ARKANSAS WEDDINGS: THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “It’s not your fault. I should have told Jill the truth. But how do you tell a woman you care about that you’re a failure?”

  He cared about Jill. Not Shell. “You’re a comptroller. I wouldn’t say you’re a failure.”

  “In my personal life, I am. I was too cowardly to marry the love of my life. After I left, Katie learned she was pregnant and had our son. Alone.” Collin huffed out a big sigh. “Then she got sick and wrote me a desperate letter, but my new girlfriend hid it for three years. It’s a long story, but in the meantime, Katie died and her brother, Hayden, had to step in and raise the son I didn’t know I had.”

  Collin had followed in their mother’s footsteps and abandoned his child. Was it a family tradition? At least he hadn’t knowingly abandoned Brady. “That’s pretty deep.”

  “Try living it.” Collin ran a hand through his hair.

  “We’ve all done things we’re not particularly proud of, but I’ve seen you with Brady.” An itch drew Ryler’s attention to his arm. A mosquito. He smacked it. “He’s crazy about you.”

  “I’ve only been in his life about a year and he still lives with Laken and Hayden during the week.”

  Why? Not up to the challenge of raising a special needs child? Ryler shrugged. “You’re repairing things with him. That’s honorable. And if Jill’s not interested in kids, that’s her problem.”

  “She loves kids, but I wasn’t honest with her. She’s big on honesty, and at the moment, she’s not taking my calls.”

  “If you really care about her, go to her place.” Another mosquito buzzed his ear and he swatted it away. “Don’t leave until she lets you explain. The least she can do is hear you out.”

  “You’re right.” Collin stood. “A shrink would charge for that kind of sound advice.”

  “It’s on the house.”

  “What’s up with you and Shell? Are y’all seeing each other?”

  “We just work together. She didn’t have a date and I didn’t either, so we came together.”

  “That’s all there is to it?”

  Unfortunately. Ryler nodded.

  “In case things change, I’m sorry for what I said about her. She seems different than she used to.”

  “Trust me. Nothing’s going to change.” No matter how badly he wanted it to. With a wave, he jogged back across the street.

  The tensed muscles in his shoulders relaxed. At least Collin wasn’t interested in Shell.

  As the workers carefully popped the old glass out of an upstairs window, Shell held her breath. Showers of glass rained down from the scaffolding despite their caution, and thankfully none of the men stood underneath.

  “You should stay farther back until they finish.” Ryler spoke from directly behind her.

  Her breath caught. She didn’t turn to face him. Three weeks of working with him and his nearness still snatched her breath away. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I was afraid some of the glass might hit you and tried to rescue you, but I didn’t make it.”

  “I don’t need rescuing.”

  “Hello?” a cheery voice called.

  Shell groaned. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Sylvie Kroft, Laken’s mother, the biggest busybody on the planet.

  With a sigh, Shell turned around. Sylvie still wore her hair too red and her lipstick too bright. Gems graced almost every finger. Real, no doubt. Less made up, she might have been an attractive woman.

  “Sylvie?” Shell forced her lips into some semblance of a genuine smile. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  Sylvie’s mouth shaped into an O. “Why, Shell Evans, as I live and breathe. You’re all grown up and pretty as a picture.”

  Shell frowned. A compliment? What was Sylvie up to?

  “I just took some of Grace’s leftovers to the homeless shelter and Meals on Wheels, but Pastor Grayson wanted me to bring these sandwiches over.”

  Sylvie and good deeds. It didn’t compute.

  Her too-red eyebrows drew together. “You’re the young man who worked on my lawn a few months back.”

  Ryler’s jaw clenched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I heard something about this place being turned into a bed-and-breakfast.” Sylvie handed a tray to Ryler. “Such a grand old place. I’d have liked to have seen it in its day.”

  Be nice to a potential customer. Shell shrugged. “Maybe you will. The owner is restoring it according to original photos.”

  “I’d love to get a tour sometime.”

  What game was Sylvie playing? She cleared her throat. “Maybe when more work is done. Right now, it’s rather an obstacle course.”

  Although, it might be fun to invite Sylvie to the balcony and encourage her to lean against the railing.

  “Mr. Grant will do a marvelous job here.” Sylvie clasped her hands together. “I can’t wait to see this place in all its former glory.”

  “Well, we appreciate the sandwiches. I’ll go grab something to drink and tell the crew.” Shell rushed toward her apartment.

  “I best be getting on my way,” Sylvie called. “Bye, dear.”

  Shell managed a stiff wave. Dear? Since when had Sylvie Kroft called Shell Evans anything besides trash?

  Ryler trudged to his bedroom and fished the large, black velvet box from the third drawer. Flipping it open, he stared at the pearl necklace then dumped its contents on the bed. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the letter for the hundredth time.

  Dearest Marty,

  Your father and I never wanted to give you up. Please use the money to find us.

  The pearls have been passed down through six generations. Only part with them if you must.

  The letter went on, but he’d never been able to read any further. Uninterested in her excuses, his gaze scanned to the end.

  Martin and Sylvie Kroft

  Searcy, AR

  He traced his fingers over the long, slanted, flowery signature. Just like she’d signed his check for the yard work he’d done a few months ago.

  His hands fisted, half-wanting to wad the note and rip it to shreds. Instead, he refolded it, careful to follow her original creases, then he tucked it back in the lid of the box, with the trust fund papers in the name of Martin Rothwell Kroft Jr.

  Martin Kroft. Marty Kroft.

  He’d never laid eyes on Martin Kroft Sr. But the Krofts’ young, flirty neighbor had spilled everything she knew. Martin Kroft—his father—was a hermit. And an alcoholic.

  Trust fund? How much? It didn’t matter. Money definitely didn’t equal happiness. His adoptive parents may have struggled financially, but they’d been wealthy in love and happiness. Until his graduation. Until they’d told him he was adopted. The night he’d been so angry, he’d left and never gone back.

  Until three days later, after they died in a house fire.

  Scooping up the necklace, he rolled the perfect, polished pearls between his callused thumb and forefinger. Were they real? A jeweler would know. He hooked both hands through the strand and pulled in opposite directions. Break the string and watch them fall. Show Sylvie Kroft what he thought of her heirloom. But, if they were real, it would be a shame to destroy them.

  Releasing the tension on the necklace, he replaced it in the box and closed the lid, with a spring-loaded final snap.

  Half a dozen people milled around as Ryler surveyed yard sale items under the huge oak tree beside the church.

  He stopped in front of a large painting. A waterfall surrounded by rocks and greenery. So real, he could almost hear the water splashing.

  It could almost quell the storm brewing in his soul after yesterday’s close encounter with Sylvie Kroft. He sucked in a deep breath and let it seep out slowly. Don’t think about her.

  An elderly man tried to dicker with one of the workers.

  “All proceeds go to the Arkansas Children’s Homes,” Adrea called.

  Exactly why he’d come, since he’d spent the first weeks of his life there. But he’d also needed
to clear his head. And escape Shell. Just get through the morning, then he’d have a nice long break since she planned to go home for the weekend again.

  Even back when they were seeing each other, she’d always run off to Conway every weekend. What kept dragging her there? A man? No, surely she hadn’t cheated on him. Maybe her family lived there. People who cared? People she cared about?

  Scanning the glassware, video cassettes, and books, he tried to rid his thoughts of her. Lamps, trinkets, and stuffed animals lined numerous tables with clothing racks sagging beneath their loads.

  Why did he care? He couldn’t give her the opportunity to use her feminine allure to tie him in knots and then cut him loose again.

  Seeking peace, he strolled back to the soothing painting.

  “That’s just down the road.” The familiar voice came from his left.

  He looked up then did a double take.

  Sylvie Kroft stood beside him. Her green eyes, so like his own, bore into Ryler. “The Romance Waterfalls in the painting. They’re real and quite lovely. You should go sometime.”

  “Maybe I will.” His throat muscles tightened. Tell her soon or flee?

  “Even though it’s a print, it’s a ridiculously good buy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His jaw clenched. Hug her or spit in her face?

  “The flower beds you planted are just starting to bloom. You did an outstanding job.”

  A compliment? Before, she’d only barked orders and complained. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “What are you doing in Rose Bud?”

  “I like small towns.”

  “Mother, are you done?” Laken’s voice came from behind him.

  He turned to face her.

  Laken smiled. “Thinking of buying it?”

  “Just admiring.”

  “My friend got married there a few years back, so her father painted the original and made copies for all her wedding attendants. This one was mine.”

  “Why is it here?”

  Laken rolled her eyes. “They’re getting a divorce. She didn’t want the original anymore, but she couldn’t just throw it away since her father painted it. So, she gave it to me and I donated my print to the church.”

  “Honestly, young people these days.” Sylvie sighed. “The slightest difficulty or argument and they’re off to see the divorce lawyer.”

  “All too true.” Laken checked her watch. “We need to check on Father. Nice to see you again, Ryler.”

  Was something wrong with their father?

  “You two know each other?” Sylvie wagged a finger between him and Laken.

  “I met your daughter at the post office.”

  “Little wonder. She practically lives there.”

  “Are you coming to the picnic next Saturday?” Laken tucked her hand in Sylvie’s elbow.

  “I’ve been invited.” But he’d stick out like a sore green thumb.

  “Then you should come. Meet some more people and the food is always great.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Hope to see you there.” Laken waved and the two women headed to Sylvie’s white Lincoln.

  Was it his imagination or had Sylvie’s attitude come down a peg or two since he’d worked for her? Though she had enough money to set up trust funds, she didn’t live in a mansion. Yet she’d strutted around the two-story as if it were a grand palace.

  Laken didn’t put on any airs. Since she once lived across the street from his rental house, obviously status wasn’t important to her. Was there a trust fund for her, too? If so, would it change her? If Ryler let them know who he was, would the money change him? Did he even want it? Did he want them?

  “I saw it first.” Shell’s voice came from his right.

  He turned to face her, and his chest did that weird quivery thing it always did when she was near. Her white jeans showed all her curves and they were topped with the plunging neckline of a yellow blouse. Her blond hair was pulled high in a neck-baring ponytail, revealing huge silver, hoop earrings. Why didn’t she realize she’d be just as eye-catching in an enormous, shapeless housedress like Aunt Ginny wore?

  “Saw what first?”

  “I’ll take it.” She pointed at the painting.

  “I believe I saw it first,” Ryler deadpanned. “But you’re in luck. I was just looking.”

  “Good. It would be perfect above the bed in my apartment. I mean, in the honeymoon suite. Oh, but I’m not sure I could leave it there. I may buy it for myself.”

  A yellow-and-black-striped butterfly flitted about the white flowered bush beside the church, giving him something to look at other than her. “I hear it’s a real place over in Romance.”

  “I better go pay for it before somebody else snatches it up.”

  “I’ll take it to the apartment for you.”

  “Wonderful. Thanks.” She pulled a key off her chain. “I have a spare. Stick it and the painting inside the front door for now. I’m on my way out of town.”

  “Sure.” He loaded the painting in his truck. Tempted to stay until she left, just to be near her, he started the engine instead. Lovesick sap.

  Away from Shell’s appeal, Ryler drove across the street, forcing himself not to glance back at her in the rearview mirror. Gravel crunched under his tires as he traversed the long driveway, circled around behind the big house, and parked between it and the apartment.

  Ryler unlocked her door and slid the painting inside. As unwieldy as it was, she’d never be able to hang it herself. He jogged to his truck and dug out the necessary tools.

  Back inside, he hesitated before entering her bedroom. Was he invading her privacy? No, he was doing a nice thing for her.

  Yet during their three-month relationship, she’d spent countless nights with him, but never invited him to her place. What did she have to hide?

  Whatever it was, it was none of his business now.

  He spread a clean drop cloth over her headboard and fancy pillows. Propping the painting on the headboard, he checked for studs, then moved to the foot of the bed and eyeballed it. Centered perfectly and on studs, too. That didn’t happen very often.

  After slipping off his work boots, he stepped up on the bed. Holding the painting with his knee, he drove a screw into the wall. The gun jerked as the screw bit into the stud. He slid the large landscape into place.

  Again, he stood at the foot of her bed to make sure it was still centered. Perfect. Carefully, he folded the drop cloth over without spilling any of the dust, took it outside, and shook it. Back inside one final time, he smoothed her flowery bedspread and made sure the numerous pillows were still in place.

  The frame on her nightstand caught his attention. A toddler dressed in blue. Who could he be? Obviously, someone very important to Shell. Ryler’s chest tightened. Did she have a new man in her life? A new man with a child looking for a mother?

  Sunday evening, Shell let herself in the apartment. Already, she missed him. Every time she went home for the weekend, Chance had grown, learned new complicated words, and discovered new foods. And she was missing all of it. Who was she kidding? Even at home, she missed all his firsts.

  She rolled her suitcase to the bedroom, dumped the dirty clothes out by the hamper, and sorted the laundry into three piles. A good shove sent the suitcase under the bed, and she started out to get the laundry basket.

  The waterfall painting hung over her bed. She stopped in midstride. Just where she’d wanted it. Only Ryler could have hung it there.

  Her gaze flew to the picture on her nightstand. Her stomach jolted.

  Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

  And even if he had, Chance could be anyone to her. A nephew. A friend’s child. Her heart.

  Gently, she picked up the picture, kissed her fingertips, and pressed them to his cute toddler grin. Her vision blurred. Only an hour ago, she’d held him and experienced his drooling kiss. How could she miss him already?

  Shell waited for Ryler to notice her. But he didn’t.

  On his han
ds and knees, he placed large boulders around the fountain and scattered about among the greenery, rosebushes, and blooms. Though each rock was placed just so, it looked natural when he finished.

  “Ahem.”

  He sat back on his heels and turned to face her.

  “Thanks for hanging the painting for me. It’s exactly where I wanted it.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t get mad at me for going inside when you weren’t home.”

  “No, I appreciate it.”

  “Originally, I slid it inside the door, but then I thought about how bulky it was and I just didn’t see how you’d ever be able to hang it by yourself.” He pushed a stray wave out of his face. “How was home?”

  “Fine.” Her voice quivered. “I really didn’t want to come back here.”

  He looked down, almost as if her admission hurt him.

  No, she was imagining things.

  His eyes squinted and his face contorted with a sneeze, then another, and another.

  “Bless you. You forgot your allergy pill again?”

  “No, it just hasn’t kicked in yet.” He fished a tissue from his pocket and swiped at his reddened nose.

  Cute Rudolph impression.

  “Did you plan on going to the church picnic Saturday?”

  “On Saturdays I go home.”

  Ryler winced. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

  “What?” Her teeth clenched.

  “The foreman said the heat-and-air guy called to say he can come Saturday to do the estimate, or it’ll be two months before he’s free again.”

  “Two months?” She stomped her foot. “We can’t wait two months. We need to get the work done way before then.” Her tone registered high and panicky.

  “I told the foreman I thought you’d want the guy to come Saturday, so he arranged it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “So much for home.”

  “I suggested you’d probably prefer him to come as early as possible. He said it would only take a few hours and the foreman arranged for him to be here at ten, so maybe you can still go.”

  Another sweet gesture. Why? His green eyes shimmered in the sunlight. And why did he have to look so good?