The Stand-in Groom

by Lori Wilde

  “Oh, we’re not married,” Stacy said.

  “Not yet,” Nick quickly said. “We have a situation here.”

  “Do tell?”

  “I love situations,” Cindy said.

  She had daisies woven in her hair like a hippie flower child and a filmy gauze garment clung to her. They both seemed friendly, so why didn’t Nick ask to use their cell phone?

  “Stacy’s daddy wanted her to marry a rich jerk, but she didn’t go for the idea,” he explained in a lazy drawl.

  Good grief! Did he get that accent watching Beverly Hillbillies reruns?

  “A girl’s got the right to choose who she wants,” Cindy said indignantly. “Did you steal her away from the wedding? Tell us all about it.”

  Here is a woman who loves a good soap opera, Stacy thought.

  “The bottom line is,” Nick said, “her daddy and the uptight suit he wanted her to marry have sent a couple of goons after us. You wouldn’t have a cell phone I can use to call a friend of mine to come for us, would you?”

  “No phones on the island,” Josh said in the tone of a braggart. “Billy John won’t have ’em. He comes here to relax, not worry about his business.”

  Stacy was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what his business was.

  “He’s the groom,” Cindy piped in. “He and my sister, Miranda, just got hitched.”

  Josh squeezed her behind.

  She giggled and swatted his hand. “You behave tonight.”

  “Anyway, we need to get back,” Nick said. “Any chance we could get a ride?”

  “Could, but Billy John let his crazy brother take some chick out for a spin. He could be gone an hour or ten hours.”

  “How will you get back?” Stacy asked.

  “Reckon we’ll have a sleepover. Cabin can sleep fifty if they’re all good friends. But if a person really had to leave the party, there must be an old fishing boat somewhere.” He gestured at the shoreline in the opposite direction to the one Stacy and Nick had already covered. “If you don’t mind rowing.”

  “Would it be okay if I borrow it?” Nick asked.

  “Sure, but how the hell did you get here?”

  “Leaky old boat. I abandoned it near a crappy cabin back there.” He gestured. “Thought I could put her daddy’s goons off the trail, but they’re bloodhounds.”

  “Hey, stay and party with us!” Cindy said. “Plenty of beer, and Josh has a stash...”

  “Hell yes, man, we’re good for another twenty-four hours at least,” Josh said. “I’ll introduce you to Billy John. He’ll be tickled. There’s the happy couple. Come on over.”

  His huge plaid arm circled Cindy’s shoulder like a boa coiling for the big squeeze and propelled her toward the newlyweds.

  “Come on, you two,” Cindy called over her shoulder.

  “Why?” Stacy whispered when they were out of hearing. “Why tell them that preposterous story?”

  “Did you want me to explain you’ve been kidnapped? In a wedding dress? By two idiots who can’t find their own feet? I’d really like to tell ol’ Josh and Billy John I was decked by a six-pack.”

  “I guess your story makes more sense than the truth,” she admitted. “Who would believe what really happened?”

  The newlyweds were looking at them, so Nick steered her over to meet them.

  “That is so romantic,” the tiny bride gushed when they approached. “A runaway bride! I love it!”

  She was maybe five feet tall, and Stacy doubted she weighed more than ninety pounds. She was wearing the most elaborate wedding dress Stacy had ever seen. Yards and yards of beaded-and-sequined skirt with a train that looped over her shoulder and trailed on the ground.

  Her headpiece was a foot-high creation of silk flowers and pearly vines, and the crowning touch was a pearl stud in her nose. Her hair cascaded down in burgundy curls like those of a fairy-tale princess, a look she managed to pull off in spite of the heavy black military boots laced on her feet.

  If the bride was queen of the fairies, her groom belonged at the top of a beanstalk. He was maybe six and a half feet tall and three hundred pounds with a booming voice that made the ground underfoot vibrate.

  Or maybe it was the heavy metal music blasting out of the cabin. He was wearing the uniform of the day: jeans, plaid shirt, and black leather vest, which made him resemble a lumberjack.

  “Join the party,” the giant boomed. “We’re gonna cut the cake pretty soon. Two sheet cakes side by side with a genuine bigger-than-life frosted Elvis head. You folks ain’t never seen anything like it. Had it made special by a little Italian bakery in Detroit.”

  “I’m having a piece of Elvis’ lips.” The bride giggled. “But first I want to hear all about your wicked daddy. ’Course, my daddy loves Billy John since he paid him a cool thou not to come to the wedding.”

  “Worth it. The guy’s a noisy lush,” her groom said.

  “I have a wicked stepmother,” Miranda said in a mock whisper. “She’s always trying to put the moves on Billy John. The old hag.”

  “We’d be mighty honored to have a piece of your cake,” Nick said, “seeing as how we didn’t stay to sample my sweetie’s. Then we’d better get moving. Would it be okay if I borrow a boat?”

  “Take any you can find,” the groom said magnanimously. “What’d you say your name is, you gorgeous gal?”

  “Stacy.” Maybe she should have made up a name. Priscilla came to mind.

  “I’m going to look for a boat...sweetheart,” Nick said. “Maybe you want to come with me.”

  “You don’t wanna do that, Stacy.” The groom put one arm around his bride and the other around her. “Miranda wants to hear all about your wedding. Never saw a gal so wedding crazy. I bet she dragged me into fifty of those salons before she found the dress she wanted. It was enough to make a grown man cry. But I surely do admire your gown. Exactly what are you wearing under it?”

  “None of your business. You’re a married man now.” Miranda punched him in his protruding belly for emphasis, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

  Stacy gave the couple a toothy smile, but inside she was screaming help. She stood there numbly as she watched Nick head toward the shoreline.

  A few hundred yards or so from the partyers’ cabin, a steep bank jutted out to the water. Anxiety made the distance from the party seem longer. Darn, he hated leaving Stacy with that mob, but he could search for a boat a whole lot faster without worrying about her tripping on that dress.

  “Who appointed you her guardian angel?” he grumbled aloud as he cautiously climbed down from the bank to a level stretch of land.

  Sure, she was beautiful. And it was true she had more than her share of assets. It was hard to look at her lips and not imagine kissing them. And legs like hers showed up on maybe one out of ten thousand—make that a hundred thousand—women.

  She was also engaged. To be married. Soon.

  He whipped out his arm to push back a clump of bushes blocking his way and winced when a branch snapped back and stung him. He didn’t want to get married, so why should it annoy him that a woman he’d met this morning did?

  What he needed was a double cheeseburger and a phone, not necessarily in that order. Checking his watch, he saw it had been almost five hours since the two stooges grabbed Stacy and him. His mom must be frantic with worry, and by now his grandfather would be on the horn with the governor trying to get him to call out the National Guard.

  He found a boat by walking into it. Add one skinned shin to what he owed the bungling kidnappers—and whoever put them up to it.

  It was a wooden rowboat with an inch or so of water sloshing around in the bottom. He wouldn’t trust it on Lake Superior, but it should get them to the shore across this lake. He tipped out the water and made sure the oars were in place.

  The easiest way to get back to the party was to row there, but he had a bad feeling about Percy and Harold. He was pretty sure he’d heard a motor earlier, which meant they were probably blundering
around trying to find them. If they were anywhere near, they’d likely spot the rowboat on the water.

  Nick flexed his shoulders. He’d rowed for his high school team, getting up at dawn morning after morning to train on the swift current of the Detroit River. This lake was placid, so he should make good time getting to the mainland.

  Trouble was, the kidnappers had a motor. Even with a good lead, they could cut him off. His and Stacy’s best chance was to sneak away.

  He dragged the boat to the edge of the woods and concealed it behind some bushes. Then he ran, scrambling up the rise on all fours in his haste to get back. If the party got rowdy, he wanted Stacy long gone.

  When he got back to the cabin, everyone had momentarily lapsed into silent awe. The cake was coming.

  First Billy John and Miranda reverently laid a cloth on the log picnic table.

  “It’s a genuine bedspread from a room at the Trail’s End Motel in Kalamazoo where Elvis is reputed to have spent a night in 1957,” Cindy whispered to Stacy. “Just think, he may have propped his boots on that cloth. His hand may have pulled it off the bed. I get shivers just thinking about it.”

  Stacy stood at one end of the table, released at last from Billy John’s bear hugs. The spread looked old enough to be an Elvis memento, but she was no expert. It was soiled tan with western symbols like hats and lariats woven in. One fringed end hung on the ground, and Stacy instinctively backed away. No doubt the bride and groom wouldn’t take kindly to anyone tramping on it.

  “Let’s have a moment of silence while the boys bring out the cake,” Billy John announced in a subdued rumble.

  Stacy was fascinated, despite her anxiety about when Nick would return. Four burly men walked from the cabin with the slow, measured pace of pallbearers. Each supported one corner of a large tray, and sure enough, Elvis smiled up, his face surrounded by mounds of red, yellow, and purple flowers.

  Fu Manchu wiped a tear away with the cuff of his yellow-and-black plaid shirt. Cindy sniffed, and Josh kept saying, “Awesome, awesome, awesome,” with the cadence of a steam engine.

  Stacy was so wrapped up in the moment, she was startled when Nick came up behind her and put one arm around her shoulders.

  “I found a boat,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

  “As soon as they cut the cake.” Even if they were uninvited guests, they owed their hosts a few moments of rapt attention. “Elvis slept on that spread they’re using as a tablecloth.”

  “No kidding? Did he cut his toenails on it?”

  She elbowed him in the solar plexus and heard a muffled grunt.

  A willowy brunette wearing a purple leather halter offered them plastic cups from a tray.

  “Licorice, the bride’s favorite flavor,” she said in a hushed tone. “To toast the happy couple...”

  Stacy took one and handed it to Nick.

  “We’ll share. More romantic,” she explained.

  “Licorice liquor,” he said when the girl moved away. “Spiffy.”

  “Spiffy? There’s a word I haven’t heard since never.”

  “To the bride and groom,” someone called out.

  “To the bride and groom!” the guests shouted, raising their cups and gulping the contents.

  Stacy put her hand over Nick’s and brought the cup to her lips. She took a tiny sip, but when it was his turn, he only pretended to drink, subtly pouring the rest on the ground.

  “Anything you drink here will have you seeing dog-size spiders,” he warned.

  “Do you think the cake is safe? I’m famished.”

  Using what looked like a bayonet, the bride was slicing into the middle of the cake.

  “We get the lips,” she said again with excited giggles.

  “Time to go,” Nick urged.

  Stacy put her hand on his arm. “In a minute.”

  “Yeah, better not to offend,” he reluctantly agreed.

  Miranda freed her chosen square of cake, pushed it into her new husband’s beard, and stood on tiptoes to finish the ritual.

  “Gross,” Nick whispered. “We can sneak away now.”

  “You’re certainly not romantic.”

  “We want another happy couple to get the second piece,” Miranda announced loudly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Stacy, since you couldn’t stay for your cake, you can choose whatever part of Elvis you want.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t...”

  “It’s your cake. We shouldn’t...” Nick said, apparently trying to sound humble.

  “Yes, you should. My sweetie wants you to have the next piece,” Billy John insisted. “Name your part.”

  “Maybe a little bit of chin?” Stacy hesitantly suggested.

  “Close to the lips! Good choice!” Miranda approved. “Come cut it, honey.”

  “You might as well,” Nick said, sounding resigned.

  Stacy lifted her skirt, careful not to step on the edge of the bedspread. Miranda was licking her new husband’s sticky fingers as the guests shouted encouragement and X-rated comments.

  “Trouble,” Nick hissed. “Look, but don’t look like you’re looking.” He motioned subtly toward the trees.

  She squinted at the darkness by the edge of the woods. One glance was enough.

  “They’ve found us.”

  “Yep.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Cut a chunk of cake and work your way behind Billy John. We’ll make a run for it and hide in the woods until it’s safe to use the boat.”

  “Not the woods again.” She didn’t want to sound whiny, but...

  “Not much choice.”

  “They’ll help us,” she said, feeling inspired by their new “friends.”

  “I don’t want you getting hurt,” Nick said with a sincerity she found touching.

  They moved in close to the happy couple, and Stacy made the cut. Miranda dug the piece out and thrust a chunk their way using the wicked-looking blade as the server.

  Stacy took it, thanked Miranda with an enthusiasm that wasn’t at all playacting, and broke off part of it to stuff into Nick’s mouth. The excitement all around her was contagious, and she was having a good time, all things considered.

  He took the cake from her, held it to her lips, and gave her a glob of almost solid frosting.

  “You have to kiss!” the real bride insisted.

  “Yeah, kiss,” Nick agreed.

  “Oh, my...” she managed to gasp as his lips came down on hers, warm, sticky, and insistent. She was expecting a quick peck, but he was doing a thorough job. His mouth covered hers in a series of kisses far sweeter than frosting. Her lips tingled, and she leaned forward on tiptoe, enjoying his lips pressing harder and harder against hers.

  She opened her mouth without conscious intent and forgot this was supposed to be a pretend kiss. Was it her fault her mouth was open? She didn’t invite his tongue to lick the frosting from hers, did she?

  He was doing such a good job of making the onlookers think they really were runaway lovers, he earned a barrage of raunchy comments.

  “Well...” She planned to let him know what she thought of men who took unfair advantage, but he didn’t leave her enough breath. “Well...” This had gone too far.

  He kissed her again, a quick, hard smooch that made her wonder how much of it was acting—and how much was pure pleasure.

  “Billy John, we have a little problem,” Nick said when he finally pulled his lips from hers. “Those goons Stacy’s daddy sent, they’re skulking around in the woods over there like the skunks they are. We gotta go—”

  “Did you find that old fishing boat?” The big man was all serious now.

  “Sure did.”

  “We’ll hold those boys up a bit.”

  “We would surely be obliged. Sorry we have to leave the party.” Nick sounded as if he meant it. “Sure is a good one.”

  “Thanks. You can trust me, buddy.” Billy John walked over to confer with a couple of his friends, and a whole different kind of buzz went through the
party.

  “We’ll fan out and try to smoke them out of the woods,” he said.

  “No need to hurt them,” Nick suggested. “Just slow them down awhile.”

  Nick took her hand, but she seriously doubted they could get away. Percy and Harold had disappeared into the woods, and it wouldn’t take many smarts on their part to double back to their boat and catch up with them on the water.

  The whole wedding party was moving toward the woods, but they were having too much fun for Stacy and Nick to expect any real help from them. Cindy was riding on Josh’s shoulders, and another couple imitated them and started trying to unseat her.

  Two more people splashed into the lake while a third stood on the shore encouraging them to dunk each other.

  “Let’s go,” Nick insisted.

  Now everyone was racing toward the lake to enjoy the water fight. Billy John rallied a few of the men to head into the woods, but the delay had given the kidnappers plenty of time to run behind the cabin and get away. Or more likely, lie in wait to stop them when they tried to get to the rowboat.

  This was only a game to the wedding guests, but Stacy had an idea how to raise the stakes.

  “You’ll never get us now, Percy,” she screamed at the top of her lungs, almost certain the kidnappers weren’t far away.

  “Are you crazy?” Nick pulled on her arm, but she dug in her heels—what was left of them.

  “You’re too slow to catch us!” she shrieked for Harold’s benefit. “Better get your mother to do it for you!”

  She didn’t enjoy sounding like a schoolyard bully, but she was desperate.

  “It worked! They’re coming,” she said jubilantly.

  The two men were streaking directly toward them from the woods. Just as she’d suspected, they’d hidden behind the cabin to escape the mob of wedding guests.

  “Now would be a good time to leave,” Nick suggested. “We don’t know for sure they’re not armed.”

  “No, no, no.” She grabbed his hand and used her body as an anchor. “Not yet.”

  “When I get my hands on you...” Harold puffed, lumbering toward them like a winded buffalo.