All I Need Is You aka Wedding Survivor

by Julia London

  That remark took the wind out of her sails. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked tightly.

  “Just that.”

  “I know you’re not that cold, Eli. I think you have been stung and now you are pushing—”

  “Will you stop?” he suddenly snapped. “That’s the problem with you, Marnie, you just keep talking without ever listening. You don’t know me. You will never know me, any more than I will know you. We’ve had some good times, but don’t make it into something it’s not.”

  He might as well have slapped her—his words hurt just as bad. She’d never said she expected anything…but she didn’t have to say it, did she? Her deeds had said it for her, and he’d seen it. He’d damn sure seen into her heart, and had just punted it right out of the ballpark. She dropped her gaze to the bag. “Fine,” she muttered.

  “Oh for God’s sake, please don’t be hurt.” Eli groaned.

  That infuriated her and she jerked her gaze to him. “I’m not hurt, Eli. How could I be hurt if I don’t give a damn? Newsflash! You don’t know me, either. But I guess you think every woman you sleep with is looking for happily-ever-after with you, right? Yeah, you’re such a stud.”

  “Marnie,” he said, but she flopped down on her side and pulled the quilt up around her face where she couldn’t see him.

  “Is it okay if I sleep here? I really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Yes, of course you can,” he said irritably.

  “Great. Good night.” And she closed her eyes. Squeezed them shut.

  Eli sighed. Twice. But he said nothing.

  “You’re not the only one who has ever been hurt in this life, Eli,” she muttered angrily. “You don’t get a Purple Heart for having suffered a bad relationship. You pick up and move on.”

  Eli said nothing. Marnie was too angry to think and hoped tomorrow she could think of something clever and witty to say that would put him in his place. That’s what he needed, he needed to be put firmly in his place, the sorry bastard. And just how she’d put him in his place was the subject of the many thoughts that banged around her brain as the rain lulled her to sleep.

  Sleep did finally come, because at some point, something—a sound, a movement—woke her. She opened her eyes, wondering what time it was. The rain had stopped, and the moon had come out, judging by the thin ray of light seeping in from the flap of the tent. It was open, because Eli was sitting there, staring out into the meadow.

  She came up on her elbows and stared at him. What the hell was he doing? It was then that she noticed she was covered with the sleeping bag. He had covered her in his sleeping bag so she wouldn’t be cold.

  Oh no, he didn’t care one bit, did he?

  Stupid man.

  Marnie lay down and snuggled deeper into the bag, and drifted back to sleep, the image of a lonely, stupid, stubborn cowboy in her mind’s eye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The next morning, Eli walked down the ravine so he could get some air—he’d been surrounded by Marnie’s scent all night and it was driving him crazy, because he loved the way she smelled. But then he’d been such an idiot and had a knee-jerk reaction that cost him a chance of getting close to her.

  God, he wished he weren’t such a jerk. Especially and particularly since he really liked Marnie, liked her so much he’d hardly thought of anything else in the last couple of weeks. And since their little foray into storm sex the other night, he’d been aching to hold her again.

  But then she’d shaken him up with talk of love and weddings, and a lot of old feelings had come rushing back up, and he felt something old and clumsy rising up in him. He was definitely feeling for Marnie what he’d once felt for Trish, only it was different somehow. Stronger. Deeper. A feeling that was, oddly, way more alive than it had ever been for Trish.

  All right, already, Marnie wasn’t Trish. No, Marnie was far better than Trish, which made his feelings even more disturbing—he had, potentially, much further to fall. He’d never really figured out what went wrong the last time—with Trish, he thought he’d done everything right, but in the end, it was wrong, all wrong. He had no idea why or how, but something obviously didn’t work right, or Trish wouldn’t have done what she did.

  None of this would be an issue if he hadn’t let his guard down with Marnie. But now that he had—shit, he’d even told her about Trish—he didn’t like how vulnerable he felt, as if he were flaying himself open so that she could poke around inside him with her finger.

  No, he didn’t like that at all.

  Okay, so he had his baggage…but he didn’t have to be such an ass. He wanted to apologize for being so short with her last night. He just needed to find the right moment.

  She was still sleeping when he’d left the tent, and he glanced at his watch now. A quarter past nine. He took his radio from his pocket and called Cooper. A few minutes later, he wished he hadn’t beeped him, because Cooper told him Jack was having trouble getting a rotor blade up here, and that it would probably be the next day before someone could get them off this side of the ravine and put them on the side of civilization.

  “What about repairing the bridge?” Eli suggested as he peered down the ravine at the remnants of the old bridge.

  “We’ve got a crew from Pagosa Springs lined up,” Cooper said.

  “Really?” Eli asked, a little surprised. He’d learned a long time ago that this part of the world moved a whole lot slower than LA

  “Really. They ought to be able to get to it next week. A month at most.”

  “Ah hell,” Eli groaned over Cooper’s laugh. “What about food?”

  “Ah, now Jack’s come up with a solution for that. He’s bringing it up to you now.”

  “Thanks,” Eli said. “If you could send up a gun and shovel, too, I’d appreciate it.”

  Cooper laughed again. “Look, dude, we’ll get you out of there,” he assured him. “Just sit tight.”

  “I don’t think I can sit any tighter, Coop. And I’d just like to remind you and the other party animals down there that I was the one who was dead set against this deal.”

  “Hey, trust me, you got the sweet end of the deal, pal,” Cooper said amicably. “We’re fighting chaos down here. Do you know how much wine and champagne was shipped up here? Do you know how much two hundred people can drink? The lodge sent a truck to Durango this morning to buy out every liquor store they can find. We’ve been in the middle of party central for twenty-four hours now, and there are no signs of it ending anytime soon. You ever seen one hundred pounds of feathers spread out?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I am not kidding. They rolled the guy who directed Love Bites in those feathers last night, and he’s still picking them out of his hair.”

  Now it was Eli’s turn to laugh. “Serves you assholes right for leaving me up here with these egomaniacs,” he said, and grinned at Cooper’s spicy retort. They talked a little more, then Eli hung up.

  He was starting the climb back to the meadow when he heard the sound of four-wheelers, followed by the even clearer sound of maniacal laughter. The party was coming back.

  By the time the guests had driven up to the ravine, the stranded bridal party had half rolled, half fallen down the trail in their haste to see what was going on, beckoned by the call of motors and laughter.

  Vince, who arrived far ahead of Olivia, asked what was happening. Marnie stood on the other side of Rhys and refused to look at Eli. Her hair, he noticed as she tripped over a rock, was even wilder today than yesterday. In his T-shirt, her fleece jacket, and the boots she refused to lace, she looked like a wild mountain woman.

  Olivia stood in front of them all, her hands on her bony little hips, her mouth set in an implacable line.

  “They’re bringing up some food,” Eli said.

  “Thank God,” Olivia snapped, just as the four-wheelers came into view.

  There were at least six of them, and a dozen people fell off the things when they came to a halt, laugh
ing and carrying their morning mugs of whatever, visibly steaming in the crisp morning temperatures.

  A very stoic Jack arrived behind them, pulling a small trailer behind his four-wheeler that carried one of Marnie’s industrial-size snowblowers. He stepped off his four-wheeler and walked purposefully to the edge of the ravine, took out his radio, and flipped it open as the party guests gathered around behind him.

  Eli flipped open his radio, too. “Yo.”

  “We’re going to shoot some sandwiches and apples at you. Tried soft drinks, but that didn’t work out.”

  Eli glanced at the snowblower—as did the rest of the bridal party, seeing as how they had heard what Jack said—and stared at it, trying to process how, exactly, this would work. But Jack didn’t give them a chance to ask questions, for he had turned away and was marching through the guests back to the trailer with the snowblower.

  “Hi, Livi,” Olivia’s mother called as they waited for Jack. She was hanging off the cinematographer, waving with her free arm.

  “Oh Jesus,” Olivia muttered.

  “Hey,” Vince said, peering across the ravine, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Is that Ari?”

  Olivia gasped and looked to where he pointed. “Ari!” she shrieked.

  From across the ravine, Ari let his hand drop from the shoulders of a young woman. “Ah, little raindrop. You must have a care, for I detect bad karma,” he called out to her.

  “No shit,” Eli snorted.

  Olivia moved as close to the edge of the ravine as she could get, her hands clasped to her chest. “Oh, Ari, I wish you were on this side to help me through this. It’s a horrible ordeal. You cannot imagine the conditions under which we are surviving.”

  “For chrissakes,” Vince moaned.

  Ari shrugged and looked down at the pretty blonde he’d been handling just a moment before. “You must have strength, little raindrop, for is it not adversity that makes us wiser?”

  “Wiser?” Marnie asked Rhys. “Or stronger?”

  “Perhaps both,” Rhys opined.

  “And I shall be here to guide you when you are ready to cross the chasm,” Ari continued.

  “When you’re ready? Is he nuts? We’re fucking stuck!” Vince blustered.

  “Shut up, Vince,” Olivia snapped, and waved at Ari.

  “Hey,” Vince said, “is that Rebecca Strand he’s with?”

  Olivia jerked toward Vince, her eyes narrowed. “You blindass fool. Of course it’s not her. Why would it be her?”

  He shrugged. “It looks like her. If it’s not Rebecca Strand, then who is it?” he asked, apparently the only one oblivious to Olivia’s ire—although it was hard to understand how he could possibly miss it, the rest of them were blown back ten or fifteen feet by the fire that was blowing out of her ears and nose at that very moment.

  “It’s Caroline Devereaux,” Marnie said helpfully, and got such a scathing look from Olivia that Eli was surprised she didn’t melt on the spot. Poor Marnie could have no way of knowing that Vince had once diddled Caroline on the studio back lot during the production of a feature film. He didn’t think Olivia knew it, but judging by her ferocious look now, she certainly did.

  “Huh,” Vince said, nodding thoughtfully. “I haven’t seen her since we filmed Backwards.”

  “Who the fuck cares?” Olivia seethed.

  Yep. She knew, all right.

  And she might have actually obliterated Vince with that hardass gaze of hers had Rhys not stepped between the bridal couple and pointed.

  “He’s aiming that thing at us,” he announced. They all jerked their gazes across the ravine.

  Olivia’s mother was making out with the cinematographer, and a group of about five were gathered around one four-wheeler, passing a flask. Jack and another guy who Eli thought was a lodge employee had pulled the trailer toward the edge of the ravine, and the snowblower pipe that would blow feathers over the guests at the reception was pointed directly at them.

  Jack had always been an inventor of sorts, even when they were kids. He was the one who’d rigged the mother of all cherry bombs and blown the fur off Cooper’s cat. With a wide grin, Eli went down on his haunches. This was going to be good.

  “What precisely does he intend to do with that thing?” Rhys demanded.

  “I think he intends to shoot some sandwiches our way,” Eli responded, and Rhys looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. But then Jack called out to someone, and a woman in the group of five passing the flask shrieked, jumped off her seat on the four-wheeler, and fished a box from the four-wheeler’s basket. Clutching it tightly to her chest, she hurried forward to Jack and smiled a little too adoringly as she handed it to him.

  The old boy had obviously been working on more than the snowblower, Eli figured.

  The rest of that motley crew gathered around behind Jack, crowding him and the snowblower. The thing was six to eight feet tall, and when Jack proclaimed it loaded, the two professional dancers, or whatever they were, lined everyone up on either side of the thing. Both of them appeared to be explaining something to their respective groups.

  “What the hell?” Eli muttered, just as the first apple came flying across the ravine.

  It just missed hitting Marnie in the head. “Hey!” she shouted across the ravine as she ducked another apple. A cheer went up from the left side of the snowblower, and Eli turned around, saw that the second apple had hit a tree. They were betting, he surmised, one half getting points for everything an apple did hit, and the other side getting points for a clean drop. More apples came, and as one rolled down to Eli’s foot, he picked it up, noticed it had what looked like bite marks in it. The snowblower had a serrated blade, he gathered, to help grind up snow and ice. Or apples, depending on its use.

  Jack shot about fifteen apples at them, and once Marnie and Olivia had gotten over their shock at being fired on, they scrambled to pick them up, losing only two to the ravine.

  When Jack paused the snowblower, the two professional guests quickly compared notes; a wail was heard from the team on the left as they all reached for their pockets and pulled out a handful of bills. A few minutes later, Jack started the thing up again. The guests quickly resumed their positions and watched as the first sandwich was hurled across the ravine, landing squarely on Rhys’s foot.

  Rhys bent down and picked it up as the sandwiches continued to fly. “Mmm. Peanut butter and jam,” he informed them, and proceeded to open the plastic wrap and eat it.

  “Hey!” Vince said. “That’s not fair.”

  Rhys shrugged and continued munching as another sandwich hit him in the shoulder, much to the delight of the team on the left. “If you will only look about, you will notice they have an entire box. I think there is more than enough to see us through.”

  He was right—they ended up shooting about thirty mangled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in all. The bridal party did not seem to care—they were starved and had each gathered up armfuls of apples and sandwiches.

  When the last PB&J was shot across, Jack turned the snowblower off, flipped open his radio, and gestured for Eli to do the same. “That ought to get you through the next day,” he said.

  “Peanut butter? That’s all they’ve got down there?” Eli asked.

  “That, and a lot of lobster,” Jack said. “Okay, gotta book.” He clicked off.

  Eli and the rest of his castaways watched as the guests settled up their bets with a lot of laughter and high fives, then got on their four-wheelers and drove off with Olivia’s mother waving over the top of her head to her daughter.

  When the four-wheelers had disappeared, Olivia looked down at her pile of sandwiches. “They’re all messed up,” she said tearfully.

  “For chrissakes, Olivia,” Vince sighed wearily. “It’s food.” And with that, he started the grim hike back to the meadow, munching on an apple.

  At the cabin, they sat in silence, each of them eating a couple of sandwiches and an apple and drinking bottled water. No one was in the m
ood for talking—Olivia kept glaring at Vince, and when Eli tried to make eye contact with Marnie, she refused to look at him.

  It was Rhys who finally broke the silence. “What shall we do today?” he asked cheerfully. The man acted like he was on a little camping vacation.

  “Oh, I dunno, Rhys.” Vince sighed. “Nap? What else is there to do?”

  “I had in mind something a little more engaging than that,” he said primly. “We’re all rather desperate for a bath.”

  “There’s no water, genius,” Olivia said.

  “There certainly is water. Mr. McCain here managed to put out enough receptacles for rainwater to wash with.”

  The group collectively snapped their gaze to Eli, startling him.

  “There’s some water,” he said instantly. “But not enough for baths.”

  “How much?” Olivia demanded.

  “Enough to wash up. For at least a couple people.”

  “Dibs!” Olivia shouted, jumping to her feet.

  “No, no—hey,” Marnie stammered, coming to her feet, too. “You can’t have dibs. I want a bath, too.”

  “Sorry, Marn. It’s not your wedding.”

  “There isn’t any wedding at the moment,” Vince reminded her. “And I want to shave. I can’t stand hair on my face.”

  “Whatever, Vince. It’s not like you have enough facial hair that anyone can actually notice,” Olivia shot back. “And I am so not washing after you.”

  “I’ve quite a bit of facial hair,” Rhys said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to tidy up a bit.”

  “Then use the lake,” Olivia cried. “That’s the only place with enough water for you.”

  Marnie gasped at her insult, but Rhys was quite unaffected by it. “I will not bathe in that water. It is stagnant and there is a peculiar smell.”

  “Marmots,” Eli said.

  The four of them looked at him questioningly. “Giant gophers,” he clarified. “They live just above the lake, a colony of them. Their waste is what you smell. It washes into the lake.”

  “Omigod,” Olivia swooned.

  “But the real problem we’ve got is parasites and the paint from the arch, which is washing off and casting a film on the lake.”