by Macy Beckett
“I think that’s a great idea,” Ella said. “Want me to dim the lights so you can make a toast?”
“Not yet. Let them finish their dance.” The closeness they shared was more important than a few token words from a stranger. “They won’t get nearly as many as they deserve.”
• • •
There wasn’t a dry eye on the boat the next day when Mike and Angie exchanged rings and said I do. During the minister’s pronouncement, even Beau had to face the breeze and blink a few times to clear his vision. The ceremony had put his troubles in perspective, and though he still ached for Devyn, he’d let go of his bitterness.
And that helped, a little.
While the wedding guests celebrated in the formal dining hall, Beau piloted the Belle upriver at a leisurely pace, occasionally blowing the steam whistle in an unspoken signal for the bride and groom to kiss. He sent texts back and forth to Ella-Claire to make sure the reception was going smoothly, and instructed the maids to deck out the honeymoon suite with every romantic weapon in their arsenal.
All in all, it was a good day.
Soon after the autumn sun slipped over the horizon, Ella peeked inside the pilothouse wearing the first genuine smile he’d seen on her in weeks. He couldn’t help grinning back.
“What?” he asked.
She held up a single sheet of paper. “A fax came in for you. I thought you’d like to see it right away.”
Beau’s smile flattened. “If it’s from the gaming board—”
“Just read it,” she interrupted, thrusting the paper at him. “I’ll give you some privacy, but text me when you’re ready to crack open a bottle of sparkling cider. I want to be the first person to toast you.”
Then she backed out of the control room and shut the door, leaving him alone. Beau turned on the overhead light and read the fax.
The honor of your presence is requested
at the marriage of
Devyn Rebecca Mauvais
and
Beau Christopher Dumont
Sunday, the third of November
at eight o’clock in the evening
Saint Mary’s Church
Cedar Bayou, Louisiana
RSVP by the second of November
Confused, Beau continued to a handwritten addendum at the bottom of the page, where he recognized Devyn’s loopy script.
I’ll be waiting at the altar in front of all our family and friends, wearing my mother’s dress and ready to give you my whole heart. Turns out it was yours all along. No need to RSVP because I have faith—the purest kind—that you’ll be there with me. I love you, and I can’t wait to begin our life together.
Yours always,
Dev
He stared at the paper for the longest time, half expecting the text to disappear, or for a celebrity to jump out from beneath the control panel and announce that he’d been pranked. But the words stayed right where they belonged, and not a creature stirred inside the pilothouse except the pilot. After a few minutes of stunned silence, Beau allowed himself to believe that the invitation was real.
And he didn’t need another second to think it over.
A chortle of laughter arose from his chest while his body broke out in delicious goose bumps. Never in a million years did he expect to receive a faxed invitation to his own wedding, but he wasn’t complaining. Devyn wanted him, and that was all that mattered. Besides, nothing between them had been conventional, so why would their wedding day be any different? As long as the wedding night went off without a hitch, he’d be a happy man.
With a face-splitting grin, Beau reached up and pulled the steam whistle, then hollered to everyone within earshot, “I’m getting married!”
• • •
“I’m getting married.” Devyn sighed, using a fingernail to trace the photo of the cake she’d selected—a two-tier red velvet with cream cheese frosting. “Can you believe it?”
Giggling, Allie nodded from her spot behind the bakery sales counter. “Actually, I can. Because you keep reminding me every five minutes.”
“I’m happy,” Devyn said, and shimmied her hips. “Sue me.”
“Not a chance. This is the reaction I wanted from you the last time you got engaged.” Allie held up two plastic cake toppers, first a traditional bride and groom, then a pair of wedding bells. “Which one? Sorry for the lack of options, but these are all I’ve got in stock, and we don’t have time for a special order.”
“I don’t know. Which is cheaper?”
Devyn was on a serious budget. She’d sold her flat-screen TV to a neighbor for a couple hundred bucks, and that was all she had to spend on the entire event: alterations for Mama’s dress, secondhand wedding bands, decorations, invitations, food. Thank goodness Beau had paid for the marriage license weeks ago, or that would’ve taken a significant chunk out of her funds.
Narrowing her eyes, Allie chided, “They’re both free, just like the cake.”
Devyn pointed at the bells.
“Okay.” Allie scribbled some notes on her order pad. “Did you hear back from Father Durand about the fellowship hall?”
“Yep, we can use it—no charge.”
All those years of chairing the Saint Mary’s fish fry had finally paid off. At first, Father Durand had refused to officiate the wedding on such short notice. But when she told him the alternative was a trip to town hall for a civil ceremony, he’d begrudgingly waived the Pre-Cana classes and offered the use of church facilities.
“And since the wedding is after dinnertime, we can get away with just cake and punch, right?”
Allie pursed her lips in consideration. “We should offer a few appetizers, too. I’m sure we can put something together on the cheap.”
“What about decorations? I bought a ton of votives from the Dollar Store, but is that enough?” she asked, wishing she had enough money for flowers. Why did pretty things have to cost so much?
“With a few fall touches—like some whole pumpkins and colorful leaves—I think it’ll look classy and understated.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
“And the invitations?” Allie asked, pointing at her checklist.
“Got ’em to the post office first thing yesterday morning and sweet-talked Mrs. Sheen into adding them to the truck before the deliveries went out.” Since most of their guests lived in town, the invitations had likely arrived that same afternoon. “I called anyone outside the bayou to let them know . . . including that jerkface, Jenny Hore.”
Allie wrinkled her nose. “You want her to come?”
“You bet your sweet ass I do.” Nothing said purest faith like inviting your high school rival to a wedding in which the groom wasn’t a guaranteed participant. “Slade, too.”
Allie chewed the pencil eraser and studied Devyn for a few beats. “Aren’t you just the slightest bit worried that Beau won’t come?”
“Nope,” Devyn said. “He loves me. He’ll be there.”
“But how do you know he even got your fax?”
Devyn held up her cell phone. “Because Ella-Claire RSVP’d with regrets that she can’t make it. She’s working the same charter as Beau, so if she saw the fax, that means he did, too.”
“You’re gutsy,” Allie said, arching an appreciative brow. “I’ll give you that.”
Devyn decided to take it as a compliment, though she wasn’t sure it was meant that way. She checked the time on her phone and noted she was late for her appointment with the seamstress. “I’m off to my fitting. Thanks again for letting me have Mama’s dress.”
“Of course you should have her dress,” Allie said. Moisture began to well in her eyes, and she blinked it away. “Mama would want you to wear it. That way, a part of her can be with us tomorrow.”
Devyn fanned her own eyes. “Okay, enough of that. I don’t want to get mascara all over her Chantilly lace.”
After an over-the-counter hug and a reminder to meet at her house later for an evening of appetizer preparations, Devy
n left the Sweet Spot and walked two blocks to the alterations shop. As much as she tried fighting back tears, she completely lost it when she stood before the full-length mirror in her mother’s gown.
The white silk sheath with its lace overlay hugged her curves to the waist before flaring out above a hidden petticoat and continuing to the floor. Its capped sleeves had been modernized to slip off her shoulders, but the dress still brought back memories of the wedding portrait that had hung at the top of the stairs in her childhood home. She looked like her mama, and that filled her with more happiness than her body could hold. It was all she could do to keep breathing.
“Your bust is larger,” the seamstress said, sweeping a wrinkled hand along the side of Devyn’s chest. “So I had to pull apart the seams and add a new panel of fabric. It’s not a perfect match, but I don’t think anyone will notice.” She lifted Devyn’s elbow in demonstration. “I hid it beneath your arm, see?”
Devyn rotated in front of the mirror, pretending to inspect the lace at her sides, but all she could see was a blur of white. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Now she truly felt like a bride.
• • •
“Do I look like a respectable groom?”
Appraising his reflection in the pilothouse window, Beau straightened his black bowtie and then turned to face Ella-Claire. He didn’t have a tux onboard the Belle, and once he docked in New Orleans that afternoon, there wouldn’t be time to have his suit cleaned and pressed before the wedding. So he’d opted to wear his formal captain’s uniform—starched white slacks and coat paired with a matching black cummerbund and tie. He hoped it was dapper enough, but having no idea what kind of ceremony Devyn had planned, there was no way to tell.
Ella tipped her head and put her hand on her hip, scanning him before delivering a teasing wink. “Well, I don’t know about respectable, but that’s not something you can fix with a tuxedo.”
“Very funny.”
“You know I’m just messing with you,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’re the handsomest Dumont groom I’ve ever seen.”
Beau laughed. Over the last hundred years, the only other Dumont groom to make it to the altar was Marc, who’d sported one hell of a black eye at his Vegas wedding. “I’m not so sure that’s a compliment.”
“I’ve seen the way Devyn looks at you,” Ella said. “You could show up in your pawpaw’s ratty overalls and she wouldn’t care.”
Beau brushed a bit of lint off his sleeve. “I just want our wedding day to be memorable.”
“Stop fidgeting.” Ella-Claire lightly smacked his hand. “You look perfect. And even if you didn’t, it’s the marriage that counts, not the wedding. Devyn understands how rare it is when the love of your life actually loves you back. She knows how lucky—” Cutting off, Ella cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Aw, hon.” He held out his arms for a hug, but she waved him off with a lame excuse about not wanting to get makeup on his jacket. “At least tell me whose ass I need to beat.”
Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “We’re about to serve a late lunch. You want me to send up a plate of chicken or ham?”
Beau gave her a look that said he wouldn’t be deterred. Whoever had hurt her was going to pay. Maybe he should ask Alex for the guy’s name. If anyone knew the details of Ella’s personal life, it would be him. The two had been best friends for ages. Hell, Alex would probably want to confront the asshole, too.
“Which one?” she pressed.
“Chicken.”
“And we’re still on schedule to dock at five thirty?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” she said, and patted his chest. “I’m really happy for you, Beau.”
He’d just opened his mouth to thank her when the emergency weather radio affixed to the control panel screeched an alert for a severe thunderstorm warning. “What the hell?” he muttered, glancing through the front window at the clear blue sky. He stepped around Ella to check the radar, which had shown nothing significant that morning. Now a mass of greens and reds drifted into view on the screen to show incoming rain.
“How bad is it?” Ella-Claire asked.
Tapping the keyboard, Beau zoomed out to get a feel for the size of the storm. He swallowed a curse. The system continued all the way to New Orleans, following the river’s path as if it knew he was coming. There was no way he’d make it back to Cedar Bayou by eight o’clock tonight—not in this squall. In fact, if the lightning was as bad as it looked, he should probably find the nearest port and evacuate the boat.
“Really bad,” he said. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting married tonight.”
Chapter 19
“Do me a favor,” Beau said to Ella-Claire while scanning the map for the nearest docking point. As soon as he found the contact information, he pulled out his cell and dialed the port authority. “We don’t have much time before this thing’s right on top of us. Get on the phone and find somewhere for the guests and crew to hang out until the storm passes. See if you can hire some buses to meet us at the dock. Then call Devyn and explain what’s happening. Tell her I’m sorry, and that I’ll touch base with her as soon as the boat’s evacuated. Maybe we can have the wedding tomorrow.”
Ella nodded. “I’m on it.”
Twenty minutes later, after receiving permission from the nearest port authority to dock, Beau turned on the intercom and made an announcement to the entire boat. “Attention, everyone. I’m afraid there’s some nasty weather ahead, and we’re going to have to stop until the worst of it passes. We should arrive at the next port in about thirty minutes. At that time, I need everyone assembled in the formal dining hall and ready to move to a secure location.”
He pushed the Belle to full throttle and hoped like hell that the storm was moving slower than they were. The wind kicked up and dark clouds knitted together to block the sun, but at least the rain continued to hold off. He was within ten minutes of their destination when his radar flickered and went dead. The computer immediately followed, and upon closer inspection, Beau noticed that all his electronic equipment had died.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself. Whatever lay ahead must be some seriously nasty shit.
A knock sounded at the door, and Ella-Claire stepped inside. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“Start with the good,” he said. “Then work your way down.”
“The city gave us permission to use the community center, and they’ve agreed to send a few buses to shuttle us there. They say the power’s already out, but they’ve got a backup generator so we won’t be sitting in the dark the whole time. I’ve got the staff brainstorming activities to keep the guests entertained.”
“Excellent.” That took care of his most immediate concern. “What’s the bad news?”
Ella sucked an apologetic breath through her teeth. “I wasn’t able to reach Devyn. My phone died right when I was about to make the call.”
“I’ll do it.” But when Beau pulled out his cell phone, it showed NO SIGNAL.
“No one has service,” Ella said. “I checked with the whole staff—even the guests. I can’t get a connection on the Belle’s outgoing line either. And no fax. We’re totally incommunicado.”
“Just my friggin’ luck.” Beau heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to call her from the port.”
But the bad news kept coming when he docked the Belle.
The sky opened up on top of Beau and his passengers as they jogged down the bow ramp and onto the city buses idling at the rear of the parking lot. One guest slipped and sprained her ankle, and another had an asthma attack—a mild one, thank God, because there wasn’t a working telephone with which to call nine-one-one. Even the landlines were down; Beau had checked at the port office when he’d first dropped anchor.
“Maybe there’s a working phone at the rec center,” Ella shouted over the howling wind while shielding her eyes from a sideways rain that see
med to defy gravity.
“Doubtful,” Beau shouted back, then peeled a wet blade of grass off his forehead. He pointed at the first bus. “Go with this group and get settled in. I’m gonna stay here and see if the port authority can radio the sheriff in Cedar Bayou.” Come hell or high water—and with the river rising so quickly, the second part was guaranteed—Beau had to get word to Devyn before the wedding. He couldn’t let her think he’d ditched her at the altar.
Ella nodded, then boarded the first bus. The remaining staff filled the second shuttle, and when Beau saw them safely off the property, he turned and ran toward the port authority office. The sky was black as pitch, making it difficult to see fallen tree limbs and debris flying through the air. By the time he threw open the office door, Beau was soaked to the skin and wearing more leaves than the trees.
“I need to get a message to Cedar Bayou,” he said to the old-timer kicked back behind his desk, reading a magazine by the light of a battery-powered lantern. “It’s an emergency.”
The man turned up a palm. “Sorry, son. The electrical storm knocked out everything, even my police scanner.” With a shake of his head, he pointed to the heavens. “I’ve been here thirty years, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Beau raked a hand through his soggy hair and grappled for a plan B. If he couldn’t send a message to Devyn, he’d have to find a way to make it to the church on time. He hated to leave behind the Belle’s guests and crew, but his backup pilot could transport them home. Plus, he did have Ella-Claire there to ensure that things went smoothly. Considering he’d already comped the cruise fare, he figured that nobody would complain.
“Then I’ll have to drive there,” Beau said. “Where’s the nearest place to rent a car?”
“Well, there’s an Avis not too far from here, but that won’t help you.”
“Why not?”
The old man hooked a thumb toward his radio equipment. “Because the last thing I heard before the scanner went dead was the mention of a twenty-car pileup on the interstate. The highway patrol probably shut it down by now, and I don’t imagine the back roads are any better. We get a lot of flash floods around here.”
