“Mitch and I have been trying to tell him that.” Lee nodded at the groom-to-be. “Without much success, I might add.”
Jake shrugged and scratched Cleo’s ear. “If I were about to marry Gentry, I’d hope my friends would make certain those last days of freedom were well spent.”
“Since you’re not about to marry her, maybe you should take your opinions and trot them over to the guest house.” With a quicksilver change of expression, Sonny stepped closer, warningly standing over Jake’s stooped position. “Or maybe you could bury them in that isolated cabin in Arkansas.”
“It isn’t big enough for my opinions, Harris.” Slipping his finger beneath the dog’s chin, Jake made a grab for the jewelry bag. Cleo was on her feet in an instant, weight balanced on her front legs as she held tenaciously to the drawstring bag. “Let go,” Jake said through gritted teeth. “Come on, Cleo, let go of the—”
The Labrador grappled for a better hold, losing ground and a good portion of the drawstring.
“What has that dog got in its mouth?” Sonny leaned over to assess the situation.
“Nothing.” Gentry tugged on his arm, but Sonny would not be moved.
“If you must be so unsociable, you could at least do it on the other side of the pool so I wouldn’t have to walk all the way around to bring you a drink.” Sydney arrived at the crease of the hat’s crown just as Cleo growled in earnest. “Pop sent me to tell you to mind your manners,” she said to Gentry.
“Give me the bag!” Jake’s voiced lowered to a frustrated threat.
“What’s in the bag?” Sydney asked.
“Isn’t that the pouch that came with those silver earrings I gave you for Christmas?” Sonny frowned. “How did the dog get it?”
Gentry knew she looked guilty. “I must have left it lying out.”
“You should be more careful,” was his response.
“Could somebody give me a hand?” Jake looked pointedly at Gentry and she reached for the end of the dangling drawstring, wanting to get the pouch away from the dog and Jake.
“Let me do it, darling.” Sonny elbowed her out of the way as he caught the string and gave it a yank.
Cleo shifted her weight, holding her own against the dual, but uncoordinated, effort. Her wagging tail continued to flop rhythmically from side to side in canine delight.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more than a pair of silver earrings in that pouch?” Mitch asked. “The way the dog’s acting, there could be a fortune in gemstones inside.”
“No precious jewels,” Jake said tightly, digging in his heels and pulling steadily on the drawstring. “Only some very expensive buttons.”
“Did you say buttons?” Pop and the others joined them in the indentation of concrete forming the hat’s crease. “There’re buttons in the bag?”
“On the count of three, Harris, pull as hard as you can. One, two, three!” Jake loosened his grip just enough to fool Cleo into shifting her balance toward Sonny. When she made a grab to get more of the cloth into her mouth, he seized the opportunity and jerked the drawstring. The bag ripped and buttons scattered like popcorn. The reflection of one shiny gold ring hit Gentry in the eye and she hoped against hope that she could get her hands on it before anyone else did.
Oblivious to anything but the game in play, tenacious Cleo pressed her sudden advantage, renewing her grip on the torn pouch even as she lunged to the side and took a broad jump into the pool. Jake let go the moment he saw her gather her haunches for her swan dive. Sonny wasn’t so quick. The drawstring was still clutched in his fist when Cleo hit the water…and jerked him in with her.
Gentry had her head down, looking for the wedding band, when she felt a hand on her back and realized, too late, she was being propelled into the pool. Jake, she thought as the chlorinated water swallowed her whole. And sure enough, his was the first face she saw when she bobbed to the surface. There was no mistaking that devious grin.
She sputtered and pushed the straggly hair from her eyes before grabbing the crisp, starched crease of his jeans and yanking him off balance and into the pool with her.
Chapter Four
“I certainly hope we found all the buttons.” Hillary wrapped a towel around her wet hair and twisted it, turban-style, on top of her head.
“If we didn’t, it wasn’t for lack of trying.” Sydney leaned over the edge of the pool to wring out excess water from the hem of her blouse. “I’ll never forget the look on Sonny’s face when Cleo pulled him off balance and into the pool.”
“You looked a little surprised yourself when Mitch picked you up and threw you in.” Heather retied the wet laces of her canvas shoes. “I’m just glad no one got mad. Even Sonny eventually cracked a smile. I saw him.”
Gentry had missed that. She’d been so preoccupied in looking for her wedding band, she couldn’t say with any certainty what had happened after the bag tore, spilling its contents in twenty different directions. The gold ring had glinted in the sunlight just before it disappeared somewhere in the center of the hat-shaped pool. After she’d jerked Jake into the pool, she’d dived for the bottom to retrieve the ring, but Sonny had assumed she was being pulled under by the weight of her nightshirt, or something equally ridiculous, and in a burst of foolish heroics, he’d employed his Red Cross training to save her. By the time she’d convinced him she was merely trying to retrieve the scattered buttons, everyone else was in the pool, fully clothed, fully soaked, and full of the silliness prompted by an impromptu pool party. When the pool cleared some forty minutes later, the ring was nowhere to be found.
“He may have smiled at some point,” Sydney commented. “But I’m willing to bet it wasn’t voluntary. He wouldn’t even play Marco Polo after Mitch persuaded him to get back in the pool. I hope you know what you’re doing, Gen. Being married to Sonny isn’t going to be very funny.”
“You’re such a poet, Syd.” Hillary peeled off her sodden cotton vest and slung it over the back of a deck chair. “Frankly, I thought it was cute when he suggested we should all get out of the pool and change into our swimsuits.”
“He was serious, Hillary. Couldn’t you tell?”
“No.” She considered that with a frown. “Are you sure he wasn’t making a joke? Gentry? Didn’t he mean that as a joke?”
“Of course,” she answered, although she couldn’t recall anything Sonny had said or done during the last hour. “How many buttons did we recover?”
“Jake said he counted eight, but Mitch thought there were only seven.” Heather walked to the cabana, with a squishing accompaniment from her soggy shoes. She picked up the torn jewelry pouch and carried it to where Gentry sat at one of the cabana tables, pensively staring at the pool. “Why don’t you count them again and see how many you come up with?”
“Thanks, Heather.” Gentry took the knotted pouch absently, her mind on the missing ring, her silly heart absurdly grieved by its loss. “It doesn’t matter. If we didn’t find all the buttons, we didn’t. I don’t really care.”
“But it’s a million-dollar dress,” Hillary pointed out. “Without all the buttons, it might not be worth as much.”
“With or without the buttons, no one is ever going to wear it, so what difference does it make?”
There was a pause in which each of the women glanced at her and looked quickly away. With a frustrated sigh, Gentry squared her shoulders and told herself to buck up. It wasn’t like she’d lost the fivecarat diamond Sonny had presented to her—for the second time—when they announced their most recent engagement. Jake’s wedding band should have been the first thing to go after she realized he wasn’t going to come after her, wasn’t going to call, or write, or want her back.
“I’m going in,” she said with a decisive nod. “We have to be ready to leave in an hour and a half and it will take me at least that long to wash the chlorine out of my hair. Anyone else ready to go inside?”
“We’ll sit in the sun another ten or fifteen minutes and dry out,” Sydney said, confiden
tly speaking for the other two as well. “You go on, take your time. You’re the bride and you can be late, if necessary. Sonny didn’t design a dress for you to wear tonight, did he?”
Gentry shook her head, unable to manage even a half smile in reply. “No. He bought a pearl gray sheath for me at that exclusive little boutique two doors down from the gallery. He saw it in the window and thought it would be perfect for tonight’s dinner party.”
“Doesn’t he think you’re capable of choosing an appropriate outfit?” Hillary asked with an edge of offended dignity. “Honestly, Gen, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been dressing yourself since long before Sonny Harris took an interest in fashion design. You never used to care what anyone thought about your taste in clothing.”
“I’ve matured,” she said flatly. “Sonny has been wonderful, considering the way I treated him two years ago. I couldn’t ask for a more understanding fiancé.”
“You could ask for one with a little better fashion sense, however.”
“Just because you don’t like him, Sydney, is no reason to belittle his tastes. As a matter of courtesy, please keep your opinions about Sonny to yourself and don’t feel you have to share them with me.”
Sydney looked startled by the harsh tone, but Gentry was in no mood to back down. She was going to marry Sonny. The least she could do was defend his taste in clothing…even if she privately agreed that his fashion sense could use some refining.
“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful, no matter who chose the dress.” Heather tried to bridge the tension with a conciliatory cheerfulness.
“Wait a minute.” Hillary’s blue eyes brightened beneath the terry-cloth turban. “I have just the outfit for you tonight. That leather ensemble I bought at Neiman Marcus last month would look fantastic on you, Gentry. When Sonny sees the contrast of your red hair against the black leather, he’ll forget he ever even saw another dress.”
“I’m wearing the pearl gray sheath.” Gentry tossed the remains of the pouch into Sydney’s lap. “But if one of you wants to sew the buttons on the wedding gown, you’re welcome to wear it. You know, if you rub the buttons, a genie might appear and grant you three wishes. Then you could all wear it.”
“The gown was meant for you.” Sydney offered the wrapped buttons to Gentry. “You’re the one who should wear it.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got all the magic I can handle. Dinner’s at eight. Cocktails at seven-thirty. The Harrises are sending a limousine for us at a quarter past seven, so don’t doze in the sun too long.” With that, she turned and walked into the house.
“All right, fellow Horsemen.” Sydney frowned thoughtfully at the lumpy jewelry pouch. “I say it’s our duty as bridesmaids to make sure Gentry puts on the magic wedding dress. Otherwise, we’ll have no excuse when she marries Sonny and turns into a redhaired replica of his mother. A pearl gray sheath, can you imagine?” She looked at the other two thoughtful faces. “Let’s see a show of hands. Are you with me?”
Hillary thrust her hand in the air. “I’m in.”
Two pairs of eyes turned expectantly on Heather, who wavered between a dislike of interfering and a steadfast belief in magic. “Do you think she’ll get mad at us?”
“Probably,” Sydney said. “But she’ll get over it. Think of the alternative…do you really want to live with the knowledge that, no matter what you do or where you go for the rest of your life, there will always be a picture of the three of us wearing rose petal pink and standing next to a redheaded bride in sequins?”
Heather’s hand shot into the air. “I say we steal her clothes and leave her with nothing to wear except the magic wedding gown.”
Sydney’s throaty laughter was replete with admiration. “For someone with such deeply held principles, you have a wonderfully devious mind.”
“Thank you,” Heather replied modestly. “Give me those buttons and let’s get down to the details.”
JAKE PACED TO THE WINDOW of the guest house and stared pensively across the precisely manicured lawn. If anyone at the Two-Penny Lodge had told him he’d be spending his vacation here, only a few yards from Gentry, he’d have thought they were fried to the tonsils. If he hadn’t learned a long time ago to steer clear of hard liquor, he would almost believe he was in the midst of a delusional hangover himself. Bracing his arms against the windowsill, he turned his head to look at the old steamer trunk someone had refurbished and placed in front of the sofa as a coffee table.
For him, the only interesting thing about the antique trunk was the small gold band lying on its polished black surface. When the glint of gold, reflecting a ray of sunlight, first caught his eye, he’d thought it was an earring. Or a brooch. Some bit of jewelry left in the pouch that had spilled out with the buttons to sink in the pool’s clear water.
But it wasn’t some bit of jewelry. It was Gentry’s wedding band. He’d known what it was the moment he spied it on the bottom of the pool, even before he checked the initials crudely scratched inside. What had him puzzled was what the ring was doing here. Oh, he knew how it had gotten to its position on the trunk. He’d tucked it in his pocket and brought it with him to the guest house after the wild, everybody-in-thewater free-for-all. He’d taken it from his pocket and laid it on the trunk before he showered and changed into fresh clothes. Then he’d sat and stared at it for a while. After that, he’d stared at it some more. And still he couldn’t come up with a good explanation for its presence in Gentry’s jewelry bag.
She’d dumped something out and into her drawer before she tossed the pouch to him. He’d watched her do it. So why hadn’t she removed the ring? Had she meant for him to see it? Or had she forgotten it was there?
Turning from the late-afternoon sunlight beyond the window, he returned to the striped damask chair and stared at the wedding band again. She could have kept it as a reminder of the biggest mistake of her life, he supposed. But despite the brevity of their relationship, he knew her habits, and he didn’t believe she would keep any reminder of the failure their marriage had been. Perhaps she’d put it in the drawer without thinking and forgotten about it.
Possible, he supposed, but not likely. She’d been angry when she left him. Since she hadn’t bothered with a response to his reconciliation attempt, it had been patently clear that her anger had still been running strong at that point. And when Gentry was angry, she didn’t forget. He found it hard to believe she could have tolerated the mere thought that any object connected with him was tucked away in her chest of drawers.
Picking up the ring, he slipped it on his little finger, where it lodged just below the first knuckle. Gentry had been as proud of that gold band as if he’d given her a diamond half the size of California. He’d promised to take her shopping for a more appropriate wedding ring as soon as the summer season at the lodge was over. She hadn’t seemed to mind, had told him on more than one occasion she was quite content with her simple gold band…although she wanted their names and wedding date engraved inside. He’d obliged with the point of his pocketknife, etching on the inside of the band an imperfect G linked to a less perfect J. He supposed it had been his way of marking the plain ring as unworthy of her, his heavy-handed way of saying she deserved so much more. He wanted her to have more…the kind of diamond engagement ring and matching band she would have received from Harris, the kind of set she’d be proud to show off to her friends.
As if that had really mattered. By the time the summer was gone, so was Gentry.
But now, here was the ring. Like a souvenir given up as lost and then suddenly, unexpectedly discovered. And with its return, he faced an unsettling truth. He’d given up his marriage too easily, written it off as if it were a bad debt, said to hell with it, and conceded defeat without a fight. The fact amazed him now that he thought about it. Why had he let her leave? And why hadn’t he done whatever it took to bring her back?
The answer eluded him, like a message held up to a mirror, with all the letters reversed and unreadable. Sitting back in the chair, he pro
pped his feet on the glossy black trunk and held the ring up to the waning daylight. Maybe the why of it wasn’t important anymore. Maybe the question he needed to concentrate on was what the plain gold band meant to him now. And what, if anything, it still meant to Gentry.
He glanced at the clock. Gentry and her entourage would be leaving for the party any minute now. Two years ago, Sonny Harris had unwittingly invited Jake to another party, not knowing that his gallery’s newest customer had an ulterior motive in accepting the invitation. This time, Harris hadn’t been so trusting. He’d made it unmistakably clear that Jake wasn’t invited and wouldn’t be welcome.
He glanced across at the other damask chair where Cleo was draped like a rag doll. She snored softly and her front legs twitched with her dreaming. “Hey, Cleo,” Jake said. “How would you like to go to a party?”
The dog opened her eyes and her tail thumped once against the chair arm.
“We weren’t invited, you understand, and crashing this particular party may involve some fancy footwork.”
She lifted her head and her tail thumped with interest.
“Okay, then. Let’s do it. Just remember who you came with and don’t go sidling up to the first person who offers you something to eat.”
Her tail stopped wagging.
“Well, okay, if all goes well, I’ll make sure you get a juicy reward. Something with some meat on it.”
She jumped from the chair and sat adoringly at his feet. As he reached out to pet her, the ring on his little finger stole a last ray of light from the setting sun and reflected it straight to his heart as hope.
Gentry’s wedding band, her souvenir of their shortlived marriage, was the only party invitation he required.
“MAY THE YEARS BRING you happiness.” The toast made the round of tables at The Silver Palm Country Club, which had been rented for the night by Mr. and Mrs. Milton Harris to honor their son and his brideto-be.
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