Chapter Five
Matt reread the fax, translating the bureaucratic double-talk They didn’t know anything more about Gregory. To all intents, he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. But Matt suspected that very image was strategy—to force his brother’s firm to give in to their demands when they were presented.
Yet, Matt couldn’t stop the unwanted thought that maybe something more drastic had happened to Gregory. Even though they hadn’t been as close since his brother had moved to the city, there was still a strong connection. That connection told him Gregory was alive. And no doubt kicking and screaming that he was being deprived of his espresso, penthouse apartment, and Armani suits.
Yet the fax burned in his hand. It wasn’t the sort of news his parents needed—especially his father. Frank MacKenzie’s precarious health had worsened considerably with Gregory’s disappearance. Even though his father tried to hide it, Matt could see that the daily strain was stealing his energy and what remained of his health.
And although Ruth MacKenzie made quite a show of keeping a brave, upbeat appearance, Matt could see that she was doing so only for her family’s sake. Fearful over her husband’s worsening health, worried about Heather’s and Andy’s reactions, Ruth was determined to be a pillar of strength. But Matt could see the cracks in that pillar.
His younger siblings were worried, too. Fourteen-year-old Heather, who’d always worshiped everything about her oldest brother, had been hit especially hard. Her constant laughter had diminished, along with the groups of kids that had always hung out at Eagle Point. Now only her closest friends came to visit and even those were quiet visits. And Andy spent far more time in his room than he ever had before—a highly unnatural state for a nine-year-old.
Remarkably, the one thing that glued his family together and gave them hope was Brynn.
Despite how ill-suited she seemed to be for Gregory, Brynn was the embodiment of the hope all the MacKenzies had mustered.
Yet Matt still wondered. The more he learned about her convinced him that she and Gregory were more likely to share a shuttle to Mars than a marriage.
She couldn’t be any more different than his success-driven brother. Yet, he could see why any man would be drawn to her.
That elusive, elfin quality of hers, hidden behind all the barriers she erected, was a challenge—the kind of challenge he guessed had pushed Gregory into making an uncharacteristic move.
Matt’s thoughts returned to how Brynn had looked in the jeans, his reaction when he’d accidentally brushed her breasts. Neither feeling had been the least bit brotherly. And with the fax still in his hand, Matt felt a pang of disloyalty so strong he winced.
Walking out of the office area, he heard a babble of voices, mostly feminine. But at Eagle Point, there could be any number of reasons for a gathering—not that his mother’s friends always needed one.
As he rounded the corner into the lobby he spotted his aunt Miranda in the middle of a group of nearly a dozen women. But all the attention was focused elsewhere. On Brynn.
Folding his arms, Matt leaned against the antique sideboard, watching. And listening.
Miranda tried to get the group under control. “I’m sorry. I forgot about our quilting day. But what with the excitement about Gregory and then Brynn coming, I just lost track of the days.”
The babble broke out again and Miranda clapped her hands together. “I’m getting the feeling that you’d all rather talk to Brynn than quilt, anyway.”
Wilma, owner of the gift shop, smiled unabashedly. “Word got around about how these two met....”
Matt’s ears pricked up. That was a story he’d like to hear.
“And everyone just can’t believe how you’ve changed Gregory,” Wilma continued, her attention turned toward Brynn.
“I wouldn’t say changed,” Brynn tried to protest.
Becky, a woman who looked younger than her forty years, spoke up. “We’d love to see your wedding album.” She smiled wistfully. “Ruth told us the pictures were wonderful.”
Brynn tried to demur again, but they wouldn’t hear of it.
“We really want to see the pictures,” Wilma nearly pleaded.
“Please,” Karen chimed in. Brynn recognized her as well from town, along with Jean, a woman who sat by her side. “I just love wedding pictures.”
“We all do,” Jean agreed. “Lord knows why, when marriage comes along with it, but I guess we’re just saps about the romance thing.” A recent divorcee, Jean held little stock in love and marriage these days.
“Actually, I’m not sure just where I put the album,” Brynn evaded, her conscience prickling since she knew exactly where it was—prominently displayed as the centerpiece of her room. She spent every spare moment studying the pictures, dreaming of her reunion—rather, her meeting—with Gregory.
“I’ve got the album the photographer sent us,” Ruth volunteered. “And I know just where it is.”
As she disappeared, Brynn wished for some sort of escape hatch. Instead, the ladies crowded around closer. It was gratifying that they were so welcoming since it was something she’d never before experienced. But Brynn knew she was an impostor, that the person they were inviting into their fold didn’t exist; and that made their welcome bittersweet
In what seemed like seconds, Ruth returned with the wedding album. Knowing she was sunk, Brynn took a seat in the middle of the long, leather couch. Miranda sat next to her and, glancing up, Brynn caught her encouraging look. Sensing a sympathetic, possibly even kindred spirit, Brynn was grateful for her presence.
Then Ruth opened the album, sighing as she traced her fingers over the first picture, her eyes fixed on Gregory’s clear, confident expression.
Brynn felt a new spurt of guilt. Was this too cruel? Should she just confess everything now, tell these kind people the truth?
“I’m so glad you two found each other,” Ruth murmured. “I always worried about Gregory.... But, now, I know at least he found the right partner in life.” With visible effort, she brightened. “The pictures are wonderful, ladies. But I’ll let Brynn take you through them.”
Ruth closed the album before passing it along. Miranda accepted the album from her sister-in-law and gave Brynn an encouraging pat as she handed her the book. Brynn took a deep breath, remembering all the scenarios she had created in her mind since she’d had the album made. She had told the photographer that she wanted to create an album since she and Gregory had eloped.
Of course, Brynn could hardly confide that she’d chosen the casual wedding photos because the more formal ones required group—especially family—sittings. This way there were no gaps where parents and siblings should be, where the best man and maid of honor would be missed.
Brynn wondered how she would explain this odd choice, the casual poses. Then an unbidden thought popped into her head. What would her strip’s heroine do? Fearless Stephanie wouldn’t let a bunch of curious women intimidate her. No, she’d invent a story that would make her “wedding” seem like the ideal ceremony, one all these hard-core romantics would sigh over.
She’d had a huge selection of computer-enhanced locations to choose from—everything from the nondescript to the wildly exotic. The images were taken from genuine photos and the resulting pictures of the bride and groom looked equally genuine.
For Brynn, the choice of locations had been easy. All of her life she’d dreamed of the land of her ancestors. The stories of Ireland that her grandmother Magee had told her as a child had never been forgotten. Losing her grandmother when she’d been only ten years old had been the most traumatic event of her young life. But while her loving presence was gone, her stories had never been forgotten.
And Brynn had imagined a wedding set somewhere between the green fields and windswept moors of Ireland. Amid thatched cottages and stone-cobbled roads. For a moment, Brynn stared down at the album that she had lovingly studied for so many hours.
Clearing her throat, she opened the first page. “As you all know
, Gregory and I eloped.”
Matt settled in to listen, anticipating the details. But just then one of the clerks caught his attention, needing his decision on a tour reservation, a group that wanted to book nearly the entire lodge.
While Matt was diverted, several heads nodded and Brynn tried to regain Stephanie’s courage.
“A lot of people don’t understand why a couple elopes—the magic, the spirit of romance that captures them.”
The heads that nodded were now sighing.
Brynn held up the album, showing them the first page—just her face and Gregory’s in cutout ovals. “And I wanted a record of our courtship, so that’s the kind of album we have. It’s not traditional, but it tells our story. And this is us when we first met.”
There was a chorus of oohs and aahs.
Taking a deep breath, Brynn turned the page. She and Gregory were aloft in a balloon that soared over the mountains in Park City. “And this is...when Gregory proposed” A bit of impish Stephanie crept in. “He knew I wasn’t likely to refuse at those heights.”
Laughter greeted her words, and emboldened, Brynn turned the next page, warming to the dream wedding she’d always wanted.
She and Gregory stood in the forefront of the picture, but an ancient stone church dominated the background. “This is the place we chose to exchange our vows.”
“Where is that?” Wilma asked. “Doesn’t look like any place I’m familiar with.”
Brynn smiled. “It’s in Ireland.”
“Ireland?” Wilma questioned along with most of the other women. Matt turned back at that moment and the expression on his face echoed the others’ sentiments. “Why did you get married in Ireland?” Wilma asked, as though Brynn had named a colony on Mars or perhaps one of the “Star Trek” destinations.
Brynn called on Stephanie’s courage and her grandmother’s memories. “Because it’s always been so special to me. As a Magee, I grew up hearing stories about the home of my ancestors from my grandmother.” She warmed to the tale. “And I’d dreamed about the land—from muddy mountainside sheep trails to old country roads that wound through the forests. I wanted to explore the west coast from Shannon to the Killarney Lakes to the Kerry Way Trail.” Her voice unintentionally softened. “To see every inch of County Cork from the wild mountain lands of the west—to the great castles—to the tiny villages sheltered by the mountains and caressed by the seas.” Brynn halted, embarrassed by her rush of poetic wanderings. Clearing her throat, she averted her head, staring at the album rather than her rapt audience as she tried to make her tone matter-of fact. “Gregory knew that and was happy to go there.”
Turning the page, the next picture was of the beautiful Irish countryside where the church stood. She and Gregory were silhouetted against the misty lowlands.
“It looks kind of remote,” Miranda noticed.
“It is,” Brynn agreed. “It’s on the way to Brandon’s Cottage in the Macgillycuddy Reeks mountains. This little country town’s just a tiny place—this is the only church.”
“Not an easy place to have a formal wedding. That would have been a difficult place to invite guests if you hadn’t eloped,” Ruth noticed, a new light shining in her eyes.
“Absolutely,” Brynn agreed. “Miranda was right. It’s extremely remote. Not the sort of place you’d hop off a plane and whiz to the nearest Hyatt.”
“Doesn’t seem like Gregory’s sort of thing,” Wilma commented. “I thought he’d go for a big society splash.”
“Which isn’t my sort of thing,” Brynn answered, knowing it was true. She would hate to be the center of a huge, highly orchestrated wedding.
“You have changed that man,” Wilma said with a laugh.
Knowing it would do no good to argue, Brynn turned the pages. The next photo was the first one of them in full bridal dress. She couldn’t help lingering on this picture as she always did. The computer image of the dress she’d chosen was no less than a wonder. Exquisite Irish lace, a breathtaking headdress that for once made it look as though her dark hair was not completely wild, it was a wedding ensemble that had hovered in her imagination for years. A few quick sketches on her part, which were then translated by the computer, had made it a reality.
Now the oohs and aahs filled the lobby.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Wilma breathed, her own romantic nature peeking through. “It’s as though the lace was spun by elves.”
The other women chimed in with soft exclamations of delight.
“It’s exquisite,” Becky uttered through a dreamy sigh.
“You make a gorgeous couple,” Cynthia offered.
“Even a cynic like me recognizes true love,” Jean agreed.
Touched by their support, Brynn managed to smile as she turned the next pages.
Pictures of her walking hand in hand with Gregory through the countryside; a tiny country inn that she told them had been their honeymoon spot; arm in arm in front of Ross Castle. Then an evocative picture of them standing on the edge of the Cliffs of Moher on the Atlantic coast. Waves crashed against the rocks, sending spray upward, just beyond the happy-looking couple.
It was, all in all, a romantic, heart-softening book of memories. Seeing the damp eyes of the women who surrounded her, Brynn could tell they had been affected by the pictures. And for a moment it all seemed real—the courtship, the wedding, her relationship with Gregory, the new friends she was making.
From the corner of one misty eye, she spotted Matt. He lounged on the sidelines, but one look at his face told her he’d heard everything. In that same instant, her stomach clenched as she realized he hadn’t bought the story.
As the women crowded around her, Brynn took temporary refuge in the shield they provided. She guessed that by morning, she had better come up with some answers he would believe.
Chapter Six
Having learned Brynn’s habits, Matt staked out the patio. It was late afternoon and as he’d expected, she and her pets strolled outside.
“Give us a kiss,” Bossy ordered as the nearly sightless Snookems bumped into the high-handed bird.
Lancelot barked, but it was hard to tell whether in agreement or contradiction.
What a menagerie, he thought. He had learned the history of the odd trio from his younger siblings. He watched as Brynn paused at the table, seeing her eyes widen first at the assortment of pastries, finger sandwiches, and a pot of fragrant, newly brewed tea. Then they nearly doubled in size when she spotted the wedding album.
Her hand reached out to touch the cover, as though not certain whether to trust her eyes. “Have you heard news about Gregory?” Trepidation colored her tone, she wondered if this was his way of cushioning a blow.
But Matt shook his head. “Nothing like that. I called about an hour ago. Still nothing.”
She gestured to the elaborate spread. “What’s all this?”
“I thought we could go through the album,” Matt announced from the corner of the patio, seeing her head jerk upward in surprise. “Too many women around earlier for me to get a good look.”
She pulled her hand back as though the pictures might burn. “I’m sure you’ve seen them before.”
“I got a glance. But not with the narration.”
“There’s not that much to tell,” she evaded.
“From what I heard, there was plenty.”
well I...”
He gestured toward the spread on the table. “And with your Irish background, I thought you might like afternoon tea.”
Brynn looked at him, not certain whether he was being thoughtful or simply mocking her story. Nor was she certain whether it was Stephanie’s fire or her own she felt rekindling. “Actually, I love tea. And the animals would love a snack.”
Matt felt the quick prick of her subtle needling. Snacks fit not for her, but for her own little zoo. He didn’t let the aim of her well-placed barb show. Instead, he shrugged. “Everyone... and everything. . . gets hungry.”
Nervously sh
e glanced around as though looking for an escape route. But he didn’t plan to let that happen. He knew his brother, and the tale she’d just told about their wedding defied everything Gregory embodied.
Matt pulled out one of the two chairs at the table.
Brynn didn’t look pleased, but she sat down.
Taking the other chair, Matt sat close enough to see the album clearly.
Brynn reached for the teapot. “Tea?”
“It probably won’t kill me,” he acknowledged. When her brows lifted, he shrugged sweater-clad shoulders. “Nothing like a hot drink to take away the late-afternoon chill.”
She poured the tea, taking an inordinately long time to fill the two cups.
“Sugar?” she asked.
“No, thanks.” He saw her pick up the lemon. “No lemon either.”
She passed the tiered plate. “Sandwich?”
At this rate, they’d get to the album in about eight hours. He picked out a few of the sissy, bite-size sandwiches and before she could retrieve the server, he took some pastries as well, hoping to shorten her drawn-out, stalling actions.
As she replaced the server, he opened the album. The first picture was benign enough. Simple individual portraits.
Then he turned to the photo of the country church. “Ireland, huh?”
“Yes,” she answered shortly.
“I can’t believe Gregory would agree to such a remote area.”
“It a beautiful spot,” she insisted.
“I can see that.” Glancing more closely at the photo he could see it was true. “It’s just not Gregory’s sort of place.”
“It’s mine,” she retorted.
“Uh-huh.” And when had Gregory ever bent to another person’s wishes so completely? “How’d you ever talk Gregory into eloping? I can’t believe he’d give up a networking opportunity like that. Gregory always took self-promotion seriously. That’s what made him a corporate vice-president before he was thirty. He could have gotten a lot of miles out of a big splashy wedding in the city.”
“That’s not the kind of wedding we wanted,” she protested stubbornly.
The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie Page 7