The Jilting: Summer (Mandrake Falls Series Romance Book 1)

by Catherine Lloyd

  A hushed awe had settled over her audience. Scout beamed at them cheerfully. It was rare day that Scout Rutherford got the chance to impress her hometown. Maybe they would finally stop talking about that incident with the school gymnasium. It’s not like she meant to set fire to it. Now that she had lured Antique Roadshow to town and impressed them into silence, maybe everyone would see that she had finally matured.

  The Roadshow host snapped into action, burbling enthusiastically to the camera. “Well! As our viewers at home can see, we are quite struck by Miss Rutherford’s remarkable discovery, reminding all of us that the thrill of antiquing is not only the price fetched but in the story behind a piece. This is Antique Roadshow live on location in Mandrake Falls, Vermont and our special guest today has been Louise Rutherford of Antique Scout. Please join us next week as we continue our journey through the New England States.”

  The director called cut and the lights snapped off. Scout combed her short dark hair free of bobby pins and hairspray and stretched.

  “Not bad, Rutherford!” Shelby Porter, owner of Mandrake Falls Gazette, the only newspaper anyone ever bothered to read, was making her way through the crowd with a notepad in her hand and a camera slung around her neck. “How did you find that spring?”

  Scout smiled modestly. “Lucky guess.” Which was true.

  Technicians scurried over the lawn packing up cameras and cables. “Come on, I can’t print that. It makes it sound like you did this on a whim and that’s not going to fly. The producer said this episode is going to be heavily promoted. Are you telling me you didn’t know the spring was there in advance?”

  Shelby stood, her pen poised over a lined sheet of paper.

  “History is exciting, Porter. You never know what it will reveal when you go looking. I guess you could say I took an educated risk that I’d find something.”

  “An educated risk,” Shelby repeated, jotting the words down on her pad. “You took another risk scheduling the shoot on your wedding day. Sometimes these things run long. Poor what’s-his-name would be stuck waiting for you at the altar. Unless that was the plan—are you jilting him? Scout, holy crap, you’ve gone white as a sheet. Don’t tell me you forgot you’re getting married today. I know it’s today because your mom ran the announcement in the Gazette. I think the whole town is turning out for it. Wait, Rutherford, wait! Can I get a quote?”

  But Scout had taken off at a flat run across the emerald lawn in the direction of her parents’ house. The last words Shelby Porter heard coming from the bride-to-be were: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Porter, don’t you dare print that!”

  The wedding. She’d completely forgotten. Lydia was going to kill her.

  Chapter Two: The Bride

  “NO SCOUT, I don’t think it’s the kind of thing that could happen to anyone. It’s the kind of thing that only happens to you.”

  Lydia trailed her from the kitchen to the entry hall of the sprawling turn-of-the-century house. If Scout needed an inducement to marry Noel Trace having a home of her own was definitely one, she thought grimly as she yanked off her running shoes. When she was twenty-two with a university education to pay off, moving back with her parents had made sense. Three years later it was just plain embarrassing. But on the upside, living rent-free had allowed her to save enough money to buy the antiques store last year and go into business. So suck it up, Rutherford.

  “I’m here now. There’s plenty of time. I’ll grab a fast shower and—”

  “What in the world are you wearing?”

  Scout frowned and looked down at her tie-dyed T-shirt and army surplus shorts. “It’s my lucky shirt from the eighth grade.”

  “I hope you weren’t seen on camera in that get up! What they must have thought—the producer is from England!”

  Scout chuckled. “That’s why the director had them bring the camera in so close. Hah! That’s funny.”

  “Hilarious,” said Lydia.

  “Wearing my lucky shirt paid off though—you wouldn’t believe the discovery I made, right in front of everyone on the board of the historical society. They’ll have to take me seriously now.”

  Lydia towed her daughter toward the stairs. “You can tell me all about it after the honeymoon. The girls will be here soon and you still have to shower.”

  “I thought I was going to meet them at the church.”

  “They want to meet here to do your hair and makeup and then go to the church together.”

  “For God’s sake, I can do my own hair and makeup. Tell them I’ll meet them at the church as originally planned.”

  “Darlene anticipated your response,” Lydia said primly and pulled a pink slip of paper from the pocket of her skirt. “She writes: ‘Impress upon Scout that judging from the way she’s looked for the last five years, she has no experience with either hairstyling or makeup and today is not the day to experiment.’ End of quote.” Lydia tucked the message back in her pocket.

  Scout rolled her eyes. She was being childish, she knew. But if it wasn’t her mother, it was Darlene nagging her about her appearance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but if given a choice between sleeping in and getting up early to fuss with her hair, she’d take sleeping in. However, today was not the day to argue with her mother. Lydia was on her last nerve. Scout sighed. “Fine, whatever you say. I’ll be out of the shower in fifteen minutes.” She turned and took the stairs two at a time to the landing.

  Lydia looked up at her daughter. “The clothes you have on aside, you look very pretty today.”

  Scout rubbed her cheek. “It must be the TV makeup.”

  “Well, you looked very nice until you rubbed your face like that. Now, you have dirty finger marks running down your cheek.”

  “I’m washing the whole thing off anyway. It’s like an itchy mask. The cosmetics industry is a mystery to me. I can’t believe women wear this stuff on their face every day.”

  “Was it really necessary to do that taping today, Scout? The producers would have understood if you’d explained this is your wedding day.”

  “I’m sure they would have if I’d told them. But why postpone something that I’ve been looking forward to just because I’m getting married?”

  “Most girls look forward to their weddings.”

  Scout leaned on the banister. “I’m not like most girls, mother, and I haven’t been for some time. I’m not going to change now. Besides, Noel had some last minute business with a client this morning. He told me so last night. Why is okay for him to work but not me?”

  “It won’t take Noel four hours to get ready, that’s why.”

  “Four hours?” Scout gasped and stared at her mother. “It won’t take me four hours either. It’s just hair for crying out loud!”

  “You’d be surprised how long it can take to do hair attractively. Then there’s your dress and accessories.”

  “I should have eloped like I originally planned.”

  “Eloped?” Lydia stared in wide-eyed horror. For a moment Scout thought her mother was going to wash her mouth out with soap like she used to when Scout was little. “You owe me this day, Louise Rutherford. I’ve endured twenty years of coveralls and ponchos because you promised me that one day I’d see you in a dress. This is that day.”

  “Don’t call me Louise, my name is Scout,” Scout said stiffly.

  “I gave birth to you,” her mother shot back. “Nine pounds, three ounces. You were no picnic to bring into this world. I named you Louise and I’m calling you Louise!”

  Scout felt a knot of tension tighten at the base of her neck. Pre-wedding jitters. The years ahead as somebody’s wife suddenly overwhelmed her. “I think I’m going to miss you, mom.”

  Lydia joined her on the top step and drew her daughter down beside her. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. Mothers are in it for life. Don’t you know that, honey?”

  “No, but I want to find out.”

  “Then get going. The best is yet to be.”

  Lydia Rutherford was still as
slim and pretty at fifty as she was in the sliver framed wedding photo on the mantle. Scout wondered why she didn’t seem to be as happy as her parents’ were on their wedding day. “Do you really believe that, Mom?”

  “If you marry the right man, I do.”

  Another lump of tension knotted itself in Scout’s left shoulder. “How do I know if Noel is the right man?”

  Lydia’s eyes grew serious. “Listen to your heart, Scout. Don’t marry him if your heart isn’t in it.”

  Scout sighed and shook her head. She wished she could shake off the doubts that had been building inside her just as easily. And seeing the worry in her mother’s eyes—it was unnecessary. Scout tried to smile. “My heart is in Noel. I’m just nervous.”

  “Honey,” Lydia began hesitantly, “It’s none of my business ... but a girl as unconventional as yourself … I assumed Ryder would be your man of honor, or whatever they call it. He is your best friend after all.”

  Scout’s heart pounded at her throat. She hoped her mother didn’t notice the change in her. Lydia was pretty sharp. “I may be unconventional but Noel isn’t. He preferred a traditional bridal party. Ryder understands.”

  “Oh, so you’ve spoken to him? I noticed you didn’t send him an invitation.”

  Lydia looked apologetic but Scout wasn’t fooled. Her mother was fishing. “There was no point. Ryder works through the summer.”

  “He would have taken time off to be at your wedding.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Scout said lightly. “I’ll tell him all about it when I get back from the honeymoon. You know how it is with Ryder. He doesn’t like situations where he has to talk and be sociable. Really, mother, this is much kinder. He can take care of his precious trees and I will finally get married.” Scout turned away from her mother’s gaze. Why did she have to wear her heart on her sleeve so much? “You worry too much,” she said irritably as though Lydia was the problem.

  Lydia laughed. “This is your mother you’re talking to—worry goes with the territory. But if you are sure everything is all right between you and Ryder, then I’ll relax.”

  “Sure, I’m sure. I’d better get in the shower. The girls will be here any minute.” Scout hopped to her feet and darted down the hall to the bathroom before her mother could ask what happened between her and Ryder Dean. The best really was yet to be and her future had never looked brighter. Noel Trace was handsome, committed, and stable. A forty-year-old accountant who wanted the same things she did—lots of kids and a big rambling house to keep them in.

  Her parents thought she was crazy when she announced their engagement—especially her father. Walter Rutherford couldn’t understand why his only child, a financially independent young woman would marry the first man who asked her just because she wanted children.

  It would make made perfect sense to Walter, Scout thought, if he knew what it was like to grow up an only child. She didn’t care about the rightness or wrongness of it—she wanted three or four children and she wanted to be young enough to enjoy them. So when Noel Trace, the sweet dependable man she met at Darlene’s New Year’s Eve party, got down on one knee three months later and asked her to make him the happiest man alive, it was a no-brainer—Scout accepted on the spot. Jumping in before you know if there’s water in the pool, she could hear her mother say, but if she didn’t take the leap she would wind up stuck on the diving board. Like Ryder Dean. Five years from now, he’ll still be peering over the side, trembling, while she’ll be bouncing Noel’s baby on her knee.

  Scout slammed the bathroom door behind her. She hoped Ryder knew about the wedding and wondered why he wasn’t invited. She hoped she’d hurt him as much as he had hurt her. Scout twisted the nickel-plated taps on the antique washstand; a gift to her parents when Antique Scout posted its first profits. She draped a steaming terry cloth over her face.

  The best is yet to be. Without Ryder Dean. Was that even possible?

  She dropped the cloth to the sink and gazed beyond the lace-curtained window, to the pale green apple tree growing in the back yard. Ryder used to climb that tree and toss apples down to her after she broke her leg and couldn’t climb for a month. Her mother had shouted that there were apples in the kitchen, all they had to do was ask. For some reason the ones they stole tasted better.

  Scout’s stomach tightened, unaccountably. Must be stress from the Roadshow taping. She reached for the cold cream and smeared it over her face. Lydia was right; she shouldn’t have tried to jam the show in on her wedding day. Everything had to be perfect today. Scout turned to the claw foot tub, flipped the taps and pulled the shower curtain. Steam clouded the bathroom mirror. The ceremony was set for five o’clock with a small reception to follow at her parents’ house. Easy-peasy. Her mother had single-handedly organized the food, music, and flowers to perfection. Lydia Rutherford’s entertainment skills were legendary; with her daughter’s wedding, she had become a force unleashed. Even the toothpicks were color coordinated. The best is yet to be Scout thought, aggressively lathering a nylon scrubbie. It was just really, really important everything go perfectly. Then she would know she was doing was the right thing. Marrying Noel was the closest she was going to get to the life she always dreamed of having. The trouble was that dream had always included Ryder Dean.

  Scout’s stomach did a swooping flip. She dropped the nylon scrubbie as the muscles in her legs turned to jelly. Panting, she lowered herself to the edge of the tub. The stream of warm water slapped her knees. Lydia’s voice traveled up the stairs.

  “Louise! The girls are here!”

  “What am I going to do?” Scout whispered.

  THIS WAS insane. How did he let Hudson Grace talk him into this? Ryder pushed his old pickup to do speeds it hadn’t done in a decade. He’d never make it in time. In the bush for the past three weeks—he looked like hell. Ryder squinted at his reflection in the rear view mirror and ran his fingers through his shaggy toffee-colored hair. Brown stubble shadowed his jaw. He needed a haircut and a shave and there wasn’t time for either. He wasn’t even sure he had a decent suit to wear.

  If the postmark on the envelope was any indication, Scout wasn’t expecting him to show up anyway. The invitation had only been mailed last week—well past the date to RSVP. If Hudson Grace hadn’t brought his mail, Ryder would still be in the dark about the wedding. Why didn’t she tell him? It wasn’t like Scout to hold a grudge. She probably assumed he wouldn’t be able to get out of lookout duty; he’d been pulling it every summer since he was eighteen. The Forestry Service needed every ranger it could get in the summer months and besides, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

  Ryder turned off the highway, following the dirt road to his farm. Uncle Grady’s single act of decency in the twelve years Ryder lived with him was leaving his nephew the dairy farm before dying of complications due to alcohol abuse. Almost six years later and he still hadn’t done more than the basic upkeep to the place. His gaze swept porch that needed painting and the peeling clapboard. He used to dream of restoring the house to its former beauty when he was a teenager. The low stone walls surrounding the property needed repair and the barn needed painting again. There was never enough time, and truthfully, he couldn’t see the point. Who besides him was ever going to live there?

  The first summer after Grady died, Scout had coaxed the lilac bushes back to life. Their musky perfume filled the air. Ryder paused at the back door to inhale the scent. Summers had always been filled with lilacs, dusty country roads and Scout.

  Ryder let the screen door slam behind him, barely glancing at the kitchen on his way to the back stairs. Every summer of his childhood had been spent with her. Fearless and intensely loyal, she had attached herself to him after they fought over the tetherball in the third grade and he won. Friendship with Scout Rutherford probably saved his life, a lonely eight-year-old, grieving the death of his parents. At her stubborn insistence, Ryder would arrive on the Rutherford doorstep every morning so he and Scout could walk the mile to sc
hool together. Lydia Rutherford always pressed him to sit down to breakfast with the excuse that she had made too much or burned the pancakes and no one would eat them. Half starved, Ryder would always accept. It was years before he clued in that Lydia Rutherford hadn’t burned a pancake in her life. At the time, he thought Mr. Rutherford was just a picky eater.

  The snowsuits he received for his birthday every October third were another oddity he didn’t think much about until he was a teenager. Then his cheeks burned with embarrassment. He remembered sitting down with Mr. Rutherford in his living room and solemnly declaring his intention to repay the man for the winter clothing. Walter Rutherford feigned confusion.

  “Snowsuits? You’re sixteen, Ryder. You haven’t worn a snowsuit for some time.”

  “I got them when I was young. For my birthday, from you and Mrs. Rutherford.”

  “A birthday present, eh? Well, that doesn’t count, does it? I mean, do I have to pay you back for that handsome pipe set you bought me last year?”

  “Sir, please...”

  “Well, all right then. I’ll get my check book if you like. Will you take a check, Ryder?”

  “No. That’s not what I...”

  “No? Well, you’re probably right. Although I think it’s good ... unless Lydie went shopping again ... but if you prefer cash...”

  Ryder remembers grabbing Walter Rutherford’s hand before he could dig in his pockets for pen, shaking it heartily and fleeing the house.

  Scout and Ryder were already going their separate ways by then. There was the occasional pre-dawn meeting with Scout materializing on Grady’s front lawn, chucking rocks at Ryder’s bedroom window until he joined her, shivering, in the mauve chill of the early September morning. Adrenaline slowly warmed him when he met her snapping hazel eyes. Her small white teeth would worry the corner of her mouth as she mapped out their strategy for skipping school that day.