“Thank you. I want to give them the most magical wedding they can imagine. This will be wonderful.”
“You have to let us help you decorate. Between the Giving Hope gala and all the weddings around here lately, we’ve become sort of experts at throwing parties.”
“Okay. Great.” She cleared her throat. “I want to start early in the morning. The earlier the better, no later than eight.”
“Perfect. We’ll be there. Riley’s working tomorrow, so I’ll probably have Emma. The older kids will be with their dad. I hope you don’t mind. She’s a really good baby.”
“No. I don’t mind.”
Claire unlocked the case and pulled out the wedding dress with a sort of reverence he might have found amusing under other circumstances.
“You hold it and I’ll zip it in,” Claire said.
Genevieve took it. “It really is an exquisite dress. The beading takes it over the top. I knew it would.” She touched the edge of the bodice. “You did a really beautiful job, Claire.”
“I’m still sorry I didn’t get the chance to see you wear it down the aisle,” Claire said, swooping the last bit of material inside the bag and zipping it tight.
“I’m not,” Genevieve declared. “Sawyer Danforth was a womanizing jerk. If I had married him, I don’t think I would have liked myself very much. At least not as much as I’m beginning to now.”
Claire smiled broadly and hugged Genevieve, dress and all. In that moment, he wanted to kiss Claire Bradford McKnight right on the lips for being the kind, generous person she was—exactly what Gen needed right now.
“So we’ll see you tomorrow bright and early,” Claire said, waving as they headed out.
The snow had begun to fall in earnest while they were in the store and he imagined Gen was grateful the dress was protected by the zippered bag.
She didn’t take either of his arms this time, too busy carrying the dress.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said.
She gave a soft laugh. “Isn’t it funny how the things we dread never turn out as poorly as we imagine?”
Sometimes they were worse—far worse—but he didn’t want to ruin her little philosophical moment by being such a downer.
“I guess I’d better get up to the recreation center. I told Eden and Mac I’d be back for the afternoon of skiing.”
“And I have to find Jenna and have her try this on so I can make any necessary alterations tonight.”
“You?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Yes, I can sew. It happens to be a necessary skill for an interior designer. Grandma Pearl taught me when I was a girl. She was always patient with me. Even when I had to redo a stitch a half-dozen times, she would never raise her voice or call me stupid.”
Who had called her stupid? he wondered. They reached her car before he had a chance to ask.
“Thank you for coming with me. You gave me courage I couldn’t find for myself.”
He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and drew his thumb down her cheek. For just an instant, the wonder of skin on skin overwhelmed him. He suddenly missed his other hand fiercely, deprived forever of the chance to touch her completely.
“You’ve got more strength than you see, Gen.”
She leaned her face into his hand for just an instant— very much like Trey had done with Jenna—then she stepped away.
“I hope I’ll have enough,” she murmured, rather cryptically, before reaching into the pocket of her coat for her keys.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Genevieve plumped the bow on one last silver ribbon and stepped back to admire her handiwork, shaking her fingers out to ease the ache of the repetitive motion.
The room looked like something out of a fairy tale, all silver and blue and magical. After conferring with Jenna and Trey, they had decided to have the ceremony itself in front of the huge wall of windows that overlooked the mountains and river. She had bordered the windows with two of the trees from Mary Ella’s wedding decorations, each bare branch covered in yards and yards of twinkly lights. The mantel of the huge riverrock fireplace glowed with evergreens, silver and blue ornaments and elegant silvery branches.
The rows of chairs angled to watch the ceremony had been adorned with elegant silver and blue ribbons entwined with sprigs of evergreens. In one corner, the various colored ornaments on the large Christmas tree she had already decorated once in here had been swapped out with only ornaments matching the rest of the theme—huge blue ornaments as big as bowling balls, silvery icicles, a few crystal snowflakes.
It was truly a winter wonderland.
“Okay, what is missing?” she asked the room in general.
Her large crew consisted of Mary Ella and Maura Lange, Claire McKnight, Alex, Charlotte, Eden, Pam and the wives from the program. Jenna’s mother, Patty, who had flown in from Virginia on the last flight into Stapleton the night before, had wanted to help but Genevieve insisted she stay with Jenna to help with her hair and makeup.
Those gathered, though, paused in their various labors to look around.
“I can’t see a thing wrong,” Mary Ella declared.
“It’s going to be exquisite when we’re done, Genevieve,” Claire said. “I can’t believe you put this all together in only two days. It appears as if it was years in the planning.”
“I couldn’t have done it without all of you—and without Mary Ella’s decorations.”
“You have such a gift for throwing things together,” Tonya Brooks said. “I can’t even figure out where to hang my family pictures in our place. Every time we were transferred to a new base, it was the same dilemma.”
“I guess we know who to put in charge of the decorations committee for the next Giving Hope gala,” Maura said.
She should quickly tell them that by the time the next Giving Hope Day rolled around—held in early June each year—she would be on another continent, probably decorating tiny Parisian apartments. The words clogged in her throat. She only wanted to savor this success, not think about leaving.
The past two hours had been…amazing. The women had rushed in with hugs and energy. They had laughed with her, chattered about everything under the sun and worked hard together to create something beautiful and memorable for a couple most of them didn’t even know.
“What’s left?”
“Only arranging the table decorations for the luncheon,” she said.
The six eight-top tables had been set out on the other side of the fireplace. As she was demonstrating how she wanted the tablecloths she had hastily sewn overnight, a familiar figure came inside the room and stood rather uncomfortably in the doorway.
Genevieve’s voice trailed off and she stared. After a frozen moment, she hurried over.
“Mom! What are you doing here?”
Laura looked around at the decorations. “We were supposed to go to brunch this morning, remember? You were going to meet us at Le Passe. Your father and Charlie are still there.”
Her stomach dived. “Oh. Oh, my word. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. I should have called you.”
“Yes. You should have.”
Between working on the house and filling her community-service hours at A Warrior’s Hope—and now organizing a wedding in forty-eight hours—she had barely given her family a thought. “How did you know where to find me?”
“When you didn’t answer your cell phone, I was worried about you. I was about to go to Pearl’s house to see if you had passed out from the wallpaper-glue fumes or something when Harry and Jackson showed up at the restaurant. When your father asked where their wives were, imagine our surprise when Harry told us Mary Ella and Maura were here helping our daughter decorate for a wedding.”
Her mother gave one of her little sniffs that could mean a hundred different things. Disdain. Distaste. Indifference. In this case, she had the sudden, startling insight that her mother’s feelings were hurt at being excluded.
Was it possible that Laura felt as isol
ated and alone as Genevieve did? She saw a flash of something there, just a tiny hint that made her wonder if her mother wore her social position as a shield to keep everyone away.
“Laura. Hello, my dear.” Mary Ella stepped up and brushed her cheek against Gen’s mother’s.
“Mary Ella. How are you?”
“I’m great. Thank you. Look at the fantastic job your daughter has done here. It’s all been her. She’s incredibly talented. Did you know she sewed the tablecloths herself last night? You must be so proud of her.”
“I… Yes. Of course we are. We always have been. I just have one little question. Who is the happy couple, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He’s one of the guests at A Warrior’s Hope, a young man from Alabama,” Genevieve answered. “She is a schoolteacher from Georgia. They’re very much in love.”
She didn’t tell her mother about her role in bringing Trey and Jenna together. Perhaps she would someday— but she did have one confession she couldn’t avoid.
“Mother, she’s going to wear my wedding gown.”
Laura jerked her gaze from the decorations toward Genevieve. “I thought it was still at String Fever.”
“No. I have it. Actually, Jenna has it. I gave it to her.”
She waited for her mother to make some cutting comment, something about irresponsible, thoughtless benevolence. Instead, Laura surprised her.
“Just as well,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “What else could you have done with it? Sell it, I suppose, but that’s about all. It would have been tacky to wear it when you marry someone else.”
That question was fairly moot now. How could she ever marry anyone now? No other man could possibly compare to Dylan.
“You’re not angry?”
Laura shrugged. “Why should I be angry? It’s your dress. You can do as you want with it.”
Okay, had she awakened in some alternate universe? First, all the women in Hope’s Crossing were being so kind to her, laughing with her, making admiring comments about her flair for decorating. Now her mother was showing remarkable understanding.
Further shocking her, Laura looked around at the little groups of women scattered throughout the room. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’m…sure we could use an extra pair of hands.”
Mary Ella stepped forward. “Laura, dear, you have such beautiful handwriting. Why don’t you help me make place cards for the tables?”
“I have always prided myself on my cursive.”
Her mother followed Mary Ella. Genevieve gazed after her for only a second—all the time she could spare. The alternate-universe theory was seeming more credible by the second.
What were the chances she could stay there? all the predIctIons came true. It was a truly beautiful ceremony, with a handsome groom and a stunning bride. The love between the fragile-looking Jenna and the damaged soldier was a palpable force that seemed to encircle them, binding them tightly together.
Trey actually stood for the ceremony with the help of his forearm crutches, insisting he wasn’t going to take his own wedding sitting down. The sight of him struggling valiantly to his feet before the ceremony even began and standing erect and proud was the first moment Gen cried.
All right. The second. The first had been when Dylan had walked in—without his ever-present eye patch and wearing his prosthetic.
He looked so very different, she couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. His left eye drooped slightly more than the right and she could see a network of scars. After all this time of seeing him with the black patch, the absence of it left her disoriented.
He did look gorgeous in a suit and tie. He must have figured out how to tie a Windsor—or found someone to help him. His sister, probably. She was aware of a tiny spasm of pain that he hadn’t asked her.
He had given her a brusque nod then slipped into a back row, next to his father and Charlotte and Spence, and then the music started.
Trey had asked Jason Reid to stand up with him, and the sight of two handsome warriors in hastily rented tuxedos—courtesy of Spence, she learned—touched her deeply, especially as she looked around the room at Pam and the others and thought of all they had endured.
While the small string ensemble Spence had also arranged played Pachelbel, the little Brooks girls came in, adorable in matching blue dresses with faux white fur around the wrists and hem. They joyfully skipped up the aisle, scattering glitter and tiny crystals out of winter-white baskets, and then Jenna came in on her mother’s arm, glowing with joy and looking absolutely breathtaking in a gown that could have been designed just for her.
When they exchanged vows—Trey in a gruff voice he had to clear a few times to get the words out and Jenna with starry-eyed happiness, Genevieve had to fight back a sob.
Now, the ceremony over, the guests milled around with champagne glasses and small plates of delicious little bites hastily provided by several restaurants in town while the string ensemble played elegant music in the background.
Everything had gone off without a hitch. Maybe she should think about going into the party-planning business instead of interior design. She definitely had a knack.
“Genevieve.”
She turned at her father’s voice. “Mother. Dad. It’s really nice of you to come.”
She couldn’t have been more shocked when she had seen them walk into the room in time for the ceremony earlier. That alternate-universe theory again…
Her father reached in to brush a kiss on her cheek. “It’s the first wedding at the city’s new recreation center. It’s only right that the mayor and his wife attend.”
She tried not to roll her eyes at his pompous tone. As much as she loved him, William could certainly be puffed up in his own importance.
“Mother, thank you for pitching in this morning. We needed every single volunteer to make this happen.”
Laura preened a little. “If that’s the only chance I have to spend a little time with my only daughter, I’ll take what I can find.”
She squashed down her twinge of guilt. “Everyone is leaving tomorrow. I only have to help clean up after they go and then my community-service hours are finished. I should be free on Christmas Eve. Are we having dinner, like always?”
Her mother nodded. “Actually, we’re doing something different this year. We’ve invited guests. Larry and Joan Billings. Their sons are spending the holidays with their in-laws this year. Oh, and your father has a young new associate in his law firm and he’s all alone this holiday season. We thought the two of you might hit it off.”
Perfect. Without asking, her parents had decided to start setting her up with eligible men—and on Christmas Eve, no less. She could imagine few things more miserable. She supposed marrying her off to some upand-coming associate of her father’s was one way for them to make sure she stayed out of trouble and didn’t rack up more debt.
She could endure for one night. They would find out soon enough that she was close to selling the house and leaving Hope’s Crossing for good.
Out of the corner of her gaze, she spied Dylan speaking with his father. Again, she had that disorienting shift at seeing two blue eyes in that rugged face.
When Harry Lange approached at that moment to greet her father, she seized the diversion as the perfect chance to escape. “Thank you again for coming. Will you excuse me for a moment?”
She walked away, fully aware her parents were watching after her. “Dermot,” she said when she reached the pair. “Your tarts are a huge hit. Thank you!”
He gave her an embrace and kissed her cheek. “You’re very welcome, my darling. You throw a good party.”
“This was a team effort. Everybody pitched in.”
“I’ve heard otherwise. Charlotte was telling me how you were up all night sewing things, making little gewgaws, fixing wedding dresses. Sounds to me like a one-woman show.”
“Charlotte exaggerates.”
“She has been known to,” Dermot said
, “but I think in this case she was speaking truth. And you look beautiful doing it. Doesn’t she look beautiful, son?”
That muscle she had once pressed her mouth to twitched along Dylan’s jawline. “Stunning,” he murmured.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
She started to ask if they were staying for the dinner being catered by Brazen when Katherine Thorne came over. “Apparently, they’re running out of tarts. Alex sent me over to ask if you have more.”
To Gen’s amusement, color soaked Dermot’s cheeks. “Oh, yes. I brought three more trays. I can fetch them.” “Thank you.” Katherine smiled, which only made
Dermot flush more. “I’ll help you.”
The two of them walked off, looking completely adorable together.
“Speaking of exaggeration, I thought you were joking about your dad and Katherine.”
He looked after his father, his expression slightly amused. “No. Both of them are obviously interested in the other, but neither will make the first move.”
“Maybe they just need a push.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no. Get that thought out of your head right now. One success does not make you the town matchmaker, Gen.”
“You have to admit, it was a spectacular success.”
“Yes. But Pop apparently likes to move at his own pace, which is just about as fast as a snail on sedatives. If you step in, you’ll only embarrass him.”
She watched Dermot and Katherine for a moment, mostly to get her racing heartbeat under control, then she turned back to Dylan.
“You didn’t wear your eye patch.”
That muscle flexed again. “Somebody implied I was hiding behind it. I figured maybe it was time.”
“You look good. Really good.”
He made a face. “It feels strange. Kind of naked after all these months.”
She flashed him a look, trying to force her imagination not to go there. Pulling off his jacket, loosening that tie, baring all those muscles…
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