by Fiona Lowe
She smiled. “As you promised, it was perfection. Do you make coffee as perfect?”
“I have a breakfast blend freshly brewed. Cream and sugar?”
“Just cream, thank you. I imagine you know most everybody in town?”
The grocer beamed. “And the district. The Ackermans have been in town almost as long as the Andersons.”
She tried not to shudder at the memory of last night. “As in Luke Anderson?”
“Yes, ma’am. They beat us here by a few months, but we’re both considered founding families.”
He was taking her proffered money when a rushed voice called out, “Have the strawberries been delivered for the wedding?”
“Fresh picked this morning, Nicole, and so sweet I was tempted to keep some for the store.”
“Great. I was worried that Lindsay and Keith might have been distracted given everything that’s happening today.”
The woman sounded stressed and Erin stepped back to allow her to move forward to the coffee counter.
As she brushed past she said, “I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me.”
Dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse and a cinch-waisted jacket, she gave Erin an apologetic smile as her shoulders drew up and rolled back.
Erin got the distinct impression the similarly aged woman was putting herself back together to present a different face entirely. Despite her perfectly blow-dried hair and tailored suit, there was something about her that seemed almost sad.
“Please, let me pay for your coffee,” said the woman.
Erin shook her head. “It’s fine, really, but it sounds like you need more than just breakfast blend.”
She laughed tightly and extended her hand. “I’m Nicole Lindquist and I’m always a little strung out when we’ve got a wedding on.”
“Nicole’s Whitetail’s wedding planner,” John said proudly, “and my niece by marriage. Are you in town for the wedding, Erin?”
“For a wedding, yes, but not today’s. I’m a photographer and—”
“You saw my advertisement?”
Nicole’s squeal of delight made Erin jump. “Ah, no, should I have?”
“We need to talk.” The pervading air of sadness vanished. “Can you spare me a minute?”
The request intrigued her. “Sure, and perhaps you can help me with my problem too?”
“I’ll give it my best shot.” Nicole motioned her over to a table by the window, tucked away from the counter and the rest of the busy store. A vase of summer daises gave it a homey touch and a copy of the Whitetail Bugle sat next to it, neatly folded.
As they seated themselves, John arrived with two apple Danishes, gave Nicole a wink and said, “My treat.”
“Thanks, John.” Nicole gave Erin a guilty smile. “John knows my sweet tooth goes into overdrive on the morning of a wedding. I always make a vow that I’ll get through on almonds, carrots and celery sticks but—”
“Coffee and pastries are so much more satisfying.” Erin understood completely, knowing how much physical energy she burned up on a shoot lugging her equipment, not to mention nervous and creative energy. “Tell me about this advertisement I haven’t seen.”
Nicole wrapped both hands around her coffee mug. “A year ago, Whitetail hosted the Callahan-Neiquest society wedding and from that moment we’ve had a steady stream of bookings. Not only can we provide the chapel and the reception, we can also provide everything a bride needs from invitations to transport. The only thing stopping us from being full-service is a photographer. As a stop-gap measure, if brides don’t have their own photographer, we’ve been using Eric from The Bugle but weddings are not his strong suit and we really need a resident wedding photographer.”
Erin shook her head, not wanting Nicole to get her hopes up any further. “I’m sorry, but I live in Minneapolis.”
“But you travel anywhere the bride wants to get married right?”
“I do, but I’m building my business in the Twin Cities.”
Nicole nodded and sipped her coffee. “So you have a studio and everything there?”
“I wish.” She sighed thinking how after the debacle with Luke Anderson, her big plans for a secure future seemed almost unobtainable. “I rent studio space if I absolutely have to, but for engagement shots, I find the best photos are often the ones taken in locations familiar to the couple. Where they’re most relaxed.”
She smiled, picturing the set of prints she always showed prospective clients. “My favorite engagement shoot took place in and around a tree house. The couple had been childhood sweethearts and the tree not only relaxed them but it represented the solid love they had for each other.”
Nicole’s eyes lit up. “That sounds amazing. So are you heavily booked?”
Erin pictured her planner which had sporadic bookings scattered over it, but was empty for the next few weeks until Connie’s wedding. She shrugged, not wanting to be too specific. “You know what the wedding business is like. Feast or famine. How do you keep going over winter?”
“It’s quieter for sure, but in a small town everyone has more than one job. I run the hairdressing salon so I have work all year round but it’s the weddings I love best. This year, we’ve got four winter weddings booked already because Annika, our invitation designer, married Finn Callahan. They had the most amazing winter wedding complete with a sleigh.” She sighed dreamily before giving a wry smile. “And because Finn had been considered the Chicago bachelor no woman could ever land, the wedding got a lot of publicity.”
Nicole sipped her coffee. “Summer’s a different story, though. Every weekend is booked through until the leaves fall.”
Erin stared at her not quite believing her ears. “Every weekend?”
Nicole nodded. “It gets frantic, that’s for sure, and I have someone doing most of the salon work. Not every bride wants me to be their wedding planner and some bring their own team in with them, but most use me because I know everyone in town and where their strengths lie and what they can offer.” She glanced at her watch before looking back at Erin. “You said you needed some help?”
She pulled her mind back from the fact that Whitetail was such a popular wedding destination and said, “Has a Connie Littlejohn ever contacted you?”
“The name’s familiar.” Two lines appeared at the bridge of Nicole’s nose as she thumbed through her notebook. “Oh, yes, I remember. I took a phone meeting with her to book the chapel and the supper club but she was brusquely insistent that she was doing everything else herself.”
That sounded like Connie. “We’ve run into a snag with the photos and I need a sunflower field in full bloom in three weeks’ time.”
“Too easy.” Nicole smiled. “Lakeview Farm is perfect and the farmer’s name is—”
“Luke Anderson, I know.” She tried to sound bright and cheery because she never did sad. “I met him yesterday, but he’s the grouchiest, most disagreeable guy I’ve ever had to deal with. And he said a categorical no.”
“Luke said no?” Nicole sounded stunned.
“Yes. So can you give me the names of five other farmers around here who grow sunflowers and I’ll contact them.”
For the first time, Nicole frowned. “I don’t think there are any others. This far north it’s not a commonly grown crop.”
Erin’s gut churned with rising panic that an alternative sunflower field was unobtainable. “Are you sure there are no others?”
“Pretty sure. Most of the local farmers think Luke’s crazy giving up a field to sunflowers.”
“That makes sense,” she said, relieved at least that her gut reaction about Luke Anderson had been spot on. “He sure seems crazy to me.”
“Luke graduated summa cum laude from CALS.”
“What does that stand for? Crazy as a Loon School?” Erin gav
e a tight laugh before taking a sip of coffee.
“No.” Nicole’s brow furrowed as if she didn’t understand the joke. “It’s the College of Agriculture and Life Science at UW Madison.”
Coffee spurted out of Erin’s nose and she grabbed a napkin. UW was no community college. It was a widely respected school and known internationally. She took a closer look at Nicole. Her expression held no guile, which matched the fact that her voice had been firm and matter-of-fact. She thought of the moments last night when a sharp intelligence had pierced Luke’s backwoods persona. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I’m sure the only reason some of the older farmers think he’s crazy is because he’s innovative and it unsettles them.”
The picture Nicole was drawing wasn’t sitting at all well against the man she’d spent the previous evening with. “So Luke Anderson’s eccentric as well as being ridiculously grumpy and letting his dog eat off his good china?”
This time Nicole laughed. “Are you sure you actually met Luke? I think I’ve only ever seen him angry twice in his life. Mind you, it’s hay season and every farmer’s grumpy from a lack of sleep.”
“Six foot two, blond, blue eyes, and a misogynist?”
You forgot ripped body.
“The height, hair and eye color are definitely Luke.”
A niggling feeling that she’d been played by Mr. “Women belong in the kitchen” Anderson started to grow.
Nicole continued, “I can’t understand why he’d say no to you. His family is very civic-minded and have always hosted Breakfast on the Farm. Do you want me to talk to him?”
No. What she really wanted was a totally different farmer. One who didn’t look like he’d been touched by the gods of gorgeousness, one who didn’t make her lurch from desire to repulsion in a heartbeat, leaving her totally unsettled, and especially one who hadn’t spun her along, all the while laughing at her expense. “All I need is one other farmer with a sunflower field within a twenty-mile radius of Whitetail.”
Nicole got a scheming glint in her eye. “I tell you what. If you can be the photographer for today’s wedding, I’ll put out the word that you’re looking for a sunflower field.”
Erin didn’t mind the barter exchange but she had some professional concerns, knowing from acute experience that brides didn’t cope well with last-minute changes. “Usually I’ve photographed the bride and groom at an engagement shoot and built up a rapport. Won’t it stress the bride that she’s never met me?”
“Not Lindsay. She’s lived in Whitetail all her life and is the most laid-back woman I’ve ever met, which is why she was happy to use Eric. Truth be told, I’ve done more stressing about her wedding than she has.” Nicole stood up. “How about we go meet her now and she can tell you what she wants. I promise you it won’t be sunflowers.”
Erin’s phone bleated out the wedding march and Connie’s number came up. A streak of guilt caught her under the ribs and she clicked on Decline Call, sending it to voice mail. She’d texted Connie earlier saying, things looking up. She hadn’t told Connie that Luke had said no and she didn’t plan on doing that until she had an alternative to offer the bride. Why unduly upset her when in a few hours’ time she’d hopefully have another field to use and a much more cooperative farmer to work with?
Besides, the fee for the wedding shoot would more than cover another night’s accommodation and the waitressing tips she was giving up by staying in Whitetail. In fact, it would cover a lot more.
“It all sounds like a plan.” With a smile she stood up and followed Nicole out of the store.
* * *
Luke arrived late to Lindsay and Keith’s reception, having been held up by a difficult calving. At least he wouldn’t need to explain. Lindsay and Keith were longtime time family friends, and their picnic wedding reception in the park was in full swing with the three-piece band belting out tunes from the eighties. The couple had been married quietly with just their immediate family in attendance, but they’d invited most of the county to the party which doubled as Lindsay’s fortieth birthday celebration. He grinned as the tall and willowy bride in a simple, white sheath dress strode across the grass to greet him. Even in bare feet she was taller than her new husband.
“Congratulations, Lins.” He kissed her cheek. “After all those years of living together, you finally made an honest man out of Keith.”
She laughed. “I always intended to but life gets busy. Now you’re running the farm, you know exactly what it’s like. Have you finished your hay?”
The groom, an organic vegetable farmer whose stocky build, chrome-dome and earring made him look more like a biker, joined them. He slid his arm around his new wife’s waist. “No shop talk today, honey. No talk of the weather, fertilizer or strawberry-eating gophers. Come dance with me.”
He spun her away and Luke looked around for something to eat and drink. A group of women gave him a “come join us” wave as they sipped on champagne and bit into enormous chocolate-coated strawberries. From the accompanying giggles he figured they’d been doing it for quite some time. He gave them a friendly wave before looking beyond the bar to a long line of trestle tables he assumed had groaned with food earlier in the afternoon. Lindsay and Keith grew the best produce in the county and he saw the remains of platters of crudités, as well as marinated mushrooms and sundried tomatoes along with fresh, green salads. Luke had nothing against salads or vegetables, per se, as long as they were decorating meat.
The thought of meat reminded him of last night’s supper. Erin Davis’s only redeeming quality was that she could cook and the meal had even eclipsed Wade’s roasts, which was saying something. Even so, he’d been relieved when he’d got back to the house at midnight to find it empty and her car gone. After his little performance last night, he was certain she wouldn’t be making a return visit to Lakeview Farm; in fact she was probably back in Minneapolis by now. Not that his “no” to the sunflower field had been acting. He’d only ever listened to one of the thirteen messages Connie Littlejohn had left on his machine and even then, that had been one too many. The tone and content of the message had been enough to tell him that he wouldn’t want her anywhere near his farm no matter how much money she was offering.
As his gaze came to the end of the row of salads, he saw the pig on the spit. Now that was more like it. He picked up a plate and was making a beeline for the chef when he heard someone call his name. He spun around to find Nicole hurrying toward him.
“You’re here,” she said, looking relieved.
“Hey, Nicole. This looks like it’s all going well.”
She smiled, taking in the scene with a practiced eye. “A lot of work goes into making something like this feel casual and effortless while at the same time providing food and drink for two hundred people.”
“You’ve done it well. It suits Lindsay and Keith perfectly and—” he tilted his head to the twirling couple on the temporary dance floor, “—they’re having a fabulous time.”
“Thanks.” Nicole’s face flushed with pleasure. “It’s great to be able to give people exactly what they want for their wedding. You know, to make it a special day they’ll remember forever.”
It wasn’t something he’d ever given much thought. “I imagine it is.”
“Do you remember how the whole town pulled together to put on Bridey Callahan’s wedding at such short notice because we knew it would put Whitetail on the map?”
“Hmm.” He nodded, agreeing automatically because most of his mind was on the fact that the staff looked like they were starting to clear the food away for desserts and he didn’t want to miss out on the spit roast.
Nicole kept talking. “Here we are a year later and things are going well but we can’t rest on our laurels, Luke. We need brides in three states to know we’re here and we can offer them something unique. You’ve always b
een supportive, right from the start and...”
Something in her voice pulled his concentration away from the thought of succulent pork and back to her. “And?”
She gave her hesitant smile. “We’ve had a request from a bride to use your sunflower field for photos.”
He stilled, half irritated and half impressed at the photographer’s doggedness. “Did Erin Davis ask you to ask me?”
Nicole’s smile became wry. “No, not at all. In fact she asked me for the names of other farmers with sunflower fields, but we both know you’re the only one. I don’t understand why you told her no when you and your family have always been so supportive of the town. Is there any way you could change your mind?”
He opened his mouth to say when hell freezes over. He had enough on his plate with every passing day, making the farm feel more and more like a thankless chore, without adding in a bride who sounded decidedly unhinged, and not to mention that being around Erin Davis made him feel like he had an itch that no amount of scratching would ease. That on its own made absolutely no sense to him and added even more to his current sense of disconnection to his life. Only he couldn’t say any of that to Nicole without sounding like a jerk. Her husband, Bradley, had died in active duty, killed serving his country and defending the rights of freedom. Now the sacrifice was borne by Nicole as she raised their little boy alone.
Luke’s sigh came up from his feet, dragging through him and leaving him in no doubt that he couldn’t refuse Nicole. Her life had been turned upside down and somehow she managed to get up each morning and put one foot in front of the other despite her grief. As much as he hated the idea, he knew he could put up with one bride.
That means Erin too.
Crap. He’d make sure he wasn’t anywhere near the sunflower field that day. In fact, he might just go fishing.
“Luke?” Expectation shone on Nicole’s face.
He ran his hands through his hair and went for damage control. “Only if I deal direct with you. I don’t want to have anything to do with crazy brides or photographers with purse dogs who bite.”
