“Ah, come on, this is your wedding day.” Ryan steadied her as they climbed a dune. “You must be happy.”
Was she happy? she wondered. Between all the hustle and bustle of the morning, she hadn’t had a lot of time to consult her own feelings.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“It’s really going to happen this time, sweetheart,” John told her. “Don’t worry. Let yourself feel it.”
They had reached the top of the dune and there, standing in a line that seemed to stretch from San Francisco to San Diego, were her loved ones. All fifty thousand of them.
Okay, she told herself, not fifty thousand.
Only ... Granny, Marietta, Vidalia, Waycross, Cordele, Macon, Jesup, Alma, Atlanta, Butch, Tammy, Jack and Jillian, Peter and Wendy, and howling at the end of rhinestone-studded, white leashes, Diamante and Cleopatra.
The crowd caught sight of her and instantly erupted into cheers, waving their arms, hooting and hollering ... making total spectacles of themselves.
Everyone except the cats.
And the minister in his long black robe.
And Dirk.
He stood at the end of the line, looking amazing in his tuxedo, his hands folded calmly in front of him, smiling at her with a face so filled with love that she nearly burst into tears.
She allowed it to wash over her, the sunshine, the ocean breeze, the beauty of the glistening water, the smell of the roses in her bouquet. She allowed it all to go straight into her heart—the shouts of happiness from her loved ones, the feel of her two dear friends’ strong hands supporting her from either side, walking her toward this most important moment of her life.
And best of all ... the pure joy on her man’s face as he watched her coming toward him.
“Oh, yes,” she told them. “I’m happy.” She took a deep breath, filling her heart with it all, to the brim, and then overflowing. “I am just so, so happy.”
“That’s wonderful, love,” John said, patting her arm.
“In fact,” she said, “I’m so darned happy that I’m about to burst right out of this dadgum corset.”
“Will you, Dirk,” the elderly minister asked, “take Savannah to—”
“Yes. I will. Absolutely. Positively. I will.”
The clergyman smiled. The assembled guests laughed. And Savannah looked up into the eyes of the man who, within moments, would be her husband, and knew he was the one she wanted, today and forever.
“For your lawfully wedded wife,” the minister continued. “To have and to hold from this day forth.”
To hold him ... in her heart ... in her arms. The thought flowed through her like Ryan’s and John’s fine, warm cognac.
“For better and for worse ...”
Dirk had seen her at her worst, she thought. He’d been there with her through PMS with its chocolate cravings, bloating, and crankiness. He’d seen her family squabbles and understood her fierce need for independence. The guy knew what he was getting into.
“For richer and for poorer ...”
They hadn’t known much about the “richer” business. “Poorer” they had down pat.
“In sickness and in health ...”
Stomach flu on stakeouts—they’d been there.
“To love and to cherish ...”
She’d always loved him. It had just taken a lot of growing to realize it, to trust the happiness it offered.
“For as long as you both shall live?”
Yes, for that long and then some.
“Yes, I do,” Dirk told the minister. Then he squeezed her hands, looked into her soul, and said, “I do, Van. I really, really do.”
She smiled, griped his hands tightly, and said, “Me, too, my love. Me, too.”
A few minutes later, after Savannah had given her vows and slipped Grandpa Reid’s ring onto Dirk’s finger, and he had placed the diamond band onto hers, the minister turned to the family and friends encircling them. He said, “And do those of you gathered here give your blessings to this marriage? And do you vow to Savannah and to Dirk your continued support and love?”
“We do!” was the resounding response.
“Then, by the authority invested in me by the State of California, I pronounce that they are husband and wife. Dirk, you may kiss your bride.”
He did.
Very well.
And though the multitude around them was shouting joyously, the seagulls overhead were squawking, and a wayward wave was rolling onto the beach and over their feet ... to Savannah, they were the only two people on earth.
And that was enough.
Chapter 26
“How does a newlywed couple get far, far away from her crazy family so that they can have a little privacy?” Savannah asked as they walked to the entrance of a motel that would probably be rated half a star.
“Let me guess,” he said. “They get on a ferry and go to the nearest island?”
“Hey, hey, you win the prize.”
He lifted one eyebrow and gave her a sexy grin. “Oh, goodie. I’m looking forward to collecting that.”
For a moment, they paused and looked off to their left, which afforded them a gorgeous, sweeping view of tiny, picturesque Santa Tesla Island, which lay just off the coast, due west of San Carmelita.
Across the water they could see the night lights of the California coastline. And to their right, at the very end of the island stood its crown jewel, the Santa Tesla Lighthouse.
For over a hundred years it had stood, casting its beam out across the waters to warn ships of the dangerous channel nearby. And Savannah thought it was one of the most romantic things she had ever seen.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
“I hope they give us a room where the light won’t shine in and keep me awake all night.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’ve been married to me for a whole”—she looked at her watch—“five hours, and I haven’t been able to reform that grumpy streak of yours?”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “Let’s go get a room and see if my mood improves.”
As they walked into the tiny lobby and looked around at the basic shabbiness of the place, he said, “Are you sure you want to spend our first night here? I’m sure we could score a better place if you wanna.”
“No,” she said. “This place has sentimental value.”
She thought back to when they had been investigating a case here on the island and had missed the last ferry home. They’d been forced to spend the night here together. And it had always been a secretly treasured memory for her.
“It’s not like we did anything here,” he said. “Other than sleep, that is.”
She turned and saw something akin to a scowl on his face. With Dirk you couldn’t always tell for sure. A lot of his expressions looked like scowls.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t even think to ask you ... Did you want to get a nicer place?”
He looked at her like she was some sort of alien species. “Savannah,” he said, “I’m a guy. Guys don’t care about ‘nicer.’ If it’s got a bed, we’re happy.”
She came out of the bathroom, wearing the beautiful white negligee that her sisters and Granny had bought for her. The soft chiffon flowed gracefully all around her, the floral lace and tiny pearls were strategically placed to accent her feminine curves.
Dirk was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing a pair of simple black pajama bottoms. His chest was bare.
Over the years, she’d seen his chest many times before. And the sight, nice as it was, had never caused her pulse to quicken like this. But then, she hadn’t been about to go to bed with him.
“You look gorgeous,” he said. “I like the gown. Better than those Minnie Mouse jammies I’ve seen you in.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said with a shy giggle.
On the desk and the nightstands, several pink votive candles flickered, lighting the r
oom with a soft, rosy glow.
“Where did you get the candles?” she asked.
“Brought ’em.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I had ’em in my suitcase.”
She smiled. “Nice touch.”
She looked over and saw that he had placed his red rose boutonnière on one of the pillows. “Oh, you darlin’,” she said. “That’s really sweet.”
“If it’s sweets you want”—he jumped up and rustled around in his suitcase for a minute—“I’ve got that covered, too.”
He produced a gold box of Godiva truffles and handed them to her.
“Boy, you are too much.”
“Nothing’s too much for you, Van.” He ran his hand down the sleeve of her nightdress. “I’m just so happy to be here ... with you.”
“Me, too.”
He took her hand and gently led her over to the bed.
“You wanna, um, relax ... or somethin’?” he asked.
“Yes, relaxing sounds nice.”
They awkwardly climbed onto the bed. Savannah lifted the boutonnière from her pillow and stuck herself with the pin. “Ouch,” she said, setting it on the nightstand.
He took her hand, looked at it, then put the injured finger to his lips and kissed it.
“Your hand’s shaking, Van,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” she said, feeling anything but okay. “I guess I’m just a little nervous.”
“Nervous? Why?” He laced his fingers through her hair and massaged the back of her neck. “It’s just me. You’re not afraid of ol’ Dirk, are you?”
“No. It’s just that ... we’ve waited so long for this and ...”
He cupped her face in his big, warm palm and traced the edge of her upper lip lightly with his thumb. “And what, sweetheart?”
She gulped. “And I ... I don’t think I could stand it if you were ... disappointed.”
He threw back his head and laughed. And the deep, male sound of it went through her, touching her warmly in intimate places.
“Savannah, my love,” he said, “you never fail to amaze me.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Sweetheart, it isn’t possible for you to disappoint me. I have no expectations.”
She looked up at him and said, “None?”
“Well ... okay a few.”
He kissed her, deeply and passionately, then said, “You don’t mind if I do that, do you?”
“Oh, no,” she said when she’d caught her breath. “Not at all.”
He chuckled and eased her gently back onto the bed, then leaned over her. “And would it be okay if I did this?”
He trailed one finger from her cheek, down her throat, to where the gown dipped and showed a bit of cleavage.
“Okay,” she replied.
Slowly, he untied the ribbon that held the front of the gown closed. But when he started to brush the satin aside, she put her hand over his and pulled it back up to her face.
Tears rushed to her eyes. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, that she was choking. She turned her face away from him and started to cry.
“Van ... honey ... what is it?” he asked, turning her face back to his. “Please, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
For what felt like a very long time to her, she fought the fear and the overpowering sense of shame and grief.
Finally, between gasping sobs, she managed to say, “I don’t want you ... to see ...”
“See what, honey?” He put his arms around her and held her close to his chest. “You’re a beautiful, beautiful woman, Savannah. You’ve always been so comfortable with your body. I love that about you. Why wouldn’t you want me to see you?”
“It’s,” she cried, “it’s the ... the scars.”
“The scars?” He pulled back and looked down at her. “What scars? Do you mean where you were shot?”
Hiccupping, she nodded.
“But, babe, I’ve already seen them. I saw them that day.” He kissed her cheek and then the other one. “Savannah, they were awful when they were open and raw and bleeding and—”
She felt a violent shudder run through his body. Then he said, “But they’ve got to be a lot better now. Please, let me see them. I really need to see them ... better.”
Gathering more courage than she’d ever needed to do anything in her life, she reached down and slowly pulled the fabric back, revealing the puckered red scar above her left breast.
He reached over and picked up the votive candle from the nightstand. Holding it near her shoulder, he bent his head and looked at it closely. “Oh, wow, Van! Honey, that looks great! I can’t believe how well it healed.”
“Really?” she asked tentatively.
“Are you kidding? Of course. Sweetie, it was a horrible, gaping wound. It’s all closed up now and healed over. It’s like a night and day difference. Are they all that good?”
She gazed up at him and knew he was telling her the truth as he saw it. She could see the joy and relief on his face. And it washed over her so powerfully that she began to cry again. Only this time with soul-healing happiness.
He bent his head, softly kissed the scar, and said, “Every time I see that, I’m going to think how strong my wife is, that she could survive something like that. And I’m going to think how lucky I am that I didn’t lose her that day. I’m the luckiest man in this world.”
She threw her arms around his neck and held him close, wetting him with her tears and loving him with all her being. “Thank you, Dirk,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
Finally, she released him. He pulled some tissues from a nearby box and wiped her eyes.
“Now,” he said, “are you going to let me see the rest?”
She nodded. “If you want to.”
He laughed and said, “Oh, baby. I want to. I really, really, really want to.”
“I love you,” she said as he pulled her body tight against his.
“I love you, too. You don’t know how much.”
“Oh, I think I can feel how much.” She giggled. “And I think you might be up, off and on, all night ... with or without that lighthouse shining in here.”
“Grrrr!”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by G.A. McKevett and Kensington Publishing Corporation
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011943219
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7823-4
First Hardcover Printing: April 2012
Buried In Buttercream Page 25