Mother of the Bride

by Lynn Michaels

  “Glad to hear it. My nose hurts like hell,” he said, but he smiled and pushed through the door.

  When it swung shut Gus laid his hands on her shoulders. “What do you think? The body snatchers came last night?”

  “Dream on.” Cydney turned to face him. “He’s up to something.”

  “Who’s gonna tell Georgette about the pumpkins?”

  “Not me. I’d rather put on Domino’s coat and go stand out in the woods. At least I’d stand a fighting chance of not being shot.”

  “Then let’s go change.” Gus cupped her elbow and turned her toward the gallery. “I’ll take you shopping.”

  “I was kidding about my truck, Gus. It’s insured,” Cydney said. Which reminded her, she had to call her insurance agent.

  “I’m not buying you a truck. I’m buying you a sweater.” He gave her a wicked, hot-eyed smile. “And lingerie.”

  Cydney shouldn’t have let him, but he had so much fun in the Victoria’s Secret wannabe boutique they found in Branson. He growled in his throat and panted like a dog over her shoulder as she looked through the racks. Knowing he’d never see her wear any of this stuff made her heart hurt, but she played along and laughed when he looked up at the ceiling, whistling, and tried to follow her into the changing room.

  She cried a little while she was back there, where he couldn’t see or hear her, and dabbed her eyes with her bra. The tearstains were dry by the time he took her to lunch at a lovely wood-beamed and wood-paneled restaurant perched halfway up a mountain.

  The hostess seated them at a table by a big window, lit a candle in a glass globe and left. Cydney leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at the snow-studded hills gathering mist in the valleys and hollows between them. In her dreams she’d been to places like this with Gus for romantic dinners, basking in the heat of passion in his eyes, serenely ignoring the murmured conversation she overheard from the next table:

  “That’s Cydney Parrish, the famous author.”

  “Ohhh. Who’s the guy with her?”

  “Dunno. Looks kinda familiar. Maybe he used to be famous.”

  Cydney rolled her eyes at her reflection in the window. You dweeb.

  “Something bothering you?” Gus asked.

  She glanced at him, looking up at her from the menu over the wire rims of his glasses. “Nope,” she said. “Not a thing.”

  He half cocked an eyebrow and went back to the menu.

  “Well. There is one tiny little thing.”

  He sighed and shut the menu. “The wedding.”

  “The pumpkins. I keep wondering if Bebe and Aldo have made it back to Tall Pines yet and told my mother.”

  Gus cupped his ear to the window. “I can’t hear her screaming.”

  Cydney laughed. He smiled. “We’ll eat and head back.”

  It was almost two when Gus turned the Jag up the drive to Tall Pines. The blue spruce that had come down during the storm had been cleared away. Only a scatter of needles and small branches marked where it had fallen over the first switchback.

  “Looks like Elvin’s been here,” he said.

  When the Jag swooped around the circle lawn, past the broken pine in the middle that made the others look like a gap-toothed smile, Cydney saw Sheriff Cantwell’s squad car parked by the porch steps. Next to a white Ford Bronco with red doors and a light rack on the roof.

  “Louella’s here, too.” Gus frowned as he switched off the engine and popped his door. “That’s her ambulance.”

  “Oh no.” Cydney’s heart sank as she shoved her door open. “I told you my father was up to something.”

  And he was, up to his elbows in rubber gloves and a bucket of Spic ‘n Span, scouring the stones on the front of the fireplace in the great room. Herb stood on the raised hearth scrubbing above the mantel. Aldo stood on a ladder with a sponge mop wiping down the paneling. Elvin steadied another ladder in the middle of the room so Louella could reach the cobwebs in the rafters with a towel-covered broom.

  The reek of ammonia almost knocked Cydney over when she and Gus raced through the pocket doors, hand in hand and out of breath. Georgette stood on a stepladder in front of the glass wall, a rag black with grime in one of her rubber-gloved hands and a scarf tied around her hair. Bebe knelt beneath her with a rag in one gloved hand, the other one bare and pinching her nose shut.

  “What are you people doing?” Gus asked.

  “The cleaning crew called and canceled, Angus, so here we are.” Georgette laid her rag on the top of the ladder and climbed down. “Elvin and Louella stopped by and kindly offered to help.”

  “Hey, Gus. Hi, Cydney.” Louella wore green hospital scrubs and waved her dusty broom from the top of her ladder. “Cloris and her sisters and Mamie and Sarah Boyce should be here directly.”

  “That’s very kind of you all,” Gus said. “But it’s not necessary.”

  “It is if you want to have a wedding in here on Saturday,” Louella replied firmly. “When was the last time you cleaned this place?”

  “Get changed and get busy, Angus,” Georgette said to Gus, peeling off her rubber gloves as she came toward them. “Cydney, that goes for you, too. I need your help in the kitchen. We’ll have a crowd to feed.”

  I’ll be waiting with my rubber hose, said the look her mother gave her as she swept past. “Right there, Mother,” Cydney said to her. “Here comes the third degree,” she said under her breath to Gus.

  “Remember you’re an Uzi, not a peashooter.” Gus drew her into the living room and kissed her forehead. “I’ll take your goody bag up to my room. You can decide later which luscious ensemble you’d like me to peel you out of tonight with my teeth.”

  “I’ve already decided,” Cydney said, knowing she wouldn’t make it to his room tonight or any other night. “The lavender lace.”

  “Excellent choice.” He kissed her again between her brows. “Better go before your mother sends out a posse.”

  Cydney went, first to her bedroom for her jeans and a slightly ratty green sweatshirt she’d brought along just in case and headed for the kitchen. Via the gallery stairs, hoping she’d run into Gus for another quick kiss. She didn’t, but she saw that the pumpkins were gone from the bar, pushed through the door into the kitchen and saw her mother at the sink washing mushrooms.

  Rice cooked in a lidded saucepan on the stove and bacon sizzled in a skillet. On the cabinet, two pumpkin pies waited to go in the oven.

  “Did those pies come from where I think they came from?”

  “One down,” Georgette said. “One hundred and twenty-four to go.”

  Damn. There went her perfect get-even-with-Gwen scheme. Cydney moved to the stove to turn the bacon and check the rice.

  “How’d you talk Bebe out of a Halloween wedding?”

  “She’d talked herself out of it while she and Aldo were snowed in in Branson. Now we have a Harvest Bounty theme.” She glanced at Cydney over her shoulder. “I’m putting Angus in my will. Anyone who can punch Fletcher Parrish and live to tell about it deserves a reward.”

  Cydney’s stomach clutched, but she had to know. “Did Dad tell you why Gus hit him?”

  “No. He only said that Angus provoked him. What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Cydney said, hoping she was lying about the right thing. “I was upstairs with Domino. I came down just as Sheriff Cantwell was helping Dad off the floor. He said the same thing. Gus had provoked him. Gus said Dad provoked him.”

  “Must be some macho, silly man-thing, then.” Georgette shut off the water to drain the mushrooms. “What’s the French bimbo like?”

  “She doesn’t sleep with Dad.” Cydney figured she might as well tell her mother ‘cause she’d find out soon enough. She also told her about the sable coat and the size of Domino’s makeup case.

  Georgette loved it and forgot all about the punch, which suited Cydney. She couldn’t figure out why Fletch had told her mother about the second punch but not the first one. It was totally out of character for him to pass
up an opportunity to humiliate someone.

  “How’d you get Dad to pitch in and help?”

  “I didn’t. Herb filled a bucket with Spic ‘n Span, your father filled a bucket. Herb picked up a scrub brush, your father picked up a scrub brush.” Georgette slid her a coy little smile on her way to the fridge. “I think it’s very sweet.”

  Cydney thought it was a stick of dynamite with a burning fuse.

  The ladies of Crooked Possum arrived with their own buckets, rubber gloves, brushes and rags. Cloris Figgle and her three sisters, Mamie Buckles and Sarah Boyce. They called cheerfully to Gus and Aldo, Sheriff Cantwell and Louella when they entered the great room, nodded “How do” to the Parrish family and set to work like a hive full of bees.

  Louella took command and appointed Cydney gopher. She fetched buckets of hot water and clean rags, shook dust mops off the deck rail, fetched coffee and iced tea and snacks on break times. Midway across the living room there was a head-spinning collision of scents—a Spic ‘n Span and Pine-Sol overlay on top of stuffed mushrooms and the chicken and wild rice soup simmering in the kitchen.

  It made Cydney dizzy and light-headed. So did the glances Gus shot her when she passed, sometimes soft-eyed and smiling, the rest sexy and sizzling. “Lavender lace,” he whispered in her ear when she brought him a fresh pail of hot water. His breath on her neck made her shiver and her grip slip on the bucket handle.

  By six o’clock the great room was mostly clean. At 6:30 the menfolk arrived, Mayor Figgle with a floor buffer that belonged to the Elks Lodge. While Roylee Boyce set to tuning Aunt Phoebe’s piano on the dais, Mayor Figgle started on the floor. Gus and Aldo, Sheriff Cantwell and the rest of the men finished washing the walls and knocking cobwebs down from the rafters.

  The ladies bustled into the kitchen, washed up and tied Aunt Phoebe’s aprons over their work clothes and helped Georgette lay out supper on the bar. Stuffed mushrooms and a relish tray, vegetables with spinach dip, the soup in a steaming crock and sourdough bread hot from the oven. Before Georgette could reach for a bell, Louella hollered for the menfolk to come and get it.

  Everyone filled plates and bowls, coffee cups and iced tea glasses and settled around the living room in pairs. Her mother and Herb, Mayor Figgle and Cloris, her three sisters and their husbands, Aldo and Bebe, Roylee and Sarah Boyce, Sheriff Cantwell and Louella. Even Domino came downstairs and sat with her father nibbling veggies.

  Everyone had somebody, spouse, sibling or friend. Everyone but Cydney, who turned away last from the bar and saw Gus sitting on the hearth with Mamie. He closed the black mesh screen on the fire he’d just built, the tiny flame flickering in his eyes as he laughed at whatever she’d just said. Everyone was filthy and everyone’s hair—except Georgette’s—was ratted with dust, but everyone smiled and talked and laughed.

  Everyone but Cydney. She stood by the bar like the last kid to be picked for dodgeball. She could wade in anywhere, be welcomed with a smile and given a seat, but she stood on the fringe watching Bebe feed mushrooms to Aldo and felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes.

  Gwen wouldn’t be here till Thursday, but already Uncle Cyd had begun to disappear. She was losing them both, Bebe and Gus.

  It was time, Cydney decided, to go wash glasses in the scullery.

  chapter

  twenty-five

  Cydney didn’t think Gus would miss her, but he missed her almost instantly. He glanced toward the bar where he’d seen her just a second ago filling a plate, and saw that she was gone. What the hell?

  He started to get up and go look for her, just as Mamie leaned forward, plunked her elbows on her knees and cut off his exit.

  “Tell you somethin’, jackass.” She pointed a crooked finger at Parrish, who sat with Domino on the closest blue couch. “Didn’t think you knew how to work, but you’ve a fair hand with a scrub brush.”

  “Thank you, madam.” Parrish nodded. “High praise, indeed.”

  “What does this mean?” Domino asked. “This jackass?”

  “It’s a term of endearment.” Georgette shot a dazzling smile at Parrish, “Isn’t it, jackass?”

  Everyone laughed, even Parrish. With a gleam in his eyes Gus supposed could be malice, but he thought was amusement. He’d realized earlier that Cydney had her father’s eyes as well as his dark brows. Same almond-brown color and almond shape. It had given him a hell of a jolt, but he was determined not to hold it against her. He just wanted to hold her.

  “Cup of coffee?” Gus asked Mamie.

  “Why thank you, Gussie. I’d love one.” She sat back, clearing his path to the bar and wherever Cydney had disappeared to from there.

  The kitchen was the likeliest place. Gus was two steps shy of the swinging door when Elvin’s hand fell on his shoulder.

  “Have a word, hoss?”

  “In a sec, Elvin. I promised Mamie coffee and I need a clean cup.”

  “Here’s a couple hidin’ out behind the soup.” Elvin turned him toward the bar. “Right proud of the way you and Parrish isgettin’ along.”

  “Thanks.” Gus filled a white mug from Aunt Phoebe’s everyday stoneware with coffee. “And thanks for your help with the great room and moving the tree out of the drive.”

  “That’s why the Good Lord give us friends, hoss, to lend a hand where and when we can.” Elvin filled a mug for himself and emptied half of it in one swallow. “Glad t’see you comin’ out o’ your depression.”

  He pronounced it expression. Gus blinked at him. “My what?”

  “Depressed,” Elvin said solemnly. “That’s what Louella says you been since Miss Phoebe passed, God rest her. Said she didn’t think it was cynical, though, and likely you’d git over it in time.”

  “Clinical, Elvin. I think Louella meant clinical depression.”

  “That’s it.” He snapped his fingers. “Cain’t keep them medical terms straight. Anyhow. Mighty glad t’see you bein’ your old self, hoss.”

  “Good t’be m’old self, Elvin.” Gus clapped him on the arm and headed across the living room with Mamie’s coffee.

  Depressed. My God. Could he have been and not realized it? Sometimes he couldn’t sleep. He tended to forget to eat when he was heavy into a book. He was not suicidal. But the kicker was Cydney. Until she’d come along with her silver curls and wood nymph body he and Clyde had only occasionally shaken hands in the shower.

  “Here you are, Mamie.” Gus bent down and handed her the mug.

  “Thank you, Gussie.” She patted his cheek and smacked him a kiss.

  Gus winked at her and made a beeline for Louella. Fortunately, she was sitting on the dais steps or he would’ve had to fetch one of the ladders to peck a kiss on her cheek.

  “I’m fine, Louella.” He sat down beside her and puffed out a breath. “But next time you think I’m not, I want you to tell me.”

  “Elvin and his big mouth.” Louella aimed a sour look at her brother, then smiled at Gus. “I was keeping an eye on you. I figured you’d snap out of it once you had a reason.” She looked around the room and frowned. “Well, where did Cydneygo?”

  “I don’t know. She was over by the bar just a minute ago.”

  And a minute ago he’d realized on his own what Louella had just said. Gus felt a zip up his back and swung around to face her.

  “What a second. What are you saying?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, hoss.” She let her drawl creep out, winked at him and clapped a hand on his knee. “You figger it out.”

  Or would you just like me to tell you? his inner voice asked.

  “I’d like you to shut up and leave me alone,” Gus muttered, and started across the living room for the kitchen. Just as he reached for the swinging door, he felt a hand on his arm, turned and saw Aldo.

  “Got a minute, Uncle Gus?” He looked nervous and worried.

  Uh-oh. “Sure, pal.” He followed Aldo up the steps into the foyer, out of the noise and chatter and laughter in the living room.

  “There’s
a lot more to this getting married stuff than I thought.” Aldo leaned on the wall at the foot of the staircase. “I gotta have a tux, Bebe said, or I’ll look like a dork. I never even thought of it. I’ve never even worn one.”

  “You are the groom, pal. You should wear a tuxedo,” Gus agreed.

  “And I gotta have a best man. Bebe’s Grampa is giving her away, but she says I need somebody to stand up with me. So I was wondering.” Aldo looked at the floor, then back up at Gus. “I know you’re not crazy about me and Bebe getting married, but would you be my best man?”

  “Well—sure. But if you’d like to ask one of your buds from school—”

  “No. It’s gotta be you, Uncle Gus.” Aldo looked at him with Beth’s blue eyes and Artie’s jaw set in a firm, my-mind’s-made-up line. “You’re the best man I know.”

  “Then I’d be honored. You’re the best man I know, too.”

  Gus offered his hand but Aldo threw his arms around him. Gus felt the scrape of his nephew’s beard against his cheek and for just a second, just a whisper of memory, the soft, hot brush of a toddler’s tear-dampened cheek. He swept Aldo into a fierce hug and pressed his mouth to his hair.

  “I love you, Uncle Gus.”

  “I love you, too. Tell you what.” Gus cleared his throat and held his nephew at arm’s length. “If you’ll get a haircut I’ll buy you a tuxedo.”

  “Beebs mentioned that, too. Like my hair is longer than hers.”

  “Then we’ll get your hair cut tomorrow and buy you a tux.”

  Aldo grinned. “One for you, too, best man.”

  “One for me, too.” Gus clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Dessert, everyone!” Georgette called. “Pumpkin pie!”

  Gus turned and saw her sailing across the living room with a tray full of plates. Cydney followed her with a bowl of whipped cream and a big spoon. Aldo scurried back to Bebe, Gus went back to the hearth and his place beside Mamie.

  When Georgette came his way with the pie and Cydney with the whipped cream, Gus’ heart kicked at the glow the fire kissed on her brow, the lights it lit in her hair. He let Mamie dip first into the whipped cream, the perfect line—”What? No maraschino cherries?”—poised on his lips, but Mamie scooped a second spoonful and plopped it on his pie.