“I think we went overboard,” she said with a sigh, “trying to compensate for Gwen just dumping Bebe and going on with her life.”
“When was that?” Munroe asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Bebe was three and a half,” Cydney said, glancing away from him.
She shouldn’t have blurted that about Gwen. She thought fast for something to soften what she’d said, something that didn’t make her sister sound selfish and heartless.
“It really was the best thing for Bebe, but it’s been hard on her. Hard on Gwen, too, believe it or not.”
“I don’t believe it,” Munroe said, and Cydney swung him a sharp glance. He smiled. “I’ll tell you what I do believe. I believe you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Cydney Parrish.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ve waited all my life to hear that from a man.”
He laughed. Cydney didn’t think he knew how, but the grin that came with the laugh flashed his white teeth and lit up his face, made his eyes shine and creased a dimple in his left cheek. It made her breath catch, too, and her stomach jump.
“Hal-loo-ooo!” Georgette yodeled up the stairs. “Din-wer!”
Then she rang the bell. Cling-cling, ding-cling. Cydney listened closely. It was definitely cling-cling, not ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.
“That’s not my bell,” she said.
“It’s Aunt Phoebe’s.” Munroe stepped forward and took her elbow. “She has a whole collection in the breakfront in the dining room.”
“Oh God save us. My mother loves bells.”
“So did Aunt Phoebe.” Munroe steered her toward the back stairs. “She rang one to announce every meal. I hate the damn things.”
“My mother gave me one made out of crystal, about this big.” Cydney held two fingers a few inches apart. “No matter where I hide it she always finds it.”
Munroe laughed again, a rich baritone rumble that spread a warm flush through Cydney. She’d made him laugh twice. It wasn’t even close to any of her fantasies, but it was real. He was real. A living, breathing, warm male. She felt his hand on her elbow, smelled a whiff of his aftershave. He didn’t want to drag her to bed and ravish her—damn it—but he thought she was the nicest person he’d ever met.
What about the squirrels? her little voice asked.
“Oh forget about the squirrels,” Cydney said under her breath.
Chip and Dale—er, Bebe and Aldo—sat on one side of the dining room table. Aldo glanced up when Cydney came down the stairs with his uncle, then ducked his head over his plate. Bebe sat next to him, her nose in the air, her head turned pointedly away.
Herb sat at one end of the table, which left the chair between Georgette and Munroe at the other end for Cydney. He held it for her and she sat down, her mouth falling open at the food-heaped table. A platter of fried chicken, a bowl of potato salad the size of a vat, another of coleslaw, one of green beans cooked with bacon and onions, a plate of deviled eggs and sliced tomatoes and a basket full of steaming biscuits.
“Where did you get all this food, Mother?”
“I threw it together last night and packed it in the cooler,” she replied. “The ingredients for the biscuits I found in the pantry.”
“My pantry?” Munroe looked startled, sat down and spread his napkin. “You’re kidding.”
He said grace and Georgette started the food around. Bebe ate with her head turned away from the table, making a point of how upset she was. And waiting, Cydney guessed, for her grandmother to ask what was wrong so she could burst into tears and ruin everyone’s dinner, but Georgette didn’t ask.
The white sheers under the tied-back blue drapes on the window softened the sun setting behind tall red and gold trees and what looked like a bank of silver-edged storm clouds. Cydney thought she heard thunder, but maybe it was just Aldo’s stomach. His fork was almost a blur moving between his plate and his mouth.
A pair of cranberry oil lamps flickered on the buffet. Electric wall sconces with tulip-shaped bulbs glowed on the walls. The white eyelet place mats Cydney recognized as her mother’s, which accounted for two inches of space in one of the eight suitcases she’d brought with her.
For dessert, she served warmed-in-the-microwave apple pie with slices of sharp cheddar, something else “she’d whipped up and tossed in the cooler.” Munroe ate two pieces, Aldo three. Cydney made herself a cup of tea, coffee for everyone else, carried it to the table and poured it.
“Thank you, darling.” Georgette smiled at her, then at Munroe. “The cleaning crew can’t make it until Tuesday, is that right, Angus?”
“That’s what they said on the phone. I told them this was a rush job. The best they could do was promise to be finished by one.”
“There isn’t much we can do until Tuesday afternoon, then. Herb and I will finish the measurements this evening. Bebe decided on the decorations while she was visualizing. That gives us tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday and Monday to buy them, arrange for the chair rental, order the cake and the food and the flowers. Plenty of time.”
“I wouldn’t say plenty,” Cydney said, sliding back into her chair.
“You would if you weren’t so anal retentive. I have a detailed list of everything we need and a yen to see Eureka Springs.”
“I am not anal retentive. And Eureka Springs is in Arkansas.”
“I know where it is. I’m the one who saw the sign that said Arkansas, remember? Eureka Springs has some wonderful antique shops.”
“We didn’t come here to go antique hunting. We came to put on a wedding for a hundred guests and we have a little over a week to do it.”
“Eureka Springs isn’t that far,” Munroe put in. “Only an hour and a half or so from here.”
Cydney glanced him a butt-out look. He gave her a just-trying-to-help smile. When she turned back to her mother, Georgette was holding her hand out to Herb.
“How about it, handsome? Care to take me touring?”
Herb caught her fingers and squeezed. “Love to, Georgie-girl.”
“Mother,” Cydney said sharply. “This is no time to go touring.”
“It’s the perfect time.” Georgette turned and frowned at her. “If you intend to go postal over this wedding, Cydney, kindly wait until Monday and let me enjoy my weekend.”
“I am not going postal!” she declared.
Her mother arched an eyebrow. “You’d be more convincing if you put down the knife.”
Cydney blinked at the cheese knife clenched in her fingers. She flushed and hastily laid it aside.
“I simply think, Mother, that it would be prudent to shop and make all the arrangements before you flit off to Eureka Springs.”
“Do you? Then here’s the list.” Georgette pulled a folded sheet of paper out of her skirt pocket and slapped it into Cydney’s hand. “Have yourself a happy little obsessive-compulsive weekend doing the shopping while I go to Eureka Springs.”
“Since Gramma George and Herb are taking off,” Aldo said quickly, before Cydney could reach for the cheese knife, “could I use your pickup tomorrow, Uncle Gus?”
“What for?” Munroe asked, lifting his coffee cup from its saucer.
“I’d like to take Bebe to Silver Dollar City. She’s never been.”
He pursed his lips, thought about it and nodded. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” Aldo wiped his mouth and stood up. “We’re gonna see a show in Branson, too, so if it’s late, we’ll stay over and be back Saturday.”
He moved behind Bebe’s chair and held it while she rose, her lashes veiling her eyes, the sliver of a smug smile curving her mouth. Cydney stared at her, stunned. Munroe dropped his cup on its saucer with a clunk. He didn’t say anything, just twisted in his chair and watched Bebe and Aldo waltz arm-in-arm out of the dining room. When they’d gone, he swung back to the table and looked at Cydney.
“I’ll bet you they hatched the plan to borrow your truck while they were in Bebe’s bedroom,” she said. “But of course, they’re not sneaking.”
“Who’s been had?” Georgette asked, glancing first at Cydney and then Munroe. “What did I miss?”
“The rehearsal for the performance you just saw,” Munroe said.
While he explained to her and Herb what had happened in the upstairs hall, Cydney stared at her mother’s list. She felt like such a fool. How had she missed the mile-wide, Ill-get- what-I-want-and-screw-you streak in Bebe? Was it genetic? God knew Cydney had seen Gwen pull enough stunts like this. Had she and Georgette created this—or just fostered it—by overindulging Bebe?
Her niece had what she wanted, Aldo in her bed—for tomorrow night, anyway—as if sex was all there was to being in love and wanting to spend your life with someone. Munroe had seen this from the jump. Why hadn’t she? Was love really that blind?
“Hello?” Munroe waved a hand at her. “Earth to Cydney.”
She started and blinked at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was explaining why I didn’t insist Aldo and Bebe come home tomorrow. The roads around here are dicey, especially after dark and this close to deer season. A buck in rut will go right through a pickup to get at a doe. Much as it galls me to let them get away with this little trick, I’d rather they come back alive so I can kill them myself.”
“Ah.” Cydney smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“Perhaps you’re both making too much of this,” Georgette suggested. “Youth and impetuousness go hand in hand.”
“So does youth and immaturity,” Cydney retorted.
“And youth and irresponsibility,” Munroe added.
“Well, if you two don’t sound like a couple of old poops.” Georgette shook her head and held her hand out to Cydney. “Give me the list.”
“Why?” she asked, clutching it possessively.
“It’s mine and I want it back.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Nothing until Saturday or Sunday and neither are you.”
“Oh yes, I am.” Cydney shoved the list in her shirt pocket and slapped her hand over it.
“I’m your mother, Cydney. It’s my job to save you from these impulses.”
“I’ll save myself, Mother. You had your chance and you blew it.” Cydney put down her napkin and stood up. “Go to Eureka Springs tomorrow and have a lovely time. You, too, Herb. I’m going shopping.”
She turned on her heel and left the dining room, so rattled she didn’t realize she’d walked right past the back stairs until Munroe caught up with her and curved his hand around her arm. A big, warm hand that felt oh so good cupping her elbow.
He winked at her and grinned. “Way to go, old poop.”
“Thanks,” Cydney said with a shaky laugh.
He led her toward the second set of pocket doors, the ones on this side of the gallery stairs, and pushed them open. “You okay?”
“I will be in a minute.” She stepped past him and dropped into a brass-studded leather chair by the door. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said no to my mother.”
“Ever?” He raised an eyebrow. “In your whole life?”
“Ever in my whole life.” Cydney drew a deep breath and pressed a hand to her head. “Whew. What a rush.”
“Maybe you should put your head between your knees.”
Cydney laughed. Munroe offered her a handshake.
“Congratulations, Uncle Cyd. Today you are a man.”
“And all these years I thought I was a girl.”
He laughed and they shook hands. Cydney heard another rumble and glanced at a glassed-in alcove at the far end of the room. It was the same size as the great room, but it ran at a right angle to it. She thought she saw a flicker of lightning through the glass, but it was hard to tell this far away from the window in the twilight-dim room.
“We need a drink to celebrate. I don’t suppose you like beer?”
“Sure I do. What makes you think I don’t?”
“Never mind.” Munroe tugged her out of the chair. “Bottle okay, or do you want a glass?”
“A bottle is fine, thank you.”
He led her to another bar like the one in the living room, only about half the size. He helped her up on a stool, walked behind the bar, bent down and came up with two longneck bottles of Budweiser. He popped the caps, passed her one and lifted the other.
“To liberation,” he said.
“Liberation,” Cydneysaid.
They clinked bottles and drank. Munroe flipped a panel of switches, came around the bar and swung himself up on the stool next to hers as lights winked on all over the room.
Soft, recessed spots behind the bar and around the edges of the room, tucked above book-crammed shelves built into the two longest walls. An antique pool table with webbed leather pockets sat in the center of the room, a poker table with chairs in a corner. Cydney saw a Ping-Pong table with one end pushed against a wall, and four lovely old library tables heaped with books. Three couches and a handful of built-for-reading chairs were spaced around the room just waiting to be plopped into with a book.
“This room is an interesting mix,” she said.
“It’s the R and R room. Research and recreation.” Munroe took a pull on his beer. “I play Ping-Pong with the wall when I get stuck in a chapter.”
Cydney had read that in a Playboy interview but didn’t say so. She sipped her beer and looked up at three huge pinwheel chandeliers spaced among the beams along the length of the room. In the glass alcove at the farthest end of the room sat an ebony grand piano, the lid down and draped with a paisley shawl.
“Oh my God!” She smacked a hand—fortunately, not the one holding the beer bottle—against her forehead. “We didn’t even think about music for the wedding!”
chapter
fourteen
A giant spear of lightning forked just outside the glass alcove. A huge crack of thunder shook Tall Pines and nearly jolted Cydney off her bar stool.
“That was a close one,” she said as the lights flickered twice and went out, pitching the R & R room into total darkness.
“Stay put. This happens a lot.” Cydney heard leather creak as Munroe slid off his stool. “I’ve got flashlights stashed all over.”
Thunder boomed and a sheet of rain slashed the glass walls of the alcove. Lightning lit up the room like an X ray. She caught a glimpse of Munroe turning on a flashlight and passing it to her over the bar with the beam pointing away from her face.
“Can you see well enough to find your way to the dining room?”
“Yes.” She blinked to focus her eyes and slid off the stool as he came around the bar with another flashlight. “Where are you going?”
“To shut down my computer and see if I remembered to buy gas for the generator. You’ll find battery lamps in the pantry and a few more flashlights. I’ll catch up with you in the kitchen.”
Munroe hurried ahead of her through the pocket doors. In a flash of lightning beyond the living room glass wall, Cydney saw him take the steps up to the foyer in one bound and turn right up the staircase she’d seen in the foyer. So that’s where his office is, she thought.
She understood Munroe’s impulse to check his computer. She’d shut down the Macintosh in her office and the spare PC in her writing room, pulled the surge protectors from the outlets and tucked both computers under plastic covers before she’d left Kansas City.
Who says you’re obsessive-compulsive? her little voice asked.
“Oh shut up,” Cydney muttered, and made for the dining room.
The table was cleared and only one cranberry oil lamp burned on the buffet. The other sat on a kitchen counter, casting a pool of light over the sink where her mother and Herb stood rinsing dishes.
“Maybe Gus has a generator,” Herb was saying as Cydney came into the room. “I sure would if I lived this deep in the boonies.”
“He’s gone to chec
k it,” she told Herb. “He says there are battery lamps and flashlights in the pantry.”
“Loan me yours, kiddo, and I’ll go look.”
Cydney gave it to him and off Herb went, a man on a mission.
“Mother,” she said. “Has Bebe said anything to you about music?”
“No, darling, she—oh my God!” Georgette shut off the water and spun away from the sink. “Music for the ceremony! How could I forget?”
“These things happen, Mother. Even with a detailed list.”
“Never mind that damned list.” Georgette rubbed her forehead, the only sign she ever gave that she was stressed. “How could I have forgotten music? If Angus had a piano, I could play.”
“He does have a piano. A grand.”
“Thank God.” She pressed a hand to her throat. “Crisis canceled.”
Too bad. It would’ve been fun—mean, but fun—to watch her mother sweat j-u-u-u-s-t a little.
“Let’s find Bebe,” Cydney suggested. “And ask her what music she wants for the wedding.”
“Let’s not. We’ll end up with Goo-Goo Eyes and Nine Inch Snails.”
“Goo-Goo Dolls, Mother, and Nine Inch Nails.”
“Garbage, by any name. I’m playing it, so I’ll pick the music.”
“But this is Bebe’s wedding, Mother.”
“And Aldo’s.” Munroe pushed through the swinging door from the bar, his flashlight beam catching Cydney in the face. She swung her head away and blinked to clear the dazzle from her eyes. “I did forget to buy gas for the generator. I’ve got about a thimbleful in the garage.”
“Good heavens, Angus,” her mother said. “You’re soaked.”
“Well, Georgette, the garage is outside. And as folks around here say, it’s rainin’ pitchforks and little dogs.”
“Here’s a dish towel. At least dry your hair.”
When Cydney could see again, she turned her head and saw Munroe rubbing a red-and-white-checked dish towel over his head. He leaned against the butcher-block island, his ankles crossed, his muscled arms rain-speckled and gleaming in the glow of the oil lamp. His khakis and his shirt were so wet they looked pasted to his long legs and broad chest, leaving nothing at all about his physique to Cydney’s imagination.
Mother of the Bride Page 12
