by Baird, Ginny
“Hi, Mom,” the girls said in turn, giving her quick hugs.
“I heard you come through the front gate, and—” She turned her gaze suddenly on Mac. “Well, hello. Who do we have here?”
Matilda and Charles stepped past her, carting the girls’ luggage up a curved staircase. The stunning entrance hall was plastered with works of art and dripping with elegant chandeliers. Through archways beyond it, Mac spied more staff members setting up dining tables draped with white linen cloths in a central courtyard plumed with potted plants and flowers. Silverware clanked lightly as place settings were laid around blooming centerpieces.
“Mother,” Connie said, proudly taking his arm. “I’d like you to meet Mac, my fiancé.”
“Your…? I’m sorry, did you say fiancé?”
Connie nodded triumphantly, and their mom leaned toward Linda with a whisper. “What happened to…?” she asked, but not quite quietly enough.
Connie waved her free hand in the air. “Ancient history, but this man, here…” She tugged Mac toward her by their interlinked arms. “He is my future.”
“Oh my.” She looked back and forth between the two of them, her aristocratic cheekbones turning a dusty rose. “Well, Mac,” she said, collecting herself. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She extended her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Oliver. Welcome to our home.”
“I thought I heard chatter!” A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair drew near, appearing from the west wing. “Linda, Constance, welcome back.” He curiously eyed Mac. “Greetings.”
“Mac’s the fiancé,” Elizabeth said with a tight smile.
The color drained from his face. “The what?”
Connie extended the fingers of her left hand, flashing him a lovely solitaire. She and Linda had agreed she couldn’t surface with a fake fiancé and no ring. It had been a simple matter of sliding the one back on her finger that Walt had given her. Since he’d refused to take it back, she hadn’t even removed it until the morning of their hiking excursion. It was practically like an old friend, having spent barely any time off her finger at all. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and stared at Connie.
“You and I need to talk,” she said, forcing out words lined with sugar.
“Sure, Mom,” Connie said brightly. “Just as soon as Mac settles in.”
“Mac,” her father said with an appraising frown, “I’m Wendell Jr., but calling me Mr. Oliver will work fine.”
Mac nodded. “Thank you for including me in your family’s celebration.”
“Why, you’re practically family too.” Elizabeth demurely cocked her chin. “Aren’t you?”
Connie loudly shut the front door behind her as a younger man bounded down the steps. He appeared to be in his twenties with a solid build and dark hair like his father’s.
“Well, look who’s home!” he bellowed. “My two favorite sisters in the world.”
“We’re your only two sisters,” Linda replied smartly before making her departure. “If you guys will excuse me,” she told the others, “I have a husband to find.”
Connie’s brother strode over and took Mac’s hand. “You must be Connie’s intended. I’m Ollie.”
“Adam McCormack, but my friends call me Mac.” He shook Ollie’s hand. “Good to know you.”
“Ollie?” Elizabeth said in her gracious-hostess tone, why don’t you show Mac to the blue room upstairs while I help Connie unpack?”
“No problem. Can I help you with that?” he asked, referencing Mac’s backpack.
“Thanks. I’ve got it,” Mac said, hoping his eyes didn’t betray him as he looked around. This place was a palace, nearly as large as a museum. Heck, maybe it was even bigger than some of them. The real difference was, when showtime came, Mac was well aware that he’d be the one on display.
“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked as Connie unpacked her bags.
Connie turned her back on her mom to hang a few things in her closet. “Like I told you, Mac is my fiancé. We’re engaged.”
“Since when?”
Connie paused in sliding her cotton shirt onto a hanger. She hadn’t had occasion to use all her clothes. Being lost in the forest had spared some of her wardrobe. “Since…he asked me to marry him!” Having her mom believe in the charade was just as important as convincing her grandfather. It was one for all, and all for one in this family. If her folks didn’t buy in, her Grandpa might grow skeptical too.
Her mom strode over and leaned into the door jamb of the closet. She stared straight at Connie, who stood there with that blasted hanger hovering in midair. “And, when was that? Precisely?”
“Um…” Connie hooked the hanger over the closet bar and quickly tried to calculate a reasonable date. But it was hard to focus on a mental calendar with her mom trapping her in that cool blue stare. “It was shortly after Walt dumped me,” she added hastily before hurrying back to her suitcase to grab another armful of clothes. “At first I worried it was a rebound thing. But nope! We’re solid.”
“Gracious. That’s all clean? Didn’t you wear anything while you were gone?” Suddenly seeming to recall her daughter had been with Mac, Elizabeth bit her lip. “Don’t tell me you and he… Not with Linda along!”
“For heaven’s sake, Mom. You know me better than that. Besides, it’s not like Linda’s a saint, you know.”
A few bedrooms away and just down the hall, Linda drew the curtains, hearing the shower running. It had been too long since she’d seen him; she couldn’t wait. Beau was her everything. Her sun and the moon, with a nice smattering of stardust too. She’d been so lucky to find him, and now she was eager to remind him how happy she felt. She slipped from her clothes and laid her hand on the bathroom doorknob, turning it gently. Every room in this house was its own master suite, complete with a well-appointed bath. While she didn’t live here anymore, she could still appreciate the amenities this house had to offer.
Not that she minded the cute bungalow she shared with Beau in the city. She found it charming, in fact, and had worked hard to make their small house feel like a home. Beau worked hard too, toiling relentlessly in medical school. She couldn’t be any more proud of him, or any more determined to help support his dream by keeping things together on her accountant’s salary. Linda had always been good with numbers and was proud of what she did. She also was infinitely pleased that she and Beau were getting by without any help from her exceedingly wealthy family. He had a part-time job in the lab, and together they were making it. Once he had passed his boards and begun practicing, they’d be better off still. Linda sneaked into the bathroom, thinking how much she loved her life.
The room was steamy and warm, the full length of the mirror fogged with steam. Repressing a giggle, she pressed open the double shower door and stepped inside.
“Who’s there?” Beau asked, still lathering his hair.
She wrapped her arms around him, her forearms slipping against his hairy, muscled chest. “Who do you think?” she asked above the rush of the water.
He rubbed the lather from his eyes and spun slowly to face her in the steamy downpour. “I was hoping to hell it was my wife,” he said, his voice husky.
She looked up at him, thrilled to be his, wanting to be all his for the moment.
“Who else would it be?” she asked saucily, sliding her arms up his back and linking her hands behind his neck.
“Matilda?” he teased with a grin.
She laughed happily. “Stop it!”
“Stop?” he said, pulling her to him and bringing his mouth down on hers. “I was just about to start.”
“Did you bring any other clothes?” Ollie asked as Mac dumped the contents of his rucksack on the bed.
“What you see is what you get.”
“Hmm.”
“I hope it’s not a problem. In my day job, I don’t have much occasion to—”
“What is your day job, by the way?”
“I run a camping store. Did, I mean.”
“Did?”
> “Got roasted in that last round of forest fires.”
Ollie’s face registered sympathy. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
“Some things can’t be helped. Acts of God.”
“Or nature.”
“No.”
Ollie studied him, appraising his frame. “Tell you what, I might have something that will work.”
“A suit, you mean?”
Ollie shrugged. “We always dress for dinner here, and Grandpa’s party will be no exception. No offense, but jeans and flannel probably won’t cut it.”
“No offense taken,” Mac answered honestly, feeling as if Connie should have warned him. Then again, maybe she hadn’t thought of it herself. They were so busy concocting their imaginary backstory, they’d completely failed to talk about what each of them should wear. Of course, Connie always came out well-coiffed. So maybe it hadn’t even occurred to her that Mac might require a few gentle suggestions.
“Be back in a sec,” Ollie said with a grin.
“Speaking of clothing,” Elizabeth said, “we’ve had a very special arrival from New York this week.”
Connie caught her breath with a gasp. “The dress?”
“The dress,” her mom answered with a firm nod. “And let me tell you it is beau-ti-ful. Just gorgeous. That heirloom storage shop does impeccable work.”
Connie swallowed hard. “I’m sure.” She walked in a daze to the bed and sat with a thunk. Naturally, her mom and the rest of the family had still supposed she was marrying Walt in a few months, but nobody had warned her the historic wedding gown was being recalled from storage already. “What’s the rush?”
Elizabeth sat beside her, giving her a sympathetic smile. “The rush, darling, is that you had a wedding planned for August. Dresses require fittings. Even one as special as this, with which your grandmother took such care.” And her Grandma Oliver had taken great care too. She’d thought out the entire process of her dress being passed down to her daughters in advance. In case they were larger than she was, she’d had an extra panel made from matching Paris lace, which could be inserted in back to augment the dress. In the event they were taller, she’d had an additional underskirt made, also from identical Paris lace, which could increase the gown’s length. But alas, after all that trouble, she and Wendell Oliver, Senior had only been blessed with three boys. Fortunately for the intended family tradition, each of them had produced wives and daughters, with Wendell Junior delivering two girls of his own. After her mom and a preceding line of aunts and cousins, Linda had worn the dress and looked lovely. It was Connie’s turn to wear it next. Their grandpa was firmly convinced that the dress held great magical powers to bestow a happy marriage. Well, it seemed to have worked out in Linda’s case anyhow.
“Don’t worry, love. No one will expect an August wedding to go off with your recent change in plans. But the happy part is now we’re planning for a new one. Probably not too much further away.”
“Actually, Mac and I were thinking of having a very long engage—”
“Nonsense! The dress is already here, and we’ve gotten so much initial planning done. It might take some tweaking here and there, but I’m sure once we pin down a new date—for your new man,” Elizabeth added with a wink, “we’ll set everything in order.”
Connie met her gaze. “I know. But wouldn’t it be great if… Just for this weekend? We could focus on Grandpa and his party?”
Elizabeth warmly patted her hand. “Of course, you’re right. But before I leave you to get ready, do tell me more about Mac. I’m dying to know how you met. And Walt…? Oh my,” she said with a serious frown. “What on earth happened there?” She studied her daughter’s finger. “And why are you still wearing his ring?”
Connie gulped. “Um. The one from Mac is on order. He’s having it custom-made.”
“And he’s okay with this…substitution?”
“Oh yeah, totally fine. Mac’s what you’d call a super chill guy.”
Ollie slid his charcoal Armani suit jacket onto Mac’s back. “It may be a little snug in the shoulders, but you can make do.”
Mac squirmed uncomfortably, feeling as if he’d been pinned in something akin to a straitjacket. “Thanks, Ollie. Very nice of you to do this.”
Ollie adjusted Mac’s tie, then stepped aside so he could view himself in the mirror. He looked okay, he supposed. He just wasn’t used to it. The trousers fit awfully tight too and were a tad short at the ankles. Didn’t help matters that Mac had brought only his hiking boots. Doctor’s orders. “Keep those on the next few days,” the doc had said. Perfect for providing extra stability.
“Don’t suppose you brought any other shoes?” Ollie asked, looking down.
Mac shook his head.
“No worries.” Ollie soundly slapped his shoulder. “No one will likely even notice.”
Linda sidled up next to Connie as she sipped her champagne. “Did you reconnect with your husband?” Connie asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Linda shot her a devilish grin. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Where is the lucky guy?”
“I sent him down the hall to introduce himself to Mac. You know, so the poor guy would have one more person in his corner.”
Connie gasped. “You didn’t tell him?”
“About the ruse? No way. That’s just our sisters’ secret.”
Connie sighed with relief and raised her drink to her lips. The panorama before them was dotted with party guests, all dressed in finery and tilting champagne flutes as a Latin band played.
“Whose idea was the music?” Connie asked.
“Grandpa’s, of course.”
“I thought he’d given up salsa dancing?”
Linda turned toward her. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try it in a wheelchair. Not if he could convince one of those pretty nurses to sit on his lap.”
Connie giggled briefly, but then grew serious. “Do you think Mom suspects?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. I just get a funny feeling.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have flashed that rock the way you did.” Linda angled her head toward Connie’s left hand.
“But you swore nobody would notice!”
“That it’s the one Walt gave you? Nobody might have! Unless you’d put it on such proud display.”
“Well, when Dad asked—”
“Shh,” Linda cautioned quietly. “It’s Grandpa. He’s coming.”
The crowd broke into applause as the old man wheeled into the courtyard, escorted by two lovely caretakers. One brunette and one blonde.
Just then, Mac and Beau approached the sisters, who stood beside a potted fern.
“Connie,” Beau acknowledged with a nod of his head. “Good to see you. You look lovely.”
And she did too. Her beauty nearly took Mac’s breath away. She was gorgeous in a short blue dress that complemented the color of her eyes. And the heels she was wearing did everything to accentuate the curves of her lovely legs.
“Thanks, Beau,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Love the tie.”
But Mac was so caught up in Connie, he couldn’t even recall what color Beau’s tie was. Red? No. Yellow? He didn’t dare chance a look if that meant breaking away from Connie’s gaze. She looked like a princess, regal somehow. With that neat string of pearls around her neck and the tasteful dangling earrings to match. This Constance Oliver was one uptown woman. And Mac was nothing but a down-home guy, he reminded himself as his shoulder blades twitched beneath the jacket’s tight constraints.
“Wow, you’re just gorgeous.” Realizing his mistake, he turned his attention immediately on Linda. “Both of you ladies are knockouts for sure.”
Linda smiled and said something to Beau, while Connie’s face colored sweetly. “Thanks,” she told Mac. “You look great too.” Suddenly her gaze dropped to the floor. “Are those hiking boots?” She looked up again.
“It’s all he had,” Ollie explained, surfacin
g with three flutes of champagne, one for himself and the rest for the other two gentlemen.
The small group watched as Elizabeth and Wendell Junior walked into the courtyard to stand proudly beside Wendell Senior’s wheelchair. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Wendell Junior said in his best booming voice. “May I present…the birthday boy!”
People clapped and cheered as Connie’s grandpa did a small pirouette in his wheelchair, grinning broadly.
“I thought he was very ill?” Mac whispered to Connie.
“It comes and goes,” she whispered back.
“You’ll see what she means,” Linda added.
To Mac’s surprise, Elizabeth silenced the crowd with her celebratory pronouncement. “And now, in keeping with the way in which the birthday boy likes to run his parties, let’s all have a little cake and ice cream!”
“Granddad always has dessert before dinner on his birthday,” Ollie explained. “He figures it’s the one day he can do what he wants.”
“Yeah, and all of the rest of us get to join him,” Beau quipped.
Linda elbowed her husband. “Be nice. You know you enjoy having the cake first just as much as he does. Besides, nobody’s forced to eat it. You can always save yours for later.”
Before Mac knew it, a huge, tiered cake was being rolled out onto the floor on a movable table. Rather than having candles on top, it was adorned by dozens of dancing sparklers, hissing merrily with all their might beneath a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Grandpa Oliver’s face lit up in a big, broad smile as he plucked a sparkler off the cake and began waving it around like a maestro directing his orchestra, just in time to conduct the crowd in singing “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.”
Then, halfway through the second chorus, the old man glanced their way, staring straight at Connie. Within seconds, he’d doubled over, dropping his sparkler to the floor and breaking into a prolonged coughing fit. The room fell silent as nurses scrambled to assist him. Elizabeth dug in her purse for her smartphone, preparing to call 9-1-1. Connie and Linda were about to rush forward when their grandpa slowly raised his right hand, bringing himself under control.