by Ruby Laska
“This is getting weird,” Zane said, though in fact, it was just the opposite. Matthew was making sense of a tangle that he hadn’t even been aware of fighting. “I dated that nurse in February and then there was that ski instructor I met during March Madness—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Matthew said decisively. “You’re still here, after almost a year, and if I had to bet on you, I’d say you aren’t going anywhere any time soon.”
“Look, just because you’re putting down roots doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Zane argued, but on the inside the warm feeling was growing. “There’s only one apron in this house, and you’re already wearing it.”
“Ha. Point is, I think our little Zanie is all grown up. You’re ready, man. Ready for something to stick.”
“What, now you’re going to toss your bouquet to me at the reception?”
Matthew flashed him his patented nice-guy grin. “Nah, you’re on your own there. I don’t know if this crazy chick is the one for you. All I’m saying is, if the right girl did happen to come along right now, I think you’re ready. Let it happen, man.”
“Knocks a girl up, and all of a sudden he thinks he’s an expert,” Zane grumbled, as the two of them stood and tossed their empties into the recycling bin. But when Matthew headed out the door back toward the bunkhouse, Zane followed him with a grin on his face.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Your cuticles are in great shape,” the manicurist said as she applied a base coat to Caryn’s pinkie nail. “Especially considering what you did to your poor nails. What have you been doing lately, digging wells with your bare hands?”
“She’s working at Buddy’s,” Deneen piped up as she peered over Caryn’s shoulder. She’d been the first to have her hair and nails done so that she could continue her one-woman hurricane of preparing for the ceremony, which was less than two hours away. Caryn had insisted on being last, since she was only a substitute bridesmaid, and had tried to make herself useful as the bunkhouse was overrun with people transforming the building and grounds into a wedding stage.
Caryn had served coffee, stocked the coolers with ice, festooned the folding chairs outside with ivy, and nearly averted disaster when she threw herself at the cart carrying the four-tier wedding cake as it nearly went into a ditch. She’d fetched ice water and champagne for the bride, who was sequestered in her bedroom watching home movies with her mom while her makeup was applied, and taken dozens of candid shots on borrowed phones. Only now, with the wedding party all ready to get dressed but her, had she taken her place in the old beige La-Z-Boy that was serving as a manicure chair.
What would the girl doing her nails say if she knew that Caryn had a standing weekly appointment with the most sought-after manicurist in New York City?
As she was mulling that over, the hairdresser came out of the bridal dressing room wiping her hands on her smock. “That went well, if I do say so myself.”
“Her hair’s all set?” Deneen asked, checking something off her clipboard. “Extra firm hold?”
“Yes ma’am,” the hairdresser, who had been introduced as Trudy, said. “All we’ve got left is Carrie here.”
All eyes turned to Caryn, who wanted to sink into the floor. Her dramatically terrible dye job was embarrassing enough when she was waiting on customers or riding around town in Zane’s truck. But now, with her new friends and a professional hairstylist scrutinizing her, she wished she’d never picked up the box of Clairol and the dull pair of scissors.
“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Deneen said, pressing her lips together and shaking her head. Beside her, the manicurist, the other two bridesmaids, and a heavyset man carrying a case of wine all adopted the same politely horrified expression.
“Oh, do whatever you want with it,” Caryn blurted. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I’ve been thinking of a change anyway.”
Five people sighed in unison, their relief palpable. “Maybe I’ll just tone down the color and even up the ends,” Trudy said, running her fingers lightly through Caryn’s hair.
“Yes, if by tone down and even up you mean create something entirely new,” Deneen said, the only one apparently not at all concerned for Caryn’s feelings, which was oddly freeing.
“Fine with me,” she agreed.
“I’ve only got an hour,” Trudy grumbled, already sectioning off Caryn’s hair at a furious pace.
“Make the most of it,” Deneen said, as much a threat as encouragement.
Caryn closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift while Trudy snipped and applied a strong-smelling balm to her hair, working it along the roots and out to the ends. Somewhere in the house someone had put on big band music, and the strains of “In the Mood” filled the house along with shouted orders and the joyous confusion of a party about to start.
In New York, Caryn always worked through her hair appointments. Her high- and low-lights took several hours, and she used the time to answer emails, respond to invitations, and even review sketches.
Here, in North Dakota, she’d barely given a thought to her job or her datebook, even while she’d worked harder than she ever had before in her life. Now, with her work-tired muscles relaxing under the cape, she gave herself over to the luxury of daydreaming.
Almost instantly, Zane’s face appeared in her mind. Not smiling, though, the way he’d been when he popped his head in half an hour earlier—in this vision he was glowering the way he had when lightning touched down all around them. She thought about his hands on her, his hot, soft mouth. She took her time recalling every moment on the bench, focusing on all the sensory details of her wicked night with a stranger. Well, a near stranger, anyway, albeit one on whose arm she would soon walk down an aisle.
An aisle made from a runner laid on the green grass of an old ranch, she thought with a smile as Trudy started blow-drying, sweeping her hair up and over as she worked. There was no mirror—they were jammed into the living room, the lavender bridesmaids’ dresses and the big garment bag containing the wedding gown taking up most of the space. Trudy crimped and curled and sprayed, and even then she wouldn’t let Caryn see until after she had applied makeup.
Finally, after Deneen had swooped in and snatched the bridal gown to take to her sister, after the rest of the bridesmaids had assembled and begun to get dressed, as the first guests were arriving outside, being seated in the sunshine on the rows of folding chairs, Trudy dug in her tool box for a hand mirror. “Ta-da!” she chortled, handing the mirror to Caryn. “I’m quite pleased!”
Caryn took a deep breath and looked. What she saw took a moment to sink in. Gone was Carrie-Barracuda, inept cocktail waitress and amateur punk. But what had taken her place was not the Caryn that she used to be, with the signature long blond hair, instantly recognizable from society pages all over the country.
The woman staring back at her sported a chic little crop that went from strawberry blond to a paler shade at the tips, a more daring style than Caryn had ever had before. Her makeup was dramatic enough for photos, the smoky eye contouring drawing out all the sparkling tones of gold and brown in her eyes. Her lips had been glossed in a bold berry shade that was much more adventurous than her usual nude pink. And nestled around her neck was a delicate silver chain from which hung a tiny heart.
Caryn touched the heart with a fingertip painted to match her lips. The necklace couldn’t be more different from the large signature chokers and multi-metal beads in the Caryn Carver Bijoux collection, but she loved it all the same.
“That’s the bridesmaid gift,” Deneen said, assessing the results with a satisfied smile. “Jayne’s going to buy an extra one for Ashley, but she wanted you to have one too. She appreciates—we all appreciate you stepping in like this. I know some people think it’s silly, but, well, this is the first wedding I’ve ever planned and it’s going in my portfolio and I just really, really want it to be perfect.”
Caryn nodded. She knew a thing or two about being perfect—or at least, about what it took to
give the impression that you were. It was a lot of work, and at the end of a long day in Manhattan, alone in her apartment with its marble counters and designer drapes and state-of-the-art sound system, she had worked hard not to let herself wonder if it was all worth it.
Deneen would find that out for herself, before very long. She was only beginning on her path as an entrepreneur, and Caryn wasn’t going to be the one to disillusion her about the hard work and disappointment that lay ahead. But then again, Deneen was older than Caryn had been when she’d started out; she probably already had learned her share of life lessons.
And Deneen had something that Caryn had never had, in the eight years since she began Caryn Carver Bijoux: she had a lover and friends and family surrounding her. Caryn had had her mother, but even though Georgia lived only a few miles away on the Upper East Side, they mostly saw each other at events attended by dozens if not hundreds of other people. Staring at the hand mirror at the face that was familiar and yet somehow so different from the one she’d known for thirty years, Caryn realized that the phone call that had kicked off this crazy trip, when Georgia had encouraged her to reconnect with her bio-dad, was the first time in ages that she’d actually spoken to her mother about anything other than work or her stepfather’s run for office.
Here, in rural North Dakota in a building that had housed ranch hands for nearly a century, they had made a community. A family. Love blossomed and flourished here—Jayne and Matthew were proof of that, but so were Jimmy and Deneen, Cal and his girlfriend Roan, and Chase and Regina, the woman from Nashville who he was picking up at the airport. There was no shortage of support and encouragement, humor and conversation, and Caryn felt tears threaten to come to her eyes, imagining what it would be like to live in a place like this.
“It’s dress time!” Deneen called, picking up a chilled bottle of champagne and clinking her pen against the glass. “And as maid of honor as well as your official director of events today, I encourage all of you to make it quick so we can get our bride down the aisle before the groom gets tired of waiting for her.”
Excited cheering erupted from Kim and Tonda, Jayne’s best friends from Arkansas who were serving as bridesmaids, as well as Roan, who was going to do a reading at the ceremony. Jayne and Deneen’s aunts and Matthew’s stepmom waved champagne glasses from their perches on the couch.
Deneen started shuffling through the dresses on the rack she’d rolled into the room. “Roan, would you mind helping Jayne with her dress? That way I can make sure everyone else gets the right one.” She lifted the first bridesmaid’s dress, the lavender satin tumbling over her arms.
Caryn felt suddenly shy as the others jumped up to retrieve their gowns. She was an outsider looking in, a place she’d worked hard to put behind her. As a shy ten-year-old, she’d felt like an outsider in her mother’s new marriage to Randall, always a little bit apart from the heart of their home.
“And…here’s yours, Carrie,” Deneen said, handing her the final gown, a Spanx undergarment that looked like it would fit a small child, and a shoe box. “Fingers crossed, but you’re built so similarly to Ashley, I’m hoping it will look just as nice on you as it did on her.”
One of the other girls called for help with a zipper and Caryn was left alone with the dress. Slowly, she took off her black skull-printed tank top and fringed silver skirt, her ripped tights and the black plastic boots. She folded the clothes carefully and tugged on the shapewear, smoothing it over her skin. Then she took a deep breath and lifted the heavy satin dress off the hanger.
Caryn was no stranger to evening gowns. She’d worn her first designer gown at the age of thirteen, and since then had worn many of New York’s major designers, working with as many as possible to build connections for her business. She’d worn sleek sheaths and mermaid hems; empire waists and strapless numbers. She’d worn silk and tulle and chiffon and organza, sequins and applique and illusion.
But never in her life had she worn a dress like this. It was a princess gown, with a sweetheart neckline and little puffed off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a tight waist flaring to a big, swirling skirt. It was the sort of dress every little girl dreams of, and Caryn had been no exception. Being raised on the red carpet and graduating to New York couture, she’d had to leave that dream behind when she moved to the world of fashion.
But here, in this charming, quirky place with all these lovely people, the dress seemed perfect. She unzipped the back and stepped into the skirt, the layers of crinoline making it stand out gaily from the waist. She pulled the bodice up over her arms, smoothing the neckline into place.
“I’ve got you, dear,” Jayne’s aunt said and tugged the zipper into place. “Why, it fits you perfectly! As though it were made for you!”
“Thank you,” Caryn said, doing an experimental box step to feel the dress swish around her legs. She took the shoes from the box and stepped into the matching lavender peep-toed pumps. They were a bit tight, but Caryn would make them work.
“Come look!” Kim called, and Caryn joined the other bridesmaids crowding into one of the bedrooms to stand in front of the full-length mirror. They made a sea of lavender satin, turning this way and that and striking poses. Laughter bubbled along with the champagne, and then turned to shrieks as the bride appeared in the doorway.
Jayne, too, had been transformed. Her gown was pure white silk draped over her toned shoulders, crossing at the bodice and flaring at the skirt. She was blushing and trying not to smile, her lightly made-up face radiant under the short beaded veil. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Deneen,” she protested as she took a tentative step in her high-heeled beaded sandals.
“I wasn’t about to let you get married in one of Matthew’s baseball jerseys, you big dummy,” Deneen said, but there were tears sparkling in her eyes. The moms and aunts snapped photos, one of the caterers served a round of champagne, and even Deneen set down her clipboard to join in a toast.
“To old friends far and near, and also to our brand new friend Carrie—let’s get my big sister married off to the nicest guy she’s ever going to meet!”
Caryn joined in the toast, sipping champagne when someone cleared their throat. All eyes turned to Cal, who was standing in the hall in a tuxedo, looking even more handsome than he did in his police uniform.
“I wonder if I might, uh, borrow Carrie for a moment,” he said. “It’s a, er, work thing.”
“Now? Absolutely not,” Deneen said, glowering. “Unless you are about to arrest her for multiple homicide, whatever you want to talk to her about can wait. The wedding starts in three minutes and I’ve got almost two hundred people sitting out there in the hot sun, and a lot more champagne where this came from. So go back to the groomsmen parking lot and follow orders. Do you hear me?”
Cal looked from Deneen to Caryn and back, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were clouded with concern. “Whatever you say, Captain Chaos. I’ll catch up with you later, Caryn.”
Caryn.
No one else seemed to have registered what Cal said as he retreated out the back door, headed for the barn where the groom and his attendants had spent the last hour drinking Bloody Mary’s and playing poker. Deneen hustled the bridesmaids into order, Jayne at the back, her mother and aunt fussing over the train and veil. Caryn followed the others woodenly, keeping a neutral expression frozen on her face, while on the inside her heart constricted with shock and anxiety.
Cal knew who she was. Maybe he’d figured it out from seeing her face in the news, or…her wallet, someone must have turned in her wallet, or else they caught the person who’d stolen it in the bar. But somehow, he knew, and she’d been given a reprieve of only a few hours, if he were true to his word, before everyone knew.
Caryn knew how hard it was to keep gossip in check. Even if Cal didn’t say anything to his friends, there were his fellow cops to consider, the strangers who processed the stolen items. Someone would tell; it was always that way, when a celebrity was involv
ed. Someone may have already figured out that there was money to be made from the tabloids—this week’s big scandal: New York City socialite and designer, daughter of screen star Randall Carver, found slumming in rural North Dakota.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Georgia had her spin specialists on retainer; a single call would set her in action, countering the initial reports with whatever “official” story they came up with. But the real damage would take place here, where Caryn had pretended to be someone she wasn’t, while these people made room in their home and hearts for her. Not only was her bio-dad going to find out who she was before she had a chance to check him out first, but Zane—the first man she’d responded to in ages, possibly forever—would know that she was a liar and an opportunist.
“Smiles, everyone!” Deneen called as she opened the door to the brilliant sunshine, and they got the first look at the guests lined up in the chairs in the yard, the flower festooned arch under which the pastor stood, his hands clasped, a huge smile on his face. Matthew waited near the rear of the assembled guests, a smile on his face like a kid on Christmas morning, and behind him stood Chase, Jimmy, Cal…and Zane, tall and handsome and searching her out. When he spotted her, his eyes lit up with pleasure, and he winked.
That wink did it. Caryn felt something give way inside her. The night she had spent with Zane had been the most important in her life, and she couldn’t bear to think about what he would feel when he found out she had tricked him. She clutched her bouquet so tightly that a pin poked through the floral tape and pierced her skin, and she forced herself to stare straight ahead and not react, while the first strains of music floated across the lawn and the first bridesmaid began her regal walk toward the groomsmen.
