“Call me Georgette, Aldo.” Her mother rose and laid a hand on his shoulder while she filled his glass from a crystal pitcher. Milk cartons were not allowed at the table in Georgette’s presence. “Or Gramma George if you prefer.”
“Okay, Gramma George.” Aldo beamed at her, then at Cydney. “Can I call you Uncle Cyd, Miss Parrish?”
“If you’d like, Aldo.”
Angus Munroe scowled. Either the pain pill’s wearing off, Cydney thought, or he only smiles twice a year—when the royalty checks arrive.
“You certainly will eat like a king.” He put his fork down and lifted his coffee cup from its saucer. “A delicious meal, Mrs. Parrish. Thank you. And wonderful coffee.”
“Uncle Cyd made the coffee,” Bebe chimed in. “She only drinks tea, but my Grampa Fletch says she makes the best coffee in the world.”
“Does he?” Angus Munroe glanced at Cydney, her pulse jumping at the quick smile he gave her. “Well, I agree with him.” He saluted her with his cup. “Delicious, Miss Parrish.”
“Thank you, Mr. Munroe. Would you like a refill?”
“Yes, thank you.” He put his cup down. “And thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Munroe.” Cydney filled his cup and put the server down, seated herself and smoothed her napkin in her lap, glanced up and saw her mother eyeing her with an arched, what-gives eyebrow.
“My, my, you two are awfully formal,” she said, aiming her megawatt TV smile on Angus Munroe. “Since we’re going to be family, please call me Georgette. Do you prefer Angus or Gus?”
The question caught him with his coffee raised partway to his mouth. His arm froze for just a second, then he put the cup down without drinking and looked at her mother.
“Angus will be fine. I don’t hear it often and it’s a fine old name.”
“What do I call you?” Bebe asked him.
“I don’t know, Bebe.” He shrugged like he could care less and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What would you like to call me?”
“Rude,” she said flatly. “Uncle Cyd invited you to dinner and Gramma George baked you a cake, but you won’t talk to them or to me unless one of us asks you a question. Don’t you like us?”
Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, startled. Her mother looked like a deer caught in headlights. Cydney held her breath.
“Well, Bebe,” he said slowly. And carefully, Cydney thought, feeling his way. “I’ve just met you and your family. I’m not terribly at ease with people I don’t know well.”
“I keep telling you, Uncle Gus.” Aldo held his plate up to Georgette, who was cutting him a fourth slice of carrot cake. “You gotta get out of Crooked Possum more often.”
“Yes, Aldo, you keep telling me that.” He glanced at his nephew, a flicker of irritation in his gray eyes. “But I like my life the way it is.”
“All work and no play makes Angus a dull boy,” Aldo said in a singsong voice, waving his fork back and forth. “When was the last time you met a hot chick in Crooked Possum, Uncle Gus?”
“Put a sock in it, Aldo.” He gave his nephew a smile that said, “Or I will,” and picked up his cup. “I’m not interested in hot chicks.”
“Then I have a great idea!” Bebe cried enthusiastically. “You should ask my Aunt Cydney for a date!”
Angus Munroe choked on his coffee, grabbed his napkin and coughed. His water glass was empty and so was the pitcher. Let him strangle, her little voice said, but Cydney took the pitcher to the kitchen, her cheeks burning, filled it and brought it back to the table. Atta girl! her little voice cheered. Throw it in his face! But Cydney filled his glass and sat down.
Angus Munroe snatched up the water and drank, coughed again and wiped his mouth. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Swallowed wrong.”
Cydney just smiled. She’d keep smiling, even if it killed her. Or broke her heart, whichever came first.
“Enough about me, Aldo.” Angus Munroe cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about your wedding. When and where do you plan to have it?”
“A week from Saturday.” Aldo caught Bebe’s hand and laced their fingers together. A sign of solidarity in the face of the enemy, Cydney guessed. “The where, we haven’t decided yet.”
“We’d love to find a romantic, out-of-the-way place,” Bebe said, a soft, dreamy glow in her eyes that disappeared when she sighed. “But that’s out of the question because of my mother.”
“Why? This is your wedding, not hers.”
“But I want my mother at the ceremony, Mr. Munroe. She’s a photojournalist and very much in demand. I’m afraid if I don’t take her straight to the church when she gets off the plane from Russia some magazine editor will call and she’ll be gone again before the organist can sit down to play ‘The Wedding March.’ “
“What if we get married in some really far-off place?” Aldo suggested around a mouthful of cake. “Like a sheep ranch in the middle of Australia? Bet they don’t have many airports or flights to New York.”
“Aldo,” Bebe said patiently. “Sheep are not romantic.”
“Yeah, but we could go four-wheeling in the Outback. And rock climbing and crocodile hunting.”
Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, his right hand cupped over his mouth. Through his fingers, Cydney could just see the grin lifting one side of his mouth. Bebe sat back in her chair and stuck out her lip.
“Right. Not romantic.” Aldo pointed his fork at Bebe. “But your mother would definitely be grounded once we got her there. And I bet they don’t have many phones, either.”
“I’ve been thinking about the telephone problem, Cydney,” Georgette said. “I’m putting you in charge of taking Gwen’s cell phone away from her.”
“Oh no, Mother. I got the short straw last time Gwen was home.”
You always get the short straw, her little voice pointed out, but Cydney ignored it. From the corner of her eye, she saw Angus Munroe’s grin widen behind his cupped hand.
“But I’m sure we won’t have that problem this time,” she added hurriedly. “After all, this is Bebe’s wedding.”
“What about your Grampa Fletch, Bebe?” Angus Munroe asked.
“Oh, he’s a writer, too,” she said brightly. “But I don’t know if he has a cell phone. Does he, Uncle Cyd?”
Angus Munroe shifted in his chair, made a fist of his hand and coughed. To keep from laughing out loud, Cydney was sure. He’d hurt her feelings when he’d choked at the thought of going out with her, but she would not tolerate him laughing at Bebe. One more snigger and she’d punch him in the nose herself.
“Yes, Bebe,” she said. “Grampa Fletch has a cell phone.”
“I know he’s a writer, Bebe. I’ve read his books,” Angus Munroe said. “I meant, is he coming to the wedding?”
“Hell no,” she chirped cheerfully. “Only Cramps said, ‘Hell no, Bebe-cakes.’ That’s what he calls me, Bebe-cakes. ‘I’ve been to enough weddings of my own,’ he said, but he invited me and Aldo to Cannes for Christmas.”
“His treat,” Aldo put in. “It’s our wedding present from Mr. Parrish. Two plane tickets to Cannes.”
“That’s a very generous gift, Aldo.” Angus Munroe folded his arms across his stomach, reminding Cydney of last night when Bebe knocked him out. His sweater had ridden up when he fell, just enough to give Cydney a mouthwatering glimpse of his washboard abdomen. “Tell you what. I’ll pay for your plane tickets to Cleveland.”
What a guy, her little voice said. Rock hard, ripped—and cheap.
“Oh, Mr. Munroe!” Bebe squealed, her eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much!”
“Uncle Gus, Bebe.” He smiled at her. “Call me Uncle Gus.”
chapter
nine
Desperation, not inspiration, was the true mother of invention. Any writer who’d ever cranked out the last hundred pages of a four-hundred-page manuscript in twenty-four hours to meet a deadline knew it. And Gus was desperate.
Aldo had defected. Gus had suspected it when
he’d wakened in the hospital and found Cydney Parrish, not Aldo, at his bedside. He’d sold out for chicken and noodles, carrot cake and a hot chick. Gus could hire a chef, but he couldn’t compete with Bebe and he knew it.
He also knew a brick wall when he saw one, and one sat looking at him across the table, Aldo and Bebe with their hands clasped together. The twelve-thousand-dollar diamond Gus had had a stroke over blazed on Bebe’s ring finger. He could yank Aldo’s money but that wouldn’t stop the wedding. It would only make Aldo hate him, and he didn’t want that. He wanted them to wait—until spring, maybe—to make sure they knew what they were doing.
Just a few months to be certain of their feelings, a few months to give Gus time to adjust to the fact that Aldo didn’t need him anymore, to find a new focal point for his life. He didn’t think that was too much to ask, but he was too proud to admit that he felt so vulnerable.
He’d come up with a plan instead. A plan to make Aldo stop and think beyond Bebe’s delectable figure, a chance to give himself time to formulate a new Life Plan. He thought he could pull it off, but not in Kansas City. He was outnumbered here and on Parrish turf, but now that he knew Fletcher Parrish wasn’t coming to the wedding, he could seize home-field advantage.
“I see your problem.” Gus folded his arms on the edge of the table and spoke directly to Aldo and Bebe. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any parent who puts career ahead of children. But hey.” He shrugged. “I’m the guy who needs to get out of Crooked Possum.”
“That’s not all you need,” Cydney muttered into her teacup. Gus glanced at her. She smiled serenely. The lariat necklace she wore, a string of tiny jade beads, gleamed in the glow of the half-burned candles. All through dinner he’d fantasized about catching the Y-end in his teeth while he kissed the peach-toned hollow of her throat.
“I think I have a solution to your quandary about where to have the wedding.” Gus swung his gaze back to Aldo and Bebe, swearing he’d keep it there. “Tall Pines.”
His nephew’s eyes sprang wide and his jaw dropped. Cydney Parrish’s teacup clattered onto its saucer.
“Uncle Gus?” Aldo made the peace sign with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” Gus said, just to be perverse. “Two fingers, Aldo, and no, I didn’t hit my head that hard.”
“What’s Tall Pines?” Bebe asked.
“My home, Bebe. Mine and Aldo’s,” he said, just in case Aldo had forgotten. “Tall Pines was once a bed-and-breakfast. There are fifteen bedrooms in the house.” Bebe’s eyes widened. Her elbow slid onto the table to support her chin as she leaned closer to listen. “There’s a great room we never use that will hold at least one hundred people. Huge stone fireplace, a wall of windows overlooking the lake.”
Gus paused to let Bebe catch up. When her lips stopped moving and her eyes lit up, he continued.
“Pine floors and paneling throughout. The closest airport is in Springfield, one hundred and twenty-five miles from Tall Pines. And the best part is that Crooked Possum isn’t on any road map.” Gus leaned over the table toward Bebe. “Aldo gets lost every time he comes home. I guarantee your mother won’t find her way out once you get her there.”
“It’s perfect!” Bebe crowed, leaping out of her chair and around the table. “Oh thank you, Uncle Gus! Thank you, thank you!”
Gus barely had time to get to his feet before Bebe flung herself at him. He caught her around the waist with his left arm and the back of his chair in his right hand to keep her momentum from knocking them over. He had to swing her halfway around to do it, looked over the top of her red head and saw Cydney Parrish gazing at him. Gus wasn’t sure if the tilt of her chin meant she didn’t believe him or she didn’t trust him.
“You don’t approve, Cydney?”
“Offering Tall Pines is a lovely gesture.” She let go of her cup and tucked her hands in her lap. “Bebe clearly loves the idea. The decision is hers and Aldo’s, of course, but I think Crooked Possum is too small and too far off the beaten track. We need a florist and a caterer, and it would be nice if the wedding guests had a prayer of finding the place.”
“I only care about Mother, Uncle Cyd.” Bebe turned and faced her aunt. “If she’ll be stuck in Crooked Possum I’ll be happy.”
“I’m sure you can find everything you need in Branson,” Gus said. “It’s quite a booming little metropolis since country music came to town, and it’s only a fifty-mile drive.” Each way, but Gus decided not to mention that. “An easy trip.”
If you’re a mountain goat, his inner voice said. Have you no shame, Munroe? Absolutely none, Gus realized. And no scruples, either. He’d sell his soul to the devil if he hadn’t already sold it to his publisher.
“And Branson is, what?” Cydney asked. “Two hundred miles from Kansas City? A wedding can’t be planned long distance, Mr. Munroe, and we only have eleven days.”
“Gus. So come to Tall Pines as soon as you need to.”
Cydney arched an eyebrow. “Would tomorrow be convenient?”
“Tomorrow’s fine. I’ll have your rooms ready.”
“Mr. Munroe.” She rose from her chair, shaking her head as she started gathering dishes. “You’re not being practical. Aldo and Bebe have classes here in Kansas City.”
“School’s not a problem, Uncle Cyd,” Bebe said. “Aldo and I have mostly lectures this semester. We’ve talked to our professors and we’ve decided to wait till summer to take our honeymoon.”
“Oh,” Cydney said. Dismayed for all of five seconds, then she said “Oh,” again, brightly, and gave Gus a smug look. “That’s very mature of you and Aldo, but I see more problems than pluses with having your wedding in the middle of the Ozark wilderness.”
“Branson is hardly wilderness, Cydney,” Georgette said. “You were there last summer and you raved about the shops and boutiques.”
“I was a tourist, Mother. I bought crafts and gifts. I wasn’t buying a wedding gown.”
“I have my dress, Aunt Cydney. Gramma bought it for me today. And my shoes and my veil.”
“That’s three things, Bebe. Three.” Cydney held up as many fingers. “We have decorations and candles to buy—a million things. We know exactly where to find everything we need in Kansas City and we don’t have to drive fifty miles to order the wedding cake.”
“Tall Pines is perfect,” Bebe said stubbornly, squaring off on her aunt over the corner of the table. “And it’s my wedding.”
“And Aldo’s,” Gus threw in, but no one paid any attention to him.
Not even Aldo, who was plowing through his carrot cake, oblivious to the snit Bebe was working herself into. She stood glaring at her aunt, who glared right back at her. Amazing, Gus thought. My plan is working already. He’d meant to cause dissention between Aldo and Bebe. Nothing major, just mix things up enough to pull their heads out of the clouds. Create a snag or two to make them realize they were planning a life together, not just a big party with cake and punch and nuts—provided by the Parrish family—for all their friends, but this squabble between Bebe and Cydney might work just as well. Get the whole family into it.
“Yes, Bebe, it’s your wedding. And I admit Tall Pines sounds wonderfully romantic.” Cydney finished stacking plates. “But I have a business to run and clients who depend on me.”
“I depend on you, too!” Bebe’s lip protruded and started to tremble. “I can’t get married without you, Uncle Cyd!”
“If you get married in Kansas City you won’t have to.”
“That’s blackmail, Cydney,” Georgette said severely.
“It’s the truth. I have to work to support myself and Bebe.”
“You’re forgetting something.” Georgette rose and started gathering dishes at her end of the table. “In twelve days Bebe will be married and it will be Aldo’s responsibility to take care of her.”
“I know that.” So Cydney claimed, but the quick, caught-short blink she gave her mother suggested that maybe she’d fo
rgotten. Or had yet to accept it. “But if I don’t take care of my clients, someone else will.”
“So let someone else. You don’t need to work sixty hours a week. You need time to finish that book you’ve been writing for ten years.”
“Five years, Mother. It’s only five years.”
“Your father has written four books in that time,” Georgette said. Slackard, Gus thought. He’d written six and the screenplay for Dead Calm, his fifth best-seller. “How many chapters have you written?”
“This isn’t about me, Mother.” Cydney ducked Gus a flustered, discomfited look. This was more than she wanted him to know about her and she didn’t like it. “It’s about Bebe and Aldo’s wedding.”
“I didn’t bring you and your clients into this conversation, Cydney. You did.”
“Yes, to make a point. Don’t take this the wrong way, Bebe.” She glanced at her niece, then faced her mother. “It’s not fair to expect me to put my life on hold because Bebe wants to get married the second Gwen steps off the plane from Moscow.”
“Of course it’s not fair, but since you’ve put your life on hold for Bebe for the last five years, what’s another twelve days?”
“Twelve days isn’t the issue, it’s the principle,” Cydney retorted, her jaw set and fire in her eyes. The same blaze Gus had seen there last night when she’d told him to shove the codicil to Artie’s will where the sun don’t shine. “And I still think Crooked Possum is too small, too far away and too hard to find.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think.” Georgette stopped gathering dishes and looked down the length of the table at her daughter. “Let Bebe have her wedding at Tall Pines or on the moon or wherever she wants and let’s all work together to make it a beautiful, memorable day.”
“And don’t worry, Uncle Cyd.” Aldo finished the last of his cake and his milk and picked up his napkin. “Tall Pines is big enough that you won’t have to see my Uncle Gus unless you want to.”
In mid-wipe of his mouth, Aldo froze, an oh-m’God-what-did-I-say glaze in his eyes. Something he shouldn’t have, Gus surmised, by the brilliant flush that shot all the way to Cydney Parrish’s hairline. Well, wasn’t this a kick in the pants? He was the reason she didn’t want to come to Tall Pines.
Mother of the Bride Page 7
