A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn

by Cheryl Holt

  The instant she’d been able to flee, she’d come upstairs, only to find Kyle Layton waiting for her.

  She’d asked him why he was there, and he said, “I put Lindsey to bed in her room, and I thought somebody should know. Like, maybe you could check on her or something?”

  “Lindsey is nineteen, and I’m not her babysitter. What’s wrong with her?”

  “She was drinking at a bar down in the village, and she passed out.”

  Where Lindsey and her antics were concerned, Crystal always denied any misbehavior, so she scoffed. “I’m sure you’re confused. She’s underage, so she wouldn’t have been in a bar.”

  He was very composed, exuding the same unflappable vibe his dad displayed. “The manager texted me to pick her up. She was in too rough of a condition for them to let her leave by herself.”

  “Why would he ask you?” she snidely inquired.

  “He bugged her about who he could call, and she suggested me. We’ve hung out, so we’ve sort of become friends.”

  “Isn’t that special?”

  She tried to skirt past him, but he wouldn’t step out of her way.

  “Will you check on her or what?” he demanded, appearing a tad adamant.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll check on her.”

  “When?” he doggedly nagged.

  “In a minute, but the rehearsal dinner just ended, and I have to change my clothes.”

  “I think she has a drinking problem.”

  “Yeah, and I’m positive you’re an expert on it.”

  “Didn’t her dad die of a drug overdose? That kind of stuff runs in families.”

  For such a young man, he was particularly obstinate, and she said, “Thank you for pointing that out, but Lindsey is fine. Now then, would you excuse me? I’m busy.”

  But he was undeterred. “People took pictures of her.”

  Crystal blanched. “They took pictures? Who? And how many?”

  “The whole place filmed it, so I’m afraid she’s generated more bad publicity.”

  “What’s your deal, Kyle? Are you an armchair psychologist or what?”

  “No. I’m simply worried about her, and it’s sad that you don’t seem to be.”

  She was struggling to control her temper. She was in an awful mood, and she wouldn’t be lectured by a teenager. She was also desperately hoping he’d exaggerated the situation.

  She yanked out her phone, and for once, it connected to a signal. She thumbed through various entertainment sites she liked to track, and Kyle stood beside her, a quiet sentinel, watching her every move so, no doubt, he could sell information to the tabloids later on.

  Lindsey wasn’t at the top of the page, but farther down, and the headline was vicious: Drunk and Disorderly Lindsey!

  Crystal winced and went to another site, and the second headline was even more deadly: Lindsey Holliday in Full Meltdown!

  Lindsey looked terrible in the photos, so Crystal couldn’t argue that she wasn’t intoxicated. Her hair was ratty, her eyes drooping. Kyle and some older, buff guy were carrying her out, while a crowd swarmed behind her. It was clear she couldn’t walk on her own.

  “What a disaster!” she mumbled to herself.

  Her mind was whirring with schemes: How could she hide this from Dennis? How might it impact her court case? How could she spin it on her own media pages? How could Pippa manipulate it on Lindsey’s end?

  She glanced up, and Kyle was still watching her. He seemed to like Lindsey, to be protective of her, so maybe he could tamp down some of the frenzy.

  “I was wondering . . .” Her tone was seductive and coaxing. “You were with her when the pictures were snapped. If you put out a statement about how they were being taken completely out of context, it would really help.”

  “She was blotto, Mrs. Benjamin.”

  “We don’t have to admit it.”

  “I won’t lie.”

  She tsked with exasperation. “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m merely asking you to fudge the truth.” Her expression was cajoling. “Will you? For Lindsey?”

  He studied her forever, and just when she assumed he’d agree, he snorted with disgust. “There was a kid in my high school, an athlete, who died of opioids. His mother has never gotten over it.”

  “Lindsey isn’t about to die of an overdose.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know!” she testily retorted.

  “I can’t see how she’d benefit by my telling a fake story.”

  “It’s not for me! It would be for Lindsey.”

  “Don’t pretend, Mrs. Benjamin. It would absolutely be for you.”

  He stomped off, and she muttered, “Little prick.”

  He stopped and whipped around. “If you don’t check on her in the next half hour, I’ll call the front desk and have them do it. Then I’ll bribe the bellman who drove me to the bar and have him post about the incident. I don’t imagine that would look too good on your YouTube channel.”

  His fury was impressive, and if she’d had much of a conscience, she’d have felt thoroughly chastened, but moral issues rarely bothered her.

  “If you spread this mess,” she threatened, “if one word leaks out because of you, I’ll sue your ass for the rest of your life.”

  “Go for it. The news will simply circulate louder and farther.”

  He continued on, and she stuck her keycard in the lock and staggered into her room.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d been spoken to like that, and her knees were actually weak from the encounter. She was rich, famous, and besieged by sycophants. If a minion insulted her, he was sent packing and not allowed back in Crystal’s ring of acquaintances. How dare Kyle lecture her!

  “Little prick,” she muttered again, and she went to change her clothes, Lindsey all but forgotten.

  He was in the Great Room with the group that was heading to Aspen. The limos were out in the driveway, and they were ready to leave, but they were waiting for Eric who’d run up to their suite to grab a warmer jacket.

  Amy came down the stairs as he was loitering in the corner.

  “How’s your hangover?’ she asked as she walked up.

  “I’m totally cured. You’re a miracle worker.”

  “You shouldn’t abuse yourself. Aren’t you an athlete? I think your body is supposed to be your temple.”

  “I haven’t partied like that in ages, so it was a one-shot deal.”

  “It’s your best friend’s wedding, so you felt compelled to overindulge?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t resist.”

  He grinned, getting lost in her luscious brown eyes, and he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. She was tiny, and he liked how she fit by his side. Earlier that morning, she’d spent two hours in his room, where she’d rubbed his temples, fed him orange juice, and told him stories as if he’d been a sick kid.

  His parents had divorced, then remarried, when he was ten, and his mother was a busy attorney who wasn’t maternally inclined, so he’d never had much feminine attention. He’d enjoyed Amy’s ministrations much more than he should have.

  She had a nursing vibe that made her adept at caring for people, and he liked how she’d fussed and fretted. He didn’t have anyone to worry about him or wonder if he was all right. He was surrounded by trainers, dieticians, chiropractors, and others whose job it was to keep him healthy, but their tasks were carried out in an impersonal, clinical way.

  She’d spoiled him rotten and had even let him kiss her goodbye when she’d left for the bridal lunch. He’d slept the afternoon away with a smile on his face.

  They’d just been at the rehearsal dinner, but they hadn’t been seated at the same table, so he hadn’t been able to chat with her, but whenever his mind had drifted, he’d caught himself watching her. Apparently, he was fascinated a
nd growing more obsessed by the second.

  She motioned to the men by the door. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

  “Bachelor party.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was one.”

  “It was a last-minute idea.”

  She scoffed at that. “Yours or Eric’s?”

  “Definitely Eric’s. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “You’re leaving the Inn?”

  “We booked a private club in Aspen.”

  “So I imagine you’ll have strippers and hookers and other disgusting entertainment.”

  He wouldn’t touch that comment with a ten-foot pole, so he lied. “I don’t know what’s planned.”

  “I could swear that my sister believed Eric would be at the Inn tonight.”

  “Yeah, she was a little upset when she found out.”

  That was a gross understatement. As the dinner had been breaking up, he’d stumbled into their quarrel. He’d managed to escape without being singed by her rage.

  He was incredibly concerned for her—because she obviously didn’t have a clue as to what she was stepping into with Eric. What kind of future would she have with him?

  From the moment Eric had phoned to announce his engagement, Josh had been skeptical about the decision. Back then, Josh had met Jennifer precisely once, and while he viewed her as pretty, nice, and fun, she was completely different from Eric’s typical women.

  On one pointless occasion, he’d questioned Eric about the situation, but Eric had brushed off Josh’s reservations. He hadn’t said anything about being madly in love with her, about how he might die if he couldn’t bind himself. Wasn’t that the level of potent emotion that should exist? At least at the beginning, shouldn’t it be there?

  He’d simply said she’d give him a stable homelife, the sort a man was supposed to have, which—in Josh’s opinion—was bizarre because Eric had never previously wanted that. It meant he hadn’t fully assessed the changes matrimony would render.

  A wife would expect the normal domestic arrangement that every ordinary couple built together, but Eric wasn’t ordinary. By marrying Jennifer, was he hoping to recapture the world he’d had with his mom and dad before Dennis had tossed her over for Crystal?

  Eric always insisted he hadn’t been affected by his parents’ divorce, just as he insisted his dad had been smart to dump his mom because Dennis’s wealth, power, and influence had soared after he’d split from her, as if Sharon had prevented him from reaching his potential.

  If Eric was replaying his past, but with Jennifer, then he was seriously screwed up in the head. But was that a surprise? Josh had always assumed Eric was half-crazy, and maybe—instead of marriage—he needed a competent therapist.

  Amy sighed. “I better find Jennifer and calm her down.”

  “It might be a good idea.”

  “She was so angry last night that I actually thought she might call off the wedding.”

  “Would she have?”

  “We discussed it, but then, Eric redeemed himself by sending her several dozen roses, so she forgave him.”

  “That’s Eric for you.”

  “I realize he’s your friend, and I shouldn’t denigrate him.”

  “Hey, denigrate away. I can take it.”

  “Since he arrived— a day late—he’s been a prick to her and the rest of my family. Have you noticed it? Or am I totally off-base?”

  Josh shrugged. “I think he’s suffering from some jitters. He was never destined to be a husband, and now, he’s about to walk down the aisle. The ramifications are just registering, and he’s working through a few panic attacks.”

  “I hate men,” she said.

  He laughed. “I’m a man, and you don’t hate me.”

  “Not yet anyway, but I might start if I’m required to nurse you again. Should I scold you and order you to behave yourself?”

  “I will be a saint. I’m barely recovered from yesterday, so I can’t indulge to excess. I doubt I’d survive.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She gazed up at him. “Please be careful.”

  “I will be. I promise.”

  “Come home safe and sound. I have some issues with cars and partying.”

  “We have rented limos and sober drivers. We’ll be fine.”

  “And keep an eye on Eric for me. Don’t let him get too out of control. Bring him back in some kind of decent shape for the ceremony.”

  “I will try my best. It’s the only guarantee I can offer.”

  He kissed her—right there in the Great Room. As their lips parted, she grinned up at him, looking impish and pretty, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest, which was inexplicably weird.

  “I guess I don’t hate you after all,” she said.

  “Lucky for me.”

  Just then, Eric bounded down the stairs and bellowed, “Next stop Aspen!”

  There was a general cheer from the group, and they headed out to the cars.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Josh said to her.

  “I’ll worry all night.”

  “If you were a regular person, I’d text you once I was back, but you’re a barbarian who doesn’t have a phone.”

  “What would I do with a phone?”

  The comment reminded him that he was insane to flirt with her, but hey, it was a wedding, and everybody had hook-ups at weddings. There was almost a law about it, so he was acting exactly as was expected.

  “Maybe I’ll buy you a phone for your birthday,” he said.

  “Then I’d need money to pay for service, so I have to pass.”

  He couldn’t imagine carrying on in the reduced world where she existed. She grew what she ate and sewed what she wore. She toiled away and bartered for the necessities, and she was the most content, serene woman he’d ever met. Her small living was definitely having a positive effect.

  From out in the driveway, Eric shouted, “Josh, come on!”

  “Your fan club awaits,” she murmured. “Be good.”

  “It’s a bachelor party. That’s not possible.”

  He kissed her a quick, final time, then went outside.

  Eric was in the lead vehicle, and Josh slid next to him. The valet shut the door, as Eric smirked and said, “Are you hitting on Jennifer’s sister? Isn’t she like a nun or something?”

  “I like her,” Josh replied, not inclined to clarify his fascination, “and she’s not a nun. Close, but not.”

  “She seems so boring to me.”

  “I like boring. It suits me.”

  The driver pulled away, and Josh grabbed a bottle of champagne and started filling glasses.

  “Were they fighting?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  Sharon slipped her hand into his and pulled him into her suite. He hesitated, peeked both ways down the hall, then he remembered he was fifty and a widower. If he wanted to walk into a woman’s hotel room, he could.

  His conduct felt strange though. They were carrying on like a pair of teenagers, and he was having too much fun to stop. They were leaving in another two days, and he’d likely never see her again, so he was squeezing in as much time with her as possible, while balancing his duties as father of the bride.

  Eric had left to attend his bachelor party, and Jennifer was so upset that she’d locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t come out.

  “I can only stay a minute,” he said. “I have to find my daughter, Amy, so she can talk to Jennifer.” He grinned. “Once I’ve put out a few fires, I’ll be back.”

  “You’d better. What was the fight about?”

  She was inquiring about Eric and Jennifer. As the rehearsal dinner had been breaking up, Sharon had noticed them arguing.

  “Will I hurt your feelings,” he said, “if I t
ell you that your son can really be a prick?”

  “No. He’s always been awful to me, but what’s he done now?”

  “He went to Aspen for a bachelor party.”

  “But it’s already so late! It will be dawn before they return.”

  “I know.”

  “And what will his condition be?”

  “I can’t imagine,” he said.

  “I wasn’t aware that a party had been planned for him.”

  “Apparently, his buddy, Josh, arranged it at the last second, but they didn’t bother to inform Jennifer.”

  “Well, that sounds sketchy.”

  “It certainly does. She assumed he would hang out at the Inn with their friends for once. Since he staggered in, he’s barely socialized with her or them.”

  “With me either, but then, he’s not exactly famous for his warm, fuzzy personality. In that, he’s just like his dad, and when he’s with Josh, there’s no predicting how they might act.”

  He sighed with exasperation. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

  “Of course.”

  They were over by the door, and she led him to the sofa and eased him down, then she snuggled next to him.

  “I recognize he’s your son, and I never like to disparage anyone’s kid. It’s hard to raise them right, and they often don’t grow up as you’re hoping.”

  She chuckled. “You are a master of understatement.”

  “Will Jennifer be safe with him? Be candid with me. After I met him at Easter, I’ve had such reservations, and I’ve had to keep them to myself. In light of how he’s behaved here in Colorado, I’m very concerned about her.”

  “I’ve had the same reservations, and I hate to seem like a snob, but can I admit something too?”

  “Go for it,” he said, “and I need you to be brutally honest.”

  “I’m concerned about how different she is from the girls he usually dates. She’s just so . . . normal, I guess.”

  “Isn’t he typically attracted to models and actresses?”

  “Yes, and he doesn’t date them. His relationships are short and raunchy. I don’t recall him ever even having a steady girlfriend. If he did, I never heard about it.”