Best Laid Wedding Plans (23 page)

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He flopped to his back, reached for her hand, and laced their fingers. When he brought her hand to his lips and kissed every knuckle, she understood for the first time how a woman might swoon. Her entire body sizzled. She fought for oxygen.

“Do you think you can climb my trellis tonight?”

He laughed, long and hard. She'd forgotten what a truly wonderful laugh he had. It had been far too long since she'd heard it.

“Oh, I wish.” He rolled his head to look into her eyes. “I have to go back to Savannah tonight.”

She only nodded.

“You've got me thinkin' crazy things, sugar. These feelings—they scare me,” he admitted.

“And you think you're alone in that?”

That stopped him for a few seconds, but when she didn't elaborate, he said, “You're like an earworm, Jenni Beth. You play with my head. You get in there, and I can't get you out. When we danced after the wedding at Chateau Rouge, I thought maybe it was holdin' you, touchin' you after so long.”

“Cole—”

“No. Let me finish.” His voice deepened. “You. Me. It scares the hell out of me. But
no
you and me? That scares me even more.”

She stared at him, unblinking.

In one graceful movement, he rose to his feet, then helped her up, and straightened her top. Some serious clouds had rolled in. “We'd better get home before it decides to rain.”

As he folded the blanket to tuck inside his saddlebag, he fleetingly wondered if he shouldn't have it bronzed as a testament to his willpower. It had taken every single ounce he possessed to stop, to not take what Jenni Beth offered. He wanted her, and he meant to have her. When the time was right.

But damn, that wasn't today.

By the time he dropped her off at Magnolia House, Beck and his crew had quit for the day. Cole kissed her, hopped on his motorcycle, then, swearing, dismounted and kissed her again.

“I'll miss you.”

She hugged him tightly. “I'll miss you, too.”

His phone rang, and he answered without checking the caller ID.

Standing close to him, Jennie Beth heard a sexy female voice.

“Cole Bryson, why haven't you called? You said you would. I had such a good time on our date—”

Without a word, Jenni Beth turned and rushed inside, leaving one very disconcerted male standing in the middle of her drive.

It had been a long, miserable week since Jenni Beth had seen Cole. He'd phoned every night, but she hadn't answered his calls.

She needed time to pull herself together. To take stock of her emotions. She'd dared to allow herself to start believing and had let Cole in. Opened her heart to him.

And now? She didn't know what to think. In the middle of the night, alone in her bed, she second-guessed herself.

Despite their history, Cole
was
decent.

All his acts of innate goodness. The gentlemanly behavior. The way he treated Ms. Hattie. His dance moves and great butt. His kisses.

Okay. She'd gotten off track.

But had all that blinded her to his faults? Although, to be fair, at Chateau Rouge she and Cole had shared a couple dances and a single kiss. Did that make it wrong for him to date some other woman, a woman whose voice had been pure sex and promises? Jealousy, such an ugly creature, poked its head around the corner.

She couldn't lie to herself. The problem didn't lie at Cole's feet, but at hers. She'd read too much into things. She'd expected too much.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what the other woman looked like. Couldn't help but wonder exactly when they'd gone on their date.

Well, she had to set that aside. For now. She had work to do.

Things at the house were coming together quickly.

The place looked like an anthill with workers scurrying inside and out, upstairs and down. After the kitchen cabinets had been hung, Beck decided they needed one more coat of paint, so she, her mom, and Charlotte were surrounded by packing boxes and paper. They needed to remove everything inside the cabinets again till the painting was finished.

Her mother held up a silver cake server and gravy ladle. “These are part of the house's original set.” She traced a finger along the intricate design on the cake server. “The Beaumont servants wrapped them in heavy felt and buried them in the rose garden in case any Yankees came snooping around.”

“We're lucky to have all this history, aren't we?”

Sue Ellen swiped at her forehead before she gently placed the silver pieces in a box. “Most days I think so.”

Jenni Beth's heart sang a happy little tune watching her mom. They were up to their armpits in paint samples both for the common areas and for her parents' apartment, in sketches, and furniture arrangements. Even her dad had pitched in. It felt good to have them with her again, to have them smiling again. To hear an occasional laugh.

Sweating, her back beginning to ache, she grinned like a loon. Her home was a madhouse. Guys hollered at each other, a radio blasted out country music, and drills, saws, and hammers added to the din. Very noisy, very happy.

And the smells. She breathed deeply. New sheetrock and plaster, sawdust, varnish and paint, even the sweat of men laboring. A little slice of heaven.

Over all the chaos, she heard a car pull up out front. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang.

She frowned. None of the workers bothered to knock. Since Magnolia House was now a full-blown construction site, they simply walked in.

Charlotte started to get up to answer the door, but Jenni Beth shook her head. “I'll get it.”

Zeke, her yellow Lab, ambled behind her.

Ralph Hawkins, the county building inspector, stood at the door. “Hey, Jenni Beth, your daddy home?”

“No, I'm afraid not. He's gone for a few hours. Why?”

Hawkins scratched his nearly bald head. “I've got to shut you down. Sure am sorry.”

“Shut me down? What do you mean?”

“No more work can go on here at Magnolia House. As of right now everything stops.”

“Why?”

“No permits.”

Her mind raced. So did her heart. This was awful. Hadn't Beck taken care of permits? She was sure he'd told her he'd handle the paperwork with the county. Had he gotten busy and forgotten? She frowned. That wasn't like him. Beck was almost OCD when it came to his job.

“I'm sure we have everything, Ralph.”

“Afraid not. The office received an anonymous tip you had all this construction happenin'.” He waved his hand, indicating the work around them.

“An anonymous tip?” Exasperated, she said, “I haven't kept any of it a secret. Everything has been right out in the open.”

Hawkins rubbed at his head again. “Still, you're out of business until you get the paperwork taken care of. I really am sorry to have to put this on you. I meant to talk it out with your daddy.”

“It's fine. I'm the one in charge, Ralph.”

His expression remained bland. Without blinking an eye, he put two fingers to his lips and whistled. Around her, everything ground to a halt. No one spoke. No saws, no hammers. Only Chris Young singing his latest over the radio.

“The site's shut down as of right now. Pick up your tools and head home.”

“Who is it, honey?” her mother called out.

“It's nothing, Mama. Just a little problem with the job. I'll take care of it.” Panic rushed through her, made it nearly impossible to breathe. “You can't do this.”

As Hawkins turned toward his car, she grabbed his arm. “Ralph, what are you doing?”

“My job.” He shook off her hand and left.

She wished Cole was here—even if he had been a jerk. He'd know what to do. Her lip trembled. On top of everything else, she missed him so much.

Water under the bridge, she reminded herself.

And right now that creek had overflowed. She had a major problem on her hands.

The guys, sweat running down their faces, gathered around her.

“Take a short break,” she said. “Drink some water and cool down. Give me a couple minutes to take care of this.”

The men wandered off, some to their cars to sit in the air-conditioning, some sprawled in the grass under the oak trees' shade.

She dropped onto the top porch step and called Beck. His voice mail answered. “Can you come over to the house right away? We have a problem. A huge one.”

She hung up and sent him a text with the same message.

Not ten minutes later, he pulled into the drive. When he hopped out of his truck, he turned his head one way, then the other, taking in the lounging workers.

“Hey, Jenni Beth, I was already on my way here when I got your message. What's up?” Legs spread, he took in the scene. “Why isn't anyone working? And why do you look like your cat just died?”

“I don't have a cat.” She patted Zeke's head, and the Lab's tail thumped on the porch. “Seems I don't have any permits, either. So the work site is temporarily shut down, orders of his royal highness, Ralph Hawkins.”

“What?” Beck's face took on an angry set. He ripped off his sunglasses and his eyes flashed fire. “We have all our permits. I posted them out back on the electric pole.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Maybe not, but Hawkins should have. I took care of them the day you ordered your porch lumber, even though the plans were still in flux at that point.”

“Oh.” He'd lifted so much of the load. Him and Cole. Again, she pushed Cole to the back of her mind.

“Besides,” Beck said, “all he had to do was check with his own office, with the county clerk. Everything's on file.”

She told him about the anonymous tip.

“That's a bunch of BS.” Plucking his cell from his shirt pocket, he jabbed in a number. His work boots sounded heavy as he strode over to the porch swing. When the phone was answered, he explained in short, clipped sentences what had happened.

“Yeah. I'll wait.”

One look at the set of his jaw, and Jenni Beth was glad she hadn't been the one to rile him. An angry Beck Elliot painted a formidable picture.

After a moment of silence, he said, “You're kiddin' me, right? Put Beulah on the phone. She's the one who filed my paperwork.” He paused. “She's on vacation? Well, now, isn't that convenient.”

Without another word, he hung up.

“They have no record of our permit.”

Her mouth went dry. “What does that mean?”

“Somebody's screwin' with us. Don't worry. I'll take care of it.” He leaped off the porch and disappeared around the side of the house.

When he came back, he had several papers in his hand. “Hey, guys,” he shouted. “Go home till I call you or head into town for coffee and a donut. But be back here tomorrow mornin', first thing.”

She heard the guys grumbling, saw them collect their stuff.

“A wasted day,” Beck muttered. “I shouldn't be long, but when you're dealin' with red tape…hard to say.”

He strode to his truck, pulled out his cell again, and hit a number. A few seconds later, he said, “It's started. The county inspector shut us down.”

Before she could hear anything else, Beck drove off.

Who had he called? And what the heck had he meant by “It's started”? Had he known or suspected this was coming?

Beck was her friend. He'd never do anything to hurt her. And yet a tiny little kernel of doubt, of dread formed inside her.

He couldn't possibly be working behind her back. She refused to even consider that.

Yet as she started inside to help her mom and Charlotte with the kitchen packing and explain what was happening, her heart felt leaden.

An hour later, as Jenni Beth pondered the fine line of balancing studs and nails with tulle and crystal beads, her phone rang. It was Beck. They were shut down for the next three days.

Somebody had screwed up and entered the wrong name on the computer file. Although that didn't make any sense since his copies had the correct information, nobody could explain it. He suspected it had been changed after the fact.

It didn't much matter, though, because regardless, once the job was red-tagged, they had to fight their way through the tangle of government bureaucracy. No getting around it. Once the guys were allowed back on site, they'd have to hit it hard.

“I left one outraged Beulah Gadsen in my wake—after I called her and told her someone had been fiddling in her files. I suggested she check into it.”

“Ooh, I'll bet she's fuming.” Beulah Gadsen, when she wasn't sitting on her front porch or tending her African violets, had her fingers in everybody's business. That someone had theirs in hers? That would not sit well.

“Thing is, she's on vacation, and nobody but she can sign off. Typical small-town problem. The minute she steps foot in Misty Bottoms, we'll be back to work.”

“She can't take care of it online?”

“Nope, not in this case.”

After she thanked him and hung up, she stood in the center of the kitchen, boxes piled around her. One cupboard left. Thank God.

“Go on. Both of you,” Charlotte said. “I've got this. You two take care of whatever else you need to do.”

“Are you sure?” Jenni Beth asked.

“Wouldn't have said it if I wasn't,” Charlotte answered.

“I think I'll take a short nap,” her mom said.

“Good.” Her mother looked tired. Jenni Beth knew she didn't sleep well. The physical labor today, though, was good for her. “Think I'll work on my brochures a bit. Maybe play around with my website. Or just think. The house is actually quiet.”

“Yes, it's been hectic the last couple weeks, hasn't it?” Her mom stepped into the hallway. “The old place is starting to look pretty again.”

“She is.” She gave her mother a warm hug and vowed to make her eat more. Still too thin.

After her mom went upstairs, Jenni Beth decided the day was far too beautiful to be wasted. She gathered some of her files and went out back to the old swing her father had hung for her and Wes. Despite the circumstances, for the first time in a long time, the yard actually felt peaceful.

Poring through magazines and pictures she'd collected, she imagined the weddings they'd have here. One thing became very clear. Family trees had changed. They'd become relationship trees instead, with a lot of interesting branches.

Jenni Beth wondered if there was such a thing as a conventional family anymore. Societal changes had made that old Southern question of “who are your people?” a very complicated one to answer.

Smack. A pair of work gloves dropped into her lap and she sat bolt upright.

There stood the man who, for years, had played the role of groom in her own wedding dreams.

Her heart kicked into overdrive. She wasn't ready for him.

“You gonna talk to me ever again, sweetheart?” Cole stood, hand on hips, looking like a fallen angel.

Removing her sunglasses, she studied him. Was that uncertainty in those beautiful hazel eyes? No. Cole Bryson? Never. Still…

It had been a week, eight days in fact, since she'd laid eyes on him, and in his worn jeans and denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Mentally, she padlocked the shutters she'd placed over her heart.

“This has been the longest week of my life, sugar. I've been missin' you night and day.”

She stared up into the live oak and said nothing. Fisted her hands in her lap so she didn't reach up and grab him.

“We need to talk.” He squeezed onto the swing beside her. As it groaned, she glanced up, praying the rope would hold their weight.

He overwhelmed her. His heat, his scent, the pull of him. She laid a hand on her belly. Butterflies filled it, fluttered there.

His gaze followed her hand. His eyes darkened, and she nearly forgot to breathe as a need grew in her. She could practically hear that padlock bursting open.

“This swing isn't big enough for two.” She wiggled, trying to find space between them.

“Sure it is.” He threw his arm over the back, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Truth? I care for you, Jenni Beth. A whole lot. Asking Ava out? A move I made before this thing got started between you and me.”

Ava. The name matched the voice.