Ain't She Sweet? (47 page)

He frowned.

The guests seemed to have entered into a conspiracy to protect him because no one suggested he and Sugar Beth stand still for wedding photographs, and not a single person tapped a knife on a water goblet to encourage them to kiss. When it came time for the wedding cake to be cut, Winnie jumped up with a panic-stricken expression and said she and Ryan would do the honors. Only Cubby Bowmar seemed disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Colin’s face decorated with vanilla fondant.

Sugar Beth spent most of the reception with either the Seawillows or Gigi and her teenage friends. Finally, Winnie drew her away to throw her bouquet, and Sugar Beth aimed right for Jewel, which he thought was a nice touch. No one mentioned a garter ceremony.

As it came time to leave, Winnie retrieved the pearls Sugar Beth had been wearing. “You can’t take them back!” his outraged wife exclaimed. “That’s what I want for my wedding present.”

“Forget it. I have more important plans for these.” Winnie kissed her cheek and slipped the pearls into her bag. “Your present will be waiting when you get back from your honeymoon.”

“What honeymoon?”

Winnie pushed her toward Colin.

Eventually, he was able to get her to his car, which had been decorated with white streamers and a sign on the passenger door that read
4th Timz the Charm.
Rice flew.

Merylinn stuffed Sugar Beth into the front seat. Heidi threw her overnight case in the back. Someone triggered an air horn. And then they were off.

The interior of the car grew tomblike. Sugar Beth stared straight ahead. Colin tried to think of something to say, but he hadn’t slept well in weeks. Most nights he’d stayed at his computer till dawn, caught a few hours of rest, then gotten up and begun to write again. Except for a weekly trip to a convenience store, he’d seen no one. He’d forgotten to shave, forgotten to eat. Occasionally he’d subjected himself to brutal day-long hikes in the desert, hoping the exertion would wear him out enough so he could sleep for more than two hours at a stretch, but it seldom worked. He’d had no taste for food, no taste for much of anything except writing and torturing himself with thoughts of Sugar Beth.

They passed the Quik Stop, and she finally broke the silence. “What honeymoon?”

“I considered the Virgin Islands, but for now I think it’s better if we just head to the lake.

Amy and Clint have given us their cottage for the night. Why were you eating cauliflower?”

Her gown gave an angry rustle. “Tell me where you’ve been for two months.”

“A little adobe house I rented outside Taos. Three rooms near an aspen grove. Simple but serviceable.”

“You look tired. And you’ve lost weight.”

He heard concern in her voice—a chink in the armor of her resentment—and his fatigue instantly vanished. “I’m exhausted. Tired to the bone.” He gave a weary sigh and studied her reaction through the corner of his eye. “It’s been an extraordinarily difficult two months. I haven’t been well at all.”

“Probably suffering from overacting disease.”

He smiled and turned his head to drink in that perfect face. “Do you hate it so very much?

Being married to me?”

Her eyes flashed. “We didn’t even sign a prenup! And I’m a wealthy woman.”

“Are you worried, then?”

“Of course I’m worried! I just got married for the
fourth
time! But I’ve never had a lick of common sense, so why should I be surprised.”

“You have a great deal of common sense, not to mention an exquisite body . . . which I intend to enjoy to the fullest as soon as possible.”

“Good, because sex is the only reason I’m going along with this.”

“I understand.”

They remained silent for the rest of the trip to the lake. She seemed resigned, if not overjoyed, and the atmosphere no longer felt quite so oppressive, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He carried her case inside the cottage—his was already there—and wasted no time drawing her toward the bedroom. She came to a dead stop just inside the door. “Oh, my.”

Mountains of fresh flowers and masses of white pillar candles occupied every corner of the gray and white bedroom. Music played softly in the background, and in a particularly nice touch, the covers on the bed had been turned down to display white rose petals scattered across the pale gray sheets. Even the draperies over the wall of windows that faced the lake had been drawn. Amy’s mother had followed his directions to the letter.

“Dreadfully excessive,” he sniffed. “These Southerners.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well, if you think so . . .” The candlelight caught the black beads of her gown, and her skin looked iridescent, as if it had been dusted with crushed opals. “I have a wedding present for you,” he said.

“I have a present for you, too.”

“If it ticks, I’m calling the police.”

She smiled. His muscles relaxed enough for him to cross the room and retrieve a thick sheaf of papers tied with a red bow from his overnight case. As he handed it to her, he wished he’d had more to drink at the reception. “I . . . didn’t finish until yesterday, so there wasn’t time for a fancy gift wrap.”

Sugar Beth gazed at him and realized he was nervous. The knowledge gratified her more than anything else that had happened that day, and the final layers of her resentment began to peel away at the corners. She sank into the room’s only chair and gazed down at what he’d handed her. “You finished your book.”

“Very late last night.”

He’d dedicated it to her. That must be his surprise. She smiled to herself and pulled at the lopsided red bow he’d wrapped around the manuscript. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat. His agitation warmed her even more. And then she gazed down at the title page.

Her breath caught in a tiny gasp.

A Love Story for Valentine

by

COLIN BYRNE

“Oh, my . . .” A thousand questions sprang to her mind. Her voice, when she finally rediscovered it, sounded thin and faint. “But . . . what happened to your other book?”

“This needed to be written first.”

She ran her fingers over the title page, and the hard knot of fear she’d been carrying inside her for longer than she could remember dissolved. In its place she felt a deep-rooted sense of peace. A man who would do this for the woman he loved was a man for the ages. Her smile wobbled at the corners. “When male authors write love stories, the heroine tends to end up dead.”

“Not this time, I assure you.” His voice was no steadier than hers. “I’ll never be able to hold up my head in literary circles again.”

“Oh, Colin . . .” She drew the manuscript to her breasts, and her eyes filled with tears.

The remnants of her fear fell away as she gazed into the eyes of her fourth and last husband. “I do love you, my darling.”

“That’s what I’ve been counting on.”

He set aside the manuscript and pulled her to her feet where he began taking the pins from her hair one by one. As it tumbled down, he kissed her neck, her shoulders, whispering sonnets of love that grew earthier and more explicit as their clothes fell away.

“You’re exquisite,” he whispered as he laid her in the rose petals. She ran her hands over his body, reacquainting herself with its hard slopes and muscled ridges. He found other petals, soft and moist, plump with need, fragrant with desire, and she grew wild with need. Wilder still when he finally entered her and she saw the emotion burning in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so, my darling.”

She whispered her own love words in return, and the sweet storm swept them up.

The next morning Sugar Beth propped herself on her elbow and gazed at her sleeping husband. He’d worked hard last night, making love with her until they were both exhausted. Resisting the urge to wake him, she slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of panties along with his tuxedo shirt. In the kitchen she found Gordon, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a basket of warm muffins. No woman had better friends than she did, and as soon as she got the chance, she intended to throw them a bridal shower in reverse.

She drank a glass of juice and gave Gordon some love, but left him behind as she made her way through the rear sliders and down to the lake. The early-morning sun sparkled on the extravagant diamond her husband had given her. He didn’t want her to forget she was married, as if she could. She smiled, and a sense of peace flowed through her in a deep, quiet stream. Forever was a long time for love to last, but when it came to Colin Byrne, forever felt exactly right.

“Bored with me already?”

She turned to watch her husband coming toward her, his bare feet leaving tracks in the dew-soaked grass, Gordon trotting at his side. Colin wore jeans and a white T-shirt, all gorgeous and sloppy—unshaven, rumpled, munching on a muffin, and as he kissed her, she tasted banana-nut crumbs, toothpaste, and sex.

“Not bored at all.” She smiled and brushed his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about my wedding present.”

“I put my heart on every page,” he said so sweetly she would have teared up all over again if she hadn’t needed to do something else first.

“Not that present,” she managed. “My present to you. I hope you like it because I can’t take it back.”

“It’s impossible to imagine returning anything you’ve given to me.”

“Hold on to that thought.”

And then she told him.

He looked stunned.

She wasn’t surprised. She’d needed time to adjust, too.

Eventually, he recovered enough to ask a few questions. Then he started kissing her again, but just when their breathing got heavy, he broke away. “I’m sorry, my darling. I know it’s our honeymoon, but . . .” He removed his hand from her bottom with the greatest reluctance. “Would it be possible for you to entertain yourself for an hour? Two hours at the most?”

“You’re deserting me
now
?”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t think of it, you understand, but in light of your amazing news . . .”

He gazed down at her, his heart shining in his eyes. “I’m feeling a pressing need to write an epilogue.”

EPILOGUE

Everyone called her Honeybell, except her father, who referred to her as Eugenia . . . or Eugenia
Frances
the morning he found his new Helmut Lang necktie swimming in Gordon’s water bowl. Next to her mother, she was the joy of his life, an imp with his dark hair, Sugar Beth’s dazzling eyes, and her own feisty spirit. Every morning when he carried her downstairs, she squealed in his arms as she spotted the life-size portrait of Diddie and Sugar Beth that once again hung in its former place in the foyer. All his threats to torch the bloody thing fell on deaf ears. Sugar Beth declared that Winnie couldn’t have given her a more perfect wedding gift. Except for Diddie’s pearls.

“Don’t even think about wearing them,” Gigi whispered to the baby on Eugenia’s christening day, when Winnie formally presented the contents of the blue velvet box to her new niece. “You’ll look like a dork.”

On Sunday afternoons, they all gathered at Winnie’s for potluck—the Seawillows and their husbands, Leeann and her “significant other.” The fact that Jewel and Leeann were now a permanent couple had thrown the town into a tailspin, but Leeann said she couldn’t live a lie any longer, and she was truly happy for the first time in her life, even though Jewel steadfastly refused to join the Seawillows, although she never missed their potlucks.

Colin watched Heidi coming toward him with a carving knife. “You’re the only man here who can cut up a ham without mangling it,” she said. “Give Honeybell to me.”

“I’m not eatin’ anything but my Lean Cuisine,” Merylinn declared, heading for the microwave. “Slap me if you see me even look at anything else.”

Sugar Beth caught his gaze across the women’s heads and gave him one of those smiles he cherished, a hint of bewilderment still clinging to its edges, as if she couldn’t quite believe all this was hers. Sometimes he had a hard time believing it himself.

A Love Story for Valentine
had lived up to Sugar Beth’s prediction and had become his most popular book, although he could have done without the resultant publicity, not to mention his editor’s pleas that he someday write another romance novel. Colin shuddered. Sugar Beth, of course, thrived on the publicity and gave interviews at the drop of a hat. Valentine’s Books, the name she’d settled on for her store, was an immediate success, and Jewel had expanded Gemima’s. The Depot Coffeehouse that Heidi managed for Sugar Beth had turned into the gathering place for everyone in town, and a bigger hotbed of gossip he never hoped to witness.

Life was good but not perfect. He and Sugar Beth still argued whenever the mood struck them. The Seawillows were involved in a cockamamie scheme to find a sex partner for Merylinn’s widowed mother. Gigi had a boyfriend, which was driving Ryan wild. And sometimes when the moon was full, Cubby Bowmar and his cronies still showed up on the front lawn of Frenchman’s Bride to bay for Sugar Beth. Colin mainly put up with it because he knew she enjoyed the attention.

“Dinner’s ready.” Winnie took the platter of ham from him and shooed everybody toward the dining room.

“One of these days I’m bringing sushi,” Heidi said. “They’re sellin’ it at Big Star now.”

“I’m not eatin’ sushi,” Deke retorted. “I doubt it’s even legal in Mississippi.”

“Time for grace,” Amy announced. “Everybody hold hands.”

“Come here, Honeybell.”

Sugar Beth took the toddler from Heidi and wove through Ryan and Deke to get to Colin’s side, where she clasped his hand and they both gave thanks for more blessings than either of them could ever have imagined.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Bouquets of magnolia blossoms to everyone who helped me with my Mississippi research, especially Susan Jordan and Sherry Colhoun at the Holly Springs, Mississippi, Chamber of Commerce; Bridgette Correale for the photos; and Adele San Miguel for making certain I received them. Thanks to Elizabeth Baucom, Donna Barnes, Melanie Noto, Lynn Pittman, and Carol Jackson for observations and yearbooks.