That sounded…perfect. “Have you told your mom that?”
“Of course, but she doesn’t listen. This wedding she wants for me? It’s really the wedding she always wanted but never had.”
Eric nodded. She’d told him how her parents were married by a justice of the peace. How they’d planned to renew their vows on their twenty-fifth anniversary, throw the sort of elaborate party her mom had always wanted. Unfortunately her father died before they could do it. “She has four unmarried sons whose weddings she could plan.”
Jess shook her head. “Maybe she could help, but wedding planning is pretty much a bride thing. Sadly for us, Mom’s become a Bridezilla without actually being the bride.”
“Kelley’s suffering from the same thing.” He leaned closer and brushed his lips over her cheek. “Maybe we should just lock them in a room together and let them hammer it out themselves.”
“Don’t think I’m not tempted. Yet even if, by some miracle, we’re able to work out all this wedding stuff, there’re still all the underlying hard feelings simmering between everyone. I feel as if I’m walking through a field of land mines. I’m just so damn tired of it. It’s exhausting. I’m at my wits’ end. I honestly don’t know how much more I can take.”
Her words suffused him with a dread he didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to so much as acknowledge. But one that he couldn’t ignore. Although she didn’t say the words, he sensed—no, damn it, he knew—that they had to fix the situation this weekend—or else. He halted and turned to face her then clasped her shoulders. She looked up at him and the dismal expression in her eyes cramped his insides with an unpleasant sensation that felt very much like fear. Fear that everything he wanted was somehow slipping through his fisted hands.
“We’ll get this meeting over with quick, Jess—like yanking off a bandage. A fast meeting, then off they’ll go and we’ll resume our weekend.”
Her bleak expression didn’t change, twisting the knot gripping his insides even tighter. “Yanking off a bandage can really hurt, Eric.”
His fingers clenched, pressing into her parka. “We’re not going to let it hurt us, Jess.”
The fact that she didn’t instantly agree made him actually feel ill. Her gaze searched his, then she said quietly, “I don’t want it to, Eric, but—”
“No buts,” he cut in, not willing to even contemplate what she might have said next. “Everything is going to be fine.”
He just hoped like hell he was right.
Chapter 3
With her stomach knotted with that “walking through the minefield” sensation, Jessica entered the lodge. After everyone hung up their snow-coated jackets on the large rack near the door, they headed toward the lounge area. A number of tables were filled, and half a dozen patrons sat at the bar, most of them checking out the hockey game showing on the overhead TV. The bartender—who looked so much like Roland Krause, Jessica would have bet they were brothers—polished glasses behind the curved mahogany bar.
Once they’d seated themselves in overstuffed leather armchairs around a low, round polished oak table set on antlers, a waitress wearing a festive red Santa hat to top off her red-and-green outfit approached with a friendly smile.
“Happy holidays, everyone. What can I get you?”
“Scotch,” said Marc without hesitation. “Straight up.”
So much for hot chocolate. Obviously this was a meeting that required a stiff drink.
Jessica flicked a glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the swirling snow. “Aren’t you the designated driver?”
“Yes. But since we’re apparently going to be here for several hours—” he shot an “and it’s all your fault” glare toward Kelley “—one drink is okay.”
“Vodka martini,” said Kelley, pulling a thick planner from her oversize purse.
“Gin martini,” said Jessica’s mom, in a tone that seemed to toss the first grenade toward Kelley. Jessica wasn’t the least bit surprised that the two women didn’t agree on what sort of martini was best.
After Jess ordered a white wine and Eric asked for a beer, the waitress headed toward the bar and an awkward silence descended on the group. Jessica cleared her throat and attempted a cheerful smile, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Why don’t we get started?” So we can get this over with.
“Excellent,” said Kelley, consulting her planner. “First, we need to decide on an approximate number of guests so I can tell the catering manager at the Marble Falls Country Club which ballroom to block for us. The smaller ballroom holds up to one hundred guests, the larger one up to three hundred.”
“The small one,” Jessica said.
“The large one,” her mother said at the same time, then frowned. “Although I’m not thrilled having the reception at the country club. The Ritz-Carlton is only an hour’s drive from Marble Falls and the ballroom there is much more elegant. And it can accommodate more guests.”
Jessica pressed her fingers to her temple in a vain attempt to stem the headache forming there. “Mom, I don’t even know three hundred people.”
“We have dozens of business contacts through the restaurant we need to invite, dear.” She flicked a glance toward Eric. “No doubt Eric has a few as well.”
“The Ritz-Carlton is out of the question,” Kelley said, shaking her head. “It’s too far, especially for a February wedding when the weather is so unpredictable. If there’s a bad snowstorm, we’ll end up with no way to get to the reception.”
“Which is why the wedding should take place in June,” Mom said, her jaw tilting to its most stubborn angle.
Kelley dismissed her words with a wave of her hand. “June is completely passé for brides. May is the perfect month—”
“Stop,” Jessica said, holding up her hand. “I don’t want to wait until May or June.” She looked at Eric. “Do you?”
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
She nearly sagged with relief at his reply. Sometimes she truly feared he’d finally get so disgusted with all these issues that he’d decide she wasn’t worth the aggravation. The mere thought made her feel physically ill.
He turned toward his sister. “The wedding will take place, as Jess and I planned, in February.”
“But the weather—” Kelley protested.
“February,” reiterated Eric.
The waitress delivered their drinks and while Eric signed the bill to charge them to their room, Jess took a grateful sip of wine. Based on the first few minutes, this was going to be a looooong meeting.
“What’s the next thing on your list?” Eric asked Kelley.
“We still haven’t decided which ballroom we’ll need.”
“The large one,” Jessica’s mom stated firmly.
Jessica’s headache grew worse. “Mom…I’ve told you that Eric and I would prefer a smaller wedding. Maybe around fifty people. Or less.”
Her mom’s eyebrows shot upward—as if she’d never heard this before—then collapsed in a frown. “Fifty? Impossible. That would barely cover our immediate family.”
“Mom, there’re only six of us in our immediate family.”
“I mean our immediate circle—of family, friends, business associates and co-workers.” She reached out and patted Jessica’s arm. “You don’t need to be concerned about the cost, dear. I’ve been saving for this day for a long time. The wedding is my gift to you.” She flicked a look at Eric. “And Eric, too.”
God, she hated when her mother did that—glanced at Eric as if he were something she’d just scraped off the bottom of her shoe, then tacked him onto the end of her sentence like an unpleasant afterthought. She’d discussed the matter privately with her mother several times, but each talk had degenerated into an argument with her mother harping that Eric was “the competition” and that Jessica should find some other man to marry—a doctor or lawyer would be nice. She’d even gone so far as to suggest that all the arguments were actually Jessica’s fault for not introducing Eric to the family until t
hey were already engaged.
Uh-huh. Well, she’d have to take the bullet on that one because she had kept Eric to herself for their entire six-month courtship. Because she’d known how her mother and brothers would react. Her brothers hadn’t liked anyone she’d ever dated, and had scared off more than one potential boyfriend. As for Mom, she’d also found fault with every guy Jessica had ever brought home—except for her high school boyfriend, John Wilson. And the only reason Mom had liked him was that he was the spitting image of a young Paul Newman. Which was good. But John also had a roving eye. Which was not good. By the time she graduated from college, she’d learned that there were only two types of guys she should bring home to meet the family—the type she didn’t want to date anymore as one visit, especially with the brothers, pretty much insured she wouldn’t hear from him again, and the guy she wanted to marry.
She’d known from that first moment she laid eyes on Eric that he was The One, and every moment spent with him over the next six months had only served to reinforce that first impression. And that being the case, she sure as hell hadn’t wanted to scare him off. She was just working up the courage to suggest he meet her family when he asked her to marry him. That had led to their first meeting with her family a week later basically becoming Mom, guys, this is Eric. We’re engaged.
Although Jessica didn’t meet Eric’s family, either, until after they were engaged, that first meeting had gone much better. But that promising beginning had slithered right down the tubes when they’d brought the two families together for the first time two weeks later.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
“Now that we’ve settled the ballroom issue,” Kelley’s voice broke into her reverie, “let’s move on to the color scheme.”
“Butter-yellow,” said Mom.
“Impossible,” vetoed Kelley. “Too pale and spring like for February. Not only that—”
“I’m going to the bar to watch the game,” Marc broke in, clearly anxious to escape all discussions of things butter-yellow. Jessica envied him his freedom and wished she could join him.
Kelley turned to Eric. “Why don’t you go with him, Eric? Unless you want to discuss the impossibility of butter-yellow?”
Everything male in Eric wanted to bolt from the chair and escape, but he wasn’t about to abandon Jess. He turned toward her and she nodded. “Go ahead.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “Go. Save yourself. No reason we both should suffer.” Her teeth grazed his earlobe and his eyes glazed over. Damn it. All he wanted to do was get her alone. Finish what they’d started before the descent of The Families. He was one breath away from yanking her out of that chair, slinging her into his arms and escaping back to their cabin. Locking the door and telling the world and their families to leave them the hell alone. And by God, if this wedding meeting wasn’t over in the next half hour, that’s exactly what he was going to do.
“Besides, I like that you’ll owe me one,” she whispered.
An inferno of edgy need gripped him. Yeah, he’d owe her one and he couldn’t wait to pay up. Still, he considered remaining with her in case an arbitrator was needed, but then it occurred to him that maybe she wanted some female bonding time. There was woman stuff that guys weren’t supposed to be privy to—maybe wedding decorations were one of those things—what the hell did he know? Plus, this gave him an opportunity for a one-on-one conversation with Marc, something he’d never had with any of her brothers. From what he could tell, they always traveled in a pack. Like rabid dogs. Maybe if it was just the two of them, he’d make some progress. Jess with the women and him with Marc…maybe they could divide and conquer. It certainly was worth a shot. Then he’d get her alone. And naked. And put out this damn fire eating at him.
He stood, picked up his beer then leaned down to drop a kiss on Jess’s curly, honey-colored hair. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”
He approached Marc with all the enthusiasm he would a coiled cobra. After sliding onto the empty stool next to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, he waited for Marc to acknowledge his presence, but his brother-in-law-to-be’s gaze never shifted from the hockey game flickering on the TV. Hockey—just another strike against Eric in the Hayden brothers’ eyes. They were all die-hard hockey—and football—fanatics while Eric preferred basketball and baseball. And tennis—which really didn’t help his cause as the Hayden brothers all thought tennis was wimpy. Obviously none of them had ever played a grueling three-hour, three-set match.
Eric finally nodded toward the TV and asked, “What’s the score?”
“Rangers are up, three to one.”
Then more silence. Not a real chatty guy, Marc. Before Eric could think of another conversation opener, the bartender, who wore a Santa hat and a friendly smile, approached. “You need another beer?” he asked, eyeing Eric’s nearly empty bottle.
Eric did a double take, then glanced toward the reception area where he spotted Roland Krause chatting with a guest. “Sure, thanks. For a second there I thought you were Roland. Are you related?”
The man grinned. “We’re cousins. Everyone thinks we’re brothers.” He extended his hand. “I’m Steve. Steve Howell. Roland and I may look alike, but under my Santa hat, I have a lot more hair than he does.”
After Steve had brought the beer and moved off toward the other end of the bar, Eric watched the game for a few minutes while another long silence stretched between him and Marc. Well, it was one way to avoid an argument—don’t talk. At least the guy was scowling at the TV instead of at him.
Just then he felt the weight of Marc’s stare. When he turned to look at him, Marc was—no big shocker—scowling.
“My sister doesn’t look happy,” Marc said.
Eric’s head turned so fast toward the table where Jess sat he practically heard his muscles snap. She was taking a sip of her wine and seemed fine.
“I don’t mean right this second,” Marc clarified. “I mean in general.”
Eric turned back toward him. “Based on your tone it’s obvious you think that’s my fault.”
“Who else’s would it be?”
“You want a mirror?”
Eric wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Marc’s scowl deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not the one making her unhappy. You and your family and the nonstop arguing are what’s making her miserable.”
“I guess it’s missed your notice that you are what all the arguments are about.”
A humorless sound escaped Eric. “Uh, no. I haven’t missed that. You’ve all made that perfectly clear. Listen, I get the whole overprotective-brother thing. I’ve given more than a few guys the evil eye for sniffing around my sisters. But once Chloe and Lara found the men they wanted to marry, I was happy for them. They both chose good, decent guys. Believe it or not, I’m a good, decent guy.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me. And says your sister. She’s extremely smart and savvy—hardly the sort of woman to marry a creep.”
“Smart women make stupid mistakes about men all the time.”
“Well, she’s not making one.”
Marc slowly swirled his tumbler of scotch, took a swig, then said, “Your franchise restaurant can’t compare to Hayden’s.”
Eric’s fingers tightened on his beer bottle, but he swallowed his irritation. “They’re both good places and Marble Falls is certainly big enough for more than one restaurant.”
“She shouldn’t have taken up with the competition.”
The hell with trying to use any more polite subtleties. “That was her choice. And mine. And frankly, it’s none of your business. If she and I can work through that—which we have—I fail to see why you and your family can’t.”
“What about your family? I haven’t noticed them turning cartwheels.”
“Maybe not, but any objections they may feel have nothing to do with Jess. My sisters like her. A lot. And they’re happy for me tha
t we found each other.”
Marc’s only reply was a stony stare into his scotch.
Eric resisted the urge to drag his hands through his hair in frustration. “Look, maybe I’m not the guy you would have chosen for your sister, but here’s the brutal truth—it’s not your choice. It’s hers. And for all our sakes, especially Jess’s, it would be nice if we could reach some sort of détente here.”
Eric took a long pull on his beer and waited, but Marc still remained silent. Hopefully he was thinking the détente thing was a good idea, but based on his fierce scowl, that didn’t seem promising.
Unable to stand the awkward silence any longer, Eric said, “I get why your mother is here, but how did you get roped into coming along? Are you the muscle?”
“I’m the driver. She doesn’t like to drive in the snow.” He glanced toward the table then tossed back a swig of scotch. “Last place on earth I wanna be.”
“Last place on earth I want you to be.”
A noise that sounded like a reluctant laugh passed Marc’s lips. “How is it you can take off four days during one of the busiest weeks of the year? Business not good?”
Was that a hopeful sound in Marc’s voice? Probably. “Business is great,” Eric replied. “Definitely not the best time for me to be away, and it wasn’t easy to arrange the time off, but Jess comes first.”
The sound of Kelley’s slightly raised and very terse voice caught Eric’s attention. “It is absolutely essential that the band play a selection of current songs, Carol.”
Marc shot a frown toward the table. “Your sister’s a real ‘my way or the highway’ sort of woman.”
Eric cocked a single brow. “Guess you’d recognize that trait since you’re clearly a real ‘my way or the highway’ sort of guy.”
The minute the words slipped out Eric wondered if they’d undo whatever small progress they seemed to be making. But Marc nodded. “I guess I can be. Sometimes. At least with regards to my sister. And this wedding.”
Shocked—pleasantly so—that Marc would admit as much, Eric said, “Same with Kelley. She doesn’t like to waste time. She’s disgustingly efficient. Knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
A Blazing Little Christmas Page 3
