“I’m not lecturing,” Alex protested with feeling.
“Okay,” Cris augmented, “I didn’t agree to come here with you to be nagged.”
That word, Cris knew, was one with which Alex took particular umbrage. “I’m not doing that, either,” she said.
Cris shifted in the wicker chair and faced her sister. “Alex, you’re my older sister and I love you with my whole heart, but trust me on this—you nag.”
Alex raised her chin defensively. “I don’t nag—I repeat,” she corrected.
Cris laughed. That was one way to put it, she thought. “Yes, you do. You repeat—over and over and over.” Before Alex could say anything further to defend herself or explain the rationale behind her actions, Cris held up her hand and loudly announced, “New topic.”
Well, if Cris had something else to get off her chest, she was game to listen. “Go ahead,” Alex urged.
Shifting in her seat, Cris asked, “How many guests have you booked into the inn for Thanksgiving?”
“Why?” The question was reflexive—as was the answer. “Is that when the piranha and her husband are descending on us?”
“No, Marion’s letter said they were coming sometime in December,” Cris said automatically, then banished the thought, as well as the woman and her husband, from her mind. She knew that there was no way she could function otherwise. The worry would paralyze her. “I’m just trying to get a handle on how many turkeys I need to order.”
Alex supposed it was never too early to plan. There she and Cris were always in agreement.
“Well, right now,” Alex told her, “we’ve got fifteen guests staying at the inn during that time. I’d count on at least a few more than that since the inn always gets some last-minute stragglers, as well.”
Cris nodded. “And there’re seven of us—Wyatt’ll be here, right?” It was a rhetorical question, since he’d always been part of the family, one way or another.
“He’ll be here,” Alex confirmed, “but don’t you mean there’ll be eight of us?”
Cris jumped to the only conclusion that seemed logical to her. “Wyatt’s bringing a friend?”
Was Cris really that thick—or was she just playing coy? Neither option seemed like the answer from where she was sitting.
“No, but you are.” When Cris looked at her quizzically, Alex spelled it out for her. “Shane’s coming.”
Cris waved away her statement. “He’ll be with his family.”
But Alex, with her finger eternally on the pulse of practically everything, knew better.
“His sister is up north and his brother’s back east—and Shane’s working on the inn, which he promised to have done by the first of the year, so he’ll be here, not up the coast or back east. I thought that since he’s being so conscientious and, by the way, doing a really terrific job, the least we can do is have him over for Thanksgiving—” She peered at Cris. “Unless, of course, you have some objections.”
“No,” Cris replied, staring up at the night sky to deliberately avoid Alex’s probing eyes, “I have no objections.”
She thought she heard Alex murmur “Good,” but she wasn’t sure and she certainly wasn’t about to ask. Instead, Cris simply savored the momentary respite from her take-charge sister. She had a feeling that respites would be few and far between in the coming days.
Very far between.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT DO YOU mean you haven’t picked out your wedding dress yet?” Stevi demanded, appalled as she followed Alex into the kitchen.
The timbre of her voice was so jarring that Cris, clearing away the remnants of the late lunch, almost dropped the tray she was holding.
Her younger sister’s tone, Cris thought, was far more suited to that of a wild-eyed prophet foretelling the end of the world, a date six days away and set in stone.
Alex, for a change, looked completely unfazed, as cool and laid-back as Stevi was not. “I’ve got time, Stevi, don’t have a coronary.”
“No, you do not have time,” Stevi cried. She stretched her legs so as to get in front of Alex as well as in her face. “Don’t you realize what’s involved in selecting a wedding dress?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she maintained. “I try on another bunch of dresses, find one that I like and pay the bill for it. And voilà, I have a wedding dress.”
“Ha!” The single syllable put-down echoed. “Selecting a dress is just the beginning. Then there’re the fittings and finding appropriate bridesmaid dresses that are decent but don’t overshadow the dress you’ve chosen, plus—”
Alex sighed, obviously struggling to maintain her good humor. “Wear whatever you like that’s pretty,” Alex told her sister breezily.
“It’s not that simple,” Stevi insisted, her voice rising again to a shriek. “We have to be coordinated. Alex, you not having a dress yet is a serious, serious problem. Why aren’t you taking it seriously?” Stevi wanted to know, unable to fathom how her sister couldn’t understand the situation and its repercussions.
Cris could see that Alex’s smile was forced, as well as fading around the edges.
“Maybe because I’d like to look back on this time fondly and not remember it as the beginning of my terminal ulcer.”
Exasperated, Stevi turned toward Cris. “Help me out here,” she begged.
Cris shook her head, letting Stevi know that her younger sister wouldn’t get what she was hoping for from her. “I’m on Alex’s side.”
Almost at the end of her rope, Stevi threw up her hands. “Look who I’m asking for help—Elopement Girl.” She leveled a long, hard look at Alex, hoping to bully her into complying. “Okay, this is how it’s going to play out. You are taking the rest of the day off and we are going from bridal shop to bridal shop until you find the right dress.”
Alex shot her down with two words. “Can’t, Stevi.” She paused for half a second to nibble on a strawberry that had been a leftover after Cris finished making a shortcake. “I’ve got to meet with the local fire inspector for his monthly walk-through of the premises. He’s coming this afternoon.” Glancing at Cris, she said, “This is good,” referring to the strawberry.
Cris nodded in response, smiling, while Stevi ordered, “Reschedule.”
Again Alex turned her down. “Can’t. He’s fitting me in as it is. The inspector’s really busy.”
Stevi held up the pad she’d drafted into service to keep tally of all the things that had to be attended to in order to pull off a proper wedding reception. “And you’re not?” she demanded, stunned.
Alex’s smile stretched to the limit as she patted Stevi’s cheek. “That’s what I have you for, so you can handle the details.”
“Details?” Stevi cried incredulously, obviously offended.
“You’ll beat them down into the tiniest pieces. I have faith in you, Stevi,” Alex told her.
Just then, the door leading into the kitchen swung open and Alex’s fiancé walked in. Dressed in the casual clothes he favored, Wyatt also sported a wide, amused grin. He was leading in a heavyset, jovial-looking woman. The woman appeared intent on absorbing her surroundings, much like a Hoover vacuum cleaner.
“I can hear you two all the way in the main room.” Wyatt paused to give Alex a quick one-armed hug and brush a kiss to her lips. “Oh, you’re here, too,” he realized, noticing Cris for the first time. “You I didn’t hear,” he confessed with a laugh.
No mystery there, Cris thought. “That’s because your future wife and Stevi don’t really leave much room to get a word in edgewise.”
Wyatt’s grin grew wider. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How about something I don’t know,” Alex prompted, exceedingly comfortable where she was—in the middle of Wyatt’s semiembrace. Who would have thought that would ever be
the case, she couldn’t help musing, given the antagonism that had dogged their every encounter for so many years. “Like who your friend is,” she clarified.
Alex looked pointedly at the woman Wyatt had brought. Whoever she was, she seemed unusually at ease amid a crowd of strangers. A long-lost relative? She knew Wyatt didn’t have any immediate ones, what with both his parents gone and his being an only child.
Wyatt laughed, realizing his oversight. “Oh, sorry,” he said, apologizing not just to Alex but to the woman he’d brought with him, as well. “I guess I was just so overwhelmed with seeing you after our lengthy five days’ separation I forgot my manners.”
The corners of Alex’s mouth curved tolerantly. “Sarcasm was never your long suit, Wyatt.”
“Maybe not,” he allowed, “but wit always was. We promised no ego crushing for the first six months, remember?” he reminded Alex, feigning seriousness as he gazed at his almost bride with affection. “Anyway, this is Myra McGregor—my wedding present to you,” he ended with a flourish.
“I hate to be the one to have to tell you,” Cris interjected, “but human trafficking is frowned on around here these days.”
Wyatt laughed. “Your sense of humor’s coming along, Cris,” he told her with approval, nodding and looking pleased. “Let me try again,” he said to Alex. “Myra’s a costume designer, the proud recipient of three Oscar nominations as well as one lovely little golden statuette for last year’s three-hour epic The Empress Catherine.”
“Congratulations,” Alex told the woman, instinctively knowing that congratulations were in order. “I’m sorry if I didn’t recognize your name right off the bat. I don’t get time to go to the movies very often,” she confessed. However, she knew that Wyatt, an acclaimed, accomplished screenwriter, moved in those kinds of circles, and people whose likenesses flickered on the screen were among his friends.
The woman smiled at her. “That’s okay. It’s not like I’m a household name—yet,” she qualified pointedly, obviously intending to be just that someday.
A woman after her own heart, Alex thought. But that still didn’t explain why Wyatt had brought her to the inn with him.
Alex looked at her fiancé. “I’m sorry if I’m being a little obtuse, but why are you giving me Myra?”
“Myra’s going to design your wedding dress. She’s amazingly fast and her team of seamstresses will take whatever sketch you approve and make it a reality quicker than you could thumb through an oversize issue of Brides Beautiful Today,” he told her.
Stevi closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. She exhaled so loudly it sounded like the fall wind picking up and preparing for an assault. Opening her eyes again, she focused them on her future brother-in-law and declared with complete sincerity, “Thank God for you, Wyatt.”
He laughed, getting a kick out of the entire event. He’d never seen Stevi so emotional and at the same time so pushy.
“Glad to help. You forget. I grew up with the four of you.” He glanced at Alex. “I know how uncompromising my future wife can be.”
“Not uncompromising. Just right,” Alex corrected. “And ‘right’ doesn’t compromise,” she informed Wyatt, smiling but firm.
He looked at Cris. “Have that inscribed on my tombstone when the time comes, please.”
Cris merely smiled, humoring him the way she was humoring everyone else in the room right now. She wanted to do whatever it took to have them moving on their way so she could reclaim her space. She had another meal to prepare for.
“I took the liberty of making a few sketches on the drive down from Los Angeles,” the designer told Alex.
“You drove here? Why didn’t you fly?” Alex asked. Wyatt always flew between the two cities.
“I don’t fly,” Myra said. “And Wyatt was nice enough to humor me.”
“Nice had nothing to do with it,” Wyatt denied. “I wanted to be sure I got her here for you.”
“And on that note,” Myra said, jumping right in, “if you have a few minutes, I’d like you to look over the sketches so I know if I’m on the right track.”
Alex appeared a little uncertain. “I’m waiting on the fire marshal,” she began, and although she’d be on the premises, she didn’t want to be distracted while making her all-important selection.
“Cris or Stevi can give you a holler when he gets here,” Wyatt said, slipping his hand down to the small of her back and lightly moving her in the costume designer’s direction. “Besides, this shouldn’t take too long.”
“Can’t I just look at the sketches here?” Even as Alex asked, they heard a child of one of guests squeal, effectively making Myra’s point for her.
“It’s better if you review them without any distractions,” Myra assured her.
“We’re asking for ten minutes, Alex,” Wyatt pointed out, “not an eternity.”
“We?” Alex echoed, surprised. She turned to him. “You intend to come along?”
“Well yeah, sure.” Wyatt didn’t see what the problem was. “After all, I’m the one who talked Myra into coming here.”
Without saying a word, Alex eyed her sisters, who then joined ranks to act as a human barrier between Wyatt and her, as well as the costume designer he’d driven all the way down here.
“No, you’re not helping her,” Cris informed him politely but firmly.
“Why not?” He appeared puzzled at the sudden opposition from the sister he considered the most levelheaded and logical. He and Cris always agreed on things. What was going on here?
As if reading his mind, Stevi answered his question. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the wedding dress before the wedding?”
“But she’s only got sketches,” he protested, waving a hand at the stack Myra was holding.
“Doesn’t matter,” Stevi said, digging in. “Presumably, one of the sketches will be of the dress Alex’ll be wearing when she marries you.”
Why would seeing a sketch of her dress change anything? He’d already been through the worst of it and still wanted to marry Alex.
Wyatt made an appeal to everyone’s common sense. “I know every one of Alex’s bad habits—”
“What bad habits?” Alex deadpanned.
He ignored the bait and pressed on. “And I still want to marry her, so what could happen if I see a silly little sketch?” he wanted to know.
“Lot’s wife had the same attitude when she turned around for a last-minute look to see what was happening to her city, Gomorrah,” Stevi told him, stubbornly standing her ground.
Raising his hands in a blatant show of surrender, Wyatt took a symbolic step away from Alex and the woman he’d talked into creating a one-of-a-kind wedding dress for her.
“I forgot how formidable you can all be when you join forces. Is Ricky around?” he asked, looking about the immediate area. “I need another male to bond with.”
“Ricky’s at the playground,” Cris said, adding, “Andy didn’t have any classes today and she took him to the playground right after his kindergarten class let out. But my dad’s out back,” she volunteered cheerfully.
“And Shane’s over at the new wing, working,” Alex said. She deliberately ignored the censoring look that Cris shot her, but the partial exchange wasn’t lost on Wyatt or the others.
“Shane,” Wyatt repeated. “He’s the guy you used to go to school with, right?” he asked Cris.
Cris shifted ever so slightly, getting back to cleanup and avoiding Wyatt’s eyes. “No, I went to high school with his sister, Nancy. Shane was a couple of years older than us.”
Wyatt nodded, absorbing her explanation. “I knew there was some connection,” he said. “I just didn’t get it quite right.”
Raising her head, Cris pointedly eyed her elder sister. “Shouldn’t you let Myra get started showing you the sketches or making ne
w ones if you don’t see anything you like? Not to take Stevi’s tone—”
“What’s wrong with my tone?” Stevi demanded
Cris went on as if nothing had been said to interrupt her. “But you are cutting it a little close.”
“Finally!” Stevi cried, vindicated. And then she added her voice to Cris’s. “You are, you know. And if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up walking down the aisle naked.”
Wyatt began to laugh. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”
“Save your money,” Alex said crisply. “It’s not going to happen. I’ll pick out a dress today.”
Wyatt tried vainly to appear disappointed and wound up laughing even harder as he accused her of being a spoilsport.
“Let’s go, Myra,” Alex said to the short, full-figured woman beside her as Stevi buffered her other side. “Before I come to my senses and change my mind about marrying this man.”
“Start drawing fast, Myra,” Wyatt called after the departing women.
Cris laughed and shook her head. “You sure you understand what you’re getting into?” she asked him with the affection a sister might have for an older brother.
That was how she had grown to regard Wyatt because of all the summers he and his father had spent at the inn. The two had come year after year, after Wyatt’s parents split up because of a career that kept his father away from home for roughly half the year, if not more.
Wyatt nodded in answer to her question as he grinned broadly. “Looking forward to it,” he confided. “But please don’t tell Alex. It’ll give her too much of an upper hand and I’d like to start out even, if at all possible.”
Cris couldn’t help thinking that Alex was one lucky woman, and she envied her just a little. Envied her the joy and comfort that lay ahead of her.
But she still couldn’t resist teasing. “You know where to find us when you need a shoulder to cry on,” she told him.
“Yes, I know.” Wyatt nodded, playing along. “I’ve got a fairly decent sense of direction.”
A WEDDING FOR CHRISTMAS Page 8