And now it was too late. He was committed. He had to go out there now and make an ass of himself. And Celie wasn't going to show up.
He'd seen Polly minutes before and she'd said she hadn't seen Celie since last night.
"What the hell do you mean you haven't seen her since last night? She lives with you!"
"She didn't come home after we went to The Barrel. Too many people," Polly apologized. "Said she wanted some space. A motel room, I think. And no, not with another man," she said, grinning at his look of horror. "It's just nerves, Jace."
But it wasn't. It was more than nerves. Jace knew that now. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
The organ music started. Jace, who had been counting hours up until last night, now wished he had a few hundred more.
"That's our cue." Artie poked him in the ribs.
Jace thought he might throw up. "Artie, I—"
"Celie's a good gal," Artie said firmly. "The best. Let's go. Sooner we go, sooner we can get you hitched. Sooner we get you hitched, sooner I can loosen my collar. I know I said I liked this tux, but goldarn it, boy, this necktie's durned near killin' me."
With Artie at his side, Jace went to stand at the front of the church. It was full to bursting. Everyone who knew him, everyone who knew Celie was there. Alice and Cloris were right up front next to his sister's family. On the other side were Walt and Joyce; Walt's daughter, An, and her two children; Mary Beth and her husband, Jack, and the triplets. Taggart and Felicity Jones and their kids were there, as were the Tanners and McCalls, both the Nichols brothers and their families, plus Gus and Mary Holt. With them was Walt's younger daughter, Cait, holding her brand-new son, Andrew.
Jace didn't see Cait's husband, Charlie, until a flash went off. And he realized that he'd forgotten to contact a photographer. Or maybe he hadn't forgotten. Maybe it had been Freudian—not wanting the fiasco immortalized on film.
But whether he wanted it or not, Charlie was busy taking lots of photos of everyone who'd come to witness his marriage to Celie. Or not.
Oh, God. He didn't believe it. There, halfway back, was Tamara on Gavin's arm. She beamed at him and waggled her fingers. Jace shut his eyes. When he opened them again he spotted Celie's ship roommate, Allison, and that oily Armand and—good grief—Gloria Campanella!
And then the organ stopped. There was an intake of breath, a hush fell over everything—and then the minister appeared. The organist began "Here Comes the Bride," and Jace wanted to go through the floor.
Daisy was the first to come up the aisle. She wore a deep blue, floor-length gown, and she moved with careful, measured steps, at the speed of a snail. She was trying not to smile—or to frown—Jace wasn't sure which. She was managing to look worried all the same. After her came Lizzie, equally slowly, equally worried.
Jace felt ill.
Why the hell didn't they stop the wedding? If she wasn't there, why were they making him go through with this? They could say something, couldn't they?
Or was it up to him?
Sara was next. Her dress was like the others, but fuller to accommodate the burgeoning child. She looked beautiful, so like Celie that it hurt almost to look at her. She came down the aisle like a ship under full sail. Only when she got to the front did she look at Jace. She smiled at him, looking nervous. Looking worried.
And then came Polly, the matron of honor. Her riot of reddish-brown hair had been severely tamed and knotted elegantly on top of her head. She moved slowly, too, staring straight ahead, chin high.
Jace looked around her, trying to see behind her, daring to hope. But he didn't see Sloan. And he didn't see Celie.
Polly reached the front of the church. Her eyes met his, and he thought he saw sadness in them. But her chin stayed up, as if she were willing his to.
The organist played gamely on. And on. The congregation looked at Jace and everyone assembled at the front of the church, and then they looked toward the back. They began to murmur, to wonder…
And then … omigod … there she was!
Her hair was flying all over the place, her cheeks were bright red, and she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. But she was hanging on to a grinning Sloan's tux-clad arm and she was walking—not slowly at all—down the aisle to meet him!
The murmurs grew louder. The minister coughed. Artie cleared his throat. Polly and her daughters were caught between laughing and gaping. Charlie Seeks Elk was shooting a ton of pictures.
"I had a flat tire," Celie said for Jace's ears only, "after I got over my crisis of faith. But I'm here now and I'm ready if you are."
"I'm ready," Jace said, and took her hand in his.
The minister nodded. He smiled and gave a little shake of his head. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together…"
It was, in all, a wedding to remember.
They'd forgotten to plan a honeymoon.
"A guy can only think of so much," Jace explained as they stood in the kitchen of Polly's house late in the evening of their wedding day. The reception was over. The crowds had dispersed. Sloan and Polly and their bunch had gone one way, Mary Beth and her family had gone another. It was just the two of them. "Planning a wedding takes a lot out of a fellow."
"I did most of the work," Celie reminded him.
"Well, yeah," Jace agreed. "But only before you got cold feet."
"They're warm now," Celie assured him, waggling her toes.
Jace just grinned. "Prove it."
"I will," Celie promised. "As soon as we get to the cabin."
When the honeymoon lapse had been discovered, Taggart Jones had offered his cabin. "It's quiet. Isolated. Private."
"A perfect place for a honeymoon," Shane Nichols had said cheerfully with a wink at his wife, Poppy.
Celie hadn't understood that. "I thought he and Poppy went to Reno for theirs."
Jace didn't know. He didn't care. "Come on, then, let's go—"
"I have to get packed and get changed.
"You look fine." She was wearing the jeans and sweatshirt she'd got married in. He, thank God, had changed out of his tux long ago.
"I'll be just a minute," Celie promised. She hurried upstairs.
Jace cooled his heels in the kitchen. In his mind he replayed the wedding. He saw Celie again in his mind's eye as he had seen her coming down the aisle. It was a vision he'd never forget. And it meant more to him than he could ever say.
She'd come to him as she was—because she loved him. The dress hadn't mattered. Perfection hadn't mattered. It was their love that had mattered.
Artie, the old son of a gun, had been right again—you just had to believe.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused him to turn around. His jaw dropped. He stared.
Celie was coming down the stairs in her wedding dress. All of it. Yards and yards and yards of it. She looked ravishing, astonishing, utterly beautiful. And wholly inappropriate.
Jace, grinning, said, "What the hell are you doin'? We're goin' up to the back of the beyond!"
But Celie shrugged happily. "Well, I couldn't not wear it, could I? Besides, I couldn't let you off the hook completely."
"Huh?"
"Every man needs a challenge," Celie told him, sliding her arms around him, kissing him and fanning the flames of desire.
"Challenge?" Jace said warily.
Celie grinned. "Only forty or fifty buttons or so."
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A COWBOY'S PURSUIT Page 16