She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him again, knowing he needed time to compose himself. “So,” she said with forced brightness, “what do you say I take this here pie into the kitchen and have Miss Miller put the proper topping on it? After all, if she’s going to hang out around here, she needs to learn my daddy likes ice cream on his pecan pie, not whipped cream.”
He gave her a mock scowl. “Are you trying to take care of me, young lady?”
“Sorry.” Laura bit her lip, but let laughter dance in her eyes. “Maybe we could take it into the kitchen together?”
“On one condition. That you call my gal Ellie.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She says being called Miss Miller makes her feel like an old maid.”
“Oh.” Laura refrained from pointing out that Miss Miller was an old maid. Although seeing the twinkle in her father’s eyes, she wondered how long that status would last. “Ellie it is,” she agreed, and rose with her hand held out.
The moment his hand slipped into hers, a sense of rightness settled over her. No matter how many years they’d lost, he’d always be her daddy, and some part of her would always be his little girl.
—
Brent cursed when he recognized the sound of a second cylinder misfiring, followed by a third and then a fourth. The first one had started popping shortly after his last fill-up, outside of Memphis, where he’d apparently bought some corrupted gas. Any hope that the fuel injectors would magically unplug themselves died when the car lagged as if hitting a wall of water. He took his foot off the gas pedal and let the Porsche roll onto the shoulder of the highway.
Getting out, he slammed the door and went around back to check the engine compartment. Nothing appeared to be wrong; all the fluid levels looked fine. He stared at the engine, knowing it had to be the injectors. Which meant the whole fuel system would need to be cleaned by a competent mechanic.
Slamming the hood, he glanced up and down the deserted highway. According to the sign he’d passed a few miles back, he was still hours away from Little Rock. Telephone lines stretched along the road, disappearing into the distance with little else to break the horizon but some hills and trees. Overhead, a vulture circled in the cloudless sky.
Returning to the car, he snatched up the cell phone and road map. The closest town was little more than a dot on State Highway 70, which ran parallel to the interstate he was on. A moment later, directory assistance patched him through to Earl’s Auto Shop.
“Yello,” a man answered on the other end of the line. In the background, Brent heard children screaming. A woman hollered, “Carter, you hit your sister with that Mutant Ninja Turtle sword one more time, I’m gonna Ninja you, you got that?”
“Excuse me.” Brent frowned. “Is this Earl’s Auto Shop?”
“No, but this here’s Earl. What can I do ya for, mister?”
“I’m broken down out on I-40 and need a tow.”
“Well thankye Jesus, there is a God!” the man announced with feeling.
“Honey?” the woman in the background called. “That ain’t a call coming through, is it?”
When Earl answered, his voice sounded distant, as if he’d dropped the phone to his chest. “Yeah, baby, I’m real sorry about this, but we’re gonna have to leave your momma’s right away.”
“But Eeeaaarl,” the woman whined over the screaming of children and the barking of a dog. “You promised this year we could stay and visit all Thanksgiving Day.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Earl said unconvincingly. “But I got me a motorist out on the interstate that needs a tow. You tell them kids to say good-bye to all their cousins now and get ‘em loaded in the truck. I’ll be right there.”
“See, Marlene,” another woman said, “I told you not to marry yourself no tow-truck driver. Every time you come to visit, he’s rushing ya right back out the door.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Earl said to Brent. “Can you tell me where you’re at?”
Brent glanced around. “Try the middle of nowhere.”
“Yeah, there’s plenty of that hereabouts. What was the last exit you saw?”
After a few minutes, Earl assured Brent he knew right where he was. “You just sit tight. I’ll be there before you know it.”
Hanging up, Brent slumped against the car, weary beyond belief. He’d driven straight through the night, stopping occasionally on the side of the road to rest his eyes. Only, every time he drifted toward sleep, images of Laura danced through his mind: the way she looked laughing, smiling, and flushed with passion—or how she’d looked with tears in her eyes as she’d told him good-bye. But the image that always jarred him awake was the one of her standing at the front of a church dressed in white as she gazed up at Greg Smith with adoring eyes as the preacher pronounced them husband and wife. He’d see himself charging into the church—too late. Always too late. Shaking his head, he wiped a hand over his face to scrub away the vision. The scratch of his whiskers reminded him he hadn’t bathed or shaved since yesterday morning. He was even still wearing his suit, minus the overcoat, which he’d shed after leaving the Tennessee mountains.
He looked up and down the deserted highway, then glanced at his watch. Four twenty-eight. He had forty-seven hours and thirty-two minutes to break up Laura’s wedding and convince her to marry him instead. Plenty of time. Tipping his head back, he grinned at the vulture that still flew in lazy circles overhead. “Buzz off, pal. I ain’t dead yet.”
Chapter 27
By noon on Friday, Brent had decided the world is at its darkest just before it goes completely black. Standing in the doorway to Earl’s garage, he stared at the mechanic in disbelief. “What do you mean, you can’t fix my car until Tuesday?”
“Fuel filter needs replacing,” Earl said, wiping his hands with a red rag. “I’ll have to order one from Little Rock. Soonest they can get it here is Tuesday.”
“Look, you don’t understand,” Brent said. “You have to fix the car today, because I have to get to Beason’s Ferry by four o’clock tomorrow.”
“Oh, I understand,” Earl answered. “But, you ain’t gonna make it anywhere in this car until Tuesday.”
“Fine.” Rubbing a hand over his face, Brent glanced about the yard of the auto shop for some alternative form of transportation. The place looked even more depressing than when he’d first arrived, but then yesterday he’d been too exhausted to take note of his surroundings.
Now that he’d caught up on his sleep, he couldn’t quite believe he’d spent the night in a broken-down RV behind an auto shop. Not that he’d had much choice. The town that had been a dot on the map was even smaller in reality. At least he’d had a chance to shower, shave, and change into something more casual than a suit.
Not that any of that mattered. All that mattered was getting to Laura. To do that, he needed a car. He cast one apologetic look at his Porsche, hating the thought of leaving such a prize in Earl’s hands. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures. And he had never felt more desperate in his life.
“All right.” He reached for his wallet. “If my car can’t make it, what kind of transportation do you have around?”
“You mean to buy?” Earl laughed as he tucked the oily rag into the back pocket of his overalls. “What does this look like, a car lot?”
“Not exactly,” Brent answered as diplomatically as possible. The place looked like a junkyard, but surely even junkyards had vehicles for sale. “I’ll buy anything with wheels that runs.”
“Tell you what, mister,” Earl said. “I ain’t got anything to sell ya, but I do have I car I’ll loan ya till yours is fixed.”
“You do?” Brent stared in disbelief. “All right, although I’ll be happy to pay you—”
“Nawh, you save your money. ‘Sides, I owe you for rescuing me from the Thanksgiving-Day-from-hell.” Earl led the way to the office to get the keys. “Not that this car’s much to look at, mind you, but she’ll get ya where you’re going.”
—
&
nbsp; At five minutes to four on Saturday, Laura slipped the string of pearls she’d inherited from her mother around Melody’s neck. “Here you are—something borrowed.” Glancing up, she caught her friend’s reflection in the mirror. “Oh, Melody, you look just like a 1950s movie star.”
“That was the general idea.” Melody twirled around, then struck a Jane Russell pose in the tea-length ivory gown. “After all, if one has to play to a conservative crowd, one ought to do it with a statement.”
Laura laughed, for Melody definitely made a statement in that dress. They’d found it in a vintage clothing store that catered to the theater set in Houston. While Laura had had some doubts upon entering the store, she had to admit the final result was stunning.
The soft peach maid-of-honor dress she’d found complemented Melody’s off-the-shoulder tea-length style. That morning they’d ventured to Betty’s Beauty Shop to have their hair sculpted into finger waves that fit the time period of the clothes.
Gazing at herself in the mirror, Laura imagined she looked a bit like Grace Kelly, very classy and elegant. She wondered what Brent would think if he saw her dressed like this. The thought brought the usual pang to her chest. The pain of losing him hadn’t lessened over the past months. If anything, it had grown worse.
“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask what my ‘something blue’ will be,” Melody said.
“What?” Laura looked over her shoulder and saw her friend’s exasperated look. “Oh. Sorry.” She tried to paste on a bright smile, but Melody only shook her head.
“When are you going to quit this nonsense and call the man?”
Laura busied herself with the bouquets that waited on the minister’s desk. The office they’d used for changing suddenly seemed far too small. “We’ve been through this before, Melody.”
“And you’re still being stubborn!” Melody growled in frustration. “Didn’t making up with your dad teach you anything?”
“Certainly.” Laura frowned as she straightened a rosebud. “It taught me that sometimes you have to let people stand on their own two feet rather than doing everything for them.”
“And what about taking the first step to reconcile your differences with people who are too mule-headed to admit they’re wrong?”
The tears that never seemed far away made Laura’s throat ache. “I can’t, Melody,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s one major difference between my father and Brent.” She took a slow breath. “You see … my father loves me.”
“And you think Brent doesn’t?” Melody demanded incredulously.
“If he did, he’d have tried to contact me at least once these last two months.” She looked at Melody, silently pleading. “Don’t you think?”
Melody shook her head. “What I think is that the man is probably hurting every bit as much as you are.”
Laura turned away as guilt joined the sorrow in her heart. Could Melody be right? Could Brent be hurting, too? But if he was, why wouldn’t he call? “I’m sorry, Mel. This is the last thing we should be discussing on your wedding day.”
“Oh, Laura.” Melody’s shoulders slumped. “The best wedding present you could give me is a promise to call Brent, just to see if getting back together is possible.”
“I can’t, Melody. I just can’t.”
“You’re that convinced he’ll say no?”
Laura nodded.
“You know what?” Melody propped her hands on her hips. “All these months, I’ve listened to you say what a wonderful man Brent is, if only he’d believe in himself. Well, maybe that’s what you need too, Laura, to believe in yourself. You’re an incredibly kind, intelligent, fun person who deserves very much to be loved. Who is loved. By a lot of people. Including Brent.”
Laura wanted desperately to believe her. Before she could say as much, a knock came at the door.
“Is the bride ready?” the minister called.
Melody jumped as if she’d been pricked by a pin. “Oh, my gosh, is it time already? Do I look all right?”
“You look great,” Laura assured her, and set her own sorrow aside to concentrate on her friend’s happiness. “In fact, you look stunning. So what do you say we get you married?”
—
Brent tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He should have called. The thought repeated in his mind for at least the hundredth time as he headed down I-10, pushing the seventy-six Ford Pinto for everything it was worth—which was about two cents. The driver’s side window wouldn’t close, and baling wire kept the door attached. Still, if he hadn’t had that flat, he’d have made it with time to spare. Glancing at his watch, he realized the wedding would start any second, and he was a good ten minutes from the First Methodist Church.
If only he’d called. What he had to say, though, was best said in person—not over the phone with him stranded on the side of the road trying to change a flat tire. Looking up, he saw the city limits sign, and relief washed over him. Perhaps he’d still make it before the service was over; before the minister pronounced Laura another man’s wife.
“Come on, baby,” he chanted to the car as he coaxed it to go a little faster. Just then, a flicker in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He looked up and saw flashing red and blue lights. “Shit!”
He’d never be able to outrun a sheriff’s deputy in a broken-down Pinto. Although, he realized, he didn’t have to outrun the patrol car—he just had to keep going until he reached the church. Then whoever was behind him could write him every ticket in the book, or throw him in jail, for all he cared. As long as he stopped the wedding first.
Bracing his hands on the steering wheel, he hit the off ramp into town without letting up on the gas. The sirens came on as the sheriff’s car closed the gap between them. Brent looked in the mirror long enough to recognize Sheriff Baines behind the wheel. Great, he thought. He probably would get arrested. With grim determination, he took the turn onto First Street with tires squealing. One way or another, he would make it to the church.
—
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered today in the eyes of the Lord to join together this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony…”
Laura’s eyes prickled as she watched Melody and Greg standing together, facing the altar. For all Melody’s appearance of calm over the past weeks, she now shook so hard, her dress trembled.
“Marriage is not a state to be entered into lightly,” the minister continued in reverent tones that rang to the polished oak rafters. Chancing a sideways peek, Laura found that Greg, who’d been a wreck for days, stood straight and solid, without a hint of nervousness. When he looked at his bride, his eyes filled with such certainty and pride, Laura knew she’d never make it through the service dry-eyed.
No, marriage was not something to be entered into lightly, or to push someone into before they were ready. But when the time was right, nothing was more wonderful to behold.
Loneliness settled about her like a well-worn cloak as she wondered if she would ever know this joy firsthand. She thought back to what Melody had said. Could she really get back together with Brent? Did she only need to take the first step and have faith in herself?
The faith, she realized, was the hardest part. She’d never seen herself as a woman to inspire great passion. But marriage was more a matter of devotion than desire. It was the depth of love that made it endure, not the height and flash of its ore.
That, however, was something to think about later. Right now, she needed to keep her attention on the service and enjoy the glow of the candles, the scent of the flowers. If only that siren wasn’t shrilling in the background. Apparently others in the congregation heard it as well, for a buzz of speculation started at the back of the church. One would think the sheriff would have more sense than to drive by the church during a wedding with sirens blaring.
To the distress of all present, the patrol car skidded to a screeching halt right outside of the church. The minister valiantly
raised his voice to be heard over the slamming of car doors and the shouts of men.
Then a dark figure burst through the doors at the back of the church.
“Laura! Stop!”
Laura whirled about, her eyes wide. She saw only a silhouette framed in the daylight that poured through the door, but her pulse leapt as she recognized the voice.
Brent?
Tears of startled joy sprang to her eyes. She covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Brent was here. He’d come for her. Why or how, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. He had come for her!
Brent’s mind reeled with confusion as he stood frozen in the aisle. The scene before him was just like his nightmare—the bride and groom held hands about to say “I do”—only the bride had red hair. The groom was definitely Greg, but Melody, not Laura, stood beside him.
Were the hell was Laura?
Then he saw her, standing beside Melody. Relief nearly sent him to his knees. She stood with one hand clasping a bouquet to her chest, the other covering her mouth. When his eyes met hers, he saw her tears shimmer in the candlelight.
Then slowly, his vision took in the rows upon rows of gawking faces. Karl Adderson, along with his plump wife and three kids, sat to his right. A row behind him, Miss Miller sat with a stunned, yet oddly approving look on her face. Beside her, Dr. Morgan regarded Brent with an unreadable expression.
Someone slapped Brent on the back, and he realized the sheriff had followed him into the church. “Well heck, son, why didn’t you just tell me you were speeding to stop a wedding?” Sheriff Baines drawled. “Although aren’t you supposed to bust through the door calling out the name of the bride?”
Humiliation struck Brent square in the chest as he glanced about.
“I—” He took a step back, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll wait outside.” Outside. As he’d always been in this town. Only this time he feared Laura wouldn’t join him, even though she’d always been there in spite of what others thought. He couldn’t even look at her as he turned toward the door.
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