The Backup Plan
Page 32
There it was, he thought as he drifted back to sleep. The conviction and certainty was finally back in Dinah’s voice. And damned if he hadn’t helped put it there.
Epilogue
Cord paced the back of the chapel, sweat beading on his brow. Where the devil was she? Had this whole wed ding thing been too good to be true? Dinah was already twenty minutes late and nowhere in sight. Even Doro thy Davis was beginning to look just the teensiest bit nervous, though she murmured reassurances with her usual aplomb.
“She’ll be here any minute,” she promised Cord.
“Of course she will,” Marshall said gruffly. “Though I have to say this isn’t a bit like her.”
“Stop it!” his wife ordered in a hushed voice. “Don’t get Cord any more nervous than he already is.”
“At least she never stood me up at the altar,” Bobby murmured under his breath.
Cord knew the crack was meant to lighten the tension, but he scowled at his brother. “Would you just shut your mouth?”
Bobby grinned. “Hey, you’re the one who insisted on marrying an unpredictable woman. I know where my wife is. She’s inside sitting in the front row.”
“Okay, everybody, hush,” Maggie ordered. “Dinah will be here. She is not about to miss her own wedding.”
“Then where the hell is she?” Cord muttered.
Just then he heard the roar of a motorcycle tearing through the Saturday afternoon downtown traffic. “Dear God in heaven,” he said as the candy-apple-red motor cycle whipped around a corner with Tommy Lee driving and Dinah clinging to her brother for dear life.
“Sorry,” she said, leaping off the back as it skidded to a halt in front of Cord. “I was covering a story outside of town and my car broke down. Thank heaven, I caught up with Tommy Lee as he was about to leave the house.”
“And you couldn’t have gone to pick her up in a car?” Dorothy asked her son indignantly. “What were you thinking?”
Tommy Lee shrugged. “It was an emergency and Laurie had already left for the church in my car. Dinah flatly refused to ride in my pickup. Can’t say that I blame her. I was hauling lumber back from Savannah for the floors out at Covington. It’s a mess.”
“Actually the motorcycle was kind of a thrill,” Dinah claimed, grinning at Cord. “I think we should get one, unless Mother and Daddy will agree to loan us theirs from time to time.”
“Are we going to stand around out here all day and argue the merits of owning a motorcycle?” Cord grumbled. “I was hoping to get married sometime today.”
Dinah pressed a soothing kiss to his cheek. “Me, too,” she assured him. “Give me ten minutes.”
Her mother regarded her with dismay. “You can’t possibly be ready in ten minutes. This is your wedding, Dinah. You’re not going out for burgers and fries.”
“Stop fussing, Mother. Between you and Maggie, you’ll have me whipped into shape in no time. You’re both magicians when it comes to hair and makeup.”
Cord gave her a resigned look. “Is this the way it’s always going to be? You’re going to be chasing after some big story and nearly miss all the important occasions in our life?”
“I promise I’ll be on time for the birth of our children,” she teased. “Will that do?”
Cord finally felt the tension in his shoulders ease. “I suppose it’ll have to. I’ll go inside and tell the guests the ceremony will be in a half hour.”
“I’ll do that,” Bobby said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe you should have a drink.”
Cord’s gaze followed Dinah as she headed for the choir room where her wedding dress was waiting. “I don’t need a drink,” he told his brother. “I have everything I need now.”
“You scared Cord half to death,” Dinah’s mother scolded as she lowered the wedding gown carefully over Dinah’s head.
“It was good for him,” Maggie claimed. “He was getting entirely too complacent.”
Dinah ignored both of them and stared at herself in the mirror with a sense of shock. After years of wearing mostly black, she was stunned by the image of her self in sleek white satin. The gown was the simplest one she’d been able to find, a slim sheath that pooled at her feet with just the barest hint of a train. Even so, for the first time in her life, she felt more like a woman than a tough-as-nails journalist. A Southern woman, she thought as her mother handed her the bouquet of lily-of-the-valley and white roses with its trailing ribbons.
“You’re breathtaking,” her mother said with a satisfied sigh.
“Absolutely glowing,” Maggie confirmed.
Dinah winked at her friend. “Want to hold the bouquet so you can get the feel of it? I’m tossing it straight to you.”
“Don’t you dare,” Maggie said. “I’m not ready to get married.”
“Neither was I,” Dinah told her. “Things have a way of happening when you least expect them.”
“Not to me,” Maggie insisted.
“What about Warren?”
“Bad idea,” Maggie said succinctly.
Dinah regarded her with dismay. “But I thought things were going so well. What happened?”
“I guess once he dug deep enough into my psyche, he didn’t like what he found,” Maggie said with a shrug. “No big deal. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
Dinah thought of the gorgeous, impudent man she’d met weeks ago when she’d gone searching for Bobby in Atlanta. Cord or Bobby would certainly be able to track him down for her. What was his name? Josh some thing? Parker, that was it. Josh Parker.
Pleased with her plan, she gave Maggie’s hand a squeeze. “You don’t need plenty of men. One will do. And I think I know just the one.”
“Would you stop matchmaking on your wedding day?” Maggie grumbled. “Concentrate on marrying Cord and living happily-ever-after.”
“Haven’t you heard? I excel at multitasking,” Dinah responded. She reached for her mother’s hand. “I learned from a master.”
“Then let’s go get you married,” her mother said. “After that, you can multitask to your heart’s content.”
But minutes later at the front of the church, Dinah gazed into Cord’s eyes and promptly forgot everything except this man and the vows he was saying with such solemn sincerity. In that instant, she knew she’d never, ever need another backup plan. All she’d ever need was Cordell Beaufort.
And maybe a cherry-red motorcycle.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7897-8
THE BACKUP PLAN
Copyright © 2005 by Sherryl Woods
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