GOING TO THE CHAPEL
Crystal Springs Romances: Wedding Chapel Series Book One
By Mary Jane Morgan
GOING TO THE CHAPEL
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Mary Jane Morgan
All rights reserved
First Kindle Edition 2016
www.maryjanemorganauthor.com
Cover design by Mark Combs
(918) 510-8972
[email protected]
Table of Contents
Books by Mary Jane Morgan
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
SINCE I FOUND YOU Excerpt
Thank you!
BOOKS BY MARY JANE MORGAN
CRYSTAL SPRINGS HOMECOMING ROMANCES
Long Road Home
Coming Home
A Home for Haley
Home at Last
CRYSTAL SPRINGS ROMANCES: THE WEDDING CHAPEL SERIES
Going to the Chapel
Since I Found You (available soon)
OTHER BOOKS BY MARY JANE MORGAN
Dangerous Moves
Shelby’s Gift
www.maryjanemorganauthor.com
CHAPTER ONE
Reeling with shock and grief, it took every bit of willpower Claire Coleman had to walk to her car with her head up, start her red Volvo, and leave the parking lot of the Olive Garden in south Nashville.
“Lunch,” he’d said. “We haven’t done that in a long time.”
He’d made it sound like they never met for lunch. Of course they met for lunch. She just couldn’t remember when.
Chris Laizure, her best friend since fifth grade, boyfriend since high school, and lover since their first year of college had asked her to lunch and then broken their engagement while they shared dessert. Claire fought back tears. They had a wedding date set for eleven weeks and three days from now in a wedding chapel being built right this minute on the Crystal Springs Dude Ranch’s west lawn overlooking a beautiful valley.
Anxiety and sadness swept through Claire. How could she go on without Chris? Without the friendship she’d had practically her entire life? Fighting for composure, she picked up her phone with a shaky hand and hit the number of her sister, Jillian. When she didn’t answer, Claire left a quick—hopefully not desperate—voice mail and then pulled in a fortifying breath. Might as well call Ashley Richardson, public relations director and wedding consultant at the dude ranch, and let her know the wedding was off. She tapped on Ashley’s name and waited. After five rings, it rolled into voice mail, too, and she hung up. Maybe she’d go out there and see if she could find Ashley, let her know her first booking for a wedding was now history. Claire wished like crazy Ashley had answered, so she’d have that call behind her. The woman was probably leading a horseback ride for guests or snuggled in bed in the log cabin her fiancé, Hank Bradley, had just built. They seemed like the perfect couple, and it was obvious to anyone who’d ever been around them that they were crazy about each other. She’d caught them wrapped in one another’s arms several times and had felt a twinge of envy, because she and Chris had rarely been like that with one another. To be honest, she couldn’t remember them ever being affectionate in public. Of course, they’d been together practically their whole lives, so there was no burning need to always touch and steal kisses.
Claire wondered what it would be like to be in the kind of relationship Ashley and Hank seemed to have—flirty, warm, passionate. Would she and Chris have been more passionate if they hadn’t been together practically their entire lives? She blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears that wet her cheeks, and turned her car toward the dude ranch.
Turning onto the rural road that led to the ranch, Claire’s mind danced with thoughts of the kind of passionate sex she’d bet a month’s pay that Ashley and Hank had. She quickly reminded herself that she and Chris might not have had that kind of love-making, but sex with him had been nice. Better than nice. Warm and safe. Her tears flowed freely as she wended her way toward the ranch on the country road that still had a good two to three inches of snow. She shouldn’t have come here, but she figured that Ashley, who very well might become her stepsister someday, would appreciate hearing in person that their first wedding in the chapel had fizzled. Claire might not be too keen on talking with Ashley, but she sure had no desire to go home.
A sob caught in her throat. She didn’t want to talk to anyone except her sister, or mom, or Chris. Which at the moment left her with no one. Jillian wasn’t available. Chris had just ended their relationship. And the person she wanted the most, her mother, was dead. Claire fought back another wave of tears, barely able to swallow around the tightness in her throat.
She stopped the car and called Ashley again, hoping she didn’t answer. She sighed with relief when she didn’t and left her a voice mail before continuing toward the chapel where she would have been married. She wanted to see how the construction was coming along, as morose as that seemed. She hoped no one was there, and she could sit in the quiet silence inside the building and let herself grieve in the very place where she was supposed to have become Chris’s bride. She’d so looked forward to becoming his wife and someday being a mother.
“Oh Mama,” she whispered, swiping frantically at her tears. “I need you.” Her mom had been gone over a year and a half, and Claire had never missed her more.
She drove her car past the ranch house and up the narrow, snowy dirt road toward the partially-built chapel, where she hoped she’d find some peace. Maybe even feel her mom’s presence.
Parking her car halfway up the slick hill, she got out and trudged the rest of the way up, relieved when she reached the chapel and didn’t see any workers. Of course no one was here. It was Sunday. Most people didn’t work on Sunday. That was one of the things Chris had complained about. “You work all the time, even Sundays for crying out loud. Where do I fit in?” She hadn’t quite known how to answer that question. Since her mother had died, Claire had worked almost every day. Only when she and her siblings had forced their dad to come to this ranch for a week-long family getaway, had she set aside work. Chris hadn’t bothered to come visit her. Said it was a busy time in the office, but now he’d had the audacity to complain about her working all the time.
She entered the chapel and gasped at the beautiful view. Every wall, and even the ceiling, had huge glass panes, inviting the woodsy outdoors right inside. She turned in a circle and marveled at the magical sight of tree limbs forming a canopy of snow over her. It was totally magical.
And she would never be married here.
She moved as if in slow motion past two folding chairs in the middle of the aisle. Walking all the way to the front, she sat on the steps leading to the platform, not bothering to take her coat off. The podium to her right, obviously still a work in progress, captured her attention with rich dark walnut wood and intricately curved trim on one side. Claire shifted her gaze back to the outdoors. The silence and beauty squeezed at her heart, not soothing her as she’d hoped but slicing through all her defenses, and she buried her head in her hands and wept, completely losing track of time and not even caring. Why would she? She had nowhere to go and no one waiting for her.
“Ma’am? You okay?” a deep male voice asked.
She jerked her head up and froze at the sight of sympathetic, moss-green eyes studying her with an intensity that unnerved her. She turned away and wiped frantically at her tears. ‘I’m fine,” she finally managed to say with at least a smidgeon o
f composure.
He eased down beside her and she tensed. “Who are you?” she asked, pretty sure she had nothing to fear, but mortified this man had seen her crying. She was a private person, and the last thing she wanted was anyone to witness the state she was in. Besides, what kind of man intentionally approached a blubbering woman?
“I’m Sam McGinnis, custom builder for the chapel. “I came by to sit a spell while it was empty. Soak up the good vibes.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It helps me with my work.”
“Guess you didn’t count on a half hysterical woman being here, did you?” She started to stand, but he placed a hand on her arm, a big hand that felt solid and sure. And comforting. She sank back down and stole another glance at his hands. Large, strong, work hands. Everything about this man was big. He was not only tall, but broad and muscular. He looked like he could hold off an army if need be. Or be a safe haven. She quickly shoved that thought aside.
“You’re obviously upset,” he said softly. “I feel like I should go and give you your privacy, but I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.” She must have looked like she wondered about his sanity, because he arched a brow and shrugged. “I help wounded animals too,” he added with a smile that warmed Claire’s aching heart.
Shocked at her visceral response to this man, Claire sucked in a breath and looked away. “And what do you do when you find them? The hurt animals,” she added.
“Help them if I can. Take them to Hank, the veterinarian who lives here, if I can’t.”
“I’ve met Hank and his fiancé, Ashley. Her mom, Dottie, is dating my dad.” She sniffed. “My mom passed away. I miss her terribly.” Oh great. Now she was spilling her guts to a total stranger.
“I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
Claire nodded and swallowed hard. A bird trilled a song outside. She cocked her head to listen, not sure when she had last taken the time to enjoy the peaceful and happy sound of a singing bird. “I think that’s a mockingbird,” she said after a while.
“You would be right. These woods are full of birds.” He glanced above them and pointed. “There he is.” Claire caught sight of the gray bird and smiled.
“This is a marvelous place for a chapel,” he said, still watching the bird. “Every builder’s dream.”
My dream, Claire thought. My shattered dream. She forced herself to focus on the beautiful canopy of snow-covered branches. “There’s a pair of cardinals,” she said, pointing to the left.
He turned his head the direction she pointed and smiled. “Nice to see them taking advantage of the bird seed I put out yesterday.”
She watched the birds flit from limb to limb until her neck ached almost as much as her heart. “Chris, my fiancé, or rather ex-fiancé, and I were supposed to be married here this spring. The redbud and dogwood trees would have been in bloom.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come here.” She started to shove to her feet, but Sam gently took her arm, tugging ever so slightly, and she sat back down.
“Why did you come here knowing how much it would hurt?”
To seek comfort, she realized, surprised at his question. “To torture myself I guess,” she answered with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Is it working?”
Claire’s gaze locked with his, and his deep green eyes held sympathy. “It was,” she answered softly. His sympathetic gaze stole right through her defenses, and she was suddenly caught in a hazy web of something she couldn’t identify and felt helpless to look away. She fought the urge to touch his face, run her fingers over his day-old beard and through his wavy brown hair, and was appalled with herself.
He finally broke eye contact. “I should get out of here. Leave you be.”
She jumped to her feet. “No, I’m the one who should go.” She glanced around one last time and pulled in a deep breath. “It is quite lovely. I knew it would be.” She started down the chapel aisle, her heart aching.
“Wait.” Claire stopped and turned, not sure why because suddenly she couldn’t get out of here fast enough, even though she had nowhere to go. “What’s your name?”
She cleared her throat. “Claire. Claire Coleman.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire Coleman. Come back and visit anytime.”
She hurried out of the chapel. No way would she ever come here again. She wanted as far away from this place—and this man—as she could get. The real truth was, she admitted as she hurried down the hill, is that she didn’t want to get away from Sam as much as she needed to get away from him. And that thought had her practically running down the snowy field back to the isolated safety of her car.
****
Sam walked to the entrance of the chapel and watched Claire run down the slippery hill, wishing she’d hung around for a while, which was ridiculous seeing as how he’d come here for solitude, peace and inspiration. He wished he could have helped the woman in some way, but maybe it was just as well. He needed to work on that ‘helping’ problem of his. It wasn’t his job to fix everyone sad or troubled.
He turned and let his gaze wander over the chapel, pulled in a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. A bright, red male cardinal perched on a branch outside a side window, his head cocked as if he were enthralled with what was inside. When Sam had installed all these windows, he’d worried that birds would fly into them, but it seemed that might not happen with the web of tree branches surrounding the place. Right now there was nothing to break the sun that shone down on the melting snow, but by spring, only bits and pieces of sun rays would filter to the ground.
Smiling, he went out to his truck and grabbed his needed supplies. Might as well accomplish something while he was here. He wanted to finish the trim work on the podium today. Maybe when he got home, he’d go for a horseback ride. Nothing felt more freeing and relaxing than riding through the lush Tennessee hills and soaking in nature and wildlife.
His mind returned to Claire, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was a nature lover too, and if not, why she’d chosen to be married here. It seemed to him her fiancé must be crazy to break up with a woman like Claire—a woman with intelligence and class who obviously had feelings that ran deep. A beautiful woman whose intelligent, blue eyes were filled with pain. Her blonde hair had peeked out from under her cap, and he wondered if her hair was long or short. Curly or straight.
He sighed with the realization that it didn’t matter, since it was doubtful he’d ever see her again. The thought dampened his mood. He set up his work bench, picked up a piece of partially carved walnut wood and ran his hands over every curve, making sure the wood was smooth. Smiling his approval, he began working on the simple design he’d created, and it wasn’t long before he was whistling a song and rarely thinking of Claire Coleman.
****
Claire hurried inside her condo, slammed the door behind her, and pulled her cell phone out of her purse, but before she could press Jillian’s number, the doorbell rang, making her jump. Her heart practically leaped out of her chest with both the hope that it was Chris and dread that it might be. And what sense did that make? “Get a grip,” she muttered. She looked through the peephole, let out a huge sigh of relief that Jillian was the person on her porch, and yanked open the door. “I was about to call you again. Looks like word travels fast.”
Jillian stepped inside. “Dad’s girlfriend called me. Said from what she’d heard from Ashley, you could use some shoring up. I’m so sorry, Claire.” Jillian wrapped her arms around her sister, and it was almost Claire’s undoing. The yellow sweater Jillian wore was soft and cozy and Claire soaked in the comfort her big sister offered.
“I should have known Ashley would tell her mom about my weepy voice mail,” Claire finally said, stepping out of Jillian’s embrace and squaring her shoulders. Her sister reached for her, but Claire batted her hand away. “No more fussing. I’m fine,” she lied.
Jillian narrowed her eyes. “I’ll fuss if I want. How are you really holding up? And tell me the truth.”
Claire’s throat constricted. “We need to sit for that. How about some wine?”
Jillian made an exaggerated gesture over her stomach. “Baby here.”
Claire winced. She’d actually forgotten about the baby, which told her she was coping as pathetically as she felt. “Sit while I pour you a soda and grab a huge bottle of red wine for myself.”
Jillian dropped onto the recliner. “This is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in. Can I come here to prop my feet up when I’m as big as a basketball?”
“You’d better,” Claire answered, “especially if Stan is out of town.” After putting ice in a glass and pouring soda over it, Claire poured herself a full glass of wine, stuck the cork back in the bottle, and headed into the living room. She handed Jillian her soda, then curled up on the end of the sofa. “I don’t even want to go to work tomorrow, which says a lot about how bad I feel. What am I going to do?” she asked, barely holding back tears.
“One day at a time, honey. You will get through this.”
Claire wasn’t so sure about that. She took a big swig of wine. “I can barely make it through one hour. To make matters worse, I went to see the chapel. It’s going to be breathtaking,” she added, her eyes and throat burning.
“Why in the world did you go out there?”
Claire shrugged. “I wanted to see how it was shaping up and perhaps find a little peace there. It truly is a beautiful place.”
“I’m sure it is, but it’s the last place you needed to go, especially alone.” Claire’s mind darted back to Sam and she felt her face flush. “I hate that Chris did this to you, Claire. We all do, but I truly believe it’s better for this to have happened now rather than after the wedding or, heaven forbid, at the wedding.”
Going to the Chapel Page 1