by Macy Beckett
Beau’s stomach dipped into his boxer-briefs. “So there’s no way for me to get home?”
“Not unless you can fly,” the man said, then flinched when a windblown object thunked against the outside wall. “And I wouldn’t recommend that either.”
Like a scene ripped from his nightmares, Beau stood there dripping wet and helpless. The weather in Cedar Bayou was probably fine, and a squall in another state wouldn’t make the news. Devyn would be waiting for him at the altar in front of half the town, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t coming.
Beau imagined how she might feel when the minutes ticked by in painfully awkward silence, their guests staring at her and whispering that history was repeating itself. Abandonment was her greatest fear, and he was about to bring it to fruition—in front of an audience. Even if Devyn forgave him, she’d never fully recover. It would take another decade to regain her trust, assuming she ever let her guard down again.
“God help me,” Beau whispered to himself. “It can’t happen like this.”
• • •
Devyn pressed a hand to her belly, which felt like it was about to sprout wings and fly to Canada. The act caused her to drop a pair of candle tapers to the chapel floor, where they broke in half against the hardwood. She stifled a curse, not wanting to swear in the Lord’s house.
Allie slanted her a glance while pushing a long white taper into the standing candleholder at the altar. “Nervous?”
“A little,” Devyn admitted, bending down to pick up the pieces.
Overall, nothing was wrong. The sanctuary looked lovely, decked out in dozens of simple brass candelabra and a lacey white runner adorning the aisle. She and Allie had just finished decorating the fellowship hall and had set up the cake. Their mother’s freshly steamed gown was hanging in the dressing room along with a matching veil borrowed from a friend. But despite the fact that everything had gone according to plan, Devyn couldn’t shake her jitters.
“It’s natural,” Allie said. “All brides feel this way on their wedding day, and that’s under normal circumstances.”
Devyn propped a hand on her hip. “Are you saying my wedding’s abnormal?”
Allie’s eyes went wide. “No, it’s beautiful. But you have more reason to feel nervous because you haven’t spoken to the groom in weeks. Technically, you don’t even know that he’s coming. That has to be weighing on your mind.”
“It’s not bothering me at all,” Devyn insisted, and she meant every word. She had perfect faith that he would be there. “I think I’m more worried about the guests. I haven’t had much time”—or money—“to put this together. No one wants to be known for having a tacky wedding.”
“Baby, you’re talking to the queen of tacky weddings,” Allie said with a smile. “I was married in a bikini, remember?”
Devyn snickered at the memory. As maid of honor, she’d worn a bathing suit and leopard print sarong. “Your point?”
Allie set down an armful of candles and gave Devyn’s hand a hearty squeeze. “A wedding lasts for a few minutes, but a marriage lasts a lifetime. Look at the big picture.”
Devyn returned the squeeze. “You’re right. I’ve got Beau, and that’s all that matters.”
Allie nodded as if to get down to business. “Now let’s finish up in here so I can get started on your hair and makeup.”
A hopeful smile curved Devyn’s lips. Once she dolled herself up and changed into Mama’s gown, all of this would begin to feel real.
• • •
“There has to be a way,” Beau said while staring out the window into the blackness. A bolt of lightning struck in the distance, momentarily illuminating the raging river, its surges snatching limbs and debris from the parking lot like a greedy child. “I can’t stand here and do nothing.”
“Once in a while,” the old man said from his desk, “Mother Nature likes to remind us who’s boss. I know you want to reach your fiancée, but I’m afraid the Mississippi’s got the upper hand tonight.”
Beau couldn’t argue with that—he’d never seen the river so angry—but his mind kept working to find a solution. Instinctively, he knew there was a way to reach Devyn, and he’d find it if he kept trying.
A few minutes later, a small searchlight pierced the darkness. Beau pressed his forehead to the window and squinted at the half-submerged parking lot, where a speedboat rocked in the current. The passenger holding the light swiveled it to and fro, probably looking for a place to tie off the boat while they sought shelter from the storm.
“There’s a small craft out there,” Beau said to the old-timer. “I’m going to give them a hand.”
When Beau stepped outside, it was to a gust of wind that knocked the hat from his head and sent it flying. He waded through the ankle-deep water, which quickly grew more forceful as he approached the boat. By the time he found an anchor for the craft—in the form of a streetlamp—the water covered his thighs, and it took all his strength to stay on his feet.
“Ahoy!” he shouted above a crack of thunder. The driver glanced at him, and Beau yelled, “Toss me a rope, and I’ll tie you off.”
As soon as he had the boat secured, he helped the driver and passenger inside the port office. The lantern’s glow revealed a middle-aged couple, their dark hair slicked to the sides of their faces. They said the storm had caught them off guard and ten miles from home.
“If the lightning weren’t so bad,” the husband said, “I’d push ahead. The Flying Lass is the fastest boat I’ve ever owned.” He glanced longingly into the parking lot. “My girl’s going to take a beating out there.”
His wife used her hand like a squeegee to remove the water from her face. “Boats are replaceable. People aren’t.”
Still gazing into the darkness, the man grunted in reluctant agreement.
That’s when Beau realized how he could reach Cedar Bayou—on the very river he’d fled an hour ago. “You say the Lass is quick?” he asked, nearly cringing at the stupidity of the plan forming in his mind.
“Quick?” The man scoffed. “She’ll pass quick and leave it spinning in her wake.”
“Is she gassed up?” Beau asked.
“Yeah, why? You think I should dump the fuel tanks in case lightning strikes?”
Beau ignored the question because he didn’t have a second to waste. “I’m the pilot and co-owner of the Belle of the Bayou, the big steamer docked out there.”
“Okay,” the man said, furrowing his brow.
“I’m telling you this,” Beau said, “because I need to borrow your boat.”
The port authority official nearly tipped back in his chair. “What? Are you out of your mind?”
Again, Beau ignored the question. “Ten years ago, I almost ruined the best thing that ever happened to me when I ran out on my girlfriend. It took a long time, but I finally convinced her to give me another chance, and eventually, to be my wife. Our wedding’s set to take place in a couple hours, and I’ve got no way to tell her about the storm. If I don’t show up, there’ll be no coming back from that. She’ll think I aband—”
“Listen, mister. I sympathize with you,” the boat owner interrupted. “I really do. But if I give you the keys to the Lass and you wind up getting yourself killed out there, I’d never forgive myself.”
“One way or another, I’m getting home tonight.” Beau thumbed toward the parking lot. “If I have to, I’ll wander up and down the riverbank until I find another boat. Seems to me, the Lass is the safest option. If you lend her to me, you’ll be giving me my best shot.” He pulled in a breath and hoped for a miracle. “What do you say?”
For the longest time, the man stared out the window. When he met Beau’s gaze, it was with a disbelieving shake of his head. He pulled a key float from his pocket and slapped it in Beau’s palm. “Godspeed, you crazy SOB.”
• • •
After ninety-seven bobby pins—yes, Devyn counted—Allie secured one final curl in place and announced, “Now for the veil.”
&nbs
p; “Can I look yet?”
“Nope,” Allie said. “Let’s wait until we get the dress on so you can see the full effect.”
Devyn bounced one high heel against the floor, but she sat obediently while Allie pinned the veil in place at the back of her updo. The noise of mingled voices carried from the sanctuary into the dressing room, telling Devyn that the guests had begun to arrive. Her pulse kicked into high gear, and she wiped her clammy palms on her robe. She wondered if Beau was in the opposite dressing room feeling the same butterflies of nervous anticipation.
It was like Allie had read her mind. “I told Marc to text me as soon as Beau gets here. So far, no word.”
Devyn checked the time on her cell phone. The ceremony was scheduled to begin soon. “He’s cutting it close.”
“Time for lipstick.” Allie used a finger to tilt Devyn’s face toward the ceiling. “I’ve always heard you’re supposed to do this before putting on the dress, just in case you drop the tube.”
“If you’re trying to distract me,” Devyn said, “it’s not working.”
“Shh. Keep your mouth still.”
Devyn parted her lips long enough to receive a coat of Flaming Vixen, and then she said, “Maybe I should ask Marc to call him.” Immediately, she changed her mind. “No, that doesn’t show perfect faith. I just need to calm down and trust that he’ll be here.” She peeked up and resisted the urge to gnaw on her freshly painted bottom lip. “Right?”
“I know what you need,” Allie said. She opened one of the bottles of Chardonnay they’d brought for the reception and poured a generous serving into a plastic cup. “Bottoms up.”
Devyn drained the cup and held it out for a refill, then finished that one, too. The wine did its job, allowing her shoulders to sink from her ears down to their normal position.
Allie unzipped the plastic protector around Mama’s dress and lovingly lifted it from the hanger. After shedding her robe, Devyn stepped inside the gown, slipped her arms in the sleeves, and waited for her sister to fasten the back.
“Ready?” Allie asked, and rotated Devyn to face the mirror. “Now tell me that’s not a radiant bride.”
Devyn gasped when she caught a glimpse of the dark-haired beauty in the mirror. Raven curls spilled from her French twist, peeking out beneath a white veil of delicate lace. Her eyes were dusted with shimmery shadow, her cheeks blushing a shade lighter than her lips. She looked classic and elegant, like she’d stepped out of a copy of Modern Bride. Devyn barely recognized herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered to her sister. “You’re good.”
“Psh,” Allie said with a dismissive wave. “You made my job easy.”
A peal of laughter rang out from the sanctuary, and Devyn glanced at the wall separating her from the guests. There was no more putting it off—it was time to face her friends. She didn’t know why the prospect put a hitch in her pulse, but it did. “I should go out there,” she said. “I told Beau I’d be waiting at the altar.”
Allie checked her cell phone, then pursed her lips in consideration. “Still nothing from Marc.”
“Maybe he forgot to text you.”
“You go ahead,” Allie said with a nod toward the chapel. “I’ll check the other dressing room and see if the groom’s here.” But first, she handed over a cluster of gerbera daisies in jewel tones of burgundy and orange. “I know we said ‘no flowers,’ but I had this made for you. Every bride needs a fresh bouquet.”
After a hug, Allie slipped into the second dressing room while Devyn followed the hallway leading to the front of the sanctuary. She peeked out at the rows of pews populated by smiling, chattering friends, and her heart lifted. These people loved her, and they’d come out tonight to show their support. There was nothing to fear. Keeping that in mind, she summoned a smile and approached the first pew.
Too bad Jenny and Slade were seated there.
“I see you went with white,” Jenny said, raking a gaze over Devyn’s gown. She sniffed a dry laugh. “Interesting choice.”
Devyn fought the urge to smash her bouquet in Jenny’s face, instead tightening her smile and keeping her voice chipper. “It was my mother’s dress.”
“Hmm.” Jenny tipped her head and returned the fake grin. “At least it’s not my gown. I donated it to the Goodwill along with that red Gucci, so you could have easily picked it up on your last scavenging mission.”
“Bless your sweet little heart,” Devyn said, when what she really wanted to do was knock that Hore into next week. “And thanks for coming.”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” Jenny patted her husband’s leg. “Would we, babe?”
Slade quit staring at his iPhone and jerked to attention. “Where’s Beau?”
Devyn peered around the chapel but didn’t see him. She spotted Allie talking with Marc at the rear of the room, darting frequent glances out the open doors into the parking lot. “Running a bit late,” Devyn said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
• • •
With the throttle wide open, Beau hauled ass downriver. Each raindrop stung his face like a tiny missile, but he’d faced worse pain than that in recon training. What really kept his heart pounding was the lightning. White-hot bolts struck the trees lining the riverbank, followed by a deafening boom that rattled his teeth. One surge hit so close that he felt a charge of electricity crawl over his skin.
He damned near wet himself.
The worst part was that he knew he’d never make it to the ceremony on time, and he had no idea how long Devyn would wait for him. All he could do was keep his head down, hold on tight, and hope that the Lass had enough gasoline in her tanks to get him to the New Orleans dock where he’d parked his SUV . . . and that lightning didn’t strike him dead before then.
Another mile into his journey, the searchlight affixed to the front of the boat illuminated a shadowy object ahead, so he slowed the engines and approached with caution. A tree had fallen into the river and lay partially submerged. If he hadn’t spotted it in time, the boat would’ve been gutted. Carefully, he motored around it and uttered a prayer of thanks.
He kept his speed in check after that, squinting against the rain while he scanned the muddy water for obstacles. He knew it was the safe thing to do, but he couldn’t stop picturing Devyn standing at the altar, staring at the chapel doors for his arrival. Every moment he hesitated was another beat of agony for her. He checked his cell phone to see if his service had been restored, but the screen was dead. Likely because the cursed thing was soaking wet.
An hour later, his fingers ached from clenching the steering wheel, and his muscles were stiff enough to crack granite. An occasional sputter from the engine warned him that he’d nearly depleted his gas supply, but the rain had lightened to a drizzle, and the Belle’s docking station appeared in the distance. A bubble of hope expanded inside Beau’s chest. Once he reached his SUV, he could be in Cedar Bayou within twenty minutes—fifteen if the traffic cops weren’t watching.
After hitching the Lass to the dock, Beau hit the pavement running and patted his coat pockets for his key fob. Then his footsteps came to a gradual halt as realization set in. He’d left his car keys in the captain’s quarters onboard the Belle.
“Shit!”
He growled in frustration and slammed the heel of his hand into the driver’s-side window. The glass didn’t break, but it gave him an idea. Beau had two choices: either siphon the gas from his vehicle’s tank, then use it to pilot the boat downriver to Cedar Bayou, or he could break the SUV window and hotwire the engine. He knew the second option would get him to the chapel faster, so he didn’t spend another second debating what to do.
Beau scanned the parking lot for a heavy object, eventually settling on a broken cinder block near the sidewalk. He’d just retrieved the block and held it above his head to smash the rear passenger window when he heard a man’s voice shout, “Freeze! Throw down your weapon and get on the ground!”
• • •
Father Durand raised his w
rinkled hands and announced, “Go in peace and serve the Lord,” to which the congregation responded in unison, “Thanks be to God.”
Devyn pretended to scratch her cheek while sneaking a covert glance over her shoulder toward the chapel’s rear entrance. She’d pleaded with the priest to perform the wedding Mass first, separate from the ceremony, in order to give Beau more time, but he still wasn’t here. She plucked a hymnal from beneath her pew and caught Father Durand’s eye, then held up the volume in a silent message.
“Uh,” Father Durand said before understanding flashed in his gaze. “Please rise and join me in singing ‘Gathered in the Love of Christ.’”
The assembly obeyed, but Devyn noticed half of them peering around the sanctuary in confusion. Clearly it hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the groom was missing, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep stalling. While mouthing the words to the hymn, Devyn peeked to her left at Allie, who in turn peered around Marc’s arm at his cell phone. After checking the screen, Marc shoved the phone in his pocket with a bit too much force, and Allie furrowed her brow. Their reactions told Devyn everything she needed to know: Beau hadn’t checked in.
The hymn ended far too soon, and Father Durand stood at the pulpit in silence while looking to her for direction. God bless that man, she would owe him a hundred fish fries to make up for this. She cleared her throat and said, “The groom is a bit delayed. How about we sing ‘A Marriage Blessing’?”
The priest nodded slowly, then led the hymn.
Allie leaned close, pressing her lips to Devyn’s ear. “Baby, I know you have faith,” she whispered. “But it’s past nine o’clock. We can’t keep singing hymns all night.”
“Just a little bit longer,” Devyn whispered back. “I know he’ll be here.”
But when “A Marriage Blessing” ended, Beau’s father and his pregnant girlfriend left their pew and headed for the exit. Encouraged by the defectors, Alex and Nick ducked their heads and followed up the aisle.
