God, even his grandma, with only a month until her ninety-sixth birthday, had found someone without having to drag the whole town into costume and putting them on parade.
The entire population of Rangers End worked through five days and nights, sewing costumes, building, moving, planning, plotting…five long nights where Nat didn’t answer his call, didn’t bother wondering where her husband had gone. Or if she had wondered, she hadn’t done anything to find him.
This was a bad idea. As he climbed on his horse, ready to ride to the front and call the whole damned thing off, Lucia’s horse galloped to a sudden halt beside him. “Are you ready?”
She was going to lead this fairy tale parade to the house he shared with Nat, where Jacob would call to her, ask for her hand in the proper way—on one knee with no contract, just his promise to love her for as long as he lived, to care for her in sickness and health, to always be by her side.
What had sounded so inspired over drinks with the guys sounded corny as hell now. Shit.
He looked up at Lucia, so regal with her back straight. Lucia in total command of Danny Miller’s prize mare was a sight to behold.
They’d borrowed all the horses from Miller, and in exchange, Danny wanted a new barn by the winter. The barter system was alive and well in Rangers End, and Jacob owed a lot of favors, but it would be worth it all if his grand plan moved Nat even an inch closer to loving him.
“What if she hates this?”
“Hates that you think enough of her to go to this kind of trouble? Or hates that she’s being whisked away to a place so romantic the real Cinderella would weep with envy?” She tilted her head, and a softness came to her eyes, made her face look twenty or thirty years younger. “Only a fool would resist loving you, Jacob. And Natasha is no fool.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Sweetheart, if your stomach isn’t fluttering, and your hands aren’t so sweaty you can barely hold those reins, it isn’t real love.” She smiled and rode ahead.
Real love. That was all he wanted. And now, the trumpeters—a couple of high school band kids followed by two more teenagers holding flags borrowed from the drama department’s production of Romeo and Juliet—announced that the procession was about to begin.
And everything would have been fine too, was fine for three blocks, until the dress Jane Carlin had insisted have a train that reached the ground got stuck beneath the hooves of the horse she was riding. Without missing a single stride, the horse galloped forward and the train, made in haste, tore from the dress, or more accurately the horse’s hooves tore the dress from her body. Why Jane had chosen at nearly sixty to go commando under her dress, he would never know, but all the sudden his fairy tale procession included a rather wrinkled Lady Godiva. And she cantered on.
Then, as if some sort of parade hating god was in charge of his destiny, Jane’s horse took off at a full run, through Stanley Garta’s garden, across Clara Miller’s freshly laid sod, trampled over Eloise Tafferty’s prize winning rose bushes, leaped over a fence and continued streaking away through an open field towards the woods. Jacob left the procession, racing after her. Matt’s guy’s golf cart had some issue handling the terrain, and he abandoned it to follow on foot.
Jacob ducked branches that whipped across his face anyway. He veered around pets and spectators who chased after Jane with cell phones snapping. The sword—which Lucia had considered an important part of his costume (authenticity and all)—slapped against his thigh as his horse shot forward, eating space. But damn, who gave Jane the race horse?
He kicked his horse again. Jane was headed to the woods. Of course, her horse might have settled down if she stopped waving her arms and screaming, but he didn’t have a spare moment to tell her. He had to get to her before the horse dragged her through the branches or worse, threw her into a tree.
Just at the edge of the clearing, in a spot where her horse had slowed by a small fraction, he leaned over and pulled her onto his horse. While the horse had done a fair amount of work, Jane’s sweaty flesh made it hard to hang on and he almost dropped her. Readjusting his hold until he could stop his horse, he got a handful of boob that made Jane squeal and his own horse rear up. They both landed with a thud—Jane on top of Jacob—and the wind knocked out of his lungs.
Struggling for breath, he tried to push Jane off his chest, but without the ability to draw air, he was powerless and continued to sputter and gasp until Jesse and John and a half dozen other people rode up. Lucia threw her cape—the alternative to a ridiculous train—around Jane’s shoulders while Jane regaled the widening crowd with her version of terror.
This—the parade, winning Nat’s heart—was just not to be. He needed to accept it. Instead of climbing back on the horse, he walked into the woods—away from the praise for his heroism, away from the parade that had somehow landed in the field, away from the hope he’d let himself have. There was a stream he could sit beside, clear his head, wash his hands.
“Jacob!” Lucia called after him, but he held up a hand and kept walking. He needed the time alone to see what he could salvage of his heart.
* * *
STANLEY GARTA: That was probably the most action old lady Carlin got in the last thirty years. But seeing that boy chase her down and save her life, that was something to behold. It was like Dr. Jacob and that horse shared one mind, one body even. Reminded me of myself in the old days. Of course, I would have chased her down myself, but they gave me a lame old mule to ride.
“He did what?” The fact that she hadn’t seen him since the house incident—only received a couple of calls she ignored—the fact that she missed him more than she had words to express, the fact that a crowd had gathered on the porch, all paled in comparison to Ryhan’s hastily told—well hasty for Ryhan anyway—story.
Lanie tried this time. “He organized a parade with a Cinderella carriage and costumes and horses so he could get down on one knee and ask you to marry him and then take you away to this place he bought for you.” Lanie shook her head. “Guys have been working out there day and night, redoing the outside, working on the inside. And women have been sewing costumes and dresses. But Jane Carlin was naked, and there was a runaway horse. Jacob had to save her.”
And again, this was where the story grew murky. “He had to save the horse?” Nat couldn’t wrap her head around any of it.
Jesse stepped forward. “In my opinion, yes, but he also had to save Jane. None of that matters. What matters is, he tried so hard for you because he wants…you need to go talk to him.”
Talk to him? He was the one who hadn’t come home. He was the one who told her to drive away. He was the one.
He is the one, idiot. Her mind and heart hated her in equal measure.
“I don’t know where he’s at.”
Lucia pushed her way from the back of the crowd until she stood just in front of Nat, wearing a headdress with two points and a veil that almost touched the covered porch roof. “Do you love my grandson?”
This wasn’t something she planned to shout out for the whole crowd to hear—the crowd spilling off the porch now and onto the lawn. There must have been forty or fifty people and the numbers kept growing. And they were all dressed like there was a Shakespeare explosion at the costume store. Strange day.
“I would rather tell him how I feel.” Alone. In private. Without a crowd ready to cheer or boo her decision before she’d ever even made it.
* * *
JACOB: I felt like such a fool and a failure. It was such a grand plan and depended on so many people. And they all pitched in and tried. I couldn’t have been more grateful. I just needed a bit to figure out what to do next. But when Nat stepped out of those woods, in that dress, with that look on her face, it was like nothing mattered but her. To be honest, from the first time I saw her, when she was getting ready to walk down the aisle, nothing mattered but her. I should have told her sooner. Maybe we could have avoided some of this mess, but I guess everything happens for a reason. I just didn
’t know when she became my reason for everything.
* * *
After she’d changed into Ryhan’s ridiculous dress, and after Lanie and Ryhan laced the corset and fixed her hair, she thought of Jacob. Beautiful, sweet Jacob. The man who’d bought her a house so he could give his to her mother. Thoughtful Jacob who wanted to propose on one knee. Incredibly sexy Jacob who could make her panties damp with nothing more than a smile. Jacob, her husband.
As soon as she looked like the Maid Marian off to find Robin Hood, ready to tell Jacob she loved him, she had to spend another fifteen minutes dispersing the crowd with promises for an update the next day.
Finally, Jesse and Lucia drove her to the edge of the field. “Follow the hoof prints across the field, go into the woods and find the stream. Follow it. You’ll find him.”
“What if he’s already gone?”
Lucia shook her head. “He’ll be there.” Softer she added, “You didn’t see him.”
John opened her door from the outside and held out his hand for her to step down from the truck. He handed her Jacob’s car keys and took her spot by the door.
Lucia leaned over him to speak out the window. “If he isn’t there, come back to town and we’ll find him for you. If he is there, make this right. One way or the other.” Lucia smiled what Nat thought was meant to be a reassurance, but only made Nat’s heart pound harder.
She had a while to think. The field was wider than it looked from the road to the woods. Thank God, too. She needed the time to digest everything she’d heard and seen since the morning. She’d lived in Rangers End—or more at the edge of it—since she was born. Although, she hadn’t been a part of the town, not like she apparently was now. She’d never been to a town meeting, never been invited to tea or seen how these people came together to help one another. She couldn’t imagine going back to her side of the trailer park. And leaving didn’t seem near as pleasant an idea as it had a few months ago.
And all because of Jacob. Her husband.
The dress made walking slow, and the shoes with their thin soles didn’t help much either, but she trudged on because at the end of her walk, he was waiting for her. She hoped.
Pulling a branch out of the way, she stopped just under the cover of the trees. A stream ran somewhere close. She could hear the water trickling and headed for it.
When she saw him, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. A ray of sunlight shone down on him, like a spotlight. He sat on a flat rock on the opposite bank, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, head down. She stood watching for a while—more because the sight of him made the prospects of walking nearly impossible—before she moved forward. A branch snapped under her feet, and he looked up. For whatever reason, it was important that she go to him, she make the steps to fix what was broken between them. This time, it had to be her. “Wait there.”
Every time she slipped on one of the moss-covered rocks, he flinched, but she pinned him with a hard line of her mouth, eyes narrow and burning with her tears of sheer determination. This was her husband, and she was going to show him how much that meant to her, even if she couldn’t say for certain she loved him yet, and even if she ended up covered in river water.
When she finally reached the other shore, she stood back and looked at him. Someone had spent a lot of time appliqueing the front of his black jacket. Silver swirls and metal adornments caught the light. The collar of a white shirt rounded his neck just above the jacket and little bits of white fabric puffed from his sleeves where the laces didn’t pull the black material together. But it was his pants that made her smile. She had leggings that weren’t so tight, so conforming to his shape that little was left to her imagination or memory to conjure.
“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou…”
He chuckled, but his smile didn’t hide the clouds of sadness in his eyes. “I’m Prince Charming. See the sword?”
He tapped the shiny, silver hilt. But Nat took it a whole different direction with, “I can see a lot more than your sword in those pants, pal.” If she moved another few inches she would be next to him, but she waited. Wanted to let this unfold naturally without any force or guidance from her.
“Like them?”
She angled her head one way then the other pretending she wasn’t aware of all the treasures underneath—and make no mistake, they were treasures to her. “I think I’d like them better on the floor next to our bed, Your Highness.”
He stood, closed the distance between them. “Nat…”
She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Lady Natasha, Your Highness.” She leaned in, used her tongue to trace the shell of his ear. “For today, let’s be this. Tomorrow, we can go back to being Nat and Jacob.” She could do with some role-play, with letting the real world fade until nothing but her and her prince remained. “Please?”
“It won’t solve anything.” He turned his head, but kept his body aligned with hers.
She guided his gaze back with a hand on his cheek, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t let her see whatever he had hiding in his. “You never know.” She stepped back. “I was promised a betrothal and a trip to your castle.” He still wouldn’t look at her. Even at her most charming, she was losing him, and her heart ached. “Jacob, we don’t have to figure everything out right now, we have time.”
He turned his entire body away. “Until the contract runs out? Until you collect your money and leave me and Rangers End behind you?”
“Until we decide.” She put a hand on his shoulder, prayed she could find the words to make him look at her again. “This is our choice, our destiny we’re playing with. We decide, Jacob, together.” She edged around him, careful on the uneven rocks. She supposed she could instigate a fall, make him catch her, but she didn’t want him out of obligation, not any more. “Please, look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what I’m losing now.”
“So, I’m already gone?” The words whispered from her throat, fought the lump growing there for enough breath to be spoken. She waited, not sure what to do with her hands. She settled with laying them against his chest, closed her eyes to absorb his heartbeat with her palms. Well, if he wouldn’t talk to her, he could darned sure listen. “Jacob, no little girl grows up thinking she’ll find her prince on a reality show with a contract signed on the dotted line. But at some point, I would be willing to bet almost every little girl who’s ever read a fairy tale dreams of a prince fighting to win her heart. And even if they didn’t, even if no one in the world besides me did, I did dream of some handsome prince fighting to be with me. Today you gave me my dream.” How many times had young Nat and Karen played princess in their mother’s dresses and crowns they made from cardboard and tin foil and pretended to marry their imaginary princes? “Are you still fighting or have you given up?”
“I failed today.”
She shook her head recalling the bits and pieces she’d been able to understand of Ryhan’s story. “You saved that poor naked woman. Felt her up, too, I heard, but you saved her. That’s not being a failure. That’s being a hero.”
“She wouldn’t have been in danger had I not come up with this stupid idea.”
“Jacob, this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Ever. I mean, if you decide we should…” She sighed. “If we decide to stay together, you have set a pretty high bar for yourself. A parade with its own brass section. A ninety-five or ninety-six year old woman on horseback. The entire town dressed up like this is fifteenth century England. That’s quite a production.” And all for her. All for me. “If you didn’t want to be with me, if you were so willing to give up, you wouldn’t have bothered.”
He looked down. “You should see what I did to the house.”
“Our new house?”
This time, he looked up, smiled, and held out his hand. “Come, Lady Natasha. Your castle awaits you.”
* * *
NAT: Have
you ever had a dream so perfect that you were sad when you woke up? I was always scared I was going to wake up and be back in the trailer and this would all just be some elaborate fantasy my imagination cooked up to make me crazy when I realized it wasn’t real. I mean this guy turned a regular old farmhouse into a castle with chandeliers and a real brick oven and a moat. Who does that? And to know that I have a guy who went to that kind of trouble, not to mention expense just to say he loves me? That’s better than a dream. It’s a fairy tale.
13
All for her. He’d shown her day after day how much she meant to him, not just with the house, but with everything he did and said, the way he held her and touched her when she didn’t even think he realized he was doing it. Like right then, when his thumb stroked her palm. She couldn’t wait another minute. “Jacob…”
He turned to look at her. She’d once seen all the love he felt right there in his eyes. Now she saw pain. The pain of what she’d done to him, no doubt. “Please, Nat. Let’s watch the rest before we talk.”
“But…”
He squeezed her hand. “Please?”
She leaned over and kissed him, hoping he could feel all she felt. “Okay.” One way or the other, tonight she would know what her future held. What remained to be seen was whether or not she had a choice in it.
* * *
CLARA MILLER: That boy has always been special. I was his high school principal, and I tell you, even back then he had something…a glimmer that I knew would spark when he found the right girl. I never knew Natasha, she went to the school in Redford, but I can see how them being together was the right thing. As someone who helped orchestrate the whole thing, I can say we all had a vested interest in this working out for the best. Now what that best might be…only the good Lord can say.
The Wedding Plan Page 11