The Southern Comfort Christmas: A Heartwarming Christmas Romance (Windy CIty Romance Book 6)

by Barbara Lohr

  Dressed in a sleeveless sheath, Brittany Bedford was always “well turned out,” as Harper’s mother would say. Every bit of crepe skin was probably coaxed from her middle-aged arms during weekly massages, followed by a mani-pedi. Her silvery blonde hair fell to her shoulders in beautiful waves that made Harper uncomfortably aware of her own unkempt braid. No time for anything else.

  Scraping her confidence together, Harper slid the portfolio onto the table. Mrs. Bedford had specifically asked for a historical British theme, very much in keeping for her. Brittany hailed from London and had met her husband Beau at a polo match. He kept horses at some Georgia farm. They had two children in college and both were studying overseas.

  “I want guests to feel they are entering a Charles Dickens novel,” Mrs. Bedford had said when they first met. What fun. Who could resist that challenge? Opening the large portfolio, Harper began laying out the palette, color swatches and product samples while she chattered about her research into the Christmas traditions of Merry Olde England. “As you can see, we would use velvets, suedes and brass to echo the rich traditions...”

  “The colors are so dark.” Mrs. Bedford frowned at the burgundy that two weeks ago had felt “like home, the streets and parlors of London” when Harper had brought over samples. How her client liked to remind everyone of her British heritage. She’d even hinted at an ancestral duke or two. “And so much gold.”

  “B-brass.” Harper could hardly get the word out. “You asked for brass.”

  “Good heavens, are those bugles?” She pointed to a sketch where three French horns were embedded in a lush garland framing one of the arched doorways.

  “I believe they’re hunting horns.” Well, that was a stretch. Actually, they were French horns but she figured Mrs. B. wouldn’t know the difference. “You wanted a hunt theme to be incorporated and specifically mentioned bugles. I mean, horns.”

  Cripes. What had Brittany Bedford said that day? Bugles, horns or French horns? Harper’s mind froze and apparently so did her thought process. Her lips felt as if she’d just come from the dentist, shot full of novocaine. Her confidence was melting in the sun streaming into the enclosed sun porch. She fingered her sketches with miniature horse figures, riders in costumes and dogs, lots of dogs gone-a-hunting. Pipsqueak, Bella’s darling mutt, had been her model. She’d been so proud of them.

  But a lot of head shaking and tsking was going on. The disapproval fanned out like high tide on the Georgia marsh, from the drawings of their fabulous front door and pillars, through garlanded doorways, to the gigantic tree and festive serving tables Harper had sketched out for Mrs. B. By the time her client set the drawings aside, Harper felt they'd been violated. “Harper, you might simply adore this but for us? I’m sorry, dear. But I just don’t think so.” The three-carat diamond on her left hand winked when Mrs. B. fanned her fingers over her chest as if to slow her shocked heart.

  Out of time. Out of time. The words echoed in Harper’s head like a pealing bell.

  Studying Harper with a pensive gaze, Mrs. Bedford tapped her tiny gold pen on the pad in front of her. “You know, I was counting on you. You were highly recommended because of your engagement to Cameron.”

  When would she stand on her own merit?

  Then she remembered the book Connie had given her the Christmas before. The Martha Stewart Housekeeping book that Harper sometimes used as a doorstop. What would Martha say? Harper listened for her muse. Martha would probably not say, Take a flying leap.

  Nothing came. Her shoulders slumped. “No problem. Seems that we had a little miscommunication. You’d like something brighter? More contemporary?” With no time to waste, Harper had to pin this down.

  Picking up a magazine from the coffee table, Mrs. Bedford rifled aimlessly through the pages. “What about plaids? They’re so cheery.” Holding some article away from her, she smiled wistfully. “My father used to take me to Scotland for Christmas. Such wonderful times.”

  Harper thought her head might spin right off her shoulders. Maybe she’d watched the Wizard of Oz one too many times with Bella. “One week?” she asked brightly, sweeping up hours of work that had suddenly been relegated to the trash.

  “Four days?” The magazine hit the glass table like the crack of a whip.

  “Yes, of course.” Packing up her samples, Harper fought the panic blazing across her chest. Somehow, she would do this. If she were going to work here in Savannah, she had to meet the expectations of her clients. And they were high. Cameron had warned her.

  “Aren’t you getting married soon?” Mrs. B. asked brightly when they reached the front door.

  “Yes. Christmas.”

  Was she clapping with delight? “Oh, how lovely. What could be more beautiful than a Christmas wedding in Savannah?”

  A Christmas murder. In this case, yours.

  “We’re getting married in Chicago.” Harper’s smile slipped.

  “Oh. I'm sure that will be acceptable too.” Mrs. Bedford looked positively blissed out. Some women got everything they wanted without lifting a finger, or so it seemed. Did Harper ever want to be one of them? Not really.

  “Now, just to be clear.” Black boots wide, Harper made one last stand. A lot was riding on her getting this right. This was probably how the mayor of Savannah had felt when he rode out to meet Sherman, surrendering in exchange for not torching the beautiful city. Pleased, Sherman presented Savannah to President Lincoln as a Christmas gift. Mrs. Bedford would no doubt claim any of Harper’s success for herself––that is, if she were successful.

  “What type of decor do you expect to see when you think about your Christmas, Mrs. Bedford? What do you imagine?”

  Eyes distant, the taskmaster fingered her pearls. “Plaids, Harper. Beautiful, cheerful plaids. Just surprise me!”

  “Fine, you’ve got it.”

  She stepped out into the sunshine, and the door closed behind her. Tripping on the way down the steps, Harper caught herself just in time. But the portfolio slipped from under her arm, hitting the steps. Because she hadn’t snapped the elastic around it, her drawings and samples spun into the dirt surrounding the pink flowering kale, so popular here this time of year. By the time she’d scooped her work up and crammed it back into the portfolio, some pages were streaked with dirt and others were torn. What did it matter? She threw the mess into the back seat and climbed into the SUV.

  This day had DISASTER stamped on it in capital letters.

  Chapter 2

  How could this be happening? Snapping off “Silent Night,” Harper asked herself that question all the way out to Tybee Island. At first she’d been so flattered to land these projects at the finest homes in the city. But she hadn’t planned on the attitude. And she sure hadn’t figured in the time crunch. When they’d booked her during the summer, her own wedding seemed so far away. Now? Her clients and her family were chasing her down like hounds, as Cameron would say.

  Her phone went off. Maybe it was Cameron. She needed him to assure her that everything would be fine. Wanted to feel the warmth that would cascade through her body, as comforting as hot chocolate on a cold Chicago day.

  But it was her mother. “Hi, Mom. How’s the weather in Chicago?”

  “Oh, you know. It’s snowing again.”

  Every conversation seemed to begin with a weather report. And Chicago didn’t come out on top. Driving east to Tybee Island on Hwy 80, Harper passed between rows of age-old palm trees. With the sunroof open, the light filtered in and out of the long fronds. Savannah’s delightful, mild November weather and the greenery reminded her why she never returned home after graduation. Might get chilly in December but the blizzard conditions with occasional ice storms? That didn’t happen here, and Harper didn’t miss it a bit. The thought that they might end up traipsing around in wedding gear during miserable weather didn’t help her mood.

  “Sweetheart, how’s it going? Aren’t you excited about your big day?” Maureen Kirkpatrick, or Reenie as she was called, was unfailingly c
heerful.

  “Oh, fine.” No way was she going to unload on her mother, who had been a housewife all her life. Not that it was easy to raise seven children, but she’d stayed with what she knew, which was Chicago.

  Harper had her pride. Since she’d chosen Savannah, she didn’t want her mother to think she’d made a wrong choice––about Savannah or about Cameron.

  “Your guest list, dear. You seem to be missing a few people. Those must haves, you know.”

  Must haves? What was her mother talking about? “Where are you?” Harper asked. “Sounds like a tornado is howling behind you.”

  “Oh, just the storm,” her mother said crisply. “Gearing up to be a big one. Eight inches, the weatherman says.”

  Her stomach sank. “Oh, Mom. That’s why Cameron’s family won’t come to the wedding. They can’t handle the snow.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Harper. They’re the very names missing from this list. What family doesn’t want to see their child married? How could they refuse to travel?”

  Mom was all about family. Harper totally understood that. But her mother hadn’t met the Blodgetts, which was Cameron’s real last name. It took Harper a while to understand why he’d changed it after he graduated from college. His family hadn’t exactly cottoned to Harper the few times she’d been with them, including the intimate dinner party when he’d proposed to her last February.

  Because of her mother’s own health issues last year, Harper hated to get her stressed out. “Maybe they’ll change their minds. You never know, and we still have a month to go.” Snowball’s chance in hell.

  “Should I put a question mark next to their names?” In the background, Harper heard paper crinkle. She pictured her mother at the dining room table surrounded by lists, seating charts and menus.

  “Sure. Fine.” But it wasn’t.

  “Ok, let me just note that. So mother is a maybe, along with Cameron’s sister Lily and her husband. The two brothers?”

  “Oh, I doubt they’ll come.” She imagined Fred and Henry plowing the fields in December, getting ready for spring planting.

  “That really is a shame, Harper. A wedding is a family occasion.”

  Harper swallowed a groan. “I’m working on it.” Talk about a fish out of water. She could hardly picture the stoic Blodgett family in Oak Park, Illinois for the Christmas wedding. But they were Cameron’s family. If they weren’t at the ceremony, how could she ever build a relationship with them? Although she saw her mother’s point, she sure didn’t know how to fix it.

  Maybe today was the day she couldn’t fix anything. Her frustration mounted. The stoplight at Johnny Mercer Boulevard changed to red, and Harper slammed on the brakes. The portfolios slammed the back of the leather seats.

  More paper crinkling on the other end. “Now remember, McKenna and I are going to Facetime you this Saturday at two, so you can see us sample the food for the reception. I know it’s the weekend before Thanksgiving, but we have to get things settled. Final run-through. Okay?”

  “What were the choices again?”

  “Tarragon chicken, french green beans and au gratin potatoes or beef stroganoff with asparagus and fingerling potatoes.”

  “What are those?”

  “Tiny little potatoes.”

  The light turned green and Harper floored it. “Okay. Sounds yummy.” But it didn’t. Not really. It sounded standard. They were going to have a standard wedding, and Harper hated the thought. She loved food with color and texture, food that smelled and tasted wonderful, like her breakfast panini. Green beans? Really? But she couldn’t say that to her mom, who was trying so hard to make everything perfect.

  “You don’t have to Facetime me, Mom. I trust you and McKenna, okay? This weekend might be crazy for me. I’m behind on my projects.”

  “Are you sure? You only get to do this once.”

  “You handle it and I’m sure it will be fabulous.”

  “Well, all right. But then there are the flowers too. I’d like you to reconsider the pink poinsettias.” Mom was being so stubborn about a few things, like the flowers, the food and the dress. Harper told herself that her mother just wanted her to look beautiful when she came down the aisle in the dress she herself had worn thirty-five years ago. The dress that was probably full of mold and would make Harper sneeze and itch all day.

  “Okay, I’ll reconsider the poinsettias. Thanks for all your hard work.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, don’t mention it. Dad and I are so thrilled. We adore Cameron. But I have to put this aside now and start on Thanksgiving dinner. You know how I always make the pies ahead of time.”

  Harper smiled. “You could make those pumpkin and pecan pies with your eyes closed.”

  “And the girls will all do their part.”

  “Yep, I know.” Everyone brought something to the Kirkpatrick family gatherings. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetheart. Give Cameron a big hug for me.”

  Well, that would be easy. Ending the call, she set her phone in the console.

  When the road turned right onto Tybee’s main street, Harper sucked in a big breath of sea air. She loved this little vacation town. How she wished she could develop more clients out here and enjoy the beautiful drive more often. Maybe Julep Tucker would help her. She didn’t know Julep or her husband that well. They’d met the couple at the Savannah Music Festival last March. All four of them loved Tab Benoit and were jiving to his Louisiana blues at one of the shows when they got to talking between sets. Savannah could be like that. People in Chicago were a bit more guarded.

  Since then, Cameron and Harper had met Julep and Tuck, as he was called, for dinner a couple times. When Julep called for help “dressing the place up” for Christmas, Harper was thrilled. But Julep was from Charleston. Would she be just as picky as the rest of them?

  Driving along the row of condos, Harper remembered the first time she’d come out here with Cameron and Bella. Back then she was Bella’s new nanny, and Cameron’s girlfriend Kimmy Carrington met them at the beach. Things changed that day. Was it Kimmy’s rotten attitude that convinced Cameron she was never going to be a good mother for Bella? Or was it after Kimmy left, when the waiter at the North Beach Grille thought they were a family?

  Harper couldn’t remember how long she’d worked for Cameron before they both knew. Their first kiss had been cosmic. She fell so hard, like the time she was five and jumped into the pool, forgetting she couldn’t swim. Her big brother Connor had saved her. When it came to Cameron, she didn’t want to be saved. Cameron had become her whole world, which was totally terrifying.

  When the relationship developed, she’d delayed any talk of marriage. Heck, it took her forever to even use the L word. But on Valentine’s Day, Cameron had proposed when McKenna’s good friend Selena was visiting, due to her own romantic dilemma with Harper’s brother Seth.

  Setting a date hadn’t been easy. Harper had been the one putting it off. Between Cameron's business commitments and restoration business, she told people they had no time to organize a wedding. Then her mother took over and now they were just powering through the process. Destination: Christmas wedding. Exhausting.

  Julep Tucker was lying in the hammock on her porch when Harper pulled up. Looking like a water lily in bloom, she gave Harper a lazy wave. Harper wished all her clients could be as casual and fun as this southern belle. “Hey, girl,” Julep called out as she approached, lugging her portfolio. “Do y’all mind if I don’t get up, Harper?”

  “No, Mrs. Tucker.” Harper teased, bounding up the stairs. “Not at all.”

  Julep wrinkled her nose. “Mrs. Tucker? I’m Julep, sugga. Y’all know that.”

  “I sure do. Thank goodness.”

  “I’ve got a bad case of the lazies is all.” Looking splendid in her early pregnancy glory, Julep winked. “Do you believe this weather? Feels like September all over again.”

  The sun streamed through the palms trees over her sprawling beach home. Married to a man
from Vidalia, whose family owned both cotton and onion fields, Julep preferred Tybee. Her own family was gone, so she didn't have any attachment to Charleston anymore. In fact, she spent more time here on the island than she did in Vidalia. “Such a little town,” she’d once complained to Harper. “I told Tuck, you cannot keep me captive here in Vidalia, darlin’. You just cannot.” With her long, blonde curls and sultry blue eyes, who could say no to Julep? Of course, her husband adored her, and so did the rest of the world.

  “Have a seat, Harper.” Julep waved to the wicker chair.

  Sitting down, Harper sure hoped the plan was something Julep would enjoy. The day was taking a toll. Of the three clients, Julep was her favorite, so she might take her disappointment personally. “How’s that baby?” she asked, heaving her design portfolio onto the low table next to the hammock, careful not to spill the lemonade.

  “Getting rambunctious.” Smiling, Julep ran a hand over her bulging stomach. “Tuck swears it’s a boy. Wants to get one of those imaging tests.” She pulled a pretty pout. “But I don’t want to know, Harper. Really I don’t. Shouldn’t I have a say?”

  “Absolutely. I understand completely.” But what did she know about pregnancy? Resting her head against the wicker rocker, she wondered if this would ever be her, dreaming about having Cameron’s baby? Adding to the family. Her body turned all soft and shivery, like one of those white jellyfish that floated along the shore at Tybee.

  “Can you pour yourself a drink Harper, honey? The pitcher’s right there. You look like you need it, and I am too damn lazy to get up. Lemonade okay? Stronger stuff inside. I cannot indulge, of course, so you drink for me.”

  Harper was sorely tempted. “I admit that so far, this has felt like a Cosmo day, but lemonade is fine. Want me to top off your glass?”

  “Would you be so kind?” The rich scent of the ocean enveloped Harper while she poured. Glass cool in her hand, Harper sat back and sipped. The lemonade was just enough sweet and sour to awaken her taste buds and clear her melancholy. She looked up to find Julep giving her the eye. “You are not looking like you’re in a holiday spirit, Harper. Thanksgiving’s next week, and then we roll right into Christmas and your wedding.”