“Oh. Yeah. Whoever.” Despite feeling as though someone had tied a brick to her heart and was going to throw it in the pond to drown it, she managed a smile. “Who’s going to make sure I’m all pretty once you’re married and gone?”
“I thought about that,” Jennifer replied dryly. “I dread to think what’ll happen if you’re left on your own.” She let the duster slip off her shoulders, then combed out her hair into a cascade of soft waves that caressed her bare shoulders. “Okay…” She rose from the vanity bench and faced her bed, on which lay her wedding gown. “The moment of truth.”
Sarah lifted the airy dress off the bed and slipped it over her sister’s arms and head, both of them giggling as Jennifer lost her way for a moment and couldn’t find one of the sleeves. Finally, all limbs and corresponding openings sorted out and the dress buttoned in back, Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Oh, Jen…”
Jennifer undulated a little in the gown, letting it settle, then faced her mirror. And grinned.
“Hey…not too shabby, huh?”
If Sarah had felt like the Wicked Witch of the West, her sister was definitely Glinda. The gown was fairly simple, actually, an embroidered organza with a full, fluffy skirt, fitted bodice, and airy puffed sleeves worn off the shoulders. But on Jennifer it was magic. A wand would have been more appropriate than a bouquet.
Vivian opened the door, Jennifer’s veil wrapped over her arm, and broke into a broad smile. “Well, if it isn’t my little fairy princess,” she said, swallowing back tears. The girls looked at each other, and Sarah knew that everyone in the room was thinking the same thing—that it was a shame Eliott Whitehouse wasn’t there to walk his daughter down the aisle. As much as Percy Jenkins was thrilled to do the honors, it wasn’t the same.
But it was not a day for regrets.
“Gifts before veil,” Jennifer said, rustling to her dresser. “Where’s Katey?”
“Probably in the bathroom,” Vivian said, smoothing the front of her mauve-and-silver shot silk dress. “I’ll get her.”
While their mother was gone, Jennifer gave Sarah a tiny box wrapped in silver paper. Sarah opened it and gasped. “Jen! How could you afford these?”
“They’re not exactly companions to the Hope diamond,” she heard her sister say as Sarah removed the tiny gold balls she usually wore in her ears and inserted the glittering diamond studs. “Besides, don’t expect anything for your birthday. Or Christmas, either. For the next ten years.”
Vivian ushered Katey into the room, a doll in a tiny lavender replica of the other bridesmaids’ dresses, wearing a cleverly arranged circlet of flowers that covered her small bandage almost completely. For Vivian, there was a set of pearl earrings, which she, too, promptly donned; for Katey, a tiny heart-shaped locket with pictures of Jennifer and Lance inside.
The two ladies were helping Jennifer with her veil, a froth of floor-length silk illusion set on a headpiece of real orange blossoms, when the doorbell rang.
Vivian crossed to the window. “Limo’s here.” She turned to the bride. “Ready, baby?”
Jennifer grabbed Sarah’s hand. “In a second.”
Vivian’s eyes drifted to her daughter’s entwined hands and nodded. “We’ll see you downstairs.”
After Vivian and Katey left, Jennifer gave Sarah a cautious hug, each one fluffing out the other’s sleeves when they broke apart.
“Nervous?” Sarah asked.
Jennifer’s curls grazed her shoulders as she shook her head. She smelled like spring and love and all things wonderful. “Not one little bit.” Her nose crinkled when she grinned. “Just very, very happy.”
“You should be. Lance is a great guy.”
“So’s Dean,” Jen shot back without a second’s hesitation. She wagged her finger at Sarah. “Don’t you dare let that man get away, you hear me?”
Sarah simply smiled and put her arm around her sister’s waist. “Come on, lady. There’s a big fancy car waiting for you in the driveway. Think it’s time to get you to your wedding, don’t you?”
Jennifer let her eyes wander around her room for all of two seconds, then sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, squeezing Sarah’s hand. “I’m getting married.”
“Not if you don’t get to the church, you’re not,” Sarah replied with a laugh, pushing her out her bedroom door and shutting it behind them.
Sarah had never seen so many flowers in her life. True to Jennifer’s extravagant nature, the simple white-walled church had been transformed into a heavy-scented floral paradise. Every window, every dark wood pew, every space that could hold an arrangement was engulfed by luscious arches and swags and bouquets in various combinations of deep green boxwood and pittosporum, pink roses and frilly white carnations, violet statice and larkspur and delphinium and waxy white lilies. The air shimmered with white-gold sunlight pouring in through the open frosted glass windows; ladies fanned themselves with wedding programs as lace collars and airy, broad-brimmed hats shivered in the breeze from three oversize ceiling fans spinning in lazy unison over the guests’ heads.
A trickle of perspiration snaked down Sarah’s back as she stood at the altar, concentrating on the bridal couple, desperately trying to ignore Dean not six feet away, every bit as gorgeous in a tux as she’d thought he would be. It was hot inside the little sanctuary, despite the drier air and the open windows and the valiant fans, made hotter still by Dean’s scrutiny; that, along with lack of sleep and the anxieties of the past week, had rendered Sarah woefully weak of limb. Her knees probably shook more than her sister’s during the mercifully short ceremony.
She truly wished she could enjoy it more. It was such a pretty wedding, and Jennifer was so happy. But her unresolved predicament sat on her shoulders like an obnoxious monkey, making her feel as if she was merely looking at somebody’s wedding pictures, not really involved, not really there.
The ceremony over, she and Dean signed the wedding certificate as witnesses. But before she could slip away, Dean snagged her elbow.
“They want us for pictures, outside.” His calmness was disconcerting. “Thank God. I’m ready to melt in here.” He ushered her out the side door to the adjacent garden, then gave a low whistle.
“Whoo-ee. Jennifer has truly outdone herself this time.”
She really had. Sunlight trembled through the bobbing leaves of two enormous ashes, underneath which clustered a grove of miniature peach trees already budded with fruit. A half dozen round tables skirted with lace-topped lavender and sage cloths, reminding Sarah of a group of Victorian ladies out for a Sunday stroll, stood in the plush grass around the fruit trees, the breeze teasing the edges of the lace toppers. Each table held an assortment of elegant hors d’oeuvres on gleaming silver trays, or sparkling crystal bowls of pink champagne punch. The three-tiered wedding cake, each layer harboring clusters of pansies and roses and baby’s breath and assorted delicate greenery, held the spot of honor in the center of the garden.
It was magic and romantic and it was everything Sarah could do not to burst into tears.
“Hey, y’all!”
Leave it to the bride herself to break the spell.
“Get over here, would you? I want one of the two of you together.”
“She would,” Sarah muttered, startled to hear Dean’s laugh beside her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I promise not to do bunny ears over your head.”
She had to smile.
They dutifully trooped over to the spot in front of the rose garden that Jennifer had selected and assumed stiff poses next to each other.
The photographer, a bored-looking little man with probably less hair than he would like, shook his head. “I don’t think so, folks. Come on, now—a little closer, please.”
She felt Dean’s hand light on her waist and she sucked in her breath. With a little jerk, he pulled her to him. “Like this?” he drawled to the photographer.
“Much better.” Then the man sighed. “And a smile wou
ld be nice, honey. You look as if he’s standing on your foot.” Hooded gray eyes shifted to Dean. “You’re not, are you?”
“Scout’s honor.” He pulled Sarah even closer. “I have to tell you something,” he whispered, his breath quivering the hat brim. Not to mention her.
“W-what?” she said, trying to ignore the heat searing through the dress where his hand was making contact.
“This dress is definitely not ‘you.’”
She nearly choked, then whispered back, “This dress isn’t anybody. But at least it’s not lavender.”
Dean chuckled, then skirted his fingers along her ribs. She thought she’d faint.
“You know that conversation we started last night?” His voice was soft, but his grip wasn’t. “I figure it’s high time we finished it, don’t you?”
There went her heart rate. “Yes.”
He seemed to relax. “When?”
“Later.” Her eyes darted around the scene. No one seemed to be watching. Or listening.
“After the wedding?”
“Maybe.”
“I leave tomorrow.” There went those fingers again.
“I know that!”
“Okay, folks. All done,” the photographer intoned, his face betraying a mild curiosity about her outburst. With a laconic shift of his head, he addressed the rest of the bridal party, who were chatting among themselves twenty feet away. “Next victims?”
“When?” Dean insisted, pulling her into his ribs so their hips and thighs got all tangled up. Oh, Lordy.
“I don’t know,” she shot back, then tried to pull away from him. Like that was going to work.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said mildly. “You’re staying with me. Got it?”
Her eyebrows shot up so far the hat shifted. “Says you and whose army? Besides—” she frantically searched her brain for something she could use, then smiled “—I promised Jen I’d keep an eye on the caterer. So go mingle.” She wriggled out of his grasp, then, scooping up an armful of skirt, managed an approximation of stalking off.
Dean sank onto a folding chair at a nearby table and dropped his head into his hands, not giving a damn who saw him or what conclusions would be reached about his dejected pose.
“What’re you doing out here all by yourself?”
He lifted his head and met his brother’s clear brown gaze. “Moping, if you don’t mind,” he said on a sigh, straightening up. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired of talking about it. I’m tired of thinking about it.”
“By ‘it,’ I take it you mean you and Sarah?”
“Yeah. But—”
“—you don’t want to talk about it. Gotcha.”
“So,” Dean asked, checking behind his brother and not seeing a vision in white, “how come you’re solo? Where’s Jen?”
Lance sat down hard across the table, draping his arm along the back of an adjacent chair. “In the ladies’ room. Again.” He squinted up into a nearby ash with a half smile. “I guess that’s to be expected, under the circumstances.”
“A little nervous, is she?”
Lance gave him the most self-satisfied grin he’d ever seen on anyone’s face.
“A little bit pregnant, is more like it.” At Dean’s stunned expression, the smile broadened. “Yeah, you heard right. You’re going to be an uncle, bro.”
Dean shook his head, chuckling softly. “How long have you known?”
“About twenty minutes.”
At that, Dean let out a loud laugh. “Well, at least no one can say she forced you into marrying her.” He raised one eyebrow. “How far along…?”
Lance shrugged. “About three weeks.”
He had to ask. “Was this planned?”
“Not exactly.”
Dean couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “You guys ever hear of birth control?”
Lance’s sigh reminded him of Katey when she had to be patient with grown-ups. “Shoot, I’ve got about six different kinds in my nightstand.” He passed his hand over an embarrassed grin. “Just in case, you know. But…” He shook his head, cleared his throat. “Jen and I both want a large family, and we wanted to start right away.” The smile became sheepish. “Which we’d figured had meant on our wedding night.”
Dean interrupted, unable to resist teasing his baby brother. “In spite of…your little stash. Just in case.”
Color shot up Lance’s neck. “Uh…yeah. Anyway,” he said, exhaling, “about three weeks ago, Vivian took Aunt Ethel into Auburn for the day, and I guess you could say we kind of, uh, took advantage of the situation…and Jen refused to let me use anything.” His shoulders hitched. “Who would’ve thought we’d hit paydirt with the first try?”
“You mean, you did the deed in our aunt’s house?” Dean threw back his head and let loose with a roar. “Wait’ll she figures that one out!”
“Why would she do that?”
“Oh, trust me, she will. Unless this baby comes late, she’ll be counting on all her fingers and all her toes, and she’ll put two and two together so fast it’ll singe your eyebrows.” While Lance frowned, seemingly contemplating this future complication, Dean clasped his hands behind his head. “God—you’re only twenty-three. You really ready for this?”
“Yeah. I really am.” His brows inched closer together. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was so young when Mama and Daddy died. I mean, Aunt Ethel meant well and did her best, but…I want a real family, you know? I want to rub my wife’s belly and talk to our baby and give it baths and help it take its first steps. And then I want to go through it all over again, and again, until we can have loud, crazy Christmases and backyard baseball and…and all that stuff.” He allowed a short, self-effacing laugh. “Do I sound crazy?”
“No,” Dean replied softly. “You sound like the sanest person I’ve talked to in a very long time—”
“Land sakes! What on earth are you doing way over here?” Jennifer had come up beside Lance and now stood with her hands braced on her hips, her veil wrapped three times around her wrist. Between matrimony and pregnancy, the woman glowed like a full moon.
Lance snaked one arm around Jennifer’s waist and tugged her to him. “Spilling the beans, that’s what,” he said, settling his palm on her tummy.
“Oh, yeah?” She brushed back a lock of dark hair that had fallen over Lance’s forehead. Then she bestowed an appropriately radiant smile on Dean. “And you had no idea when you made that comment about the rocking chair what you were saying.”
“Oh…right.” Dean chuckled. “No wonder you got such a weird look on your face.” He nodded toward her. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer replied with a little nod in return. “But I won’t be happy until I can congratulate you and my pigheaded sister.”
“Jen—” Lance intervened.
“Well, it’s true,” Jen said with a slight crease in her brow. “You know they belong together. I know it. Shoot, everyone but Sarah seems to know it.” She craned her neck over the crowd. “Now…where could she have gotten off to?”
Muttering the sorts of things one really wasn’t supposed to mutter in a church, Sarah stood in the church’s minuscule ladies’ room with a mountain of pink organza over her head, groping for the pager she’d attached to the waistband of her panty hose.
The Thomases. What could it be this time? Ed had said everything seemed perfectly okay when he checked the cow yesterday. And Wilma and Franklin should have been more than capable of seeing the cow through a normal birth. Sarah swatted a million layers of organza back down, more or less, then swished into the tiny church office, smashing herself behind the desk to use the phone.
“Wilma? What’s up?”
“Oh, thank goodness, it’s you. I don’t know what’s wrong, but something sure is. Honey’s been making a racket all day long, and I can see her muscles movin’, but the calf’s not comin’.”
“Where’s Franklin?”
“He and so
me friends went to Montgomery for the day. He won’t be back before supper.”
“Any of the other farmers around?”
There was a pause. Then she said, “I’ve seen what those fools can do to a cow, trying to get out a calf. I know it’ll cost me some to have you come out, but Honey’s my only cow. I want to make sure she’s gonna be okay…”
“Wilma! Don’t you dare let me hear you mention money again! I just asked in case it took me a while to get out there. I’m at my sister’s wedding reception.”
“Oh, no! I’d completely forgotten all about that!”
“And you’re not to worry about it, you hear me? Babies come when they’re ready, no matter what their mother is.” Sarah paused, then asked carefully, “Honey really seem to be in pain?”
“Let’s put it this way. I never heard her make a noise like she’s making now. I’m here to tell you, it makes my blood run cold.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Wilma was right; this did not sound good. At all.
Damn. She’d come in the limo with Jennifer. The Bronco with all her equipment was at home, in the wrong direction. If she went back and changed and got her car, it’d take her more than an hour to get out to the Thomases. And if the cow had already been in distress for some time…
No. She’d have to leave directly from here, although she was taking a chance, not having any supplies with her. She didn’t even know what was wrong, or what she was going to have to do. For the moment, she wasn’t even going to let herself think that the calf might be stillborn. If it was, she’d deal with it, but she wasn’t going to imagine the worst.
If the calf was backwards, she’d have to turn it. She’d done bare-handed maneuverings before, but they weren’t always successful. She might have to tie something to the calf’s legs and pull it out, which required two things: a rope, and an extra set of arms.
She knew exactly who could supply both.
Dean almost jumped at Sarah’s touch on his arm. He started to smile, but the anxious look on her face stopped the grin halfway. “What’s up?”
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