by Loree Lough
As the women strode down the aisle on the arms of their husbands, Sam scoped out the church. A quick peek at her watch confirmed that the ceremony wouldn’t begin for another twenty minutes yet, so it surprised her that, already, so many of the pews were filled. The fact that so many North Pole residents, like Mabel and Arlene, had decided to take up residence on Duke’s side of the church made her smile.
She spotted Barney, former owner of the house that was in the process of becoming The Duke and Duchess B and B, in the third row, along with his wife and teenaged sons. Curt the barber sat behind them, flanked by his assistant. Sam didn’t recognize the woman and three young children up front.
She shouldn’t have been surprised to see Dan Brooks, one arm draped across the shoulders of a big beautiful blond. Duke had mentioned at dinner that he hoped his temporary landlord would accept his invitation to the ceremony because, in his words, “That boy knows how to make a man feel at home!”
Sam slid into an empty pew about halfway back and moved toward the outside end of the pew. Anyone watching would assume she’d done it so that others joining her in that row wouldn’t have to climb over her, but in reality, she’d done it because it would give her an unobstructed view of the altar where, in only moments, she’d get to watch Bryce fiddle with his clip-on bow tie and tug at the stiff cuffs of his starched shirt.
He’d amazed her earlier, willingly attaching gargantuan white satin bows to each pew. It had been Bryce’s suggestion that she stand at the back of the church, guiding him as he positioned the flowerpots alongside the altar to assure proper balance. “Oh, the pressure!” she’d said when they finished.
“Pressure?”
“If moving mums and daisies an inch this way, a half inch that way can give me a stress headache, think what those poor guys who guide seven-forty-sevens onto the runways feel like at the end of their work days!”
His big, booming laugh had echoed throughout the church, making her wish she had a better sense of humor, because she would love to encourage more of it.
“Hey, you gonna hog this whole pew or can the lowly nephew of the bride share it with you?”
“Bryce! What are you doing here? You’d better get up there!” Sam pointed at the altar, then at her watch. “The wedding ceremony will start in two minutes, and I’m sure Duke is a nervous wreck back there in the groom’s room, wondering where you—”
“Groom’s room,” he echoed, chuckling. “I thought it was called the Panic Room.” Then he bent over and, leaning close, said, “Relax…Duke’s son arrived first thing this morning to do the ‘best man’ honors. It’s a surprise, so Duke won’t know until he steps out of the sacristy and sees him.”
Sam slid farther into the pew, understanding now the identities of the woman and children sitting in the front row. “Oh, wow, that’s wonderful,” she said as Bryce sat beside her. “Duke will be thrilled!”
He tugged at the too-tight collar of his shirt.
“Relax,” she echoed. “You look great.”
A blush crept into his cheeks as the first quiet strains of Alma Peters’ prelude hymns began, and he held a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” was his teasing admonishment, “you’re calling attention to yourself.”
Giggling quietly, Sam shook her head. “Oh, right…this from the guy who’s wearing a tuxedo to a ‘casual Friday’ wedding.”
Suddenly, an invisible, eye-smarting fog of flowery perfume came between them as Bea Nixon leaned forward. “Honestly,” she snapped, “you two are behaving like a couple of unruly children.” She pointed a white-gloved finger. “If my Sunday school students behaved this way, I’d stand them in a corner, quick as a wink!”
“Sorry, Miz Nixon,” he said. The woman barely had time to slide back into place before he grabbed Sam’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Troublemaker.”
Biting her lower lip, Sam stared straight ahead, unable to decide which she liked more…the fact that he hadn’t let go of her hand when Alma pounded out those first rib-racking notes of “The Wedding March,” or the way it made her heart feel like it had swelled to twice its normal size.
Chapter Fourteen
Sam had spent the better part of the hours after midnight covering the tables in the Moose Lodge with white tablecloths and giving extra attention to the toile drapes on the head table. It had been her idea to use snow globes as centerpieces to help clear Rudolph’s shelves of the double shipment that had arrived the prior week. At Olive’s suggestion, she’d hidden a big grinning Santa sticker under one chair at each table, marking the guest who’d win the snow globe.
“The place looks great,” Bryce said, fingertips tucked into his trousers pockets. “If I’d known you had all this to do when I left you last night, I’d have offered to help.”
“I was more than happy to do it for Olive.”
Bryce turned slightly in his chair and faced his aunt and her new spouse. “Must have been a hectic day for her,” he said, “because she looks kinda tired to me.”
Funny, but Sam had been thinking the same thing. “Maybe it’s just the reflection of her white dress.”
He opened his mouth to say more but clamped it shut when their tablemates returned from the buffet. “Pastor Davidson’s blessing was pretty good,” he said, spearing a chunk of chicken breast.
“You gotta love ol’ Charlie,” said Tim Turner.
And Bob Harris chimed in with, “You can say that again.”
“Short and sweet, nice and neat,” Tim added, inspiring hearty laughter all around the table.
Mrs. Harris feigned a scolding expression. “Bobby, really,” she said. Flapping her napkin across her lap, she sat up straighter. “We can always count on the Ladies Auxiliary for a good meal, can’t we?”
Sam thought about what she’d have prepared if Olive had asked her to cater the meal. Her famous Chicken Cordon Bleu, probably. The recipe had earned her an A in her Quantity Food Prep course and helped win monetary awards in a half dozen contests, as well. Served with rice pilaf and a steamed vegetable medley, it made a lovely presentation.
But Olive hadn’t wanted to impose, explaining how much her lady friends enjoyed every opportunity to “put on the feedbag.” Besides, if Sam had gotten all involved with food prep, she couldn’t have decorated the hall and created the flower arrangements, and that would have been a shame, because she had enjoyed every finger-pricking, cuticle-cutting moment of it.
“Can’t wait for a big fat slab of that cake,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “It looks delicious.” Then, “Can you believe Olive got all this done in such a short time?”
“With a little help from a friend,” Bryce added. “You’re the one who made all the important calls, reserved this place, gave it an upscale look, so on Olive’s behalf, thanks.”
Sam was about to say that she was only too happy to do it for Olive when the wedding guests began clinking forks and spoons against their water goblets. They kept up the racket until Mr. and Mrs. Duke Carter silenced them with their second kiss as man and wife. Rolling her eyes, Sam groaned. “If I ever get married, that is not going to be allowed at my reception. ”
Chuckling, Bryce rested an arm across the back of her chair. “Why not?”
“For one thing, it’s almost as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. For another, well, it’s just plain silly.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.” He inclined his head slightly. “But you shouldn’t say if. Say when.”
“When what?”
Before he could answer, a familiar upbeat hymn wafted from the overhead speakers, and she noticed his thumb drumming on the table as his knee bounced with the tempo. What better way to escape the discomfiting situation than to give in to a sudden, overwhelming urge to sing? “Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah. Michael row the boat ashore, hallelu-u-jah.”
“Sister help to trim the sail,” he joined in, “hallelujah. Sister help to trim the sail, hallelu-u-jah.”
Their tablemates’ voices blended wit
h theirs. “The river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah. Greener pastures on the other side, hallelu-u-jah.”
Soon everyone in the hall was on their feet, swaying and clapping in time to the music. When the song ended, laughter echoed through the room as husbands embraced wives, as parents cuddled their kids, as Duke wrapped his big tuxedoed arms around Olive. The sight of so much love and jubilation, all in one place, made Sam so grateful to be here in this amazing, friendly town that she grinned wide enough to fear her face might crack!
But when Bryce drew her to him in a warm embrace, she worried, instead, that she might cry for joy, instead.
Sam was rescued from having to respond when Duke clanged a knife handle against a plate. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, leading Olive to a small table in the corner, “the time has come for my bride and me to cut the cake.” Smiling, aproned ladies extended a white-ribboned gleaming knife, and the happy couple wrapped their fingers around its handle and made the first cut as cameras clicked and flashed all around them.
“I warn you, Duke Carter, if you get frosting up my nose,” the bride teased, “I’ll—”
“Too late!” he bellowed, shoving thickly iced cake into his wife’s mouth.
“Give ’im as good as you got, Olive,” yelled a female voice.
“That’s right,” called another, “don’t let him get away with that!”
“Didn’t you say you wanted a slice of cake?” Bryce asked.
Sam nodded.
“Then you’d better get up there,” he whispered near her ear, “’cause it’s going fast.”
Nodding, she squared her shoulders and flashed that heart-stopping smile, then said, “I’ll bring you a slice.” Sam faced the table. “Can I bring anyone some cake?”
Three yeses and three “no thanks” later, Bryce watched her glide across the room on feet that seemed way too small to keep any human being upright. Everything about her, from those tiny high-heeled shoes to her pink-polished fingertips, emphasized pure femininity and grace. Which invited an ugly question: could Sam survive a harsh North Pole winter, with deep-freeze temps, snow up to her hips, and seemingly endless hours of darkness? “I sure do hope so,” he said under his breath. “I sure do hope so.”
Sam delivered cake to her tablemates, saving her slice and his for last. “Where’d you learn to balance that many dishes at once?” he asked, accepting his.
“One of my many jobs,” she said around a mouthful of icing, “was waiting tables at the Forest Diner. I learned real quick what two things would fill my pockets with tips.”
Bryce swallowed the bite he’d taken and had another one on his fork when he said, “Well…?”
“First, learn how to take diners’ orders without the need for a pen or tablet, and second, never make ’em ask for refills of coffee or water or soda.”
“I’m confused,” he said, scratching his chin. “What do either of those have to do with an ability to balance four plates on your skinny arms while carrying another two in your tiny hand?”
“Skinny!” She extended both arms. “The politically correct term, I’ll have you know, is slender.”
“I stand corrected.” Then he grabbed both “slender” wrists and turned them over in his hands.
“Practice makes perfect,” she said, her voice a rumbling whisper. “Spilled my share of food before I—”
“So when are you two going to make the big announcement?” Bob Harris wanted to know.
“Yeah!” Tim hollered. “Another excuse for a Ladies Auxiliary feast!”
If Sam’s expression was any indicator, the question had shocked her right down to her pointy-shoed toes. Jerking back, she sat up straight and adjusted the napkin on her lap. And then she completely shocked him when she lifted her chin and teased them right back with, “That’s for us to know and you to find out.”
Bryce nearly dropped his fork, giant bite of cake and all, and considered slapping a palm over his eyes. He laid the utensil beside the dish, because last thing he needed was to poke out his good eye.
Another question dawned on him as their tablemates asked Sam about Baltimore and her degree in culinary arts and shook their heads at the reason she’d taken the manager’s job at Rudolph’s instead of the chef’s job at Silver Bells: why wasn’t he upset about her answer to their initial question? She’d opened a proverbial Pandora’s box, and no doubt he’d be the unwilling recipient of good-natured ribbing at Curt’s barbershop on Monday morning. Even if she’d quieted their curiosity with a “we’re just friends,” he could still expect to face some scrutiny from the self-professed bachelors and long-married experts who gathered to swap tales as their hair cuttings fell to the tile floor.
Bryce pretended it took every bit of his concentration to unscrew the cap of the white coffee decanter and refill his cup. Pretended the coffee still tasted good and hot going down, though after three hours in the fancy thermos, it had cooled considerably. Pretended his napkin needed a re-flap and an adjustment across his knee, and that his silverware should be rearranged in a tidy row on either side of his plate.
Bryce could pretend that he was really into the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” but none of it would distract him from the woman seated beside him. Inside of a minute, she had everybody at the table in stitches. And somehow, she’d turned the conversation away from questions about herself, leaving them no choice but to talk about North Pole, about the wedding, about themselves.
Every now and then, as she nodded in response to something Bob said, as she snickered at one of Tim’s corny puns, she’d shoot a quick glance his way…and smile. The last grin she aimed his way resulted in sweaty palms and hot ears, making him wish he’d taken off the monkey suit jacket and grown his hair out a little more to hide the glowing red appendages stuck to either side of his marine-bald head.
Sam seemed to sense his discomfort and gave his knee a nurturing little pat-pat-pat. If anyone but Bryce noticed, they gave no sign of it.
He grabbed her hand and gently squeezed in response, might have held on, too, if Duke and Olive hadn’t stepped up behind his chair. “Havin’ fun, nephew?”
His palm felt cold when he turned Sam loose. “You bet,” he said, standing to plant a kiss on Olive’s cheek. “And you?”
“Never better,” she said. Then she waved a hand, inviting Duke’s family to step forward. “This is my darlin’ nephew,” she told them, “Bryce Stone.”
After a few minutes of polite nodding and hand shaking, Bryce volunteered to borrow a friend’s van and drive Duke’s son and his family to the airport in the morning. “You’ll come, too, won’t you, Sam?” he asked, a hand in the small of her back. Any excuse, he thought, to spend time with her.
He’d already insisted on taking the newlyweds to Fairbanks to catch an early-morning flight to Miami, which meant he couldn’t help Sam clean up the Moose Lodge as he’d promised. Well, he’d make it up to her tomorrow by buying her lunch at some point during the half-hour drive back to North Pole. Then he had a better idea, and it made him smile as Duke raised his big Texas voice, commanding everyone’s attention.
“I just want to thank y’all for helping Olive and me celebrate this beautiful day, and I’m especially grateful for the warm welcome y’all have extended this loud-mouthed ex-marine Texan.”
“You’re welcome,” somebody hollered.
“We love you guys!” yelled someone else.
I know how much y’all love my darlin’ wife, here, and I promise to do everything in my power to make her the happiest woman on earth.” With that, he kissed her long and slow.
“Goodness!” Olive said, waving a hand in front of her face when he let her go, “he’s off to a dynamite start!”
When the laughter and applause died down, Duke slid an arm round his wife’s waist.
“Time for us to get into our travelin’ clothes. We don’t want to miss our flight!”
While Sam made sure Duke’s family had proper accommodation
s, Bryce arranged to take Olive home so she could change and grab her suitcase before picking her husband up at the hotel. “Mrs. Duke Carter,” he said as they drove toward Rudolph’s, “that’s gonna take some getting used to, isn’t—”
The words caught in his throat as Olive grimaced and laid a hand on her stomach. “Too much rich food,” she complained. “I’m going back to my down-home meat and potatoes diet the minute we get home from Florida!” Then, “Wipe that worried look off your face, nephew. You know me…tough as they come, but even I need a bit of R and R now and then. And these last few days have been crazy-busy!”
“Well, then it’s good you two have ten days of vacation time ahead of you. No need to get all caught up in sightseeing. You have the rest of your lives to go back and tour Orlando and Miami and the Keys.”
Olive inhaled a deep breath, her facial features finally relaxing. “Ri-i-ight,” she countered, laughing, “like we’ll have time for gallivanting once we open the bed-and-breakfast…”
“You’ll have to make time, because life’s too short. Mom and Dad’s lives ought to be evidence enough of that.”
She reached across the console to pat his hand. “Point taken. But let’s not forget that your grandma Stone gave birth to one genius.” And to emphasize the point, she aimed a pudgy forefinger at her own chest. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but let’s face it. If your daddy had been using his head for something other than to hold up his ushanka, he might never have started that—”
“I know, I know,” Bryce said dully. He’d heard it all before, from well-meaning friends and especially from Olive. He understood the frustration and confusion that prompted her occasional criticism of his parents—and to be honest, he shared her annoyance—but complaining about the way they’d died only added resentment to the mix. “Let’s not end the happiest day of your life on that sour note, okay?”
She shifted in the passenger seat. “Agreed.”
“Your stomach still bothering you?”
“It’s just a little gas bubble.”
