She’d already pulled some chicken out of the freezer, and we opted to cut it up and marinate it for stir-fry with ham fried rice. It was too early in the summer to eat anything from the garden, though my mouth watered when I thought of the juicy cherry tomatoes that would be ready to munch by the end of next month.
Once the water was bubbling in the rice cooker and the chicken strips were floating in their marinade, Mom pulled me into her craft room. My eye was immediately drawn to a beautiful piece of furniture against the back wall. It stood at least six feet tall and three feet wide. “What is that?”
“The pièce de résistance. Remember Mother’s Day, when Dad said he had a surprise for me? Well, this came a week later.” Mom placed a loving hand against the cabinet. “He said it should do for at least the next five years.”
“Dad’s always trying to find an easy out when it comes to gifts. There’s no way he got this for you himself.”
“You know your father well.” Mom tugged on the handles of the cabinet and slowly opened it. “Jenna helped him.”
The knotty alder doors swung open and then folded out to reveal hundreds of compartments, drawers, and bags filled with paper, rubber stamps, buttons, stickers, inks, fabric, and dozens of others things I couldn’t see.
“Mom, this is amazing.” I examined a drawer full of vintage buttons. “I can’t believe Jenna kept this a secret from me. I want one.”
“It’s called a Workbox, and it’s made by a company called The Original Scrapbox.” Mom patted my arm. “Just wait until I show you what else they have. They’ve thought of everything for crafters.”
With a shake of my head, I fingered the bags of rubber stamps attached by Velcro to a wall of the cabinet. “Dad must really love you.”
For all my dad’s teasing about Mom and her craft addictions, I knew he was proud of her. “I’ll have to make sure Jenna knows what I want for Christmas.” I motioned to the rows of drawers. “So, which one of these compartments has something for me?”
“Right here.” Mom pulled out a ceramic dish lined with smooth river rocks and pine cones glued to the rocks. An herbal candle added a splash of color with dark green leaves and burgundy flowers mixed into the wax.
“This is perfect, Mom.” I examined the glitter spray on the pinecone that would catch the light of the candle when it was lit. Natalie wanted her wedding to be unpretentious, close to nature, reminiscent of where she first met Brock at Warm Springs. Lorea and I gave each other knowing looks every time we saw how hard Sylvia struggled with outdoing Natalie. If only she knew how minimal Natalie’s decorations would be. The Berlin-Grafton wedding would be elegant (and bring in a good commission) but in a much simpler way.
Mom was showing me how she thought some of the June wildflowers could be used in the centerpiece when we heard my dad stomping his boots outside. I hurried to greet him with a hug.
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“Looks like the weekend has finally started.” Dad kissed my cheek and tugged on my ponytail.
“I saw you out there working away, but Mom took me into the craft room before I could offer any help.”
“She showed you the Craft Monster for her role in that mashed potato business?”
I lifted my eyebrows in Mom’s direction.
“That’s what he calls my Workbox,” she offered.
Dad took off his hat and hung it on its peg by the door. Then he sat down with a grunt and unlaced his boots. His head of dark brown hair was still full, though the hairline was starting to recede a bit, but he would probably escape the baldness his father had experienced. His middle had thickened over the years, but at just over six feet he stood strong, still full of energy—a combination of good genes and Idaho farm stamina. Dad stretched his back. “So how are you holding up?”
“This month will pretty much put the mark of success or failure on my business. It’s a challenge, but I’m up for it.” I hoped I sounded convincing.
“I’m proud of you.” Dad stood and crossed the kitchen, grabbing a glass and turning on the tap. “Just make sure you know when to ask for help. Don’t get in over your head.”
With a nod, I ignored my conscience as it piped up about the layers of meaning in my father’s words. I savored Dad’s compliment. For all his teasing about my choosing to be a wedding planner for “hoity-toity celebrities,” his confidence in me was reassuring.
“I need to give Shayla Fitzgerald a call. She has some calligraphy samples for me to take back for display.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. Dennis has been out of work for over a year now, and they’ve both been doing all they can to keep their home.” Mom twisted a dishtowel as she spoke. “They’re basically living off their farm and odd jobs right now.”
“I knew Dennis was out of work, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.” The grandfather clock in the living room tolled four times, and I checked my watch to be sure it was accurate. “If I hurry, I can get over there and back before dinner. Do you mind?”
My dad waved his hand at me. “Go on. We’ll make sure you don’t miss anything. Wes won’t get here until close to seven, anyway.”
I dialed Shayla’s number to make sure she was home. She was—no surprise. With her three young children, she didn’t get out much. She was a year older than I, so we hadn’t hung out in high school, but I knew she came from a good family, and her work ethic was impressive. It wouldn’t be ideal to have my calligrapher out of town, but everything was done so far in advance that I felt confident we could make it work. When I had told Lorea about Shayla, she suggested shipping the invitations back and forth, and I wasted no time in accusing her of ulterior motives, especially one named Colton, the delivery man.
The Fitzgerald home was only about ten minutes from my parents’, and it was surrounded by fields. Taking a shortcut through the untamed sagebrush that covered the grazing grounds north of my parents’ fields, I bumped along for about a half mile before cresting a hill that overlooked the mellow green waves of wheat that banked Shayla’s property. The lane going up to her house blended into the sagebrush, and I slowed so I wouldn’t miss the turn.
As I pressed on my brakes, I glanced in my rearview mirror and was surprised to see a silver sedan come around the curve behind me. Not many people knew about this shortcut, so I wondered if Shayla had visitors coming. As I turned right down the lane, the sedan slowed and then sped past me. The dust hung thick in the air, so I didn’t catch a glimpse of the driver.
I felt a bit rattled as I entered Shayla’s home, but she immediately put me at ease. She introduced me to her kids with a wave of her hand, and I admired the three towheads. “They have your dimples.”
She grinned. “I have to admit, I was hoping they would.”
The two boys and the girl continued watching cartoons in the family room while Shayla led me back to the sitting room where an old desk served as her calligraphy headquarters. I leafed through a binder of samples done on different types of envelopes, cardstock, vellum, and even handmade paper.
“These are beautiful, Shayla. It’s just the thing I’m looking for to make my business stand out. I want to be able to offer my clients anything and everything their hearts desire.” I tapped a piece of vellum monogrammed with a swirly ‘F.’ “And this is what both my brides will want.”
“Really?” She blinked rapidly, and I was happy that her work was the quality I needed.
At least Sylvia would be satisfied, for once. We’d already examined the work of a few locals, but she had rejected them for one reason or another. Looking at what Shayla had to offer, with her more elegant handwriting, I felt confident my search was over.
“I’ll show these samples to my clients. And hopefully be contacting you next week about getting started on hand addressing five hundred place cards.”
Shayla gripped my hand. “Thank you, Adri.”
On my way home, I kept a sharp eye out for the silver sedan but didn’t see anything. I breathed a little easier when I rea
ched home and pulled in next to Jenna’s car. Bryn’s squeals reached my ears before I made it to the front steps. Her red pigtails danced as she burst through the front door and into my arms.
“Aunt Adri!” she screamed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Hi, Brynnie!” I squealed right back at her.
“Let’s play,” she commanded.
“Okay, but I want to say hello to your mommy first.” I found Jenna sitting in the kitchen sipping a glass of water. Her auburn hair contrasted with her fair skin, which looked a bit paler than usual, but she smiled brightly when she saw me.
“Adri! I’m so excited you’re here.”
“Wow! Now I know where Bryn gets her enthusiasm.” I gave Jenna a hug.
“I am excited, but mostly because I wanted to tell you that Wes and I are going to be extremely busy this December.”
Winter was my brother’s chance for a little downtime, so I wondered what project they had cooked up. Then I noticed the saltine crackers beside Jenna’s water glass. “What do you have planned?”
“A new baby.” Jenna beamed.
I cheered and hugged her again. “That’s incredible news, but you must be feeling rotten,” I said, indicating the crackers.
“The worst should be over soon. I’m almost eleven weeks.” Jenna touched her stomach, but besides a little puffiness in her face, she didn’t look pregnant yet.
“Aunt Adri, we need to play now. I’ve been waiting forever,” Bryn said.
I obliged and helped her make a blanket fort in the living room. We earned a few raised eyebrows from Grandma when we almost tipped over her lamp. The soft flannel on the quilt we used for the floor of the tent looked inviting. Bryn and I pretended to sleep, and I actually started to doze off. The stress of the past week had zapped my energy.
The sizzle of ham hitting the wok awakened my growling stomach, and I hoped today would be a lucky day for Wes so we could eat on time. My brother and I had both grown up working the fields, either moving pipe or weeding endless rows of vegetables. It was hard to do much with my friends during the growing season when potatoes needed to be irrigated three times a day. My friends and I would call it a lucky day if we finished in time to do anything fun. Occasionally, I still texted Wes and wished him a lucky day in the fields.
At fifteen minutes to seven, I heard the diesel engine of Wes’s pickup as he pulled into the driveway. Bryn tripped over the blanket in her hurry to meet him, and I caught Grandma’s lamp one more time before it hit the ground. I decided to adjust our blanket fort to exclude the table with the lamp on it.
Wes came in through the garage, leaving his work boots by the door. The back of his neck was turning a dark brown with his farmer’s tan, and I noticed how his sandy brown hair curled at the nape of his neck just as it had when he was younger. Wes carried Bryn into the kitchen and kissed Jenna before turning to me. “How’s my little sis?”
“Hey, brosky. I don’t smell like fertilizer, so that’s always a plus.” I wrinkled my nose when I hugged him, and he laughed.
“At least I don’t have to deal with spoiled divas. The potatoes don’t talk back.”
“You’re right, but spuds aren’t as interesting.”
“So tell me, is wedding planning really better than being in the great outdoors, producing food for the world?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . . yes, I enjoy it. All the blood, sweat, toil, and tears leading up to the final event, and then the look on the groom’s face when his bride says, ‘I do,’ and then the kiss, the reception, the cake.”
“Oh, gag me.” Wes made choking noises, and Bryn giggled.
“Hey, better quit knocking the wedding business,” Mom piped up. “Adri might be able to use some of Jenna’s creations from our Mashed Potatoes and Crafts website, and those clients pay top dollar.”
Wes glanced at me and then at Jenna. “Really? That’s great, sis.”
“Belly up to the bar, folks. Soup’s on.” My dad brought the steaming dish of ham fried rice to the table, and Mom followed with the chicken and stir-fried veggies. In the Pyper household, you didn’t need to be told twice that supper was ready. We gathered around the oversized table. After Dad said grace, we dug in. Bryn focused on picking the peas out of her rice and examining each one before chewing it. The meal reminded me of how boring it is to cook for one person. It was hard to want to go to the effort of making a nice meal for myself.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Tony says hello.” I waved my fork in Wes’s direction.
He nodded. “Tell him to keep an eye on you. Can’t believe he let someone rob you on his watch.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him.” Wes and Tony had teased each other mercilessly as boys. Not much had changed.
“Seriously, though. Be careful, Adri.” Wes held a forkful of chicken in midair. “Tony said people often get a false sense of security in small towns.”
“It’s not like I left my doors unlocked, but I am getting a security system installed today.”
“That’s a good idea,” Dad said.
Wes leaned in for a second helping. “When are we gonna see a ring on your finger?”
Jenna smacked his arm. “He means, are you dating anyone?”
Unbidden, Luke’s face came to mind, and I frowned. Then I thought of Dallas and replaced the grimace with a smile.
“Must be something going on with that look,” Wes said and earned another jab from Jenna.
I had purposely left Dallas out of the conversations with my mother. If there was one thing that irked her, it was that her talented twenty-six-year-old daughter, who ran her own wedding planning business, had not yet planned her own wedding. If Mom caught wind of the dates I’d been on with Dallas, she’d hound me nonstop for the next level of commitment.
I decided I’d tell my family about Luke in hopes of throwing Mom off the trail. My family waited for me to spill the details of my pathetically single life like a cat watching a canary. I lifted one shoulder and directed my gaze at Wes. “I met this good-looking guy. He was really nice and fun, and he asked me for my number.” I paused, to increase the anticipation, and Mom leaned forward. I cleared my throat. “And then I found out he’s a divorce lawyer.”
“So?” Wes said.
“So?” I glared at my brother. “Wes, that would be like you marrying a John Deere tractor salesman while wearing your favorite Massey Ferguson hat.”
My dad laughed and slapped his knee. “She got you there.”
“Carl.” Mom set down her fork. “Wes has a point. Adri, you should give this guy a chance. Being a divorce lawyer doesn’t mean he’s against marriage.”
That was my cue and my perfect out of this discussion. I lifted my chin. “Actually, according to Luke, that’s exactly what it means. He made fun of my occupation and said he didn’t believe in marriage.”
Jenna gasped. “He didn’t.”
I nodded and gave Wes a sharp look. Of course my brother could never let a simple explanation suffice. He shook his head. “Maybe he’s just saying that. You have to admit there’s a little pressure for a guy who wants to date a wedding planner.”
“I agree,” Mom said around a mouthful of food. “Give this boy another chance.”
My shoulders slumped. And now I’d have to tell them about Dallas. Mom wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise. My plan for discretion had backfired again. “I don’t have to worry about Luke. There’s another guy, Dallas, who’s interested in me and my wedding business.”
Mom clapped her hands. “Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” She squeezed my hand, her brown eyes sparkling. I suppressed a groan along with my explanation for why I hadn’t shared any dating details with her.
Jenna murmured, “Because she doesn’t like Dallas. She likes Luke.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Jenna’s piercing blue eyes were dancing with laughter. She lifted her eyebrows and giggled.
“I like Dallas. He’s very sweet. He took me to see Sasha Cohen at the ice show Thurs
day.”
“I think it’s time for dessert,” Dad said as he tugged on one of Bryn’s pigtails. “What do you say, Your Highness? Is it time for ice cream?”
Bryn’s cheers effectively changed the subject. Dad grinned in my direction and then headed for the freezer. I jumped up to follow him. “I’ll help.”
Jenna’s words and the look on her face had me undone. I did not like Luke Stetson. He was rude and insulting. It took more than a Harley Davidson Road Glide and a dimpled chin to impress me, even if he did like Smokehouse BBQ.
We all went outside for a walk after the ice cream. Jenna decided to take Bryn home to bed. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning, Adri.”
Bryn gave me a sticky kiss, and I waved as they drove away. It was nearly eight-thirty and the temperatures were dropping, cooling off the earth. The click-shush sound of the sprinklers that watered the corner of Dad’s alfalfa field soothed my mind. Let my family think what they wanted about my life. It didn’t really matter, because Ketchum was far enough away to be outside my mother’s radar.
As we walked up the canal bank, I could hear the horses whinny from the corral. I turned to watch my dad’s quarter horse, Fellar, kick up dirt as he raced across the pasture. Samson barked and brought my attention back to the canal. Irrigation water churned slowly with its greenish hue, pushing for the next culvert to open so the flow of water could sprinkle the fields. Following the canal back for several miles would lead to the mammoth Snake River wending its way through southern Idaho.
We passed a bunch of cattails, and I heard a sound just before Samson dived into the water. “Samson, get back here right now,” Dad hollered.
The golden retriever stopped, and I watched as a mother duck and five brown tufts of fluff swam to the other side of the canal. The ducklings hid in the tall grasses, and Samson gazed longingly after them before climbing out of the water. I broke into a run to escape the inevitable dog shake and continued down the road another hundred yards. The evening was still, and it seemed every sound echoed against the next, creating a country harmony that couldn’t be replicated. The sun hung low on the horizon, and I gazed across the flat expanse of fields, most holding giant pivots, or circulars—sprinklers on a great arm rotating around the field.
Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things Page 13
