One Hot Summer
Page 20
Unlike Remedy with her slinky, practiced moves, Micah tried to find the rhythm in the song, but he was a hopeless mess. Even his step-tap was off-beat and throwing his elbows around didn’t seem to improve his style at all. He got a lot of hoots and hollers from the crowd because everyone knew how terrible he was, but that was fine. Indeed, maybe he was a trendsetter, because after he and Remedy took to the floor a flood of people crowded onto the dance floor and joined in. Probably because Micah made them look good.
Ignoring the teasing, he focused his attention on Remedy’s sexy moves and even sexier body. But even she couldn’t stop chuckling. “You really are awful!” she called over the music.
“Told ya. Be grateful I didn’t try to dance at Hog Heaven last Friday.”
There were a lot of Briscoe Ranch employees at the reception. He doubted Remedy even realized that she was dancing among so many landscapers and maintenance workers, stable help, and housekeeping staff—and they kept sneaking glances at Remedy like she really was an alien among them. Resort executives didn’t mingle with regular townsfolk, and they definitely didn’t dance at hometown weddings.
But Remedy wasn’t any ordinary executive. She was so much more than her pedigree. Micah’s pride and life experiences had kept him from acknowledging it, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. He wanted her. Not only her body, and not only when on the occasional date, but all of her, all the time. She had no idea how long it’d be before she moved home to Hollywood, but until that happened he was going to make the most of the time they had. When she packed up and left he wanted her to feel what she was giving up.
He stopped moving. “Hey.”
“Hey what?”
So help him, he just couldn’t keep away from her for one second longer. He cupped her neck as his other arm slid around her waist.
“There are still too many people around,” she said, even as she crushed her breasts to his chest and melted into him. Her hand stroked up his arm, touched his cheek.
Their eyes locked together. It was the damnedest thing, but every time they got this close he could actually feel the electricity surging between them, racing across his skin, vibrating through his muscles, lodging deep in his bones. Before he’d met her, he’d thought the idea of getting lost in someone’s eyes was corny and stupid, a mockery of the way the real world worked, but he could lose himself so easily in Remedy it was no joke.
“I want to date you, Remedy. Officially. Exclusively.”
“Is that the champagne talking?”
He shook his head. “This is all me.”
The delight that sparked in her eyes sent another ripple of electricity through him. “Then I’d say you should kiss me. Officially.”
Hell, yeah, he should. He lowered his lips to hers, drawing hers open with his tongue, taking her deep and sweet and hot, with all of Dulcet as their witnesses.
Chapter Thirteen
“This is no ordinary Bible.” Granny June’s palm smoothed the glass case covering the sepia-toned-paged book displayed in the vestibule of the Briscoe Ranch Chapel. Colored light from the stained-glass windows turned the papery skin of her hands red and gold and green. “This was a wedding gift from Tyson’s parents, passed down through six generations of Briscoes. Every Briscoe birth and Briscoe wedding is recorded in this Bible. It is the keeper of our family’s history.”
Remedy had been in the middle of a whirlwind day of planning for the firefighter ball and a multitude of weddings when Granny June had appeared at her office door, determined to lure her away from her desk for a tour of the resort grounds. With the day Remedy was having, she should have refused, but one of her favorite parts of working at Briscoe Ranch was its history and the grounding sense of the Briscoe family’s legacy present in every building and garden. No one encapsulated that family history better than Granny June, and there was something about the twinkle in her eye that rendered Remedy helpless to rebuff the invitation.
So here they were in the quiet majesty of the chapel, the last stop on a tour that had taken Remedy through the original wing of the hotel, along a windy garden path past the original stable and groundskeeper house where Carina and her husband now lived, and up to the Briscoe homestead tucked out of sight in a far corner of the land at the edge of the vast wilderness beyond, with sweeping views of canyons and hilltops and an endless sea of trees.
The chapel had always seemed to have a mystical quality to it, Remedy had thought from her first day on the job, but she was learning from Granny June that it was far more historically important to the Briscoes than she could’ve imagined. She’d already known Granny’s late husband was interred in a plot behind the chapel, but she’d had no idea that Tyson Briscoe had built the chapel himself, including the altar and the cross that hung behind it. And she’d never noticed all the Briscoe family artifacts that graced every wall and corner of the chapel’s interior, the family Bible included.
Standing behind Granny June, she leaned over her shoulder and read the description etched into the bronze plaque affixed to the Bible’s glass case. The Briscoe family Bible, from 1876; Open to Ruth 1:16–17, a reading from Tyson and June Briscoe’s wedding, the first of such ceremonies held at this chapel, December 1954.
“We didn’t have reason to host any more weddings here for another ten years, after we’d transformed the original homestead into a hotel, but in all those fifty-two years no couple who’s ever married here in the month of December has ever gotten divorced. Folks around Ravel County started calling it the Mistletoe Effect. Well, the truth is I suggested that name for the phenomenon in an interview I did with The Dallas Morning News sometime in the eighties. And the name stuck. It’s what the resort is best known for now.”
No wonder the chapel had a mystical quality about it. The whole resort, really. Even if the popularity of the Mistletoe Effect proved that there were a lot of couples out there who were as jaded about the power of true love as Remedy was, since they looked to a bunch of superstitious malarkey to help them stay married.
One of the stipulations of Remedy taking the event planner job at the resort was that she’d be working without a break between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, with at least one wedding taking place every day of the week during that time. Remedy agreed, partly because she had no idea if she’d still be around then to worry about it.
Granny flitted away from the Bible to another display in the vestibule’s opposite corner. “This way. I’ve got one last thing to show you and it’s priceless. Tyson’s and my wedding album.”
“The actual album? Here where all the resort guests can flip through it?”
“The very one.” She flipped the album to the first page, a black-and-white formal shot of a beautiful young woman with Granny June’s spitfire eyes and sly smile, that same pointed chin and regal posture, standing in embrace with a much taller, strapping man whose face was eerily similar to Ty Briscoe’s. “After he died, I couldn’t bear to have the album in our home. I felt haunted by it, and by his memory. So filled with grief that I was lost to the world.”
Granny’s eyes had gone watery. “And then one night Tyson came to me in a dream, and he told me that I needed to celebrate his memory with all the world, not hide him away on a shelf. The day I moved the album here along with our family Bible was the day I found peace. He and I accomplished so much together. This resort, the weddings we host, it’s everything to me and my family. Always has been. And now, when I’m in this chapel, I can feel Tyson’s spirit all around me. It’s the most magical sensation. This is the place I feel most at home now on the property. Here, with him.”
Another piece of Remedy’s cynicism fell away as she flipped through the wedding album. “You two have the deepest love I’ve ever heard of. I’ve never seen its equal.”
Granny June dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief, then patted Remedy’s hand. “Someday you will find a deep, abiding love of your own. And when you do, you’ll understand the magic.”
She had Remed
y hook, line, and sinker. Magic, the mistletoe phenomenon, a land steeped in history … Briscoe Ranch Resort was one of a kind.
They were strolling out of the chapel when Remedy’s ringtone sounded with a call from Micah. It’d been a week since he’d kissed her at Albert and Tabby’s wedding. In the days since then, they’d both been busy with their jobs, so sheet-scorching, sleepless nights together had become their new norm. As today was a workday, a phone call, rather than a text, was unusual.
A tingle of unease tickled her throat. He’d talked a lot about the increased risk of fire in the backcountry that week and had prepped her for the possibility that he and his crew might get called away to help should one such emergency arise. She’d never had a boyfriend who regularly risked his life, and she wasn’t a fan of the fear it evoked. Not one bit.
“It’s Micah. Do you mind if I answer it?”
Granny June’s lips pursed in that same sly smile Remedy had glimpsed in her wedding day portrait. “He’s a fine young man.”
“Very much so.”
“Don’t keep him waiting.”
“Hi. Is everything okay?” Remedy asked him.
“I’m declaring war,” he said.
The declaration was said with a hint of lightness, and Remedy knew immediately that today was not the day he ran off to face the ravages of a fire head-on. “War with who?”
“Not a who, a what. Your damned pigeon groupies. They must have followed you to my place, because I opened my front door and there they were demolishing the sweets from my pastry pipeline.”
Skeeter had better get his pigeons soon, because this was getting out of control. “Oh, no! The secret admirer pastries? What a waste!”
“Right? And when I shooed them off they took a dump all over my truck before flying off in the direction of the resort. Returning home to you, I’m sure.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll call their owner again and see when he can come try to coax them into their cages again.”
Micah snorted. “I’ve got a better idea. You ever been pigeon hunting?”
“We can’t kill the pigeons.”
Granny June nudged her. “Oh, yes, we can, especially after they ate those muffins today. Tell ’em to come over and we’ll go pigeon hunting any time he wants. I’ve got a .22 in my golf cart and I’m a crack shot.”
Terrifying, that nugget of information. Remedy couldn’t decide who the bigger danger to the resort at large would be if the two of them went pigeon hunting in a golf cart: her or Granny June.
“I heard that,” Micah said. “Are you with my other favorite lady?”
“Yes. Granny June was giving me a tour of the resort.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about it tonight. Meanwhile, you tell her that I know all about last year’s opossum incident and if I see her handling a .22 I’m going to confiscate it as a matter of public safety.”
Atta boy. To Granny June, she said, “Dare I ask about the opossum incident?”
Granny waved her off. “My son blew that all out of proportion. And if he thought confiscating that Remington was gonna make me lie down and play dead, then that just means the boy don’t know his own mother very well. Same with your man here. Tell him I thought he knew me better’n that.”
Micah clicked his tongue. “Someday I’ll convince the good men at the Ravel County Rifle Range to stop selling to her, if it’s the last thing I do for this town.”
The call-waiting chime sounded on Remedy’s phone. “I’m getting another call, Micah. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Count on it, California.”
The call was from Ty Briscoe’s secretary, who insisted Remedy come to Ty Briscoe’s office immediately, though she wouldn’t say why. Granny June offered to drive her in her golf cart, but the thought of Granny packing a .22 somewhere on her rig, given what a crazy driver she was, was enough to make Remedy swear off ever driving with her again.
Located at the end of a hall of administrative offices behind the main check-in desk, Ty’s corner office overlooked the golf course and the lake. Remedy had only been in it twice. For her final interview and on her first day of the job, when she swung through to thank him in person for the opportunity. Other than that, he had remained largely invisible but an ever-present specter in her life—one that she kept her eye out for with dreaded anticipation every day.
Was he as ruthless as Micah had characterized him? Or as much of a killjoy as Granny June had made him out to be? Or perhaps Remedy had been worried over nothing and he was the devoted, loving father figure that Carina saw him as.
Ty’s secretary waved Remedy into his office. He stood at the wall of windows with two women, slim blondes who were impeccably dressed in white skinny jeans and breezy, bohemian blouses—cookie cutters of each other. Mother and daughter. Women whom Remedy would know anywhere.
Remedy’s lungs seized up until she shook herself out of the trace. “Cambelle? Helen? Is that really you?”
At the sound of Remedy’s voice, all three people turned in her direction.
Cambelle’s hands shot into the air and she squealed, “Surprise!” Then she lowered her left hand and struck a pose to show off the massive diamond ring on her ring finger. “I’m engaged! And I’m here so you can plan my wedding!”
Wait, what?
Helen rushed past her daughter, her tasteful French-manicured fingers reaching for Remedy. “Oh, sweetheart, you look as fresh and beautiful as a poppy in a sunny field. No. A daffodil. That’s what you are.” She hugged Remedy tightly and petted her hair. “A tall, bright daffodil reaching for the sun on a temperate summer day, moving in the breeze, and—”
Sounded like Helen still fancied herself a budding author. “Helen, it’s great to see you. And I see congratulations are in order.” She gestured to Cambelle. “But how? I mean, you weren’t serious about any of the guys you were dating when I left L.A. and my mom hasn’t mentioned that you were seeing anyone. When did this happen? Who is this guy?”
Cambelle braced her hands on Remedy’s shoulders. “Wynd Fisher happened. He swept me off my feet. We’re so in love. I asked your mom to keep it a secret so I could tell you myself.”
Remedy’s mouth opened and closed. She darted a glance at a mirror on the side wall to make sure she still projected the look of a seasoned professional. “Wynd Fisher, the music producer?” The sixty-five-year-old potbellied, frizzy-haired music mogul worth billions? Maybe she and Cambelle had grown further apart than Remedy realized, because this was the woman who’d come up with the rallying cry suits, not boots to make a point about the caliber of men who were worthy of them.
Then again, a billion dollars was a lot of caliber.
Cambelle clapped with her fingertips. “That’s him. That’s my Wynd. TMZ is calling us WestWynd. Isn’t that perfect?”
Don’t think of the two of them kissing … don’t think about the two of them having— “Oh my. Wow. That’s … wow. You’ve dated him how long?”
“Four weeks. That’s enough time to know,” Helen said. “It’s magic. There’s no other way to describe it. He’s magic to my Cambelle’s muse. The fire to her flame.”
“He’s all that and more.” Cambelle swooned.
“And you want me to plan your wedding?” Remedy said.
“Of course they do.” Ty’s voice made Remedy jump. She’d forgotten all about him.
“I know we can trust you,” Cambelle said to Remedy. “You understand what it’s like to live in the public eye. Constant vigilance is what it takes. The only photographs of this wedding that we want in magazines are the ones we sell to them.”
“Of course. We’ll hire the best security in the world to keep this wedding on the down low,” Ty said.
“We’d never thought of Cambelle getting married somewhere as—well, no offense, Ty—coarse as Texas, but your mom can be very persuasive,” Helen said.
And that, right there, told Remedy everything she needed to know. Her stomach twisted into a knot. “Yes, she can.”
As they found their seats, Remedy ignored her growing anger over her mom’s motives for springing this on her and tried to recall her usual questions for new clients. She blurted the first one that came to mind. “Have you given any thought to a specific color palette or theme?”
“We want understated elegance,” Helen said.
“And fireworks,” Cambelle added.
Helen raised her arm in a sweeping gesture. “Think pots of blue orchids lining a marble tub in Paris, the Eiffel Tower outside the window. Think timeless, as Cambelle and Wynd’s marriage will be.”
“Lots of fireworks,” Cambelle said, bouncing in her chair. Her eyes went wide. “Do you think you could find exotic parrots with feathers that match our color scheme to have on display?”
“We’re going for understated elegance,” her mom scolded.
Ty nodded, clearly on board with all this insanity. “Parrots are elegant.”
“Actually, uh, live animals aren’t the most reliable option at weddings. So many things could go wrong,” Remedy said.
Cambelle pouted—an actual, honest-to-god toddler pout. “I want parrots.”
“Then parrots you shall have. Parrots and fireworks and anything else that will make this the best day of your life.”
Forget his reputation as a villain or a killjoy or a doting father—Ty Briscoe was a shark of a salesman. No wonder he was so successful.
Cambelle gave a swish of her hand. “Oh! I have a new idea. A theme. I was thinking on the drive from the airport about this. Mom, what do you think about Redneck Chic?”
Um … what?
Helen clapped. “Isn’t that a riot? Cambelle’s got such an artist’s eye, always has.”
“I want horses and red Solo cups and hay bales and parrots and fireworks.”
“Done, done, done, done, and done,” Ty said. “And did you know we have a specially designated barn just for weddings?”
They did? That was news to Remedy.