by Loree Lough
“Well, you know, the movie and TV stars and—”
“Sorry I asked,” he said, laughing as she buckled her seatbelt.
And once he’d done the same, Honor said, “I sure hope this weather will clear up. From what Mercy says, there’s barely room in the cabin of Austin’s boat for just the two of them.”
“How many people will be there, Dad?”
“I think Austin said twelve, Steven, not counting himself and Mercy. And the pastor, of course.”
Warner whimpered. “Not the one from Austin’s old church I hope, who gives those long, long sermons.”
Matt chose to overlook it and immediately wished he hadn’t, because it freed Warner up to say, “Are you feeling any better, Honor, about Rowdy dying, or are you still real sad?”
Times like these, Matt almost wished he were a bit more like his dad, who would have reached back and whacked him for making a comment like that. Almost.
“It’s pretty tough,” she said, “but thankfully, I have Rerun to take my mind off it. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” the boys said.
“Well, it’s weird, you know? One minute he does something funny or cute, and I totally forget about what happened to Rowdy. And the next minute, I look at him and realize he’s all by himself. That’s when it’s hardest.”
“I’d probably cry a couple of buckets if Cash died,” Steve admitted.
“Yeah,” Warner said. “At least.”
If Matt could guarantee all small talk would be as productive as this, he’d never complain about it again, because it was forging a bond between his boys and Honor. Since meeting her, they talked about her every time they saw a pizza commercial. “Hey, Dad, remember how Honor used a pair of scissors to cut the pizza slices in half?” Amusement park ads were followed by, “Can you believe Honor has never been on a roller coaster?” And if they saw a woman with long, curly hair or green eyes, she was immediately held up for comparison to Honor. It told him they liked her enough to miss her, almost as much as he did, when she wasn’t around. And that was a very good thing, if—
A cold chill snaked down his spine. She was fond of them. That much was evident in the way she the way she looked at them—especially when they didn’t know she was looking. It was clear from that easy, natural way she had of talking with them, too. But what if the affection was surface stuff and nothing more? Matt had convinced himself she’d wanted him to see glimpses of her true self, shining through a carefully woven façade. But what if he’d been dead wrong, and she hadn’t let her guard down because she trusted him and the boys?
Heart pounding, Matt’s hands began to sweat and his ears grew hot. He’d never introduced them to any of the women he’d dated before, not to see a movie, not even to wolf down a hamburger at the local fast-food joint. They were good, big-hearted kids who gave 100 percent to everything, and he wouldn’t risk having them hurt simply because their lonely dad took pity on a brokenhearted woman. He knew Honor needed him … for the moment. But the twins were ten and needed him more. Matt gripped the wheel tighter: starting now, he’d be a whole lot more careful about how much they saw of her.
Because much as he cared for her, he cared for his sons more. Lots more.
21
The groom stood near the galley doorway, tugging nervously at the cuffs of his dark suit.
“When’s it gonna start, Dad?” came Warner’s raspy whisper.
“Any minute now, son.” Matt didn’t remember being this nervous on his own wedding day, and he knew the tension had nothing to do with the ceremony that was about to take place. One of the first questions he’d ask on the other side of the Pearly Gates was why he’d been cursed with such an analytical mind. If that crazy thought hadn’t popped into his head during the drive over here, maybe he could enjoy himself. Or at the very least, put on a good show of it.
Flora, who’d been assigned to hit the button that started the music, fumbled with the switch for a moment before The Wedding March boomed from a robotic-looking stereo no bigger than a boot box, and Bud snapped a few pictures with his ancient Polaroid. Matt stood up straighter and glanced at Austin, who’d started to sweat, thanks to being crowded into the tiny cabin with ten of his dearest friends.
Honor rounded the corner first and walked slowly down the companionway, followed by Mercy and her brother, Leo. Despite his earlier decision to ratchet things down a notch or two, Matt had to admit that the maid of honor looked far prettier than the bride. Shimmering, pale-green velvet skimmed her feminine figure and fell in soft folds just above those perfect knees, and even from this distance, he could see the color reflected in her big eyes. She’d painted a thin swath of deeper green shadow on her eyelids, and it shimmered in the candlelight and the flash of Bud’s camera … but not nearly as much as her eyes themselves.
Then a burst of white caught his eye—the cuff of Austin’s white shirt, rising as he ran a finger around the stiff collar. And Matt hung his head, thinking that if they gave prizes for fool of the year, he was a shoo-in, for falling so hard and so fast that he hadn’t given a thought to how it would affect the boys or himself or even Cash. And what came next? Same ol’, same ol’, that’s what.
Reverend Patterson had earned a reputation for long-winded sermons, peppered with jokes and clichés intended to entertain his congregants, and today was no exception. Matt’s mind wandered, and only a word here and there seeped through … something about the ceremony that had brought them all here on this bitter-cold New Year’s Eve. And unless he was mistaken, a word or two about how a couple needed to learn to roll with the punches in much the same way they’d coped with the crummy weather that forced them down from the tugboat’s top deck.
All Matt could concentrate on were the cramped quarters where the foursome stood shoulder to shoulder in a small, tight semicircle facing the pastor and forced him to face Honor head-on.
She’d worn jewelry, something he’d never seen her do before, but if the sparkly bracelet and earrings thought they could compete with that smile or those eyes—
Knock it off, you big idiot, he groused. This whole keep-your-distance thing will be tough enough without going all weak-kneed, just because she looks …
Bud ducked in and out, the quick, click-whir of his camera a physical demonstration of the emotions snapping away inside Matt’s mind. Unlike the flash-induced halos, dancing in front of his eyes, the feelings would hover in his heart for a long, long time.
Patterson cleared his throat, opened his weathered Bible, and, balancing it on one upturned palm, looked toward the companionway … as Matt recognized the feeling and gave it a name: mourning.
Ashamed, he frowned. Stared at the toes of his Marine-shiny shoes, lest the pastor or Honor or, God forbid, the bride or groom get an eyeful of the self-pity that was no doubt written all over his face. He should feel guilty, and ashamed, because what kind of man compares the grief of losing his wife to the potential loss of a relationship that had never begun! He’d hidden his grief from everyone during those first, awful months after Faith hemorrhaged, giving birth to the twins. The crying jags went from a dozen times in a twenty-four-hour period to once daily, then weekly. In time, he could talk about her, could even look at her picture, without choking up. That kind of grief was normal. Expected. It made sense.
But this? This made no sense.
“Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
He looked across the small space that separated him from her. I would. In an eyeblink, he whispered in his heart, even though I think you’d break my heart.
“I will,” Austin said, taking Mercy’s hand.
Now Patterson faced Mercy and repeated the stiff and formal questions. “What token of your love do you offer?”
It took a moment of fumbling
, but Matt produced the ring as Austin let go of Mercy’s hand and plucked it from between his best man’s thumb and forefinger.
“Place the ring on Mercy’s finger, and repeat after me.”
Austin’s hand shook; Mercy’s trembled even more as the plain gold band slid onto the third finger of her left hand.
“With this ring,” Patterson said, “I thee wed, in the name of the father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.”
Austin’s voice wavered as he echoed the oath, and Matt wondered why he hadn’t seemed as anxious on his own wedding day. Which should he credit for that undeserved calm, he wondered as Mercy repeated the phrase, the oblivious stupidity of youth, or a love that was too unripe to seem scary on any level?
“Bless, O Lord, this ring, that he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in Thy peace, and continue in Thy favor, unto their life’s end, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”
Austin lifted Mercy’s gauzy veil and, slipping his arm around her waist, pulled her close and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. When at last he stood back, he looked at Patterson. “Well, preacher,” he said, beaming, “what’re you waitin’ for? Get on with the ‘I now pronounce you’ part!”
Laughing, the reverend obliged him. “Forasmuch as Austin and Mercy have consented together in holy wedlock and have witnessed the same before God and this company and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring and by joining hands, I pronounce that they are man and wife, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.”
Next, the official first kiss. When Austin came up for air, he tenderly cupped his new bride’s face in his hands. “Are you happy, Merc?” he rasped.
“Only totally and completely.” She kissed his chin. “And finally.”
Is this what a Peeping Tom feels like? Matt wondered as a vague sense of longing swirled in his heart. If he hoped to get a handle on this—whatever it was—he’d better fill every waking hour with activities to sidetrack his Honor-centered thoughts. Maybe find a way to get back into search and rescue that didn’t put him in the position of leaving his boys without any parent at all.
Fortunately, Bud served as the distraction now, stepping up to snap photos of the newlyweds, of Honor handing over Mercy’s bouquet, of the small gathering that encircled the happy couple to offer hugs and congratulations and blessings.
He caught Honor’s eye as she let go of the spray of flowers. Was Honor just another one of the thousands of women who typically cried at weddings … or had she read his mind, again?
22
I don’t get it,” Steve said.
“Oh good grief,” Warner groaned, rolling his eyes. “What now?”
“Why did Mercy’s brother come all the way over here from London for a couple of hours if he was just gonna see her again on the honeymoon?”
“Because he wanted to walk her down the aisle,” Honor explained. “Leo is all the family she has in the world.”
Steve nodded, a thoughtful frown etching his young brow. “She’s got Austin now.”
“And when she has kids, she’ll have them, too.”
“Good point, Warner,” she said, ruffling his hair.
“Hey, Dad,” the boy said, “why don’t we buy the boat?”
Honor looked over at Matt, who’d been quiet in an almostgrumpy sort of way since she got into his car earlier, half expecting him to bite Warner’s head off.
“We’ve been over that ground before, son. There isn’t time to give her the TLC she deserves. But more important than that, I’d have to dip into your college fund to pay for her.”
“College! I’m ten, Dad. You have a whole …” He screwed up his face and did the math in his head. “You have eight years to make more money for that.”
“I’d just as soon stick to the tried and true.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Steve said, “that it’s better to leave that money right where it is, in case of an emergency.” He looked to Matt for confirmation and, getting none, added, “Right, Dad?” Matt had been picking up paper plates and cups, left over from the reception. Without looking up from his work, he said, “Close enough.”
Honor couldn’t think of a thing she’d said to put him in that gruff, arms-distance mood. Couldn’t come up with anything the boys might have done that would explain it, either. It left her with one reason: the wedding reminded of his own and made him miss Faith. Well, either that, or he’d finally figured out that Honor was way too high maintenance for his taste. No surprise, really, because only God in heaven knew what sort of things he’d heard about her. But then, why should that enter into it? As an award-winning journalist, surely he’d checked her out, thoroughly, and whatever he’d dug up hadn’t stopped the sweet smiles and looks of longing he’d sent, every single time they’d been together … until today.
He’d held her so tenderly that she’d drifted right off to sleep on the night Rowdy died, and in the morning, Matt cooked bacon and eggs that she couldn’t eat and cleaned up after himself while she sniffled and blubbered and wondered what to do with the dog’s body. Once she’d finally decided that cremation made the most sense, Matt made all the arrangements, then delivered her precious Rowdy’s remains to the vet and paid the bill, which included a black velvet sack and polished mahogany box that now sat on her mantle. And it had been
Matt who’d found a silver-framed photo of the vest-wearing, grinning Rowdy to stand beside the container.
With a full-time job, two young boys, and a dog of his own to care for, her neediness had probably scared him. He hadn’t known her long enough to figure out that Honor wasn’t a wallflower, so how could he know that what seemed like allconsuming, bottomless grief was only a temporary condition?
“Why so quiet?” he wanted to know.
When she looked up, Honor saw him standing in the middle of Austin’s tiny galley, holding the big black trash bag that he’d filled with empty foil food containers and Styrofoam cups. “Hard to believe a woman so into ‘going green’ would use a product that isn’t recyclable.” There. Proof positive that I’m on the road to recovery!
“Wasn’t much she could say about it. Austin put the Sullivans in charge of the reception.”
Of course. Now that he mentioned it, Honor did recall Mercy saying something along those lines. She glanced at the brass ship’s clock across the room. “Guess they’re in the air by now.”
“Scary,” Warner said. “My friend Timmy went to Ireland for his summer vacation, and he said they flew over the Atlantic Ocean at night, and it was just a bunch of black out the window of the plane.”
Steve added a few paper plates to Matt’s bag. “Yeah. Scary.”
“But once you’re on the other side,” Honor pointed out, “you’re in a whole new place, starting a whole new adventure.” Would he see it as more proof that the healing process had begun? Not if that detached expression on his face was any indicator. Honor sighed. Some days, she thought, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.
“So what kind of dog will you get,” Steve asked, cutting a cautious glance at Matt, “when you’re ready, I mean?”
“It’ll depend, I guess, on a lot of things. Like what kind of dogs are having puppies, and whether or not it’s a nonaggressive breed.”
“Why is that an issue?” Matt asked.
Oh, she thought, so you haven’t lost your voice? “Because,” she began, “this time around, Rerun will be the alpha dog. I don’t want him feeling any pressure to go all macho on me, establishing his turf. He’s the man of the house now, y’know?”
“Why not just get a female? I hear they train quicker, anyway.”
His tone reminded Honor a little of her own, during those first turbulent weeks after they’d met. She saw no reason to go the tit-for-tat route, but it might be a good idea to curb her enthusiasm an iota or two. “It’s certainly within the realm of possibility.” Hono
r shrugged. “It’ll depend on first impressions, I guess.”
“You mean when you meet the puppies,” Steve said. “We never got to pick one, ‘cause Cash was already three when we got him.”
She remembered only too well the story Matt had told her about how he and the twins had saved the Pointer from years of constant abuse. “A rescue dog of a whole different kind.”
“Yeah,” Warner said, ” ‘cause he was rescued instead of being the rescuer.”
“So are we done here yet, Dad?”
“Pretty much. Just need to catch the lights and lock up.”
“Catch ‘em,” Warner said, giggling. “I didn’t know they were running.”
“Ha-ha. I’m raising a comedian.”
Well, Honor thought. It’s good to know he hasn’t forgotten how to smile.
“Where’s Harriet?”
“Right here,” she called from the galley. “Can’t let all this wedding cake go to waste, so I’m wrapping it up for you boys and Honor.” She laughed. “And for me, too, of course.”
Honor could have kissed the woman for providing a legitimate excuse to leave the cabin. “Need any help?”
“Not unless you know how to keep plastic wrap from sticking to frosting.”
“Toothpicks?” She grabbed a few and poked them into the cake as Harriet stood by.
“So what’s up with Mr. Happy today?” the woman asked.
“You noticed it, too?” Honor breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought it was just me, being overly sensitive.”
“Just between you and me,” she whispered, leaning in close, “today, he reminds me of the way he behaved when he and the boys first moved in next door to me.” Harriet put down the roll of plastic wrap and hugged herself. “Oh, they were such gorgeous babies. And really, can you believe how different they are? Why, if a person didn’t know better, they’d never believe they’re even related, let alone twins.”
She reminded Honor of her grandmother, happy and helpful … and easily distracted.
As often as not, Gran’s chocolate chip cookies came out of the oven flat as crepes because she’d forgotten the baking powder, or bitter as bile due to double doses of baking soda. Where Harriet was going with this little side trip was anybody’s guess, but Honor didn’t have the heart to put her back on track. “Yes, they’re adorable.”
