Saying Yes To The Dress!: The Wedding Planner's Big Day / Married for Their Miracle Baby / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride

Drew shook his head and looked at Tandu, fiercely.

“You heal now,” Tandu said, not intimidated, as if it was an order. “You heal.” And then suddenly Tandu was himself again, the easygoing grin on his face, his teeth impossibly perfect and white against the golden brown of his skin. His eyes were gentle and warm. “Eat, eat. Then swim. Then sunset.”

And then he was gone.

“What was that about?” Becky asked him.

“I don’t have a clue,” he said. His voice sounded strange to him, choked and hoarse. “Creepy weirdness.”

Becky was watching him as if she knew it was a lie. When had he become such a liar? He’d better give it up, he was terrible at it. He poured two glasses of wine, handed her one and tossed back the other. He set down the glass carefully.

“There. I’ve toasted the wedding spot. I’m going to go now.” He didn’t move.

“Have you?” she asked.

“Have I what? Toasted the wedding spot?”

“Had a heartbreak?” she asked softly, with concern.

And he felt, suddenly, as alone with his burdens as he had ever felt. He felt as if he could lay it all at her feet. He looked at the warmth and loveliness of her brushed-suede eyes. You heal now.

He reeled back from the invitation in her eyes. He was the most pragmatic of men. He was not under the enchantment of this beach, or Tandu’s words, or her.

Not yet, an inner voice informed him cheerfully.

Not ever, he informed the inner voice with no cheer at all. He was not touching that food with its potential to weaken him even further. And no more wine.

“People like me,” he said, forcing a cavalier ease into his voice.

She leaned toward him.

“We don’t have hearts to break. I’m leaving now.” Still, he did not move.

She looked as if she wanted to argue with that, but she took one look at his face and very wisely turned her attention to the chicken. “Is this burned?” she asked, poking one of the pieces gingerly with her fingertip.

“I think it’s jerked, a very famous way of cooking on these islands.” It felt like a relief to focus on the chicken instead of what was going on inside himself.

She took a piece and nibbled it. Her expression changed to one of complete awe. “You have to try it,” she insisted. “You have to try it and tell me if it isn’t the best thing you have ever tasted. Just one bite before you go.”

Despite knowing this food probably had a spell woven right into it, he threw caution to the wind, picked up a leg of chicken and chomped into it. Just a few hours ago it definitely would have been the best thing he had ever tasted. But now that he was under a spell, he saw things differently.

Because the blackened jerk chicken quite possibly might have been the best thing he’d ever tasted, if he hadn’t very foolishly sampled her lips when she had offered them yesterday afternoon.

“You might as well stay and eat,” she said. She reached over and refilled his empty wineglass. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He was not staying here, eating enchanted food in an enchanted cove with a woman who was clearly putting a spell on him. On the other hand, she was right. It would be a shame to let the food go to waste.

There was no such thing as spells, anyway. He picked up his second piece of chicken. He watched her delicately lick her fingertips.

“We don’t have this kind of food in Moose Run,” she said. “More’s the pity.”

“What kind of food do you have?” He was just being polite, he told himself, before he left her. He frowned. That second glass of wine could not be gone.

“We have two restaurants. We have the Main Street Diner which specializes in half-pound hamburgers and claims to have the best chocolate milk shake in all of Michigan.”

“Claims?”

“I haven’t tried all the chocolate milk shakes in Michigan,” she said. “But believe me, I’m working on it.”

He felt something relax within him. He should not be relaxing. He needed to keep his guard up. Still, he laughed at her earnest expression.

“And then we have Mr. Wang’s All-You-Can-Eat Spectacular Smorgasbord.”

“So, two restaurants. What else do you do for fun?”

She looked uncomfortable. It was none of his business, he told himself firmly. Why did he care if it was just as he’d suspected? She did not have nearly enough fun going on in her life. Not that it was any concern of his.

“Is there a movie theater?” he coaxed her.

“Yes. And don’t forget the church picnic.”

“And dancing on the grass,” he supplied.

“I’m not much for the church socials, actually. I don’t really like dancing.”

“So what do you like?”

She hesitated, and then met his eyes. “I’m sure you are going to think I am the world’s most boring person, but you know what I really do for fun?”

He felt as if he was holding his breath for some reason. Crazy to hope the answer was going to involve kissing. Not that anyone would consider that boring, would they? Was his wineglass full again? He took a sip.

“I read,” she said, in a hushed whisper, as if she was in a confessional. She sighed. “I love to read.”

What a relief! Reading, not kissing! It should have seemed faintly pathetic, but somehow, just like the rest of her, it seemed real. In an amusement park world where everyone was demanding to be entertained constantly, by bigger things and better amusements and wilder rides and greater spectacles, by things that stretched the bounds of what humans were intended to do, it seemed lovely that Becky had her own way of being in the world, and that something so simple as opening a book could make someone contented.

She was bracing herself, as if she expected him to be scornful. It made him wonder if the ex-beau had been one of those put-down kind of guys.

“I can actually picture you out in a hammock on a sunny afternoon,” he said. “It sounds surprisingly nice.”

“At this time of year, it’s a favorite chair. On my front porch. We still have front porches in Moose Run.”

He could picture a deeply shaded porch, and a sleepy street, and hear the sound of birds. This, too, struck him as deliciously simple in a complicated world. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked.

“I have to pick one?” she asked with mock horror.

“Let me put it differently. If you had to recommend a book to someone who hardly ever reads, which one would it be?”

And somehow it was that easy. The food was disappearing and so was the wine, and she was telling him about her favorite books and authors, and he was telling her about surfing the big waves and riding his motorbike on the Pacific Coast Highway between LA and San Francisco.

The fight seemed to ease out of him, and the wariness. The urgent need to be somewhere else seemed silly. Drew felt himself relaxing. Why not enjoy it? It was no big deal. Tomorrow his crew would be here. He would immerse himself in his work. He could enjoy this last evening with Becky before that happened, couldn’t he?

* * *

Who would have ever guessed it would be so easy to be with a man like this? Becky thought. The conversation was comfortable between them. There was so much work that needed to be done on Allie’s wedding, and she had already lost a precious day. Still, she had never felt less inclined to do work.

But as comfortable as it all was, she could feel a little nudge of disappointment. How could they go from that electrifying kiss, to this?

Not that she wanted the danger of that kiss again, but she certainly didn’t want him to think she was a dull small-town girl whose idea of an exciting evening was sitting out on her front porch reading until the fireflies came out.

Dinner was done. The wine bottle was lying on its side, empty. All that was left of the chicken was bones, and all that was left of the croissants were a few golden crumbs. As she watched, Drew picked one of those up on his fingertip and popped it in his mouth.

How could such a small thing be so darned sexy?

In her long pants and long-sleeved shirt, Becky was suddenly aware of feeling way too warm. And overdressed. She was aware of being caught in the enchantment of Sainte Simone and this beautiful beach. She longed to be free of encumbrances.

Like clothing? she asked herself, appalled, but not appalled enough to stop the next words that came out of her mouth.

“Let’s go for that swim after all,” she said. She tried to sound casual, but her heart felt as if she had just finished running a marathon.

“I really need to go.” He said it without any kind of conviction. “Are you going to swim in nature’s bathing suit?”

“Don’t be a pervert!”

“I’m not. Tandu suggested it. One-hundred-percent waterproof.”

“Don’t look,” she said.

“Sure. I’ll stop breathing while I’m at it.”

What was she doing? she asked herself.

For once in her life, she was acting on a whim, that’s what she was doing. For once in her life she was being bold, that’s what she was doing. For once in her life, she was throwing convention to the wind, she was doing what she wanted to do. She was not leaving him with the impression she was a dull small-town girl who had spent her whole life with her nose buried in a book. Even if she had been!

She didn’t want that to be the whole truth about her anymore, and not just because of him, either. Because the incident in the water yesterday, that moment when she had looked her own death in the face and somehow been spared, had left her with a longing for second chances.

She stood up and turned her back to him. Becky took a deep breath and peeled her shirt over her head, then unbuckled her slacks and stepped out of them. She had on her luxurious Rembrandt’s Drawing brand underwear. The underwear was a matching set, a deep shade of turquoise not that different from the water. It was as fashionable as most bathing suits, and certainly more expensive.

She glanced over her shoulder, and his expression—stunned, appreciative, approving—made her run for the water. She splashed in up to her knees, and then threw herself in. The water closed over her head, and unlike yesterday afternoon, it felt wonderful in the heat of the early evening, cool and silky as a caress on her nearly naked skin.

She surfaced, then paddled out and found her footing when she was up to her neck in water, her underwear hidden from him. She turned to look at where he was still sitting on the blanket. Even from here, she could see the heat in his eyes.

Oh, girlfriend, she thought, you do not know what you are playing with. But the thing about letting a bolder side out was that it was very hard to stuff it back in, like trying to get a jack-in-the-box back in its container.

“Come in,” she called. “It’s glorious.”

He stood up slowly and peeled his shirt off. She held her breath. It was her turn to be stunned, appreciative and approving.

She had seen him without his shirt already when he had sacrificed it to doctor her leg. But this was different. She wasn’t in shock, or in pain, or bleeding all over the place.

Becky was aware, as she had been when she had first laid eyes on him, that he was the most beautifully made of men. Broad shouldered and deep chested, muscular without being muscle-bound. He could be an actor or a model, because he had that mysterious something that made her—and probably every other woman on earth—feel as if she could look at him endlessly, drink in his masculine perfection as if he was a long, cool drink of water and she was dying of thirst.

Was he going to take off his shorts? She was aware she was holding her breath. But no, he kicked off his shoes and, with the khaki shorts safely in place, ran toward the water. Like she had done, he ran in up to about his thighs and then she watched as he dived beneath the surface.

“I didn’t peg you for shy,” she told him when he surfaced close to her.

He lifted an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve seen men’s underwear before. I’m from Moose Run, not the convent.”

“You’ve mentioned you weren’t a nun once before,” he said. “What’s with the fascination with nuns?”

“You just seem to think because I’m small town I’m prim and proper. You didn’t have to get your shorts all wet to save my sensibilities.”

“I don’t wear underwear.”

Her mouth fell open. She could feel herself turning crimson. He laughed, delighted at her discomfort.

“How are your sensibilities doing now?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she squeaked. But they both knew it was a lie, and he laughed.

“Come on,” he said, shaking the droplets of water from his hair. “I’ll race you to those rocks.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t have a hope of winning.”

“I know,” he said fiendishly.

“I get a head start.”

“All right.”

“A big one.”

“Okay, you tell me when I can go.”

She paddled her way toward the rocks. When it seemed there was no chance he could catch her, she called, “Okay, go.”

She could hear him coming up behind her. She paddled harder. He grabbed her foot!

“Hey!” She went under the water. He let go of her foot, and when she surfaced, he had surged by her and was touching the rock.

“You cheater,” she said indignantly.

“You’re the cheater. What kind of head start was that?”

“Watch who you are calling a cheater.” She reached back her arm and splashed him, hard. He splashed her back. The war was on.

Tandu had been so right. She needed to leave whatever fear she had remaining in the water.

And looking at Drew’s face, she realized, her fear was not about drowning. It was about caring for someone else, as if pain was an inherent ingredient to that.

Becky could see that if she had not let go enough in life, neither had he. Seeing him like this, playful, his face alight with laugher and mischief, she realized he did carry some burden, like a weight, just as Tandu had suggested. Drew had put down his burden for a bit, out here in the water, and she was glad she had encouraged him to come swim with her.

She wondered what his terrible burden was. Could he really have been given more than he thought he could handle? He seemed so unbelievably strong. But then again, wasn’t that what made strength, being challenged to your outer limits? She wondered if he would ever confide in her, but then he splashed her in the face and took off away from her, and she took chase, and the serious thoughts were gone.

A half hour later, exhausted, they dragged themselves up on the beach. Just as he had promised, the trades came up, and it was surprisingly chilly on her wet skin and underwear. She tried to pull her clothes over her wet underwear, but it was more difficult than she thought. Finally, with her clothes clinging to her uncomfortably, she turned to him.

He had pulled his shirt back on over his wet chest and was putting the picnic things back in the basket.

“We have to go,” she said. “I feel guilty.”

“Tut-tut,” he said. “There’s that nun thing again. But I have to go, too. My crew is arriving first thing in the morning. I’d like to have things set up so we can get right to work. You’re a terrible influence on me, Sister English.”

“Sister Simone, to you.”

He didn’t appear to be leaving, and neither did she.

“I am so far behind in what I need to get done,” Becky said. “I didn’t expect to be here this long. If I go to work right now, I can still make a few phone calls. What time do you think it is in New York?”

“Look what I just found.”

Did he ever just answer the question?

He had been rummaging in the picnic basket and he held up two small mason jars that looked as if they were filled with whipped cream and strawberries.

“What is that?” Knowing the time in New York suddenly didn’t seem important at all.

“I think it’s dessert.”

She licked her lips. He stared at them, before looking away.

“I guess a little dessert wouldn’t hurt,” she said. Her voice sounded funny, low and seductive, as if she had said something faintly naughty.

“Just sit in the sand,” he suggested. “We’ll wrap the picnic blanket over our shoulders. We might as well eat dessert and watch the sun go down. What’s another half hour now?”

They were going to sit shoulder to shoulder under a blanket eating dessert and watching the sun go down? It was better than any book she had ever read! The time in New York—and all her other responsibilities—did a slow fade-out, as if it was the end of a movie.

CHAPTER NINE

BECKY PLUNKED HERSELF down like a dog at obedience class who was eager for a treat. Drew picked up the blanket and placed it carefully over her shoulders, then sat down in the sand beside her and pulled part of the blanket over his own shoulders. His shoulder felt warm and strong where her skin was touching it. The chill left her almost instantly.

He pried the lid off one of the jars and handed it to her with a spoon.

“Have you ever been to Hawaii?” He took the lid off the other jar.

“No, I’m sorry to say I haven’t been. Have you?”

“I’ve done jobs there. It’s very much like this, the climate, the foliage, the breathtaking beauty. Everything stops at sunset. Even if you’re still working against an impossible deadline, you just stop and face the sun. It’s like every single person stops and every single thing stops. This stillness comes over everything. It’s like the deepest form of gratitude I’ve ever experienced. It’s this thank-you to life.”

“I feel that right now,” she said, with soft reverence. “Maybe because I nearly drowned, I feel so intensely alive and so intensely grateful.”

No need to mention sharing this evening with him might have something to do with feeling so intensely alive.

“Me, too,” he said softly.

Was it because of her he felt this way? She could feel the heat of his shoulder where it was touching hers. She desperately wanted to kiss him again. She gobbled up strawberries and cream instead. It just made her long, even more intensely, for the sweetness of his lips.

“I am going to hell in a handbasket,” she muttered, but still she snuggled under the blanket and looked at where the sun, now a huge orb of gold, was hovering over the ocean.

He shot her a look. “Why would you say that?”

Because she was enjoying him so much, when she, of all people, was so well versed in all the dangers of romance.

“Because I am sitting here watching the sun go down when I should be getting to work,” she clarified with a half-truth. “I knew Allie’s faith in me was misplaced.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m just an unlikely choice for such a huge undertaking.”

“So, why did she pick you, then?”

“I hadn’t seen her, or even had a note from her, since she moved away from Moose Run.” Becky sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Everyone in Moose Run claims to have been friends with Allison Anderson before she became Allie Ambrosia the movie star, but really they weren’t. Allison was lonely and different, and many of those people who now claim to have been friends with her were actually exceptionally intolerant of her eccentricities.

“Her mom must have been one of the first internet daters. She came to Moose Run and moved in with Pierce Clemens, which anybody could have told her was a bad bet. Allie, with her body piercings and colorful hair and hippie skirts, was just way too exotic for Moose Run. She only lived there for two years, and she and I only had a nodding acquaintance for most of that time. We were in the same grade, but I was in advanced classes.”

“That’s a surprise,” he teased drily.

“You could have knocked me over with a feather when I got an out-of-the-blue phone call from her a couple of weeks ago and she outlined her ambitious plans. She told me she was putting together a guest list of two hundred people and that she wanted it to be so much more than a wedding. She wants her guests to have an experience. The island was hers for an entire week after the wedding, and she wanted all the guests to stay and have fun, either relaxing or joining in on organized activities.

“You know what she suggested for activities? Volleyball tournaments and wienie roasts around a campfire at night, maybe fireworks! You’re from there. Does that strike you as Hollywood?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all. Hollywood would be Jet Skis during the day and designer dresses at night. It would be entertainment by Cirque and Shania and wine tasting and spa treatments on the beach.”

“That’s what I thought. But she was adamant about what she wanted. I couldn’t help but think that Allie’s ideas of fun, despite this exotic island setting, are those of a girl who had been largely excluded from the teen cliques who went together to the Fourth of July activities. She seems, talking to her, to be more in sync with the small-town tastes of Moose Run than with lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

“It actually makes me like her more,” he said reluctantly.

“I asked her if what she wanted was like summer camp for adults, to make sure I was getting it right. She said—” Becky imitated the famous actress’s voice “—‘Exactly! I knew I could count on you to get it right.’”

Drew chuckled at Becky’s imitation of Allie, which encouraged her to be even more foolish. She did both voices, as if she was reading for several parts in a play.

“Allie, I’m not sure I’m up to this. My event company has become the go-to company for local weddings and anniversaries, but— ‘Of course you are up to it, do you think I don’t do my homework? You did that great party for the lawyer’s kid. Ponies!’

“She said ponies with the same enthusiasm she said fireworks with,” Becky told Drew ruefully. “I think she actually wanted ponies. So I said, ‘Um...it would be hard to get ponies to an island—and how did you know that? About the party for Mr. Williams’s son?’ And she said, ‘I do my research. I’m not quite as flaky as the roles I get might make you think.’ Of course, I told her I never thought she was flaky, but she cut me off and told me she was sending a deposit. I tried to talk her out of it. I said a six-week timeline was way too short to throw together a wedding for two hundred people. I told her I would have to delegate all my current contracts to take it on. She just insisted. She said she would make it worth my while. I told her I just wasn’t sure, and she said she was, and that I was perfect for the job.”

“You were trying to get out of the opportunity of a lifetime?” Drew weighed in, amused.

“Was I ever. But then her lighthearted delivery kind of changed and she said I was the only reason she survived Moose Run at all. She asked me if I remembered the day we became friends.”

“Did you?”

“Pretty hard to forget. A nasty group of boys had her backed into the corner in that horrid place at the high school where we used to all go to smoke.

“I mean, I didn’t go there to smoke. I was Moose Run High’s official Goody Two-shoes.”

“No kidding,” he said drily. “Do not elbow my ribs again. They are seriously bruised.”

They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes. The sun demanded their stillness and their silence. The sunset was at its most glorious now, painting the sky around it in shades of orange and pink that were reflecting on a band on the ocean, that seemed to lead a pathway of light right to them. Then the sun was gone, leaving only an amazing pastel palette staining the sky.

“Go on,” he said.

Becky thought she was talking too much. Had they really drunk that whole bottle of wine between the two of them? Still, it felt nice to have someone to talk to, someone to listen.

“I was taking a shortcut to the library—”

“Naturally,” he said with dry amusement.

“And I came across Bram Butler and his gang tormenting poor Allie. I told them to cut it out.

“Allie remembers me really giving it to them. She told me that for a long time she has always thought of me as having the spirit of a gladiator.”