“Aldo’s absolutely right,” Gus agreed. “I’m in my office most of the time. You’ll have the run of the place. Carte blanche to do whatever you need for the wedding. I won’t get in your way.”
“All right. I know when I’m beat.” Cydney sighed exasper-atedly. “But don’t blame me if the caterer can’t find Crooked Possum.”
“Then it’s settled,” Georgette said. “Bebe. You and Aldo will be married at Tall Pines.”
“Oh thank you, Gramma! Thank you, Uncle Cyd!” Bebe flung herself at her aunt, catching her around the neck in a fierce hug that jerked her chin up and locked her eyes on Gus.
He smiled at her. His headache was pounding—and his temper right along with it—but he was determined to keep smiling even if he popped a blood vessel. Cydney Parrish flushed again, ducked his gaze and slipped out of her niece’s headlock.
“Oh Aldo!” Bebe clapped her hands together. “I’m so happy!”
“Me, too, Beebs.” He grinned and rose to catch her as she danced around the table and into his arms, with remarkable grace in spite of the air boot on her ankle.
Gus watched Cydney Parrish stack dishes on a tray she’d taken off the sideboard. When she went to pick it up, he beat her to the handles.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“No thank you,” she said coldly. “You’ve done quite enough.”
Then she yanked the tray from him and stalked into the kitchen.
“Don’t mind Cydney,” Georgette said, in a low voice at Gus’ elbow as she came around the table, folding napkins as she gathered them. “It’s tough to be the only girl in the family who isn’t getting married.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Gus said, and she laughed.
“I’ve been saying no to Herb Baker for years,” Georgette went on, “but I said yes Sunday, so here we are all of a sudden with three brides in the family. Bebe and I, and Gwen is supposed to marry some prince she picked up in Russia. I’d feel left out, too, if I were Cydney.” She folded the last of the napkins—since they were soiled, Gus had no idea why—and smiled. “It was very nice of you to bring Bebe flowers. And very forgiving after what happened last night.”
Gus glanced through the spindles on the half wall that separated the dining room from the kitchen. Cydney Parrish stood with her back to him rinsing dishes, in a cloud of steam that fogged the window and a halo of light cast by the round neon fixture she’d switched on. He hadn’t seen the chrysanthemums he’d bought her since he’d fallen on them and she’d peeled them off the ground. She’d probably thrown them away.
“I don’t hold grudges. I wanted Bebe to know that,” he said to Georgette. “So I can expect you all tomorrow?”
“I think Thursday will be time enough. Give us a day to pack and get organized. I’d like to bring my fiance, Herb, with us, if you don’t mind. I’m sure we’ll need an extra pair of hands.”
“He’s welcome. If you have a fax machine I’ll send you a map to Crooked Possum and Tall Pines.”
“Lovely.” She touched his arm and smiled. “I’ll give you my card.”
Gus ducked into the living room to collect his jacket from the couch. When he came back, Aldo and Bebe were cemented in a lip-lock worthy of Super Glue. He cleared his throat and they broke apart.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Gus.” Aldo grinned and caught Bebe’s hand as he turned around. “I won’t get lost coming home this time.”
For the last time, Gus thought, hiding the pang he felt behind a smile. “Just in case, oh mighty Pathfinder, I’m faxing Georgette a map.”
“Here’s the number,” she said, handing Gus a gray linen card.
“I’ll send the map tomorrow.” Gus slipped the card into his wallet and the wallet into his jacket pocket. “And I’ll see you all on Thursday.”
“We’ll walk you out, Uncle Gus.” Aldo fished his keys from his pocket and slung his arm around Bebe. “We’re gonna cruise in the Jag.”
“I should be off as well.” Georgette hooked her purse over her shoulder and glanced into the kitchen. “Need some help, Cydney?”
“Not now, Mother. I’m nearly finished.” She shut off the water, crossed the kitchen and opened the top freezer compartment of the refrigerator. She took out a filled ice bag, an old-fashioned blue rubber one with a screw-on cap, brought it to Gus and handed it to him.
“For your nose,” she said to him, then to Bebe, “Eleven-thirty, please. I’ll be waiting up.”
“Yes, Uncle Cyd,” she replied in a weary singsong. “Eleven-thirty.”
“Thank you for this.” Gus gave Cydney a nod and the ice bag a toss on his palm. “And your hospitality.”
“You’re welcome. Good night, Mr. Munroe,” she said curtly, then walked back to the sink and turned on the water.
chapter
ten
It took Gus twenty minutes after he left Cydney Parrish’s house to find a Quik Trip that sold gas and road maps. He bought a Kansas City street guide and leaned against the right front fender tracing his way to the interstate while the Jag guzzled a tankful of super unleaded premium under a neon-lit aluminum canopy.
His ankles were crossed, his half lenses sitting almost straight on his not-so-swollen nose. A fuzzy moth swooping around the lights took a kamikaze dive into the map. Gus brushed it off, remembered the moth he’d wanted to pluck out of Cydney’s hair last night and scowled.
Who did she think she was? Asking him if he knew what he was doing, muttering into her teacup at dinner, “That’s not all you need.”
She hadn’t a clue what he needed. Neither did Gus now that Aldo was getting married, other than a giant-size thumb to plug the hole in his life. He’d known Aldo would leave home someday; he just hadn’t expected it this soon. Maybe he should have, but he hadn’t. He felt lost and abandoned and had no one to blame for it but himself.
When the pump shut off, he went inside to pay for the gas and the map. A plastic vase full of peach-colored roses— $1.99 each—sat by the cash register. Gus glared at them. He should be glad in all the talk of brides and weddings that Cydney Parrish had thrown the mums away without telling her mother he’d brought her flowers, too, but he wasn’t. He was annoyed as hell.
He bought a dozen roses, had the clerk wrap the dripping stems in waxed paper sheets from the donut case, stalked out to the car and drove back to Cydney’s house.
The only vehicle in the driveway was her blue Jeep Cherokee, the back window fogged with dew. Good. It was just the two of them. Gus got out of the Jag with the roses, shut the door and looked at the house.
In the spill of light through the uncurtained French doors, he could see Cydney clearing the table. Gus let himself through the gate, crossed the yard and reached the patio just as she disappeared into the kitchen with the water goblets.
He waited by the picnic table until she came back, then stepped forward, tucking the roses behind him. He watched her fold the corners of the tablecloth toward the center of the table where Georgette had left her neat stack of napkins. She picked up the top one and wiped her nose, then her lashes, her head turned just enough that Gus could see the shimmer in her eyes. He didn’t realize it was unshed tears until he’d raised his foot on the step, knocked, and she glanced up and saw him.
He’d come back to tell her she didn’t know diddly-squat about him, not to trap her in another awkward moment and embarrass her. Part of him wanted to turn away and leave, the rest of him wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her. He smiled at her through the glass. She wiped her nose again, came to the door and opened it.
“Yes, Mr. Munroe?” Her voice sounded thick, like she had a cold. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” Gus held the roses out to her. “My manners.”
“Obbb,” she said, on a sharp catch of breath.
No thank you, just that single, sucked-in syllable. She took the roses from him, gingerly, like he’d handed her a bouquet of poison ivy.
“If you don’t like them,” Gus said, �
��I guess I could fall on them.”
She laughed, a bubbly warble that brought a fresh sheen of tears to her lashes. “Please don’t. Peach roses are my favorite.”
“Is that why you’re crying?”
“No.” She drew a shuddery breath that made the looped end of the jade necklace Gus still wanted to catch in his teeth quiver in the hollow of her throat. “I’m crying because I miss Bebe already.”
“Cheer up. She’ll be home at eleven-thirty.” “That’s not what I mean.” She looked at the roses and traced a shiny green leaf with one fingertip. “She’s getting married a week from Saturday and leaving forever. I’m sure that sounds silly to you. I’m not her mother and I’m crying because she’s leaving home.”
“It doesn’t sound silly at all. I feel the same way about Aldo.” She blinked up at him from the roses. “You do?” “I’ve been his guardian since he was four years old.” “Oh my.” She blinked again. “You were very young.” “Too young, really, but I had my aunt Phoebe. I couldn’t have raised Aldo without her. She died five years ago and I still miss her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cydney murmured, her eyebrows drawing together. Gus thought her sympathy was genuine. Everything about Cydney Parrish was genuine. Genuinely nice, genuinely sincere. And genuinely sexy, God help him, in her clingy little sweater set and neat black slacks. She traced the rose leaf again, then looked at him. “I have some coffee left. Would you like a cup?”
“Love one,” he said, and followed her inside. He stopped just inside the kitchen and watched her unwrap the roses, put them in a vase and fill it with water. There was a dishwasher built in under the microwave, but one side of the double, white porcelain sink was full of suds, the plates from dinner drying in a rack. Family heirloom, he guessed. Aunt Phoebe had hand-washed her china, a Blue Willow pattern she’d inherited from her mother. Gus hadn’t eaten a meal served on china with flowers and candles since Aunt Phoebe died.
Five years. That’s how long it had been since he’d stood in a kitchen smelling leftover chicken and warm coffee. Five years since he’d felt so at home in any place other than Tall Pines. No wonder Aldo defected. Good eats and hot chicks. Definitely plural, no matter what Bebe said.
“Please.” Cydney waved him toward a white, tile-topped table with an oak Lazy Susan in the middle. “Would you like apiece of cake?”
“No thanks.” Gus took off his jacket, hung it on the back of the chair at the end of the table and sat down. “Any cookies left?”
“Macaroons?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, a thick white mug in each hand. “I think so.”
There were eight left in a ceramic teddy bear cookie jar. She put them on a plate and brought them to him with his coffee. Gus thanked her and ate one while she made herself a cup of tea. She brought it to the table with the roses, put the vase down next to the Lazy Susan and took the chair on his left.
“The roses are lovely. Thank you, Mr. Munroe.”
“Gus,” he said, sipping his coffee.
“I’m sorry I made such a fuss about Tall Pines.”
“Your concerns are valid, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding everything you need for the wedding in Branson.”
He wasn’t sure of any such thing, but he smiled and bit into another cookie. He hoped the Parrish women would have a hell of a time finding candles and flowers and a decent caterer. All the better to foul things up, make everybody take a deep breath and a good long look at what they were doing.
What are you doing, Munroe? his inner voice asked. Lusting after Cydney Vanish while you lie to her through your teeth? Nice. Very nice. I’m ashamed to be your conscience.
“Yeah? Well, get over it,” Gus mumbled around a mouthful of macaroon.
Cydney’s spine stiffened. “Get over what?”
Gus held up his index finger, thinking fast while he chewed, and took a swallow of coffee. “Your reluctance to come to Tall Pines.”
“I suppose I should explain that.” She put her spoon down and looked him square in the eye. “I said some things I shouldn’t have to Aldo, last night while Bebe was in X ray. I was angry and upset. I told him you were rude and arrogant and I hoped I’d never see you again.”
“Rude and arrogant,” Gus repeated, heartened by the glint he saw in her eyes. This was more like it. This was the little spitfire who’d told him to shove Artie’s will, not the put-upon little doormat who’d caved in to Georgette. “You don’t think I was pompous and pushy?”
“Well,” she said, smiling. “I suppose you were a little pushy.”
“I was a lot pushy. If I’d been you, I would’ve thrown me out.”
“You asked for a punch in the nose.”
“I asked for a good, swift kick. You suggested the punch.”
“I never dreamed Bebe would hit you.”
“Neither did I.”
“I’m glad you came back, Mr. Munroe.” She went to the wall phone by the microwave, came back with a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen and sat down. “There are some things we need to talk about.”
“Gus,” he said. “Like what?”
“Will the great room really hold a hundred people?”
“I’d say so, easy.”
“Do you know the dimensions?”
“Really long by really wide.”
“Is it longer than it is wide?” She laid her hands on the table in the shape of a rectangle, then a square. “Or wider than it is long?”
“Longer than it is wide.” It was an excuse to touch her, so Gus did, took her small wrists in his hands and drew hers farther apart. He felt her tremble, or thought he did, but she slipped her hands free too quickly to tell and bent her head over her notepad.
“Like this?” she asked, sketching a long, wide room.
“That’s it. There’s a dais at this end that runs the width of the windows. Three steps up to it,” Gus said, pointing with his finger. “The fireplace is on this wall.”
“Where’s the door? Here?” She drew a doorway at the opposite end of the room, tucked a curl of silver-blond hair behind her ear and turned the pad toward him.
Gus reached for his glasses, realized he’d left them in the car and leaned close enough to notice the jade drop earring pierced through her lobe. Oh God. More beads and delectable, peach-kissed skin to nibble.
“Perfect,” he said.
“We’ll put the minister on the dais, and if they’re wide enough to stand on, Bebe and Aldo on the steps. You said the floor is hardwood, so we’ll need a runner for Bebe when she comes down the aisle.” She wrote “runner” in the corner of the page, then drew one down the center of the room with little rows of X’s on each side. “And chairs.” She wrote that in the corner and looked up at Gus. “What direction do the windows face?”
“Southeast overlooking the lake.”
“Draperies?”
“Nope.”
“Morning sun.” She jotted “3”—slash—”4 P.M.” and a question mark in the top corner. “We’ll want an afternoon ceremony.”
“We will? Why?”
“Because the room will be flooded with sunlight in the morning.”
“Maybe Aldo and Bebe want to get married in sunglasses.”
She frowned at him. “Maybe they don’t.”
“Why don’t you ask them?”
“Of course I’ll ask them. I’m merely making notes for Bebe and a list of things we need.”
“Looks to me like you’re planning the wedding.”
“Someone has to get started on the preparations.”
“How ‘bout the bride and groom?”
“They’re not here at the moment.”
“That’s my point. Aldo and Bebe want to get married a week from Saturday, but you’re the one sitting here making notes and sketches while they’re out cruising in the Jag.”
“Cruising is what kids do for fun these days, Mr. Munroe.”
“Kids, Miss Parrish. Responsible young adults park their butts at the kitchen table and
plan their own wedding.”
“Oh, I see.” She slapped her pen down, grabbed the cookie plate and marched it to the counter next to the refrigerator. “We’re back to Bebe and Aldo aren’t mature enough to get married.”
“They aren’t mature enough.” Gus followed her to the counter and spread his left hand on the butcher-block top beside her. “The fact that you’re here and they’re not proves it. And if you think they’re out cruising, then you’ve forgotten what’s it like to be young and in lust.”
“Bebe and Aldo are in love,” she said hotly, glaring at him as she upended the plate over the teddy bear.
“Aldo and Bebe are in lust.” Gus snatched a macaroon before they all spilled into the jar. “They can’t keep their hands off each other.”
She clapped the head on the teddy bear and turned to face him. “That’s part of being in love, Mr. Munroe.”
“Part of being in love, yes. But lust all by itself is a poor foundation for marriage.”
“I agree. But I’m not sure you know the difference.”
“Between love and lust? Sure I do.”
“I wouldn’t take it to court if I were you.”
“I don’t have to take it to court. I can prove it right here.”
“Can you?” She raised an eyebrow and her chin an oh-really notch. “I’d like to see that.”
“Then keep your eyes open,” he said, and kissed her.
Hard and swift, like he’d been aching to all night, expecting her to push him away and ready to release her the second she did, but her lips parted—stunning him and thrilling him— drawing him deep into the Earl Grey-flavored sweetness of her mouth. Gus groaned and lifted her, pressed himself between her legs and swung her onto the counter.
Her mouth softened, her knees hooked his waist and pulled him into the V of her thighs. He bent his head to her throat, caught her jade necklace in his teeth and nibbled, felt her quiver, sucked the beat leaping in the hollow of her throat. He felt the catch in her breath, the moan that shivered through her.
Mother of the Bride Page 8
