by Regina Duke
“Oh, you talked to Uly today?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m sorry. Between my new clients and your work with Mina to get that new gallery open, we hardly had a moment all day.” He pulled the end flap of the box open and tilted it upside down. A perfectly wrapped package slid out, glittering with silver and gold ribbons.
Ashley’s eyes sparkled. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Go ahead,” said Thor softly. “You open it.”
“Okay. I wonder if Lulamae has had any more dreams about us?” She pulled the curly ribbons free of the paper.
“She didn’t mention any when we called to wish them a merry Christmas. But that was a week ago.”
“Seven whole sleeps,” said Ashley, tearing the paper from the box. “Lots of time for dreams, prophetic or not.”
She lifted the lid off the box and parted the tissue paper.
Her eyes grew big.
“Uh-oh,” said Thor.
Ashley lifted the tiny blue onesie out of the box and held it up.
“Oh, dear.”
Thor pulled her close and murmured in her ear, “Hawaii, next week, while you still fit into your bikini.”
*Thank you for taking the time to read The Wedding Hazard. If you enjoyed this novel, please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite online retailer. Contact the author at www.ReginaDuke.com.*
THE WEDDING VENTURE
(Colorado Billionaires: Book 3)
by
Regina Duke
The Wedding Venture
Copyright © 2013 Linda White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Regina Duke.
Published by Regina Duke.
United States of America
Electronic Edition: September 2013
Digital ISBN 978-0-9858482-3-1
This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.
Many thanks to my wonderful editor Marian Kelly, to Vicky Loebel for proofreading.
Photo used on Cover obtained from Fotolia. Copyright © Kucsma Gabor.
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, October 19
San Francisco
“I can’t believe he did this to me!” Vicky Winn held the cell phone at arm’s length as she blew her nose for the tenth time. Her voice squeaked as the tears won out again. “This competition was going to open the door to a concert career, and he ruined everything!”
Madlyn Lake, her best friend since second grade, tried to comfort her, long distance. “In the zombie apocalypse, he’ll be one of the first to turn. We’ll bash his head with a shovel. No, wait. We’ll use a piano bench. That would be poetic justice.”
Victoria stifled a laugh. “Stop it, Madlyn. Don’t try to cheer me up. I’m way too upset to appreciate your humor.”
“There’s nothing funny about the zombie apocalypse. Darius is scum. But honestly, Vic, I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming.”
Victoria loved her friend, but her ability to see through people so easily could be annoying at times. Or maybe she was only saying that because in retrospect it was easy to see Darius’ shortcomings. Even Victoria had begun having doubts about his sincerity before this final betrayal sealed it. She sniffled into her hanky.
“You’re not surprised?”
“That he dumped you? No, because he’s a jerk and he’s not good enough for you. That he did it the night before your big competition? I admit that was a surprise. What a lowdown scumbag. That makes him subhuman.”
“Unfortunately, according to my teachers, that makes him perfect for the dog-eat-dog world of concert pianists.” She examined her face in the mirror next to the door. “I look terrible.”
“Crying for an hour will do that to a person.” Madlyn’s voice was filled with sympathy.
“I guess.” Victoria didn’t tell her that she’d spent the night weeping and rocking back and forth in the middle of the floor. No point in revealing how much pain Darius had really caused her. Not just the rejection and the destruction of her competition hopes, but the other thing, the looming awful problem she refused to even think about today. If she did, she would explode. Instead she said, “My hair is limp.” She ran her fingers through the softening waves of her blond hair.
“Are you still wearing it in that classical music style?”
Victoria made a face. “There is no classical music hair style.”
“Sure there is,” said Madlyn. “Long and almost straight, nothing to detract from the music or the conductor. You’ve worn it that way since high school.”
Victoria trembled and blinked back fresh tears. “How can I be so predictable? No wonder he dumped me!”
Madlyn’s voice took on an edge. “Don’t even think that! His dumping you was inevitable because he’s a jerk and a loser. You’re way too good for him. Besides, his timing proves that he’s a monster. You’re better off without him.”
Victoria paced from corner to corner of her one-room San Francisco apartment. The hardwood floor that usually gave her so much joy was today nothing more than wood in need of polishing. The city skyline, visible if she pressed her forehead against the window at a forty-five degree angle, gave her no thrill at all. She doubted she could sit that close to the window without thinking of jumping. She was only on the third floor, though. With her luck, she’d survive the fall.
It wasn’t just losing Darius. She knew things had been shaky between them for a while. There were times she’d felt like a placeholder, like Darius was toying with her until he could find someone better. It wasn’t the break-up that caught her off guard. It was his timing and everything he had cost her in addition. Madlyn was right. Darius was a jerk. Only a cad and a truly cruel person could do what he did, when he did.
Her apartment was a fifteen-by-fifteen foot room with a bed, a desk, a chair, and an old dresser. She paid extra for a private bath. She thought of it as an apartment so she wouldn’t slip when talking to her mother and reveal that it was just a room in a boarding house. It was far too small for a piano, but her Yamaha electric keyboard was a perfect fit. She called it her Cheshire piano, because nothing was visible but the keys. More or less. It was her most prized possession. Darius made fun of her for practicing on an electric piano.
She perched on the edge of her piano bench. “I think I hate him,” she said darkly.
“You need to get away.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Get in your car and drive to Colorado, right now.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You have to get away from there for a while. The change of scenery will do you good.”
“I mean, I can’t get in my car.”
“Why not?”
Vicky braced herself, then blurted, “It was repossessed.”
“What? Oh, no. What happened?”
“The usual. I couldn’t make the payments.”
“Never mind. You’re coming.”
“Madz, if I can’t afford a car payment, I can’t afford a trip. I was counting on coming in at least second in that competition. Now I’ll be lucky to make my rent. Damn that Darius, that low-down, scuzzball of an excuse for a man.” She picked up a sweetheart pillow that Darius had given her for her birthday and threw it as hard as she could against the wall.
“Are you at the stage where you want to destroy everything he ever gave you?”
“Yes!”
“Good. You start tossing things into a trash bag. Do you have a hammer?”
“No. Should I?”
“Every girl should have a hammer,” Madlyn said. “Do you have a kitchen mallet?”
“Yes, of course. Every girl should be able to flatten a chicken breast at a moment’s notice.”
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“You haven’t lost the gift of sarcasm. That’s a good sign. Sarcasm is the first thing to go when a woman’s heart is irreparably broken. There’s hope for you, girl. Go get your kitchen mallet and use it to smash anything breakable he gave you. But do yourself a favor and put it in a trash bag first. Otherwise you’ll have smithereens all over the floor.”
“Good plan.” Victoria sniffled as she gathered mementos from her time with Darius and dropped them unceremoniously into a black plastic bag. “Almost ready to demolish all remnants of his despicable presence.”
“Excellent. Keep gathering. I’m on-line.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “I’m falling apart and you’re doing email?”
“No, of course not, silly girl. I’m getting you out of San Francisco for a while. I’m booking you a flight to Colorado. Now go smash his cheap gifts to pieces.”
Victoria frowned at the phone. “How did you know they were cheap?”
“Duh! He was using you. Setting you up. He wouldn’t want to buy you anything nice. Now let me hear the sounds of destruction!”
Victoria moved her hot plate off the cutting board, set the trash bag with its plastic Christmas ornament, faux Hummel, and ugly cuckoo clock on top of it, and began smashing them with the kitchen mallet.
“Hit it harder!” Madlyn egged her on. “Give it another wallop!”
Victoria smashed and hammered away until the bag was flat. And that was how she felt when she finished. Flat, deflated, and crushed. She sagged onto the piano bench. “Done. Now what?”
“Go pack your bags and then download your boarding pass. I’ll email the info.”
“I don’t have a printer.”
“Never mind. Pick it up at check in.”
“I don’t know, Madlyn. Mother would call this running away.”
“Well, I call it a chance to heal and plan your revenge. Speaking of your mother, have you talked to her about all this?”
“Are you serious?”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“I’d be happy to talk to your mother.”
“She and dad are in Europe. I’m all alone in this big old house, so you’ll have a place to stay for as long as you want. I’ll pick you up at the airport. I couldn’t get you a flight out tomorrow, so you’ll have another day to pack and think up dastardly deeds of revenge. Wednesday afternoon, you’ll be in Colorado. This is the perfect time for you to come to Eagle’s Toe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a surprise. You’ll see when you get here. I’ll call and check on you tomorrow, to make sure you don’t do anything crazy without running it by me first. Now start packing.”
CHAPTER TWO
San Rafael
“Aunt Grace, I’m so sorry. Coach was a great man.” Jason Darby’s voice broke on the last word, but the rest of the graveside group was wrapped up in their own grief, so no one heard him but his aunt.
Grace Bidwell only came up to his chest as she put her arms around him and hugged him tight. “I know he was like a father to you. Don’t worry about me, dear one.” She ended the hug and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s kind of a relief. He was suffering so much these last months.”
“I should have been here.” Jason gazed into the distance, as if wishing for his uncle would make the man appear on the horizon. The overcast day seemed appropriate for a funeral. A light mist was beginning to fall. Typical Bay Area fall day.
“He didn’t want you to put your life on hold for him. You getting your pilot’s license made him so happy. He left this for you.” She dug into her large black shoulder bag and retrieved a manila envelope. “You’ll understand when you open it. You’re coming to the house, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
She looked relieved. “Thank goodness.” She looked lost. “I suppose I’d better feed these people so we can call it a day.”
“I’ll be there, Aunt Grace. I’ll stay until everyone is gone. And I’ll clean up for you, too.”
Grace hugged him again. “You’ve been our strength for so many years. Your grandmother doesn’t know what she’s been missing.”
Jason’s cell phone vibrated. Irritated by the intrusion, he pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.
“It’s Dolores?” Grace looked surprised. “How could she know? I never even told her Jerry was ill.”
“I’ll call her later.”
“Before you do, be sure you open that envelope. Jerry wanted to leave you some final advice.” She sighed. “Oh, dear. I suppose it’s time to head back to the house.”
The Bidwell home was nestled against a San Rafael hill. Like all the homes in the neighborhood, it was two stories above and a one-car garage underneath, dug into the slope. Concrete steps rose from the street to the house, a metal handrail on one side. The slope was covered with grass, and the border next to the house was still wild with flowers. The mist had turned to rain, and all the greenery shone brilliantly through the gloom. Jason made sure his aunt was safely inside and spent the next couple of hours greeting guests and refilling serving dishes. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept track of Grace. She was strong, but she was the same age as Jerry, and it was a hell of a shock to lose a spouse, no matter how long you’d been bracing for it.
The last guest waved goodbye and he made sure Grace was in an armchair with her feet up before he tucked the manila envelope under his arm and slipped away through the kitchen down the narrow stairs to the garage where Coach’s dream car was stored.
Jason remembered the day he’d driven up in the Jaguar. Jerry was still walking then. He occasionally needed a cane, but most of the time, he was able to get around without it. His eyes had shone as Jason turned into the narrow little driveway.
“It’s a perfect fit, isn’t it, Coach?” Jason could barely contain himself. He wanted the moment to be perfect.
“My, my, my, boy, where did you get that car?” The Coach moved haltingly forward, down the cement steps, clinging to the metal handrail, inexorably drawn to the Jag.
Jason schooled his face to keep from grinning. “It was just sitting there on the showroom floor. I had to buy it. British racing green. Convertible. Isn’t that the way you described your dream car to me all these years?”
Coach nodded somberly. “Yes, indeed. And there it is. I’m so happy for you, Jason. Your grandmother’s money is finally buying you some joy.”
Grandmother Dolores had never skimped on his allowance, but his joy hadn’t come from the money.
“Get in.”
“Me? No, I couldn’t.” But Coach’s eyes glistened with excitement.
Jason hopped over the side and opened the door. “Come on, Coach. Get in.” Behind the Coach’s back, he beckoned to his Aunt Gracie and winked at her.
Grace’s face lit up with the realization of what Jason was about to do. She skittered down the walk and came down the cement stairs to the driveway to watch her husband climb into the car of his dreams.
A blue envelope was taped to the steering wheel.
“What’s this?” asked Jerry.
“Open it,” said Jason.
Jerry cast a questioning glance at Jason, then opened the envelope and read the card. A moment later, his chin rested on his chest and his shoulders shook.
“Uncle Jerry? You okay?”
Jerry lifted his face to say thank you, but words were impossible. Tears shone on his cheeks. When he could speak, he growled, “You shouldn’t be spending your money on me.”
“Who better to spend it on than you and Aunt Grace? Besides, it’s not my money. It’s my grandmother’s. She can yank it away anytime.”
“No.” Jerry’s voice was rough with feeling. He reached out and grasped Jason’s hand. “No, that money is yours. It’s your birthright. Don’t ever turn your back on it, you hear? Think of all the good you can do with those billions!”
Now, standing in the nar
row garage, running his fingers over his uncle’s Jaguar, those were the words that stuck with him. Think of all the good you can do with those billions. Whenever he had a hard day at school, whenever he was sad and missing his parents, whenever life said no to him, his uncle would remind him that one day his situation would be very different. One day he would make the decisions. He would come into his birthright and think of all the good you can do with those billions.
During the last few years, Jason’s thoughts had turned to MS research. He could fund a lab to work on a cure. Or buy a drug company. Or set up a foundation to help families of patients with MS. There were a dozen things he’d be able to do, a hundred ways he could help.
But it was too late for Jerry. The Coach had seemed fine when Jason visited in August. He’d been wheelchair bound for two years, but overall he seemed to be doing well. When Grace called the flight school a week ago to tell him to come quick, that Jerry had been hospitalized with secondary complications, he was stunned. He dropped everything, skipped the small ceremony for graduating pilots, and hightailed it back to San Rafael. He was just in time for a final visit before Jerry slipped away.
Grace had aged ten years in the last week. Her hair, once dark and lustrous, was now white but still curly. Her features were unaccustomed to sadness. Even through tough times, she would find a smile. But there were no smiles in her this week.
How beautiful her smiling face had looked to him that day fifteen years ago when she and Coach Jerry had come to the Los Santos School for Boys for the first time.
“Aunt Gracie! I thought you’d never come. Can I go home with you?”
Grace and Jerry had exchanged sad looks. “I’m sorry, dear, but your grandmother wants you to live here at the school. You’ll get the best education imaginable here. She did say we could visit you, and you can even spend some weekends with us.”
“But you live in L.A.” At ten, he was unable to conceal his disappointment.
Coach Jerry chucked him gently on the arm. “Not anymore. We moved up here. We live just a couple of miles away.”
“Really? You did that for me? You’re the best aunt and uncle ever.” He threw his arms around Jerry. It was years before he learned of the other reason they’d moved. The clinic treating Coach’s multiple sclerosis was in the same town as Jason’s boarding school. But that first day, all he knew was that they were there for him.
