A Wedding in Maine

by Jen McLaughlin

  Yes, dear, he texted back.

  Shoving his phone away, he went into the office, waited around while Mrs. Mathers dug up the necessary paperwork about the land next to the inn for their pool. Jeremy foresaw years of fishing out raccoons and chasing away deer who wanted a swim, but whatever Chelsea wanted, he’d make happen. Even if it meant watching Mrs. Mathers hunt and peck on a keyboard for a good half hour.

  She’d looked like she was a hundred back when he’d been in high school and he’d seen her hobbling down the sidewalks of Main Street, and now she looked twice that age. It was a miracle she was walking.…

  Let alone working.

  “Ahh, yes,” she mumbled, head bent as she clicked on the mouse. “Here it is.”

  He leaned on the counter and glanced out the window. After this, he was off to meet Chelsea at the florist to discuss the boutonnieres for the wedding. The things he did for that woman he loved.

  As he watched, two men walked by his truck too slowly for comfort. He didn’t recognize them. They wore expensive clothes and shiny black loafers that looked out of place in Hudson, which was a small town filled with flannel and construction boots. They stopped behind his truck, partially obscured by the cab, with their heads lowered as they texted on their phones.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mathers,” he said distractedly, watching the two men. “Is there a lien on the property?”

  “I don’t believe so…there are a few notes on here, but you’ll have to reference the codes and see what they’re about yourself.” She frowned. “I’ll print everything out for you and give you an application to purchase the property in case you decide you want it. There’ve been a few offers already, but no acceptances. The owner is being picky about who he’ll sell it to, from what I can see.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be sure to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  The two men moved past his truck, disappearing around the corner of Main and Fourth Street, and Jeremy relaxed slightly. By the time Mrs. Mathers pulled up all the necessary forms and paperwork, it was close to an hour later. As he approached his truck, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He glanced around, trying to locate what was making him uneasy, but the street was empty, minus the regulars hanging around the coffee shop. They were mostly moms, chugging back coffee while their kids were in school. He turned and looked the other way, and stiffened when he saw the black sedan parked a few feet away. If he wasn’t mistaken…

  The two men sitting inside it were the same ones who’d checked out his truck.

  Looks like a fight had come to him.

  Grinning, he walked toward them, heart pumping, because he’d finally gotten close enough to shake down some assholes, and maybe get some answers. Yet when he approached the car, the passenger nudged the driver, and they peeled away from the corner, pulling an illegal U-turn. Jeremy watched them go, fists clenched, knowing he couldn’t catch them.

  Chapter 18

  I smiled nervously at the woman sitting across from me. She had blond hair, brown eyes, and a smile that told me she was as uncomfortable as I was. I knew how to cross-examine someone on the witness stand, but small talk was beyond me. Jeremy and I had a deal. I did the research, found the best person for the job, and he did all the schmoozing. Which is why he should be here, damnit.

  After a maintenance issue on the upstairs bathroom pipes cropped up, we canceled our original plans of going to a wedding show in Bangor and instead moved up our appointment with the photographer. However, the repairs on the pipes were taking longer than expected so I was left to, ugh, chat with this poor woman alone.

  Judging from the look on the other woman’s face, she could tell I wasn’t up for this. I forced my smile to go a little wider, and rested an elbow on my crossed legs. “So…Ms. Rollins—”

  “Please, call me Hannah,” she interrupted, smiling.

  “Okay. Hannah.” I smiled back. “So…you’re a photographer.”

  Hannah looked confused at my Captain Obvious question, but nodded enthusiastically anyway. “I am. I’ve been photographing weddings for three years now, and I specialize in outdoor weddings hosted at a smaller venue, like this one.”

  “Mmmhmm. Good. Excellent.” I scribbled down what was supposed to be notes for Jeremy, but ended up being a drawing of a stick figure holding a camera. I stopped drawing, studying her. She looked like a shrewd woman who wouldn’t take an opportunity to advance her own career for granted, so maybe I needed to be more straightforward. “Do you have much experience with shooting with a more…commercial frame of mind?”

  “Commercial? Yes, of course.” Hannah hesitated, her face still a mask of polite uncertainty. “This is for a wedding, though, right?”

  I smiled. “Yes. But…”

  “Would it help for you to know that I have tons of experience with advertising, too?” She pushed a book across the table toward me with two perfectly manicured fingers. I stared at it, but didn’t pick it up. Instead, I slid my chipped, barely polished fingers under my thighs. She was so composed. So perfect. And so pretty. “You’ll see the shots I’ve taken at some weddings in here.”

  “But have you ever shot a wedding that was as much an ad as it was a momentous occasion?” I asked, keeping my tone perfectly level.

  She blinked at me. “Um…no. What exactly do you mean?”

  “We’re the owners here, and while we’re getting married because we love each other, obviously, we also want to make sure that this wedding shows everyone how wonderful a venue this would be for their own special occasions. Therefore, we’re going to need good shots for the brochures. It would, in theory, provide a platform for both of us.”

  She dropped the mask, allowing that shrewdness to surface, and leaned closer. “Fantastic idea. Go on.”

  Her reply upped my excitement factor. “As you said, this is a smaller venue, so we want to be in a position where we can provide everything a bride would need for her dream wedding,” I said in a rush. “So we’re looking into contracting with local suppliers and craftsmen. If your photos are amazing and we decide to use them in our brochure, you could certainly be our top recommended photographer.”

  Her eyes lit with excitement. “Do you have your dress yet?”

  “What?” I’d just handed this woman a major career opportunity and she was, what, spot-checking my wedding planning? Guess I hadn’t found my girl in Hannah after all. “No. I have an appointment—”

  “What dress size are you?”

  I instinctively answered with my size, caught off-guard by her intrusive question, and she grinned like I’d just handed her a Pulitzer.

  “Perfect. You can wear my sister’s dress.”

  “I can find my own dress, but thank you.” I stood, forcing a tight smile. This interview was over. “Thank you for—”

  “No, you need to wear hers, and your fiancé will need a tux, and flowers. And…oh! A few guests for the background, too!”

  I eyed her nervously. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Rollins.”

  “No, wait, I’m sorry. I’m not being clear. If you want to do this right, we need to stage the shots ahead of time. We could do it out back, where you’re planning to have your own wedding, and wait for the best lighting to take the shots for the advertisement. Anything can happen on your wedding day, so it’s best to take these kind of shots in a controlled environment. I’ll make your inn look so amazing, people will be dying to come here.”

  Blinking, I stepped closer, finally impressed. “That’s brilliant. I—” The fire alarm shrieking cut me off, and I jumped, slapping my hands over my ears. After I recovered from the shock of the loud noise, I bolted toward the stairs. “Jeremy!”

  “I’m fine,” he called out. He went running by the top of the stairs, hair sticking up, shirt damp, sweat rolling down his cheek, fire extinguisher in hand. “Go outside and call 911!”

  I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed Hannah’s hand and my cell as I bolted outside. Smoke pillowed out of the window of the pink bedroom—my old bedroom�
��and I dialed frantically, my fingers shaking, because if my inn burned down…

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  Hannah glanced over her shoulder, her brow creased with worry.

  “There’s a fire—” I cut myself off, as Jeremy came through the front door, fire extinguisher still in his hand, waving frantically.

  “It’s out. It’s done. It’s over.”

  I tightened my grip on my iPhone. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He locked eyes with me, breathing heavily. “It’s out.”

  “Miss?” The dispatcher called out. “Are you in danger?”

  “No. I’m not. We had a fire, but my fiancé put it out. We’re fine.”

  After a few more assurances, we hung up.

  Jeremy spoke with Hannah, and shook her hand. She walked toward me, smiling at me as she approached, her eyes warm with compassion. “I’ll be back next Friday with the dress, if you’re still interested in having me. Your fiancé said he can have a tux by then, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some friends to come be fake wedding guests.”

  I nodded distractedly, studying Jeremy. He looked exhausted and pissed off. Ditto. “Sounds good. Thank you, Hannah.”

  She left, and Jeremy turned to me, opening his arms, like he always did. He was always there for me. My rock. I threw myself at him, holding on tight. When I heard that alarm go off, I’d been sure he had been hurt. I’d thought something had gone horribly wrong and he’d caught on fire. God, I don’t know. I hadn’t exactly been thinking logically in my panicked state. “Jeremy…”

  “I know. I’m fine. We’re fine. There was hardly any damage. It looked like a lamp shorted and sparked a flame.” He brushed his hand down the back of my head, smoothing my hair. “But…”

  “But we both know it wasn’t that,” I finished for him.

  He nodded, kissing my forehead as his grip tightened on me protectively. “Right. We know what this really was, even if we can’t prove it.”

  Yeah. Sabotage. That’s what it was but neither of us wanted to say it out loud.

  “The security alarm never went off, so I’m going to check the cameras and see what happened.”

  I winced, because, God, I was an idiot. “I disabled the system so the photographer could come in without knocking. I forgot to reset it.”

  “Chels…” he said, looking at me with narrow eyes.

  “I know.” I ran my hands down my face. “It was stupid. I won’t do it again.”

  He nodded, glancing toward the trees near the front of the driveway. “It’s all right. Let’s go inside before someone else comes along and catches us off guard.”

  I glanced up at the sky, following him as he caught my hand and urged me along faster. Everything felt wrong, like the sky was falling all around us, and there was no way to stop it, but I knew one surefire way to stave it off.

  And I was going to do it.

  Chapter 19

  As Chelsea walked down the stairs before him, he watched the gentle sway of her hips. She was so graceful. So strong in the face of a storm. She was like a steel pole in a hurricane, standing upright without bending…and just as damn stubborn. “What did you ask Paul to do? Your brother isn’t exactly the most levelheaded person in the—”

  “It’s nothing serious. It’s a small, slightly manipulative tactic my father will respond to. He’s the kind of man who responds to…to…intimidation, rather than pleas.” She kept walking, picking up her speed. She always did that when she didn’t want to answer a question, like she could outrun it, or him.

  “What did you do?” he asked cautiously. “And is it illegal?”

  Glancing over her shoulder at him, she didn’t meet his eyes, which unfortunately gave him all the answer he needed. “I just asked him to—”

  The front door burst open, and they both froze on the steps as the alarms blared in the inn. Paul stood there, looking up at Chelsea with wide eyes. “Did you seriously ask me to hire some thugs to kidnap Dad and isolate and torture him until he tells us what the Sullivans want and where to find it?”

  Jeremy’s jaw dropped. No wonder she didn’t want to tell him what crazy plan she’d concocted last night after the latest incident. “Jesus, Chels.”

  Chelsea marched the rest of the way downstairs and punched in the code that shut the alarms off before the cops were called. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m done playing games, and I’m sick of my inn, literally, being placed in the line of fire.”

  “I’m not kidnapping our father!” Paul said with exasperation laced in his voice. “What are we, trapped in an old-time mafia movie? Who the hell kidnaps their own father like that?”

  Chelsea pointed at herself. “Me. He refuses to give us answers, so I’m taking a page out of his own book. I’m not asking anymore. You need to do it.”

  Paul glanced at Jeremy, and they shared a long, commiserating look. “No, we don’t. I’ll get it out of him eventually. I’ve been working on him…legally.”

  She watched them closely, her lips pressed tightly together. “What the hell was that?”

  “What was what?” Jeremy asked immediately.

  “That look.” She gestured between him and her brother. “You guys don’t do that.”

  Paul shrugged. “Guess we do when you’re talking crazy.”

  “Someone set my inn on fire last night, Paul. Fire. I’m supposed to be focusing on my wedding, on my new start with Jeremy, and instead, someone is setting fires and attacking me when Jeremy isn’t home!” She grabbed Paul’s hand and didn’t let go. Jeremy saw Paul’s face soften at the touch. “I can’t play his game anymore. I just can’t.”

  Paul rubbed his face with his free hand, and let out a long, dragged-out sigh. “I can’t do this anymore, either. All I want is…”

  Chelsea squeezed his hand. “What?”

  “All I want is our family back together again. All of us. Happy. Talking.” He glanced at Jeremy, his cheeks going a little red. “Like you two are. I want that, too, but with Dad. You know how he is. We’ll get it out of him, sooner or later.”

  “He’s not just messing with the inn, Paul. He’s gambling with our lives.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Paul argued. “Dad’s always looked after us, in his own way, and he won’t let the Sullivans hurt us. He told me he really wants to be here for the wedding, to walk you down the aisle. To go legit, like you. Give him a chance—”

  “If he really wanted a chance, he’d give them what they want.” Chelsea crossed her arms. “You’re walking me down the aisle, not him.”

  Paul froze. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She lifted her chin. “He’s not welcome here. So kidnap him or don’t. But if he doesn’t fix this, and fix it now, I’ll never forgive him. And you’ll never get your happy family.”

  Jeremy saw the hurt cross Paul’s face, even though he hid it immediately. Clearing his throat, he touched her shoulder. “Chels…”

  Just as Paul opened his mouth to say something, a spray of water came down over their heads. It was the damn pipe he’d been working on yesterday when the fire broke out.

  Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, water dripping down his forehead and over his nose. “Looks like you have a leak. I’d offer to help, but it appears I’ve been given an ultimatum involving our father…so I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

  Then, without looking back, he walked out the door. Chelsea slammed it behind him and screamed a few obscenities about fathers and brothers, and pipes and water.

  And in his head, Jeremy silently echoed them as he bolted up the stairs.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, I sat at the dining room table with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart, watching Jeremy make our coffee. He’d been so supportive through everything. Silent when I needed him to be. Loud when I didn’t. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to deserve him, because the truth was, I didn’t deserve him. But I had him, and I was keeping him.

 
; Guess I was selfish like that.

  I was an O’Kane, after all.

  He slid the cup of coffee in front of me, and I caught it, my ring clinking against the cup again. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the thrill that sound gave me. I yawned and watched as he settled in across from me, resting his foot in between mine on the chair. He eyed me, his five o’clock shadow giving him an almost mysterious air. “You okay?” he asked, his voice still a little rough around the edges from sleep.

  I nodded, lifting my coffee to my nose and inhaling the vanilla aroma. “Just tired.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shot me a sexy grin. “Me, too. But at least the pipe is fixed.”

  “Until it’s not,” I muttered.

  “Hey.” He covered my knee with his hand under the table, locking eyes with me. “We’ve faced worse than a few busted pipes and a fire from a lamp. In the face of what we were fighting when we got back together, all of this is pretty damn normal—”

  “And being attacked in our own home?” I supplied helpfully. “Is that normal, too? Is that what our normal is going to be? Always being in danger?”

  He frowned, remaining silent. “No. It won’t always be this way.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I am,” he said, his voice steady. “And if that is our normal, if we’re constantly fighting some unknown danger, then so be it. We’ll do it together, and we’ll win, every damn time.”

  I swallowed. God, the man was good at inspirational speeches. He’d even made a believer out of me. As I reached for his hand, the phone rang, so I picked up the cordless receiver sitting on the table instead. “The McCullagh Inn, this is Chelsea, how can I help you?”