Two-Penny Wedding

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “And why wouldn’t I?”

  Jake shrugged. “You didn’t last time.”

  “The biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “I suppose you think my biggest mistake was leaving you.”

  “No, I think your biggest mistake was running back to Sonny Harris. But then, that’s just my opinion.”

  With a toss of her head, she dismissed his opinion, and he thought about kissing her until she admitted he was right. Which would only make him more of an idiot than he already was…although he would certainly derive some pleasure from the act.

  “I realize this may come as a revelation to you, Jake, but I will marry Sonny Saturday afternoon and we will live happily ever after…regardless of your opinions.”

  Now that was a call to arms if he’d ever heard one. He moved to the bed, scooted the box to one side and sat beside it. “You won’t live happily ever after, Gentry. Not without…” Me. The word hung in the air like the punch line of a familiar joke. Opening the box flaps, he pulled out layer upon layer of satin and lace. “A little magic.”

  GENTRY STARED AT HIM, grappling with a childish impulse to stamp her foot. She’d live happily ever after if it killed her. “Give me that.” Moving quickly to the bed, she reached for the ivory wedding gown, intending to stuff it back into the box as quickly as he’d pulled it out.

  Jake drew back, raising his eyebrows and giving her that Clark Gable look that used to raise her blood pressure and now just…raised her blood pressure.

  “You want this?” he asked. “Why? You said you don’t believe in magic.”

  “It isn’t magic.” She grabbed for it again and gained a handful of lace. “Now, let me have it.”

  “Too bad you didn’t have it two years ago. It would have saved us both a good deal of trouble.”

  “It will save you a good deal more trouble if you’ll—” she tugged on the lace “—let go of—” gathering more fabric into her grasp, she tugged harder “—the dress.” He unexpectedly released his hold on it and she wobbled backward, nearly losing her balance. She regained her footing and flashed him a withering glance as she shook the heavy satin and smoothed the lace bodice. “You’ve delivered the dress, Jake. Now you can leave with a clear conscience.”

  “I see.” He slipped off the bed with a lean, lazy movement that reminded her of the last time the two of them had been together in this bedroom. “You want to be alone so you can try on the wedding gown.”

  “I don’t want to be alone, Jake. I just don’t want to be in the same room with you.”

  He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “And I was so hoping we could be friends.”

  Folding the gown into thirds, she started to stuff it back into the box. “Friends are people you like.”

  “What was that?”

  She paused to frown at him. “Let me think…could it have been a comment on your character?”

  He stooped and looked questioningly at the floor. “I heard something fall.”

  “Maybe you heard my patience snap.”

  “You don’t have any patience, Gentry. Something dropped on the floor.”

  Honestly. What did he think he’d accomplish with this delaying tactic? “This carpet is very thick. You couldn’t have heard—” She heard a soft plop, and then another. Plop, plop. Like the first random raindrops of a coming shower. Plop, plop, plop. Still holding the antique wedding gown in her hands, she bent over to study the ivory-colored carpet. “I don’t see anything,” she said, half to herself.

  He dropped to his knees and scraped his palms across the carpet. “You should be more careful with that dress, Liz. After all, it’s a million-dollar…button.” He held up a satin-covered object for her inspection. “You, my sweet, are losing your buttons.”

  She looked at the tiny bauble anchored between his thumb and forefinger. It was pale against the tanned, roughened texture of his skin, delicate as a pearl in the palm of a fisherman. Almost without conscious desire, she stretched out her hand to touch it…and then, coming to her senses, she snatched her hand away from a close encounter with his. “Good,” she said. “All the more reason to pack this garment away for posterity.”

  “You’re just afraid to put it on, that’s all.”

  “It’s a dress, Jake. I’m afraid of snakes and big, hairy spiders, but clothes don’t hold any terror for me.”

  He got to his feet. “Obviously. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have worn that sequined creation in mixed company.”

  She shoved the satin skirt into the box with unnecessary force. “I’m going to wear it in public on Saturday…no matter what anyone says.”

  The door swung inward and Cleo trotted in. “Come in, come in.” Jake reached down to scratch the dog’s ear. “We could use an outside opinion. I say Liz is afraid to put on the magic wedding dress. She says she isn’t. What do you think?”

  The dog’s tail wagged amiably.

  “See?” Jake indicated Cleo’s accord. “I had a feeling she’d agree with me.”

  Gentry tried to look properly impressed. “Amazing. How does she do it? Can she smell a mortal fear of satin in the room? Or does she detect the subtle scent of lace phobia? Then again, could it be she thinks you have a liver snap in your pocket?”

  “Make fun all you want, but if this dog could talk, she’d tell you to stuff the new dress and wear the old one.”

  “Which is why I’m the bride and she’s not. Take your psychic canine and go away, would you? You’ve delivered the dress…as promised. So now you can enjoy your vacation with a clear conscience. Just stay out of my way.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of annoying you, Liz.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Only if you’ll try on the million-dollar dress.”

  Her gaze meshed with his in silent recognition of his challenge…and of her refusal to be baited. “What a shame,” she said with facetious disappointment, “the buttons fell off.”

  “It won’t take twenty minutes to sew them back on.”

  “That would depend on who’s doing the sewing.”

  “Does that mean you still haven’t learned how to thread a needle?”

  “If I had, I certainly wouldn’t admit it to you.” She walked to the chest, opened a drawer and rummaged through the contents. Her groping hand closed around a small cloth jewelry bag. She dumped the silver earrings it held into the drawer before tossing the bag to Jake. He caught it…which really annoyed her. “You can put the buttons in that, if you want,” she offered sweetly. “Then, if the mood strikes you, you can sew them on. I honestly don’t believe anyone else cares whether the dress has buttons or not.”

  Jake tossed the bag in the air and caught it with an easy swipe. “Let’s see, now. Charlie spent a million bucks on the wedding dress. As a rough guess, I’d say there’s seventy-five to a hundred buttons on the dress, which makes each of them worth somewhere in the neighborhood of…oh, let’s just guess and say a thousand dollars apiece.” He tossed the bag and smiled as he caught it…again. “Yes, I think he will definitely care if some buttons are missing.”

  A good point, Gentry conceded, although she contrived to look skeptical. “You’re his special guest, Jake. I know he’ll consider your services as a seamster invaluable.” She bent down, picked up a button near the tip of her shoe and lobbed it toward his head.

  He swept it out of the air like a frog nabbing a fly. “One thousand,” he said as he dropped it into the jewelry pouch with a flourish. There was a faint ping as it struck something metallic inside the bag.

  Gentry stiffened at the sound, realizing just what she’d so casually handed over to him. Her wedding ring. A plain gold band she’d tucked away in a side pocket of the jewelry pouch for safekeeping. Of the dozen or so bags, pouches and boxes that contained her sentimental pieces of jewelry, how had she managed to grab the only one containing something she didn’t want Jake to know she had?

  Leaning over, he picked up a second bu
tton and dropped it into the pouch. “Two thousand.”

  She watched, helplessly listening for the pinging sound, which would expose her sentiment to Jake, and hoping he was too busy needling her to notice.

  He winked at her as he picked up another button, then another. “Three thousand,” he said, dropping it in. “Four. Five. Six thousand. Pricey buttons you have here, Liz.”

  “You always did overestimate the value of things, Jake.”

  He dropped in the last loose button, pulled and knotted the drawstring, then pitched the bag at the open cardboard box. Gentry breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as he left, she’d retrieve the ring and stash it somewhere else. Her relief vanished, though, as the pouch hit one of the cardboard flaps, bounced off and landed on the floor. Cleo’s ears perked up and she gave the jewelry bag an inquisitive sniff.

  “Leave that alone,” Gentry warned the Lab.

  The dog didn’t even look up, but before Gentry could reach down and pick up the pouch, Cleo had it in her mouth.

  “Drop it!” Jake ordered. “Drop it!”

  The dog was on her feet and trotting toward the door before the command’s final syllable.

  “Cleo! Damn it! Come back here with that!” Gentry clapped her hands for emphasis, but the Labrador just increased her trot to a lope and kept on going…out the door, through the hall and down the stairs. Gentry glanced accusingly at Jake, mad at him because her wedding ring was on its way to God knew where. “If you’d just let go of the dress when I asked you to…”

  “This isn’t my fault.” He fell into a quick step beside her. “You’re the one who jerked the dress out of my hands and knocked off the buttons.”

  “I didn’t knock them off. They fell off.”

  “You’ll have to handle the dress more carefully from now on.”

  “If you’d left it in the box to begin with, there wouldn’t have been any need to handle it, carefully or otherwise, and we wouldn’t have to go chasing after Ben’s stupid dog.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve only been here for a half hour and already you’re blaming me for everything that’s wrong in your life.”

  “Not everything, Jake. Just everything in the last half hour.” She glanced over the bannister as she started down the stairs. In the entryway below, Cleo scrambled on the tiled foyer, found her footing and then darted through the open library doors.

  Jake passed Gentry, hopped over the bannister rail and saved a few seconds by skipping the last five stairs. “I’ll try to cut her off from this side. You go through the library in case she doubles back.”

  Gentry thought it sounded like a complicated plan for button recovery, considering she didn’t really care if the dress was missing a few buttons. She had no intention of wearing the silly thing, anyway. If it wasn’t for her ring, Cleo could have her fill of “magic” buttons. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jake lunge for the dog. He missed, of course, and Cleo quivered from ear to tail in a spasm of doggy glee. In the dog’s view, the chase was on. With a playful twist, she jumped out of reach and tore across the entryway to the living room on the opposite side of the house. From there, she’d have a straight shot through the open terrace doors to the great outdoors and at least a hundred burial spots. Maybe burying the whole kit and caboodle was the best solution all around.

  “She’s heading for the terrace.” Jake was after the dog like James Bond after a spy.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Gentry said as he dashed past her in hot pursuit. “It’s only a bag of buttons, not a matter of principle.”

  “Explain that to Pop,” he called over his shoulder.

  On second thought, it couldn’t hurt to lend Agent 007 a helping hand. Gentry hurried after the man, the dog, the thousand-dollar buttons…and a plain gold band.

  AROUND THE POOL, Cleo’s entrance barely caused a stir. As Jake followed close on the Labrador’s heels, he was greeted with a warm smile by first Sydney, then Hillary, then Heather. On the “brim” side of the cowboy-hat-shaped pool, Pop regaled the ladies with another of his behind-the-scenes stories about famous people he’d loved…or not loved, as the case might be. At the crown of the oddly shaped pool, Sonny stood with a glass in one hand, his other hand in his trousers pocket, talking with two men, one tall and blond, one slender and dark haired, but obviously listening to Pop’s story with at least one ear, as well.

  Jake acknowledged the men with a nod and the women with a smile and wondered if he could retrieve the bag from Cleo without having to explain where she got it, what was in it, and how he happened to know. Harris was spoiling for a fight, and Jake wasn’t about to give him an excuse to start one.

  Gentry bumped into him from behind. “Did you get it?”

  “Not yet.” He studied the dog with a disapproving eye. “Look at her. She trotted over to Harris and stretched out at his feet like she needed political asylum or something.”

  Going up on her tiptoes, Gentry looked over his shoulder at the Lab. “She’s starting to chew on the bag, Jake. Go over and get it away from her.”

  “You go get it. Harris doesn’t want to slug you in the nose.”

  “He doesn’t want to slug you, either. He’s a gentleman.”

  “Gentlemen are the worst. Especially when it comes to believing that their fiancée’s first husband might not be the dastardly slob they’ve been led to believe he is.”

  “I never called you a slob.”

  “Why are you standing back there, Jake?” Pop interrupted his story to ask. “Pour yourself a glass of my rocket fuel and come on over and join the party.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Gentry warned. “Go get the buttons. I’m going back inside.”

  He reached around and fastened his hand around her arm, holding her in place. “Oh, no, you don’t. If I have to risk my nose retrieving your buttons, the least you can do is provide some moral support. Stay put.”

  “If Sonny sees me in this nightshirt, there’s going to be a lot of explaining to do. I’d better just slip into the house and change.”

  “Since when have you shied away from setting a new fashion trend? Now, we’re going to meander over to Harris, and while you distract him, I’ll get the buttons.” He took her hand—as if they were the best of friends—and strolled casually around the hat brim.

  “Gentry!” Sydney caught sight of her and, troublemaker that she was, had to draw attention to her attire. “What are you doing in your nightshirt?”

  Like a hawk spotting the tail of a mouse, Sonny’s gaze zoomed in.

  “I told you this was a bad idea.” Gentry pulled her hand free and smiled brilliantly at her fiance. “Sonny, I’m so wonderfully happy to see you!” Her voice rose on a note of artificial excitement. “I’ve been absolutely dying to know how you spent your day.”

  “Way to go, Liz,” Jake muttered. “Now he’s bound to think we have something to hide.”

  “We?” she questioned in a tantalizing and teasing aside. “Sorry, Jake, but it’s every man—and nose-for himself. Darling…” She hurried to wrap her hands around Sonny’s arm and kissed him, worshipfully, on the cheek. “You are the most devastatingly attractive man on the planet. I’m not sure I can wait until Saturday to be married to you.”

  Sonny’s expression changed from gloomy to gratified in a split second, and Gentry, conversely, wished he weren’t quite so easy to handle. “It’s only a week, darling,” he said with an adoring smile. “Even if it will seem like the longest seven days of my life.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about passing the time, old man.” Jake’s approach was easy, irritating and completely assured, as if there were no place he’d rather be and no place he’d be more welcome. “The Four Horsemen—minus your beloved, of course, because she’ll have to spend the week searching for yet another perfect wedding gown—will make sure you’re properly entertained.” His foot edged unobtrusively toward the jewelry bag safeguarded between Cleo’s front paws. “You and I might even get in a golf game or two. Unless you’d rather go
fishing.” Cleo underscored the offer with a throaty and playful growl.

  “I dislike everything about fishing.” Sonny said it nicely, because he was a gentleman, but his meaning was unmistakable and very personal.

  Gentry’s eyes swung to Jake, hoping he wouldn’t thrust his nose in front of Sonny’s fist and create a scene.

  “How about you two?” Jake turned his charm on the other two men as his foot edged toward Cleo once again. “Do you like to fish?”

  “I do,” said the tall blonde, extending his hand. “I’m Mitch McAlister, Sonny’s best man.”

  “Jake Daniels.” They shook hands.

  “Lee Hess, one of the groomsmen.” The darkhaired man introduced himself and Jake shook hands with him, too. “I’ve always wanted to try fly-fishing.”

  “Now there’s a real man’s sport,” Jake agreed. “You’ll have to visit the Two-Penny Lodge. I have a guide who can show you one of the best fly-fishing rivers in the country. In fact, there’s one cabin on the property that is situated so perfectly, you can fish for days and not see another soul.”

  Gentry knew that cabin well. She and Jake had spent some incredible nights there. And days. And they’d never gone near the river. “Well, there won’t be any time for fishing this week,” she said brightly, patting Sonny’s arm affectionately, pretending she knew nothing about the Two-Penny Lodge and cared even less. “There’s the party your family is giving for us at the country club tonight, and tomorrow we’re all invited to a brunch at the Hamiltons’.”

  Sonny adored her with a smile. “Don’t forget you promised to attend an art gallery opening with me Wednesday evening.”

  “How could I forget any promise I made to you?” she said sweetly, stressing the words to annoy Jake.

  “This is not the week for culture, Sonny.” Jake stooped, and, acting exceedingly casual, he petted the Labrador. “Take my advice, a man should spend the days before his wedding kicking up his heels and letting the testosterone run wild. It’s your last chance.”