Best Laid Wedding Plans (2 page)

She stared at him, openmouthed. How could he say something so preposterous, and then just…just table it? Stick it in his back pocket for later? No. She jerked herself back. A head game. Cole Bryson was toying with her.

“Go away, Cole. Please. I have business to attend to, and I need a clear head. My meeting this morning is very, very important.”

“I want your house, Jenni Beth.”

“And people in hell want ice water.”

“I want your house.”

“You can't have it,” she snapped. “I intend to turn it into a wedding venue. Magnolia Brides.” The second the words left her mouth, she wished them back. She hadn't meant to share her dreams—not with anyone outside the family, and certainly not with him. Not yet.

Cole's eyes widened, disbelief flickering across his face. “I don't think I heard you right. I could swear you said you want to start a wedding business. Here.” He tapped a finger on the tabletop.

“Yes.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Of course they do.”

“Is that why you came back?”

“Partly.”

He leaned closer, so close the heat of his body nearly singed her. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you read the newspaper?” He pointed to the one by her elbow. “Watch anything besides
E! Tonight
on TV?”

“Careful, Cole.”

He laughed derisively and shook his head. “Careful? I was beginnin' to think you didn't know that word even existed.”

He reached across the table and grabbed her iced tea.

“Hey, that's mine.”

“Share and share alike.” One sip and his nose wrinkled. “Sweet?”

She shrugged, then called out, “Luanna, will you bring this Neanderthal his own tea? Unsweetened. He's a disgrace to the South.”

“Sure will.”

“Save the steps, darlin'. I'm good.” He took another drink of hers.

She plucked the glass out of his hand.

“Tell me you're not really serious about this.”

“Serious as a postal strike on income tax day.” She rapped the toe of her favorite black stilettos against the table leg hard enough to rattle the ice in her glass.

He leaned down and looked under the table.

She choked and her fingers involuntarily tugged at the hem of her very short skirt.

He clucked his tongue. “Don't worry, darlin'. I'm not lookin' up that pretty little skirt. I just wanted to know if you had your runnin' shoes on today. 'Cause you'll need them if you're gonna chase this dream.”

“You're so juvenile, Cole.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Ain't it great?” He pointed at her shoes. “By the way, I like those. Hot!”

Before she could react, he grabbed her heel and lifted a foot, flicking a finger along the bow at her ankle.

She jerked it away and tucked her feet beneath her chair, ignoring the tingle from his nonchalant touch.

“What are you really doing here, Cole?”

“Here? As in what am I doing in Misty Bottoms? Or as in why am I sharing your table at Dee-Ann's?”

“Take your pick.” Ice crystals dripped from the voice she hardly recognized as her own. She'd let him get under her skin, and shame on her for that. Even worse? He'd put a voice to her own self-doubts.

“I'm actually in town nearly every week. The salvaging business has me on the road a lot, scouting out leads on materials. When I'm up this way, I like to stop by and say hey to my folks. Since you haven't been here much, you wouldn't know that, though.”

She blinked back the hot sting of guilty tears. She hadn't visited
her
parents every week, hadn't even made it back some months.

At the same time her mind rebelled. Once a week? A tiny bubble of panic formed. She'd see him once a week?

No.

He'd slide into town, visit his folks at the farm, and slip out again without anyone the wiser. He was good at that.

Dee-Ann, coffeepot in one hand, iced tea for Cole in the other, stopped at their table. “Everything okay here?”

“Everything's good.” Cole sipped his drink. “Thanks. Not a place in Savannah makes smoother tea.”

“Got a notion that tongue of yours is smoother still,” Dee-Ann said dryly. “Luanna, your order's up.”

As Dee-Ann walked away, Jenni Beth felt Cole's eyes on her. Knew he was assessing her. He dragged out the good-old-boy demeanor when he found it useful, but beneath that? A mind as sharp as any she'd ever known and a memory like a steel trap.

She struggled for composure.

“Sorry about the teasing,” Cole said. “You do that well, you know.”

“What?”

“I made you mad and, for a few seconds there, you let it out, but then slicker than silk, you slipped right back into the role of prim and proper Southern lady, pearls and all.” He brushed a fingertip over the ones at her neck.

She drew back, felt the blush warm her cheeks as that remembered touch stoked a fire deep inside.

“That's not who you are,” he drawled.

“Excuse me?”

“You never have been,” he continued. “Oh, you can pile on the trappings. Put you on a public stage, and you could fool anyone. But underneath?” His eyes held memories. “You're one hot woman, Jenni Beth, with a temper to match.”

She sputtered. Wanted to deny the temper, hated to deny the hot woman part. Ego again.

Calmly, he took another drink, met her eyes over the rim of the glass. “But back to what we were discussin'.”

Her head swam. At this point, she wasn't sure she even knew what that was. He'd made so many U-turns in their conversation, she hadn't a clue where they were headed.

“In case you haven't heard, Beaumont, this isn't exactly the best time to start a new business. The country, hell, the whole world, is workin' to dig itself out of a recession. Oh, the economy's bouncin' back in some places, more so up north and in the big cities. But small towns… It'll be a long time comin', if the recovery comes at all.”

He swung an arm to indicate the scene outside the window. “When you walk down Main Street in those killer shoes, have you noticed how many buildings sit empty? How many businesses have been forced to close their doors?”

“Yes, I have. I've also noticed a couple new ones.”

He nodded. “And they're strugglin'. There are no jobs around here. No money in Misty Bottoms.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Now you're startin' to worry me, sugar, because you're not makin' a lick of sense.”

Stubbornly, she planted a hand on her hip. “I most certainly am.”

“Did you hear what I said? No money, no jobs.”

“Which are both excellent reasons to open Magnolia Brides.”

A frown creased his brow.

“If Misty Bottoms has any chance,” she continued, “something has to change.”

“And you intend to make that happen with this harebrained scheme of yours.”

“I intend to help, yes. With my
well-thought-out plan
. Regardless of the economy, mamas and daddies still spend big money for their little girls' dream weddings, and I intend to be the one to provide that perfect setting. I'll make it the most special day anyone could imagine. And that, Cole Bryson, translates into jobs. Magnolia Brides will need pastries, music, linen, laundry. We'll need a florist and wait staff. A photographer. A caterer.”

“And money, Jenni Beth. Lots of it.”

Heat rushed to her face. “I'll find it.”

“That's why you're all dressed up. What this morning's appointment is about, isn't it?”

Too perceptive by far. She stared him down. “I'm not stupid, Cole. I know I need financial backing along with a whole heck of a lot of hard work—”

“Whoa.” He scooted back. “You're actually prepared to roll up those sleeves and get to it? Willin' to risk breaking a nail? Work up a sweat?”

Her eyes shuttered to slits. Determined to keep a check on her temper, she bit back the words that wanted to tumble out.

Pasting on a molasses-sweet smile, she said, “I am. You run along now.” She made shushing sounds and swept a hand at him. “Go back to Savannah and play with all those goodies you've confiscated.”

“Bought.”

“Stole.”

His jaw tightened.

She'd hit a nerve. Good. Because the man had trounced on just about every last one of hers.

* * *

Cole realized he'd been hard on Jenni Beth. But, damn, it was for her own good. Wes would haunt him forever if he didn't step in and try to save her from herself. The woman might have graduated at the top of her class with a business degree and organized a bunch of weddings in Savannah, but if she thought she could make a go of some fancy-schmantzy wedding venue here in this town, she wasn't firing on all cylinders.

It had been unfair, though, to imply she didn't work hard. That she was afraid to get dirty. She'd worked her pretty little butt off at Chateau Rouge.

He'd attended a couple of the upscale shindigs they'd hosted, and her second degree in event planning showed. She'd always looked like a million bucks. Confident and in control. More than once, he'd had to rein himself in when guys made moves on her—all of which she declined graciously. The lady could handle herself; she ran a tight ship, and everything went off without a hitch.

Which simply strengthened his resolve to talk her out of this asinine idea. Whatever money she'd sink into the venture had come hard-earned, and he hated to see her throw it away. Pouring money into Magnolia House? Too late for that—as a wedding venue, anyway. Her mother and father hadn't lifted a finger or spent a penny on maintenance since they'd inherited the majestic old plantation house from Jenni Beth's grandfather.

And this last year or so? Forget it. They certainly had.

His mind circled back to Jenni Beth. If she went into this and failed, it would kill her. He couldn't let that happen.

Problem was, once Jenni Beth Beaumont set her mind to something, a locomotive couldn't turn her around. The minute she opened that pretty little mouth, her soft, slow drawl shouted she'd been born south of the Mason-Dixon Line. But all that sugary softness was misleading. She could be stubborn as a weed in his mama's flower bed.

Maybe the bank would deny the loan. No doubt she'd be devastated initially, but it would be for the best in the long run. The Beaumonts, just like Misty Bottoms, couldn't continue as they were. Jenni Beth was right on that account.

If the bank turned her down, he'd make her folks another offer on the place.

He had a plan or two for Magnolia House himself. And, maybe, if he got really lucky, a few plans for Jenni Beth.

Jenni Beth crossed her legs at the ankles, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. Jeez Louise, this waiting would be the death of her.

More than a few of Misty Bottoms' citizenry had sweated it out in this less-than-comfortable visitor's chair. But her? She'd never actually been in the bank president's office before. Any business done at Coastal Plains Savings and Trust had been done by her parents or grandparents.

As the scent of coffee drifted in from the nearby break room, she smoothed a hand over her skirt and picked off a barely-there speck of lint, a leftover from her napkin at Dee-Ann's.

A phone rang unanswered in the next-door office.

She hated waiting. Hated wasting time. She'd no more than sat down and begun to explain her plan when Richard had been called out to deal with some problem, giving her plenty of time to check out the room. The place was a shrine—to Richard L. Thorndike. Plaques, awards, and pictures of him glad-handing covered the walls, the desk, the étagère shelves.

“Sorry about that.” Thorndike steamed through the door, one hand running over his thinning hair, smoothing the comb-over in place. Dropping his bulk into the chair behind his desk, he said, “What you're considering sounds like a pretty big undertaking, Jenni Beth.”

“It is.”

“Your parents would need to come in and sign off on all this.”

“Why?”

He looked taken aback. “Because it's their house.”

“And I'm the one borrowing the money and the one who will pay it back. They're behind me one hundred percent.”

Her eyes met his. “There's no sense beating around the bush, Richard. We've known each other a long time. Mama and Daddy have their accounts here, so you'd have to be deaf and blind not to be aware their investments have gone down the drain along with so many others'.”

Maybe more so, since they'd quit caring.

“Financially, the Beaumonts of Misty Bottoms, Georgia, are in trouble,” she admitted.

He nodded, eyes cool.

She hated that. So dispassionate. So calm, while she had so much at stake. He could at least pretend it mattered.

“Bottom line?” she continued. “They can't afford to maintain Magnolia House as a private residence. It's falling down around our ears. I intend to change that.”

Tenting his hands beneath his chin, he leaned back, the rich leather chair creaking beneath his weight. “You're right. None of this is news. You're also right about your family's financial status, especially after your father's regrettable gamble last year. And that, in and of itself, makes you a poor candidate for a loan.”

Heart lodged in her throat, she leaned in toward him. Insisted he meet her eyes. “I respectfully disagree. My parents are having money trouble. Not me.”

He nodded again, slower this time. “Point taken. Run through your plan again. I'm listening.”

Satisfied she had his attention this time, she laid out the bare bones of her dream. Shared her vision of Magnolia House as a wedding venue. Told him about the weddings she'd organized at Chateau Rouge. His head bobbed, but his face remained impassive.

“Destination weddings are, and always have been, popular. Savannah is one of the favorite spots, and I think we can capitalize on that.”

“Hmmm. Maybe.” He rested his hands on his desk, offered no encouragement.

“I'll turn most of the second floor into an apartment for my parents, and I'll live on the third floor.” She could see it. Put all that hope into her voice. “Between the first floor, the carriage house, and the guest cottage, we'll have plenty of space to accommodate weddings. And while I intend to cater to the wedding business, we'll host other social events as well.”

He merely grunted in response.

Frustration swept through her. Damn him! He wouldn't give an inch. Wouldn't feed her a single kernel of encouragement. Fine.

Forced smile in place, she opened her folder and removed the carefully prepared business plans. Using Richard's massive cherry desk, she laid out several initial drawings of proposed changes to the house, her research on wedding venues, and an estimate of both operating expenses and income. Proudly, she spread out photos from the fabulous weddings she'd organized at Chateau Rouge.

“This is more than a pipe dream, Richard. I've done my homework, given my vision a great deal of thought, and have the experience. I'm not jumping blindly into this venture.”

“I can see that.” He pulled one of the sketches closer to study it.

“I need this. Misty Bottoms needs this.”

He quirked a brow.

Pompous jerk!

Biting down on her rising temper, she said, “The town needs a shot in the arm. My business, Magnolia Brides, will provide that. It'll open up jobs. During the renovation, I'll put our carpenters, electricians, and plumbers to work. When I get it off the ground and running, there'll be a significant impact on other local businesses—both of Misty Bottoms' hotels, Dee-Ann's, the new flower shop, the pharmacy, and on and on. Everyone will benefit.”

Still, Richard sat stoically, saying nothing. She wanted to shout at him. Shake him. She needed this money. For herself. For her parents. She could help bring the community to life again, not turn her back on it like Cole Bryson.

Because her hands wanted to fidget, she clasped them together in her lap and waited.

“How much do you figure you'll need?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

He whistled through his teeth. “That's a lot, Jenni Beth.”

“Not really. Not for a business. You've lent that to people to buy a run-of-the-mill house. I'm talking about refurbishing a historic building. Establishing a new enterprise that will bring money into our town. I've got the credentials and the experience. Personally, I think it's the safest loan you've made in quite a while.”

“Can you stand to lose that much money?”

Her chin came up. “I won't. I
will
make this work.”

Finally, he nudged the drawing away and looked at her. “You know I believe in you, Jenni Beth.”

“But?”

He spread his hands wide. “Unfortunately, I have bosses, too. People to whom I have to answer.”

Her stomach plunged to her stilettoed toes.

“I can't possibly lend this kind of money without collateral.”

Okay
, she thought.
Still hope
. “I have some savings.”

“The account here at Coastal?”

She nodded. She'd transferred her Savannah account.

“Not enough, I'm afraid. I checked your balance while I was out taking care of the other problem.”

She had expected as much. Her eyes focused on a photo of Richard's dad shaking hands with former president Jimmy Carter. A young Richard stood at his elbow. Now or never. Time to play her ace in the hole. “I have a piece of land.”

Richard frowned. “Your parents still own—”

“No, this acreage is mine. No one else's name is on the deed.”

“Really?” Eyes hooded, the banker rolled a pen between his thumb and index finger.

“My grandfather left it to me.”

He used silence again, kept her hanging.

Southern ladies might glisten rather than sweat, but Jenni Beth detected a definite dampness trickle down her back beneath her pretty silk blouse. Richard was supposed to be a friend. While she wouldn't call him hostile, he didn't exactly define affable, either.

But then, she reminded herself, she'd come on business. She hadn't stopped by for a social visit.

“We still own a chunk of land around the house itself, but my folks have sold off parcels of the adjacent land. I'm sure you're aware of that.”

“Yes.”

“In his will, Grandpa Beaumont deeded a quarter section of bottomland to me. I couldn't sell it till I turned twenty-two. That was three years ago.”

She noted Richard's reaction, that small, nearly imperceptible tell.

“Then why not sell it? That would certainly put any money problems to bed. I'm almost certain I can find you a buyer.”

“I've had offers on it already, but I don't want to sell the land, and I shouldn't have to.”

“Seems to me that would be your smartest move. You should seriously consider it.”

“No. I've got dual degrees in business and hospitality and event planning. I can make this work. It's a perfect fit. This is a good loan, Richard, one you shouldn't have any trouble selling to your bosses. That land's worth at least twice what I'm asking to borrow. Do you need an appraisal?”

“No, a similar piece has been appraised recently.”

She frowned. “Whose?”

“I can't discuss that.” He straightened some papers on his desk. “Give me some time to run the numbers, Jenni Beth. I'll have an answer for you by tomorrow or the next day.”

She stood, a glimmer of hope rekindled. Not quite the outcome she'd wanted, but apparently the best she'd get right now.

A chance. That's all she needed.

“Thanks, Richard.” She held out a hand, shook his.

“You might want to go over these copies again, show them to your bosses.” She pushed the folder with her business plan toward him. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

On her way out of the bank, she smiled at the tellers and said good-bye to Gloria, Richard's girl Friday.

She hadn't wanted to bring the land into the deal. Had been afraid she'd have to. Heck, she'd wanted a larger loan but had trimmed it when she'd realized the way the wind was blowing. Less money would mean lots more elbow grease, but she didn't mind that. Sweat equity was a good thing.

The worst of it? The smaller budget almost guaranteed she'd have to ask Cole for help. He was the expert on old houses. Since that moonlit dance, she hadn't been able to roust him from her mind. Last night while she wasn't sleeping, she'd wondered if he'd be willing to help. Her pride and ego would both take a serious hit, but the taste of crow would disappear with Magnolia House's first bride.

After their run-in at the diner, though…

Wedding gowns, bridal bouquets, and smiles. Her own business. She wanted it. All of it. But even more, she needed desperately to save her family home. Her parents could not lose Magnolia House. They wouldn't survive it. If it meant swearing a pact with the devil to make it happen, then so be it.

And speak of the devil.

* * *

Cole swung through the door and nearly collided with Jenni Beth. She looked intense and more than a little frustrated.

As she made to walk past, he shot out a hand and caught her arm.

“Everything okay?”

She nodded.

He folded his sunglasses and slipped them into his pocket. He pursed his lips as his eyes moved over her face. “Could have fooled me.”

Obviously disgruntled, she ran the fingers of her free hand through all that gorgeous blond hair, giving it a sleep-tousled look. Oh boy! He dragged his wayward thoughts back.

“I take it things didn't go well.”

“I don't know.”

“Okaaay.”

“I despise red tape. I can't stomach other people telling me what's best for me.” Those slate-blue eyes, a shade darker than they'd been at Dee-Ann's, flashed with frustration and temper. “And I loathe having to ask for help.”

Saying nothing, he noted the racing pulse where his fingers still touched her wrist. “Richard turn you down?”

She shook her head. A strand of silky hair fell over one eye, and she flicked it back. “No. Not yet, anyway. I think he'll come to his senses—eventually.”

“If he doesn't—”

“I know. Call you. You'll be more than happy to come tear down my house. Problem solved.”

She sounded tired now, her anger sliding into discouragement, and it was all he could do not to wrap her in a hug.

“Actually, I was gonna suggest a partnership of sorts.”

Her head tipped slightly to the side. “I take it I'm the fly, and you're the spider?” She paused. “Go ahead. Your turn.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“You're supposed to ask, ‘Will you walk into my parlor?'”

“It's not like that.”

“Sure. Let me see how things go here. Right now, I've got to run. You have a good day.”

With that, she stalked out on those rail-thin heels and left him standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn jeans. Not a bad view!

Offhand, he'd say Thorndike hadn't handled the situation very well. Jenni Beth was one royally pissed lady.

But then, Cole admitted, she usually was around him, too.

And the blame for that? His. Dating back to when he'd been eighteen and stupid. Then again when he'd been twenty-four and even stupider.

Beneath that fierceness, though, was hurt, and he couldn't bear to see that.

Richard popped out of his office. Spotting him, he waved. “How're you doing, Cole?”

“Good.”

“In town long?”

“Not sure. I've got a few things in the fire. Some business to take care of.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Nope, just cashin' a check.” Cole walked to one of the tellers' windows.

Richard turned to his secretary. “Gloria, draw up loan papers for Jenni Beth Beaumont. I'll email you the details in a few minutes.”

Well, what do you know? Cole thought. She'd pulled it off. He hoped before she dug herself in any deeper, she'd realize the scope of this project. His own temper on a slow burn, he glanced toward Thorndike's office. Shame on him for stringing her along. For sending her home in a funk to sweat it out.

Power. Thorndike enjoyed wielding it.

Cole finished up his business and walked past Richard's office on the way out. The bank president, phone cradled between his chin and his shoulder, spoke quietly. Still, Cole caught Jenni Beth's name.