Best Laid Wedding Plans (4 page)

On the way home, the wind whipped through her hair and Rascal Flatts serenaded her. For just these few moments, she'd let go, enjoy. Reality could take a short vacation.

Springtime in the Low Country. If she lived to be a hundred, she swore she wouldn't tire of it. She passed houses tucked at the ends of long lanes, a riot of azaleas splashing bright pink, coral, and dark purple through the yards. Flowering dogwoods added their pale pink and white to the palette. Live oaks, dripping Spanish moss, stood guardian.

God, despite everything, she was glad to be alive today.

A vision of Wes, laughing, singing along with the radio, flashed through her mind, and she caught her breath. Would she ever again think of him without pain fogging her brain?

And thoughts of Wes carried right on through to thoughts of his best buddy, Cole.

Way before she reached home, she'd eaten the entire candy bar, licked the melted chocolate from her fingers, and chewed off her remaining lipstick. She probably should have been nicer to Cole today. For two reasons. The first? Guilt. Even though she was inarguably justified in calling him a dog, this constant fighting and bickering made her feel disloyal to her brother.

Second—and she acknowledged this was totally selfish—without a doubt, she'd need Cole's help. Nobody else in town could do what he could.

It galled her, but if they crossed paths again, she'd have to be nicer.

She'd tried that before and where had it gotten her? Dumped. Right before the senior prom.

True, she and Cole had never actually dated. Wes had thought himself in love with Sadie Wilson, whose father wouldn't allow her to single-date. Determined to take her to the prom, Wes had strong-armed Cole into asking his pesky little sister so they could double-date.

Jenni Beth, with her mad crush, had been over the moon.

But Cole, the cad, had reneged the day before the big dance—after she'd bought her dress, her shoes, and told everyone she had a date. That beautiful gown and no guy. Worse, the social disgrace. To a sixteen-year-old it had been the ultimate humiliation. She'd ended up going with Angus Duckworth. The name said it all.

And Cole? As Angus stomped all over her feet, Cole had waltzed in with Kimmie Atherton, Misty High's head cheerleader, on his arm.

Jenni Beth had cried buckets over that.

She downshifted and turned into her lane.

Far worse, though? She hadn't learned a thing. Had been dumb enough to give him a second chance. When she'd been twenty-two—nope, not even going there.

She didn't need that third strike. Two and she'd declared Mr. Cole Bryson out. Definitely out. And who could blame her?

“Mother? Daddy? Anybody home?”

Jenni Beth bent down and pulled off her shoes, then wiggled her toes. Oh, that felt good. She flung the red jacket that had been so crisp this morning over the newel post.

Charlotte stuck her head around the kitchen door. “Your mama taught you to take care of your things. Get that jacket off there, and hang it up the way you oughta. I'm not gonna be the one to iron it when it's all wrinkled.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She retrieved the jacket and held it in her hands. “It's really warming up.”

“Don't I know it! Thought I'd scrub those patio chairs. Huh! Got one done and called it quits.”

Almost afraid to hear the answer, Jenni Beth asked, “Where're Mama and Daddy?”

“If you'd be still a minute, a body could tell you.” Her dark brown eyes softened. “They're down by the lake with their coffee.”

Uh-oh. Not good
.

Her father's go-to plan when her mother unraveled always included a walk down by the lake. The water settled her nerves.

Jenni Beth closed her eyes, sensed the beginnings of a headache. Losing Wes had been difficult for all of them, but her mother was having the hardest time with it. Understandable. Her firstborn. Her only son. So many families hugged sons and daughters and sent them off to war. Too many never returned. It had happened since the beginning of time, but that didn't make it any easier.

Tears swam in Jenni Beth's eyes, and she blinked them away. She wanted to turn back time. Wanted Wes to come traipsing in with muddy boots, wanted Charlotte to chew him out.

She wanted her parents happy again. It was the ultimate frustration not to be able to help them. She'd never felt so helpless.

“Did something happen to upset Mama?”

“Cole called.”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “He called here?”

“He wanted to check on them. Asked if there was anything needed to be done around the house he could help with.”

“Oh!” Jenni Beth shook her head. “That underhanded, scheming—”

“Jennifer Elizabeth, you watch that mouth.” Her mother's voice cut into her tirade. “That's no way to talk about your brother's friend.”

Sue Ellen Beaumont breezed into the foyer. Even her red-rimmed eyes couldn't dim her beauty. Her poise.

“Are you okay?” She moved to her mother and wrapped her arms around her, shocked again at how thin she'd become.

“I'm fine, honey.”

She looked over her mother's head, raised her brows at her father. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Hands on her mother's shoulders, she said, “Cole Bryson is up to no good, Mama. He wants this house. He'd like nothing better than to dismantle it and sell it, piece by piece.”

“But that's not going to happen, is it?” Her mother smiled and laid a hand on the side of her daughter's face. “Because you have a brilliant plan that will save us and Magnolia House.”

“That's a lot of pressure to put on her, Sue Ellen.” Her father, always so tall, so handsome and proud, looked stooped from the weight he carried. The worry and sadness.

Jenni Beth hated that and vowed she'd do whatever it took to make things right again.

They'd been scraping along until that unfortunate business deal Richard had mentioned. Her dad, so vulnerable in the months after his son's death, had gotten involved in a scam. He'd invested—and lost—what little savings they had left, including Wes's life insurance. That had been the final straw for her father. It had broken his spirit.

Her mother, normally a fighter, masked her own desolation over their finances rather than hurt her husband with recriminations.

The Beaumonts of Misty Bottoms were dragging butt.

If Jenni Beth hadn't been so busy in Savannah, she might have averted at least that disaster. Twenty-twenty hindsight.

Whether out of compassion or because he didn't want the money leaving his bank, Richard Thorndike had tried to talk her dad out of the risky investment, and that earned him a few points in her book. Coupled with her dad's loyalty, it had been enough for her to go to him today.

“Richard approved the loan, didn't he?” her mother asked. Worry lines creased her forehead. “You didn't run into any problems?”

Not wanting to upset her mother again, Jenni Beth put on a good face. “Everything went fine. Richard will have an answer for me sometime this week.”

“Why not today?”

“Because he has bosses to answer to,” her father said. “He needs to get approval on something this big.”

“It's not all that big, Daddy, but you nailed it. Those are Richard's words, almost to the letter.” Her nervous fingers wadded the jacket into a ball. Shoot! She shot a glance at Charlotte and shook it out. “Think I'll run up and change.”

“Okay, sweetie,” her dad said. “Mom and I thought we'd drive into town and catch a movie. It's a lot cheaper if we hit the matinee.”

Not too many years ago, that wouldn't have crossed his mind. Jenni Beth longed for a couple of ibuprofen.

She gave them both a quick kiss and watched the two walk hand-in-hand toward the back of the house. The sun, drifting through the bay window, caught in her mother's hair, and Jenni Beth sighed. That beautiful dark blond hair had turned totally white in the first months after Wes's death.

Charlotte, hands on her ample hips, asked, “You tellin' the truth, little girl?”

“For the most part.”

“Uh-huh. That's what I thought. I put a new bottle of headache tablets in your bathroom yesterday. Look like you need them.” Without another word, she turned and trudged flat-footed back to the kitchen.

Alone in the foyer, Jenni Beth raised her eyes to the ceiling. A crack ran from the light fixture to the far corner. When had life become so complicated? All through school, she'd been envied as the girl who had it all. The brains, the handsome older brother, the huge house, and great parents.

Even Santa, as good as he was, couldn't deliver a wish list like that.

But somewhere along the line, everything had started to go wrong. She grew up and saw behind the facade. Recognized the peeling paint on the eaves, the crumbling plaster, the water-stained ceilings.

Six months after she'd kissed her brother and sent him off with smiles and promises to write, she'd stood in the Atlanta Airport, tears nearly blinding her. Unsure who'd held up whom, she and her parents had met the plane and Wes's flag-draped coffin.

Nothing had been the same since.

Two steps up the curving stairway, she stopped beside his ornately framed photograph.

“I miss you, big brother. Every single day. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last at night.” She kissed her fingertips, laid them gently on his cheek. “I wonder. Could you have saved us?”

On leaden feet, she continued up the stairs to her third-floor room. The higher she climbed, the worse the deterioration. But scattered amidst the ruins? Some incredible antiques. She'd collect the best and move it downstairs.

Hand on the railing, she considered the renovation of the first upstairs bedroom. The bridal suite—a dressing room, a hair and makeup area. The perfect photo-op spot with maybe a fainting couch, a huge fern on a stand. In her mind's eye, she saw it, finished and ready.

The groom's room could be downstairs. But the bride and her attendants? They had to be on the second floor. Any bride reciting her vows at Magnolia House would want to walk down this magnificent staircase to her groom. Only natural.

And it would be up to her to make sure all those dreams and wishes came true.

She couldn't wait!

Jenni Beth took her time changing. After all, until Richard approved the loan, there wasn't a lot she could do. Her paltry savings wouldn't make a dent in the necessary renovations. She intended to check out the front porch floor this afternoon to see how many boards could be salvaged, then draw up a list of the supplies she'd need for the job.

Her mother constantly reminded her that a person never got a second chance to make a good first impression. Jenni Beth figured that held true for both women and businesses, so she'd better do this right the first time.

With her parents gone, the time was right to roll up her sleeves and get started. Hopefully, the movie would take their minds off the real world for a couple hours. Maybe they'd have lunch or stop at the bakery afterward. An afternoon out would be good for them.

Since the porch would be hot, sweaty work, Jenni Beth decided on her oldest pair of denim shorts and a pink, well-worn tank top. She pulled her hair into a messy ponytail.

Nobody would see her, so what the heck. No first impressions to make today.

Heading down the stairs, she called out, “Charlotte, do you know where Daddy keeps his work gloves?”

“Humph. I don't know if he actually owns any. But Vernon left his on the back patio by those rosebushes he just pruned. Meant to put them up for him, but guess I forgot, what with the heat and all.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She slammed out the door to search for them.

After looking all over and back, she finally unearthed the gloves in the greenhouse, neatly placed on a shelf. Charlotte really was getting forgetful. She thought she'd forgotten to put them away, but in truth had forgotten she'd actually put them away.

Jenni Beth shook her head. There was sense to that somewhere. She dug around a bit more and found an old rusty tape measure.

Back inside, she picked up a pad and pencil and, from the faucet, refilled this morning's empty water bottle. Another cutback. Things were bad.

* * *

Cole turned down the long drive to Magnolia House. Huge oaks on either side formed an overhead canopy, the trees draped with Spanish moss. Sunlight filtered through, forming a pattern of light and dark. It was a little like driving into his past. He and Wes learned to ride their bikes right here, practiced their pitching and tossed around a football. Good memories.

He wished they'd had time to make more.

His conscience gnawed at him along with a deep sorrow. He hadn't visited nearly enough since Wes's funeral. Hadn't been around for his pal's parents, for his sister, but he meant to rectify that. Starting today.

Jenni Beth would be the most problematic.
And whose fault is that, you big doofus?
he asked himself. He had so completely screwed up. He doubted she'd ever forgive him.

The house came into view, and he slowed. Huge magnolias flanked the sides of the once stately plantation home. There'd been a time when this place had been a real beauty. Now? She cried out for a complete makeover. Top to bottom, inside and out.

The porch roof, held up by little more than spit and a promise, sagged in the middle. If a bad storm blew in, they'd be picking up the pieces in this county and the next.

He stopped his vehicle and got out, closing the door quietly. Zeke, the Beaumonts' old yellow Lab, raised his head and opened one eye. Recognizing Cole, he wagged his tail but didn't bother to get up or even bark.

Looking past the dog, Cole's mouth went dry. Jenni Beth knelt on the front porch, her cute little denim-clad tush swinging back and forth to Katy Perry's latest hit.

The stereo, cranked on high, masked his approach. Her mom and dad must not be home because he seriously doubted they'd put up with that volume.

Her back to him, she stood and did a little shimmy. Using the pencil in her hand as a microphone, she belted out a few lines with Katy. Little girl, big voice. He'd always loved listening to her sing. The only time he hadn't put up a fuss about going to church were the Sundays she had a solo in the choir.

Still singing, she reached for a tape measure lying on the old swing. The same swing where he'd spent lots and lots of summer evenings with Wes, arm wrestling, drinking sodas, and swapping tall tales.

Some nights they'd sneak outside after his parents went to bed and sit on that swing, flashlight in hand, giggling and drooling over the
Playboy
magazine they'd bought from an eighth grader who'd probably snitched it from his old man. They'd both chipped in their entire week's allowance, and it had been worth every penny.

More than once, he'd wondered what it would be like to spend time on that swing with Jenni Beth. They wouldn't arm wrestle. He grinned. Nope. They'd find better ways to keep busy.

She went down on her knees again, her butt still keeping time to the music. Despite himself, he was impressed with her use of the tape measure. After each measurement, she jotted notes on her pad before inspecting the next board. Every two or three planks, she ran the tape.

Yep. She was getting dirty. Doing work she really shouldn't have to do. And, despite his ribbing this morning, that bothered him.

She'd been raised to be a princess.

His Cinderella.

He admired her. Her work ethic, her dedication.
Her
. Period.

The song switched to one of Luke Bryan's first hits, “Country Girl (Shake It for Me).” Luke belted out to shake it for him, and, oh boy, did she ever. Those hips moved to the beat, and her long blond ponytail swayed right along with them. Cole found himself stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. His fingers itched to undo her hair and bury themselves in those golden strands.

And that wouldn't do. He'd come on business.

He cleared his throat, raised his voice. “Hey, good-lookin'. What are you doin' there?”

She whirled around, a startled expression on her face, blue eyes wide. Just as quickly, they narrowed. “Cole Bryson, are you following me?”

“No, ma'am.”

Her brows quirked. “And you're here because…?”

The grin spread. “Honey, believe it or not, I came to talk business.” He moved to the porch, stooping long enough to give the yellow Lab's head a scratch.

“How long have you been standing there?”