“If you’re sure about not going to visitation, I’ll call my hairdresser and see if she can get us in this evening.”
“Now?”
“I tip well enough, so she usually drops everything to get me in. I’ll buy. Operation makeover, change our image, here we come.” Sylvie offered her hand.
With a smile, Shell shook it, just as the waitress brought their food.
Mid-spring called for no pantyhose. Some man who’d never had to wriggle into them had surely invented the things.
As Shell pulled the dress up over her shoulders, a knock sounded at her front door. “Just a minute.”
She tugged the dress in place and hurried to the door, zipping as she went. “Who is it?”
“Ryler.”
Smoothing her hands over her hair, she slipped peep-toe heels on, clasped her fake pearl necklace, and opened the door.
“Hey.” His eyes widened. “You look…great.”
“Thanks.” She took in his appearance. Tan Dockers and a seafoam green polo. His eyes blended with the shirt. “You’re mighty spiffy yourself. Going somewhere?”
“To the funeral. That is—if you need me to.”
Shell swallowed to dislodge the knot in her throat.
“I know we didn’t say anything else about it. But I thought I’d come prepared. No pressure.” Ryler held his hands up, palms toward her. “I stashed work clothes in the truck.”
Not walking in alone would be nice. “I’d appreciate it if you’d go with me. A lot.”
“Walk or drive? The parking lot’s filling up, but those shoes look painful. Nice, but painful.” He grinned.
“They’re really not bad.” She peered around him but couldn’t see past the big house. “Let’s walk. I don’t plan on going to the cemetery.” There was only so much she could take.
He offered his arm. “Did you do something different with your hair?”
She tucked her fingers in his elbow and they headed down the gravel drive. “It was weird. I went to Searcy last night to buy this dress and I ran into Sylvie Kroft.”
Ryler cleared his throat. “I did some work for her once.”
“I knew her when I was a kid. She was the meanest, most hateful woman. She delighted in unearthing skeletons from people’s pasts or families and telling everyone all about it. I couldn’t stand her.” A piece of gravel turned under her heel and she clutched Ryler’s rock-hard bicep.
“But last night, she was like a different person. She apologized for hurting me in the past and told me her life story with a few secrets of her own.”
“What kind of secrets?”
“A lady doesn’t tell another lady’s secrets, now does she?” She lifted an eyebrow. But she wasn’t a lady, no matter how conservatively she dressed. “She’s changed and is really quite nice. We shared a very enjoyable dinner and then went and got a makeover. We both decided we needed a new image.”
“Sounds like an eventful evening.” He covered her hand with his. “You really look great—I mean—you did before, too, but now your hair’s more…”
“Natural? The hairdresser put darker streaks in so it would look highlighted instead of bleached.” Her words probably sounded like Greek to him, but his compliments made her nervous. His biceps made her nervous. His presence made her nervous.
“Whatever. It looks real…nice.”
As they neared the highway, pleasant small talk could no longer distract her from their destination. She sucked in a shuddery breath. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
“Nobody said you had to. We can turn around and march right back to your apartment.”
“I need to do it.”
“The lady’s wish is my command.”
Lady. That word again. As if they were both playing a game.
They stopped at the highway and checked for traffic then strode across.
“Oh, Shell, there you are.” A newly soft-blond Sylvie stepped from her car.
Ryler stiffened.
“I brought something for you.” Sylvie handed her a large velvet box. “I thought these would set off your dress, so I decided to let you borrow them for today. I see you thought the same thing.”
“You really shouldn’t have.” Shell flipped the lid open to find a strand of pearls. For a moment, she couldn’t find her tongue. Her hand went to the costume strand she wore. “Are they real?”
“They’re cultured, which isn’t the ultra-pricey, rare kind, but yes, they’re real. Our family has a tradition. My grandmother and mother each had pearls and they passed them down to me. These are mine. They’ll go to my youngest, Laken, someday. My mother’s necklace will go to Collin.” Sylvie’s chin trembled. “My grandmother’s strand went to our oldest son.”
Ryler cleared his throat. “We better get inside, ladies. Or we won’t be able to find a seat.”
“Here, Ryler. You do the honors.” Sylvie gently scooped the pearls from the box and handed them to him.
With shaky hands, he accepted.
Why was he nervous? Was it the value of the pearls? Or did Sylvie rattle him?
“I really couldn’t borrow your family heirloom.” Shell shook her head.
“Yes, you can. I insist. Now, hold your hair out of the way, dear.”
Shell did as instructed, removed her necklace, and turned her back toward Ryler.
His breath fanned the back of her neck and she shivered. Eternity passed as he fumbled with the catch. Finally, it fastened into place.
“Perfect.” Sylvie clasped her hands together. “Now, take a deep breath. My grandmother used to say, ‘Nothing’s as bad as you think it’ll be except for funerals, but they don’t last long.’ ”
Ryler’s jaw clenched. “Listen, Shell, with Mrs. Kroft here, you’ve got all the support you need. I’ll just go.”
“No.” She grabbed his arm.
“I’ll leave y’all alone.” Sylvie stashed the necklace box in her car and went inside.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming with me.” Tears stung Shell’s eyes. “I’d really like you to stay.”
He tucked her fingers in his elbow.
Side by side, they entered the church. Shell hadn’t been in one since she was nine.
Burgundy carpet with matching padded pews. A huge harp sat on one side of the stage with a piano on the other. Prisms of light bounced off the stained glass windows.
The coffin sat in front of the pulpit with part of the lid open. Shell averted her eyes from the waxy figure inside. Her stomach clenched as an usher tried to direct them to the front.
“Please, I’d rather sit toward the back.”
Ryler nodded and ignored the usher.
Three pews from the back. Far enough that she couldn’t see inside the coffin. Maybe she could do this.
“I’ve never been to a funeral,” she whispered.
“Never?” His eyebrow lifted. “I’ve only been to one.”
“Whose was it?”
He swallowed. “My parents’.”
“Both of them? How old were you?”
“Eighteen. House fire.”
“I’m so sorry.” She threaded her fingers into his and squeezed his hand.
“Me, too.”
Haunting organ music played as the church filled to capacity. Wade had not been this popular. What was the deal?
Two men in dark suits strode to the front of the church. One moved the flowers from the casket, while the other tucked in satin fabric and shut the lid.
Shell flinched.
Wade was in the box—with the lid closed.
Ryler squeezed her hand.
With solemn dignity, Grayson escorted Helen, her sister June, and Adrea to the front pew. Mark and Grace joined them there as Helen dabbed her eyes. Once everyone was seated, Grayson climbed the few steps to the stage and sat in one of the large wooden chairs facing the congregation.
Soon the music faded away and Grayson stood. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming today. What a great sho
w of love and support for Helen. She’ll need each and every one of you over the next several months. Let us pray.”
Shell tuned out. So, these people weren’t here for Wade, but for his mother.
“Amen.” Grayson read the obituary, insignificant details of Wade’s life, and his family, which wasn’t much to speak of. Most had preceded him in death. “The thing about death is we never know when it’s coming. When Wade woke up Saturday morning, he didn’t know it would be the last time he awoke in this life.”
He didn’t know anything. The last time Shell had seen him, he’d been in a hospital bed, curled to one side, with drool running down one side of his mouth.
“Thankfully, Wade had accepted salvation years ago and shortly before his injury, he rededicated his life to Christ. And we know that God is just.”
What? When did that happen? In between bars? In between women? In between rehab stints? While he’d been engaged to Adrea and sleeping with Shell? Why was Grayson sugarcoating Wade’s life? How could he stand over the coffin of the man who’d killed his wife and act like Wade was a saint?
“I promised Helen I’d share a simple plan of salvation. If anyone here doesn’t know Jesus as their personal Savior, make that decision today and leave here with the assurance of heaven.”
Shell’s heart pounded in her ears. Pressure welled in her chest. She’d felt this way before in church. When she was a kid. She concentrated on the burgundy fabric lining the back of the pew in front of her.
“Pray this prayer with me: Dear Jesus, I know I’m a sinner. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. Please forgive me. I’m making a new start. I trust You completely and accept You as my Lord and Savior, Jesus. Amen.
“Folks, with that simple prayer, you can make a difference in where you spend eternity. Heaven or hell? You must make a choice. If you don’t make a decision, then the decision is already made for you. Where will you spend eternity?”
The words echoed in Shell’s ears. As the service ended, she could hardly breathe. The pianist started playing and the ushers reopened the casket then stepped toward the aisle. The people in the pew just behind Helen stood, then one by one, they walked to the casket.
Shell jabbed Ryler in the ribs. “What are they doing?”
“It’s customary.”
A few people paused at the casket, while others barely glanced.
“I can’t,” she whispered then jumped up and ran to the lobby. Standing room only, she wove her way through the crowd and out the doors.
Fresh air filled her lungs and her breathing eased. As fast as her heels would carry her, she scurried across the road and straight to her apartment.
A few of the workers called out greetings, but she didn’t respond.
Inside, she sank into the couch, covering her face with her hands.
“Where will you spend eternity?”
Could Wade really go to heaven after all the things he’d done? After all the people he’d hurt? After killing Sara Sterling? After attempting to kill himself?
Ryler’s fist hovered at the frame of Shell’s door. Haven’t we played this scene before? For the second time, she’d fled from the church and ran blindly home. Both times, he’d followed. Why?
He knocked. “It’s Ryler. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“That’s because I’m not.” She opened the door.
Tears shimmering on her cheeks tore at his insides. “You loved him?”
“I didn’t know how to love then.” Hugging herself, she paced the small living room. “I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
“I heard it was pneumonia.”
She shivered. “But he’d been dying for two years.”
“Something about an attempted suicide.”
She whirled to face him. “How did you know that?”
“I heard somebody say something at the gas station the other day.”
“I bet they all blamed it on me.”
Ryler frowned. “How could you have had anything to do with it?”
Her chin dropped to her chest. Her shoulders shook and a sob escaped.
Why did she always have to cry around him? It was like she knew he couldn’t take it.
He pulled her into his arms, her sobs shaking them both. As he stroked her hair, she soaked his shoulder. The sobs eased and she trembled against him.
So soft, so beautiful, and her perfume could drive a man insane. He buried his face in her hair, grazing his lips across her ear.
She pulled away enough to gaze up at him, her full lips begging.
As if drawn by an irresistible magnetic pull, he lowered his mouth toward hers.
She stood on tiptoe.
Chapter 5
Heat swirled through Ryler’s veins as their lips met. As if the last six months apart had never happened. Striving for control, he traced kisses over her jaw.
“Let’s move this party to my bedroom,” Shell whispered, deep and throaty.
He pulled away to look into her eyes. The tears were gone, but the damage to her makeup remained. Inside and out. Her lips trembled with vulnerability.
He took a step backward. “You’re upset.”
“So?” She shrugged. “Make me feel better.”
“I’ve done a lot of horrible things in my life, but I’ve never taken advantage of a woman.”
She stepped close to him. “It’s not taking advantage when I’m willing. Quite willing.” Her smile promised pleasure.
Closing his eyes, he took another step backward. “You’re not thinking straight and I’m leaving. Now.”
“Jerk. You’re just like all the rest.”
He winced. “I used to be. If I still was, I’d be in your bed by now. Then I’d sneak out after you fell asleep.” But he was trying to be a better man. The kind of man his parents raised him to be. “I want to stay. Believe me, with everything in me, I want to stay.”
“So, stay.”
“I can’t. You’re in no shape to know what you want. Or don’t want.” He took another step toward the door. “But you shouldn’t be alone. Pull yourself together and meet me in the office. We’ll talk.”
“Talk?” She propped a hand on her hip.
Why, oh why, did nobility have to hit him now? He’d never done a noble thing in his adult life. She’d offered herself and he was leaving. Offering to talk instead.
But he didn’t want to be just another regret on her long list. And he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d obviously been hurt enough.
“I’ll be in the office. Come on up when you’re ready.” He winked and hurried out the door.
Regret tugged at him. Oh, how badly he wanted to turn around and give in to her.
But for the first time in years, he knew he’d done the right thing. His parents would be proud. Knowing that put a warm bubble in his chest. Still. Maybe a cold shower…
Shell pressed her fist against quivery lips. Why had Ryler left? He’d never turned her down. No man ever had.
Rejection weighed heavily on her shoulders. Yet, it was weird. He hadn’t wanted to leave. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her desirable. It was almost like he’d left because he—cared.
The last thing she wanted was to talk, but she couldn’t let him know his rejection bothered her. She had to pull herself together fast.
She doused her face with cold water and changed into her jeans. Her white plunging V-neck transformed into decent with the new aqua camisole underneath. Though she managed to get rid of the tear streaks with fresh foundation and blush, the red-rimmed puffiness around her eyes refused to go away.
But Ryler already knew she’d been crying and the crew knew she’d been to a funeral, so she had a good excuse.
She slid her feet into white sandals, closed the door behind her, and hurried to the big house. Power tools hummed on the other side now. Unseen, she entered through the back door, darted to the front entry, and climbed the stairs.
“There
you are.” Ryler swayed slowly on the porch swing and patted the seat beside him. With one finger, he drew an imaginary line down the center. “No crossing this line. We’re just talking.”
She grinned. No matter what the situation, his humor always eased her worries. One of the many, many, many things she liked about him. She perched at the far end of the swing.
“Feel any better?”
“Not really. Tell me about your parents—I mean—if it doesn’t bother you.”
“They were great. I was the center of their universe. We went to church every time the doors were open. They spent every spare minute coddling me and each other.” He frowned. “But we had a falling-out just after my eighteenth birthday and I left.”
“For how long?”
“Three days after I left, they died.”
Shell gasped.
“It was the stupid Christmas tree lights. They never woke up.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
“Our argument seems so insignificant now.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending waves tumbling. “But then, I was young and hotheaded. I felt like my entire life was a lie and I could never forgive them for it.”
Hindsight. She knew all about it. And now guilt ate at him.
“All those hours I spent angry with them. Wasted. They were just trying to protect me. If only I’d been there.”
“It’s not your fault.” Her fingers itched to touch his arm.
“I’m a light sleeper, so I probably would have woken up.”
“Or you might have died with them.” A cold chill crept down Shell’s spine.
“I think I could have lived with that better.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
I couldn’t have lived without you better. “It must have been really rough.”
A sparrow perched on the rail under the feeder but noticed them and swooped away.
Ryler nodded. “I made it. How about you?”
Shell huffed out a big breath. “I never knew my father.” She wasn’t sure if her mom even knew who he was.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no big deal.” Her voice broke. With a wince, she shrugged. “I have an older sister, Savannah.” She doesn’t know who her father is either. But they were probably two different men since the sisters didn’t favor one another at all. “Mom was originally from Savannah and loved the beach, so that’s how she chose our names. It isn’t Michelle or Shelly, just Shell.”
ARKANSAS WEDDINGS: THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION Page 40
