  The cheerleaders wore the players’ letter jackets over their uniforms, and Mac would hear them arguing in the locker room over whose turn it was to wear Ethan’s. Kristen Ballard usually won because she and Ethan were a matched set in terms of looks and popularity.

  It didn’t seem to matter that Mac had spent hours making posters and the miniature papier-mâché footballs that hung from the tailgate. Even when Coach was the driver, she’d never been invited to sit with the team.

  The one time Mac had scraped up the courage to scramble onto the back of the float, Hollis had stared at Mac like she was a stain on her cheerleading sweater and then coolly informed her that there wasn’t any room.

  It wasn’t the first time Hollis had snubbed Mac, but she’d never done it in front of a group of people. People who hadn’t come to Mac’s defense or made room.

  At least Ethan hadn’t been there to witness her slink back to the front of the truck and take her place next to Coach in the passenger seat . . .

  “Have a seat, sweetheart.” Her dad set the bowl of popcorn next to a bottle of root beer on the coffee table, freeing up a space on the couch. “This is going to bring back a lot of memories.”

  That was what Mac was afraid of.

  “I—”

  A cheer erupted from the television and drowned out the excuse she’d been frantically trying to come up with. Mac glanced at the screen just in time to see the camera zoom in on the cheerleaders, who wore short blue skirts and sweaters as white as their smiles.

  Hollis stood at the top of the pyramid, of course, directly under the floodlight. On the scoreboard behind her, the numbers under the home and opposing team were the same.

  Dread trickled down Mac’s spine. “Which game are you watching?”

  “Homecoming 2005. Lumberjacks versus the Lions.” Coach chuckled. “Never going to forget that game.”

  Unfortunately, neither would she.

  The camera panned the players sitting on the bench and then paused on a familiar face.

  Her face.

  “Is there another root beer?” Mac pitched her voice above the cheerleaders’ screams. Desperate measures and all that.

  “On the coffee table—help yourself.” Her dad pointed at the television. “Look! There you are, Pumpkin.”

  Mac stifled a groan. The nickname described the color of her hair anyway.

  She stood on the sidelines, wearing a lion suit because Beetle Jenkins had come down with a case of food poisoning during seventh-hour study hall. It wasn’t the first time Mac had subbed as the school mascot, but she hadn’t realized the costume was so . . . big. And fuzzy.

  Mac hadn’t realized the camera was trained on her, either. She’d yanked off the headpiece—probably so she could breathe—but instead of an intimidating jungle animal who prowled the sidelines, urging the fans to cheer for their team, Mac looked more like a little girl dressed in footie pajamas who’d just woke up from an afternoon nap. Flushed cheeks. Hair every which way.

  Gazing adoringly at the star quarterback as he ran for a touchdown.

  And she’d thought homecoming had been humiliating the first time.

  Coach shook his head. “You had amazing instincts, Channing.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Ethan’s gaze shifted to Mac. “I don’t think I always saw what was right there in front of me.”

  The bottle of root beer slipped through Mac’s hands, but she caught it before it hit the floor. “I should take Snap for a walk.” The w-word roused her faithful Lab from his evening nap but Mac beat him to the door.

  She’d bolted from Ethan that night too.

  Only this time—thank you, God—he didn’t follow her.

  Ethan woke up the next morning to the mournful call of a loon. He rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock, amazed to discover it was almost seven. He hadn’t slept more than five hours in a row since he’d started at Midland Medical, the hospital where he’d comp
leted his residency.

  The competition to fill a spot on Dr. Langley’s team was fierce, and sleep had become a luxury Ethan couldn’t afford. The doctor expected his residents to give 100 percent so Ethan had given 150 percent. Langley mentored only one resident and he’d chosen Ethan, a decision that had ultimately led to an invitation to join his team.

  He still wasn’t sure when—or how—to break the news to his mother that he wasn’t returning to Chicago. Sometimes Ethan thought her aspirations were even higher than his. He’d overheard his parents arguing once. Heard her telling his father that he was wasting his medical skills in a place like Red Leaf.

  Until a few months ago Ethan might have agreed with her.

  He’d embraced the long hours. The blare of sirens outside the hospital that jump-started a rush of adrenaline. The pressure of making split-second decisions that had the power to save a person’s life. Now he was trading in the challenge of a busy ER for a family practice in the sleepy little town where he’d grown up. A town with grass instead of concrete. Trees instead of skyscrapers.

  Ethan lifted the shade that overlooked the backyard.

  Lots of trees. Trees that dropped needles and leaves and pinecones.

  He was beginning to wish Hollis and Connor had picked a day in December to get married. The number of tasks on Ethan’s to-do list suddenly seemed a lot longer than the number of days he had to accomplish them.

  He skipped a shower, knowing he’d only have to take another one later, and extracted a T-shirt and his oldest pair of jeans from the suitcase.

  A half hour later, armed with a cup of coffee and a bucket of sealer he hoped was just as strong, Ethan climbed the ladder he’d found in the shed. From the roof of the boathouse, he had an unobstructed view of the lake and the yard.

  And trespassing reporters.

  Mac was striding down the flagstone path to the water, camera in hand, clearly on a mission to take her photographs for the newspaper.

  Ethan thought about calling her name, but he had a gut feeling that when it came to Mackenzie Davis, the element of surprise would only work in his favor.

  Or not.

  Because Mac suddenly veered off course and headed straight for the boathouse. The breeze toyed with a silky ribbon of mahogany hair that had already escaped the confines of her ponytail. In figure-hugging jeans, a plaid button-down shirt, and hiking boots, she looked more like a camp counselor than a journalist.

  “What”—Mac parked her hands on her hips and glared up at him—“are you doing?”

  Ethan grinned down at her. “Triage.”

  “Triage,” Mac repeated.

  “It’s when you assess a situation and choose the most—”

  “I know what the word means. But you’re the one who’s going to need a doctor when you fall through that roof and break both your legs.”

  Ethan didn’t look the least bit disturbed by the possibility. “The boards are only rotten in a few places.” He thumped one of the shingles with the heel of his shoe. “Hollis thought the boathouse would be a good place to set up the food for the reception.”

  “It still doesn’t explain why you’re up there.”

  Mac had set her alarm an hour early so she could take pictures of the venue and have them on Grant’s desk before he poured his first cup of coffee. And maybe to avoid Ethan.

  Okay. Avoiding Ethan had been her main motivation.

  Mac wasn’t sure what to expect when she’d cut through the trees between the two properties. Maybe a scene straight from Father of the Bride with a swarm of makeover bees already hard at work. Mowing the grass. Pulling weeds. Sculpting hedges into topiary swans.

  The last thing she expected to see was Ethan standing on the roof of the boathouse. Alone. Looking like the cover model for the August edition of Outdoorsman Monthly in a T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and a pair of jeans so old they’d faded to a soft January blue.

  And he healed people to boot.

  Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.

  Ethan swung down from the ladder and landed in front of her in one fluid motion. “I’m the one who’s going to fix it.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re in charge of cleaning up the yard?” Mac couldn’t hide her confusion.

  “Actually, I’m kind of in charge of everything.”

  Everything. He had to be kidding.

  “But . . . but what about Hollis? And your mom?”

  “Mom started to take over and Hollis started to panic. When I mentioned I was going to meet with Dr. Heath, she decided the lake house would be the perfect place for her and Connor to exchange their vows. But they’ve been busy so I offered to help.”

  Too busy to plan her own wedding? But then again, Hollis probably didn’t have to.

  “At least she hired a wedding planner—” Mac stopped at the look on Ethan’s face. “She doesn’t have a wedding planner?”

  “She and Connor want to keep things simple.”

  Simple?

  Simple didn’t sell newspapers.

  Mac saw her chances of interviewing Senator Tipley slipping away.

  Ethan frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “My editor wants to run a story in next week’s edition too. He’s expecting me to interview everyone connected with the wedding.”

  “Like who?” The fact that Ethan seemed genuinely curious spiked another wave of panic.

  “Like the florist. The . . . the penguin guy. The caterer.”

  “You lost me at penguin.”

  “He plays the violin,” Mac muttered.

  “Do you know someone? I told Hollis I’d take care of the music too.”

  “Ethan.” Mac dragged in a breath. Released it. Slowly. “I don’t think you realize what you signed on for. Weddings don’t just happen by themselves. You need a cake. A photographer. Decorations.”

  In a little less than two weeks.

  The Hollis Channing that Mac had gone to school with would have taken that long to pick out her nail polish for the event.

  “It sounds like you know a lot about weddings.”

  “Not really. My friend Annie Price is getting married next month.” Mac had spent a Saturday afternoon with Annie at Second Story Books, the bookstore she managed, paging through bridal magazines. Every wedding task list she’d seen had had a one-year countdown.

  “You know more than I do, that’s for sure.” The sudden gleam in Ethan’s green eyes made Mac nervous.

  “Ah . . . I have to be at work by seven thirty. I’ll get out of your way as soon as I take a few pictures of the boathouse.”

  “You know,” Ethan mused, “Hollis wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told her that Mom contacted the Register about her wedding.”

  “I never said it was your mother.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Ethan reached out and the tip of his finger grazed her cheek. “Your freckles turned pink. Dead giveaway.”

  Mac was glad he couldn’t see her toes curling inside her boots.

  “It’s—” What is it again? “News.” That’s right. It’s news. “Everyone in Red Leaf remembers your family, and Hollis is marrying an actor.”

  “Which is one of the reasons they wanted to keep it simple.” Ethan’s hand dropped to his side and the gleam became a smile that spilled into the corners of his eyes. “So I propose we make a deal.”

  “A deal.”

  “You need photographs, and I need some help.”

  “What kind of help?” Mac asked suspiciously.

  “You give me a little guidance and I’ll make sure you get your story.”

  “That’s . . . you’re trying to bribe me?”

  “I like to think of it more as a win-win situation. You get the inside scoop on the wedding, and I get someone who knows there’s supposed to be a guy in a penguin suit.”

  And Grant would let her interview Senator Tipley.

  It also meant spending more time with Ethan.

  “I don’t know—”

&nb
sp; “I need you, Mac,” Ethan said quietly. “It’s important to my baby sister that her wedding day goes smoothly. Dad isn’t here to make sure that happens so I promised her I would.”

  Mac heard a disturbing sound. The sound of another interior wall crumbling.

  “Fine. I’ll do what I can.”

  Not the most enthusiastic response but Ethan would take it.

  Mac started down to the lake, all business, and he fell into step behind her, fascinated with the way the swish of her auburn ponytail matched the gentle sway of her hips.

  “You do have a nice view.”

  “Um . . .” She’s talking about the water. “Yes. Nice.”

  “Where are Hollis and Connor going to exchange their vows?”

  “Down by the water.” Ethan pointed to a natural curve in the shoreline.

  Mac raised her camera. “What time?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “An evening wedding.” She nodded her approval. “The natural lighting will be good that time of day.”

  Ethan hadn’t thought about the lighting at all. He hadn’t thought about music or decorations or flowers, either.

  Mac snapped a picture. “Do they have a theme?”

  “It’s a wedding. Isn’t that the theme?”

  He took Mac’s ragged exhale as a no.

  “Hollis said all she needs is a groom, a pastor, and a wedding dress.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Ethan, but your sister lied to you. My friend Annie is having a simple wedding but she’s been planning for months to make it special. The two don’t cancel each other out.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.” Really open.

  “Start by working with what you have.” Mac’s gaze swept over the property. “Brides pay tons of money for hydrangeas and you’ve got a whole row of them growing against the foundation of the house. Don’t rip the wild grapevine down, have the photographer use it as a backdrop. Put floating lanterns in the lake. Strings of lights in the trees.”

  “You said you didn’t know much about weddings. Where did you come up with all these ideas?”