A Fabulous Wedding

by Dianne Castell

  She arched her hips, meeting his thrusts each time, till she yelled his name once, then again, as they climaxed.

  He swished her on top of him as they relaxed in the warm water, Dixie’s breathing slowing, as did his. The rise and fall of her breasts against his chest was reassuring and he knew that what bound Dixie and him was beyond sex. Every inch of him hungered for this being together to last forever, just as she’d said. But how to make it happen? “I need to clean up,” he finally managed to say.

  He climbed from the tub, dripping water as he got rid of his condom and grabbed a towel. When he turned back to the tub, Dixie was out, still naked, thank heavens—waiting for him with a towel of her own and wicked glint. “I want to dry you off.”

  “Me, too.” He patted her face as she did likewise, then her chest and his and beyond. Each stroke, pat and rub he received, and the ones he gave, turned him on again. How could the strong desire he had for Dixie happen so fast? But now wasn’t the time for questions. He dropped the towel, swept Dixie into his arms and headed for the bedroom as she wrapped hers around him and made him feel that there was no one else on the planet but the two of them in a chalet in the mountains.

  DIXIE AWOKE the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee, as sunlight streamed through the chalet’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Nick was gone, but he’d left a note on the pillow next to her. She sat up and read—”Went for grub. Be back soon. Don’t get out of bed. Think horny thoughts.”

  She smiled and flopped back with a big dopey grin on her face. Guess “gone for grub” meant he couldn’t settle for a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and orange juice, though he’d obviously drunk the coffee. It smelled much better than anything she’d ever made. Hers was either too strong and tasted like paint thinner, or too weak.

  Gravel crunched in the driveway and a car motor died. She tossed off the covers to go meet Nick. If she met him nude, the way she was now, who could predict where that would lead. Just in case he wasn’t sure…She grabbed her lipstick from her purse and drew circles around her breasts and an arrow down her middle, pointing to her most strategic spot. Then she plucked a dried rose from the arrangement next to the bed, clamped the flower between her teeth and pranced into the living room—as Danny entered the chalet, followed by an obviously pregnant Charity, who was yelling, “Work, work, work. All you do is go to the office and—”

  Her tirade stopped as all eyes focused on Dixie’s lipstick artwork. Dixie spat out the rose and grabbed two pillows from the couch to cover exposed places, though her arrow was too long to cover completely.

  “Dixie!” Danny said.

  She smiled. “Uh, hi?” She swallowed. “Nice seeing you both again. Charity, you seem well. I didn’t realize you’d be here today. Either of you. But obviously, I am.” Gads, she was rambling like an idiot. And with two pillows clamped to her body, she looked like one.

  Danny ran his hand through his thinning sandy hair. “Hell, I didn’t know I was going to be here, either.” He glanced at Charity. “And I wouldn’t be if my wife hadn’t dragged me.” He glared at Dixie. “And what the hell’s going on with that red arrow?”

  Dixie forced a grin. “Directions?”

  Charity put her hands on her hips. “It’s either we talk here, or we have our attorneys do the talking. I’m fed up, Danny. You hear me? Completely fed up.”

  Dixie backed into the bedroom as Danny said to Charity, “Dammit all, I have to make the money. Who do you think pays for those spa treatments you run off to, or those trips to New York and Rome for clothes?”

  Just like old times, except she wasn’t the one after Danny to stop working himself into a grave and she’d never gone to the spas and or bought her clothes anywhere other than the mall in Billings.

  She slipped into her robe, and contemplated sneaking out the back, except she really wanted a Pop-Tart and some of that coffee. She returned to the living room as Charity was shouting, “Well, I’m not raising this baby alone.”

  Dixie felt like one of those referees in a boxing ring. She needed a whistle to bring round one to an end. “Coffee anyone? Or juice? Maybe water?” Prozac!

  “If it’s got a Jack Daniel’s chaser, you can count me in,” Danny said.

  Dixie smiled sweetly, because not being married to Danny suddenly felt really, really good. It hadn’t always felt that way, of course. When he’d announced he wanted to get rid of her, she’d cried and thrown things and felt like a loser, but now…She was beyond him. Beyond babies and a house in the burbs and a husband who thought the world revolved around him and couldn’t get that it didn’t. She was forty and had a life of her own, and it was pretty darn good.

  But that was her. This was Danny and Charity, who had a baby on the way. Maybe she could help. She owed Danny for divorcing her. She headed for the kitchen and called over her shoulder, “You both must be exhausted after your trip.”

  “Hell, I sure am. And exhausted from this constant nagging.” Danny followed Dixie, then Charity did the same. They sat across from each other at the maple table, staring daggers as Dixie served up orange juice and coffee.

  Danny drank his coffee and glanced at Dixie. “Hey, this is damn good. You finally learned to cook?”

  Ah, yes, Danny the charmer. Why hadn’t she thrown a party when he’d left? Hey, there was still time. She said to Charity, “You want a daddy for your baby and you don’t want to be carting Danny off for triple bypass.” She pointed to Danny. “Don’t you get it? She wants you around, buster, and I’m here to tell you not everyone does.”

  “That wasn’t very nice.” Danny pouted.

  “Sorry. It kind of slipped out. But it’s the truth. Think about what you’re doing, Danny. Don’t mess up your life for a few extra dollars.” Dixie watched as Charity’s eyes softened. She loved Danny and he probably loved her or he wouldn’t have driven all the way to the chalet to try to work things out. Danny didn’t do anything that he really didn’t want to.

  The front door opened. “Hey, Dixie girl,” came Nick’s voice. His footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor as he approached. “Whose Lexus is—” He stopped in the entrance to the kitchen, grocery bag in hand, gazing from Danny to Charity and held up the dry rose to Dixie.

  She slid the rose behind her ear and slipped her arm through his. “Nick Romero, this is Danny Juriack, my ex, and his lovely wife, Charity.”

  “So you’re the one she’s drawing directions for,” Danny huffed.

  Dixie reddened and Nick eyed her questioningly, but before he could ask, she asked him, “Think you have enough in that bag for four superb omelets?”

  He grinned. “You bet.” He glanced at Danny, then back to Dixie. “If that’s what you want.”

  Words she’d never heard from her ex in all their years of marriage. She grinned in return and held Nick a bit tighter. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  And she really did. She owed Danny a good breakfast for showing up and reminding her just how lucky she was to have Nick Romero in her life and not him. And she realized she truly did want him to be happy.

  DIXIE FLOATED THROUGH the dinner rush hour at the Sage like those bubbles in the tub she’d shared with Nick. Ah, Nick! She filled coffee cups and served up daily specials, special orders and everything in between. Evan Bucky Daniel’s temper tantrum in the middle of the diner didn’t faze her. She simply stepped around him…though you’d think a fifty-year-old man wouldn’t get so upset over the Sage running out of peanut butter pie.

  The dinner crowd thinned as the coffee and dessert patrons meandered in, including Maggie. She parked at their usual table and waved at Dixie as if flagging down a New York taxi. Looking haggard, BJ slid into the next chair and held up a cup, desperately signaling that the cup was empty. Dixie snagged a carafe of hot water and a pack of herbal tea and made her way to the table. Her dinner shift was over now and she was more than happy to give the job to the night-shift girls. She took in Dixie and BJ. “You two are so demanding. And you never leave big tips.”

&nbs
p; “But we buy you great Christmas presents.” BJ tore open the covering for the teabag with her teeth and frantically dunked the gauzy package into the hot water. “I have to find an assistant.”

  Dixie parked her hand on her hip. “Honey, I got news. Nobody can have that baby but you.”

  BJ growled and gave her a beady-eyed look. “Funny, very funny. I mean an assistant doctor, or a medical assistant. Right now, I’d settle for a witchdoctor with a bone through his nose. When the boys come back from their vacation, and I have three to deal with, and one on the way, I’m toast.”

  Maggie sipped her coffee as Dixie sat down. “Where’s Angela now?”

  “Flynn’s taking her for a walk. The menfolk are getting together a big poker game for tomorrow. Cigars were mentioned. Gross. How can a doctor’s husband smoke?”

  Maggie laughed. “If you think you can control Colonel Flynn MacIntire just because you married him and you’re a doctor, you are so wrong.”

  BJ suddenly laughed, too. “But it’s so much fun to try. Besides, sometimes I win. And sometimes he wins.” She giggled. “I really like when he wins and he tries to make it up to me, or I make it up to him.”

  “The honeymoon’s not over,” Maggie said on a laugh, then added, “since the men are having a night out, we should do the same.”

  BJ sighed. “I’ll have Angela. I don’t want to get a sitter so soon.”

  Maggie clasped her hand. “Of course you have Angela. We’ll all help care for her, and what I have in mind is very Angela-friendly. I’ll make my secret ‘Death by Chocolate’ cake and we’ll feast.”

  “And you’ll want us to hunt through magazines and critique wedding dresses,” Dixie added.

  “That is because you still haven’t found something I like, even after you promised. Come on,” she whined. “I’m desperate. I have two days to order a dress before it’s too late.” She studied Dixie. “What’s up? You have a weird expression on your face.”

  “This is my chance to get the smugglers.”

  “Can’t you just forget them for one night?” Maggie huffed. “Think food, think chocolate.”

  Ignoring her, Dixie pushed on. “This is perfect. You two can cover for me in case Nick calls. There’s little moon tomorrow night. The time’s perfect for the bad guys to meet up again. I bet they hook up once a week or less to offload goods. That’s how long it would be for them to get to cities and sell to vendors, then head back for the next shipment. Boy, I bet they’re making a killing. And this is just one part of the operation.”

  “Dixie,” BJ hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “It’s not like that,” Dixie countered. “I’m going to report. If I find something, I’ll call it in to Jack. I’m not the marines.”

  BJ drummed her fingers on the table. “Nick will never ever approve of you going out alone.”

  Dixie drew herself up tall—as tall as five feet three inches got sitting down. “I do not need him or any other man to bless what I do. I sure don’t bless his cigar smoking. Besides, nothing’s going to happen. I’m going to sneak and snoop and poke around and get enough information to get a story, maybe get a few pictures.”

  “Maybe get your head blown off.”

  She begged. “Come on, help me out here. Just make like I’m with you for a few hours in case Nick calls, which I don’t think he will because of the poker thing.”

  BJ took another sip of tea. “All right, all right. But only because I know what it’s like to have a dream you want so bad you can taste it. But no confronting smugglers. Promise?”

  “We’ll meet at Sky Notch at eight,” Maggie said. She peered at Dixie. “Maybe I should go with you. Maybe Andy’s out there waiting for me.”

  “I’ll keep an eye open. The two of us yelling ‘Here buffalo, buffalo, buffalo’ is not conducive to snooping around bad guys.” She nodded to Nick, Jack and Flynn, who were walking through the door. “Remember, girls night out, nothing more.”

  “Hey,” Jack said as the three men and Angela in the stroller, drew up to the table. “What’s going on? You three got something cooking? You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

  Darn, Dixie thought. How’d he know? “Blueberry pie,” she said, at the same time that Maggie said, “Wedding dresses,” and BJ said, “Babies.”

  Dixie laughed. “See? Lots going on.” She pointed at the next table. “If you men would shove these together, we’ll have enough room for everyone.”

  “You know,” BJ offered as she snatched up Angela, “since there’re six of us, maybe it’s time to find a new table.” She pointed across the diner to a booth with chairs at the ends. “Like that one. Seats six, no problem. Even room for a high chair.”

  “Or two,” Dixie said, trying to sound enthusiastic but not feeling that way at all. Not just because they were leaving their table of thirteen years, but because soon five people would be sitting there, not six. Dixie Carmichael was leaving the Bend. Well, this was her decision, her dream to follow, and she wasn’t going to get morose about it or let anyone else feel that way.

  She slapped her palm on the tabletop, getting everyone’s attention in the diner. “Follow me,” she said as she hitched her chin toward their new digs. “Time for us to make a change.”

  The three women stood and gazed at their old table, then across to the new booth. BJ bit at her bottom lip; Maggie touched the tabletop. “All I care is, thank goodness this table can’t talk. It could blackmail us for all we’re worth.”

  Everyone in the diner laughed, Dixie handed each a knife, fork and spoon, and the six of them, with Angela in her stroller, paraded across the diner to the new table.

  After christening the spot by eating lemon meringue pie, they all walked home, Nick falling into step beside Dixie. Crickets chirped the last choruses of summer as warmth gave way to a chill off the mountains. She snuggled close to Nick, to keep warm and simply because she liked the feel of him at her side. “Wes is helping Gracie paint again tonight,” she said. “Never seen so little get done in so many hours.”

  “Why don’t you spend the night with me. Then you won’t have to worry about interrupting anything.”

  “But I don’t have my pjs.”

  He draped his arm around her, making her warm all over. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Besides, I have something waiting for you at my place.”

  “The way it’s been going between us, you’ve always got something waiting for me, and we sure as heck don’t need to be at your place to…use it. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I bought you a present, sort of.”

  “For me?” They paused under the streetlight and he turned her collar up against the breeze. She said, “I want a hint. Just a little one. What’s the first letter? The last? What color?”

  “Nosy is your middle name.” He kissed her. “You’ll have to wait till we get home.” His eyes met hers and the last word hung between them. Home. They were going there together now, but how many more nights would they be together like this, teasing and joking and having a great time? As soon as she scooped her story, she was gone, right? That was what she wanted most, right?

  “One teeny hint?”

  He nodded down the street to his place. “Not a chance, but we can run the rest of the way and you’ll find out faster than if we walk.”

  “You’re on.” She grabbed his hand and took off running as she had when she was a teenager, feeling happy and alive with someone special in her life. And Nick Romero was that and more.

  Panting, she reached the front door. “You’re not even out of breath and I’m ready to die on the spot. You’re in pretty good shape for a chef.”

  “All those hours cooking are great exercise.” He found his key and unlocked the door. Inside, he clicked on the light. The new fixtures he couldn’t resist installing bathed the room in a soft glow. “How do you like the stucco finish and terrazzo floor?”

  “Terrific, wonderful. Now, cough up my prize before I get crabby. I didn’t run all
this way for my health…though I probably should start.”

  He folded his arms and stared down at her. “I need some incentive.”

  “Like?”

  “Like this.” He swept her into his arms and kissed her long and thoroughly. “Damn,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked into the diner.”

  She laughed as he set her back on her feet. “Well, why didn’t you just do it? No one would have minded, certainly not me.”

  He nodded at two FedEx boxes on the floor. “There’s your present.”

  “Guess this rules out a Porsche or tennis bracelet.”

  He got a knife from the kitchen and handed it to her. “Your present. You get to do the honors.”

  She hunkered down and he joined her as she sliced through the packing tape. She put down the knife, drew back the flaps and peered in. “Blue T-shirts?”

  “With pink lettering.” He snapped one from the box and held it up for her to see. “Whistlers Bend now has its first official 5-K Run T-shirt.”

  “Whistle For The Cure. Oh, my gosh, I love it.”

  “There are pink whistles in the other box. Thought it would be fun.”

  “It’s…fabulous. Ingenious. Thank you.” She flung her arms around him, knocking him to the floor, her on top, as she kissed him forehead-to-chin and everywhere in between, making them both laugh.

  “I think I’ll get some area rugs for this floor—it’s damn hard. And if I’d known the T-shirts would get this response from you, I’d have gotten them a lot sooner.”

  She ran her hand over his stubbled chin and tweaked his nose. “This is the best present anyone’s ever given me. I mean that—I really do.”

  He sobered and wrapped his arms around her back. “Why does this mean so much to you? You never said.”

  “I had a lump and it scared the crap out of me. Mine was benign, but it sure made me think of all the women who didn’t get such great news. Over a million women will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year. Over forty thousand will die in the U.S. alone.”