Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance)

by Pace, Alicia Hunter

  “I didn’t think you would be.”

  “Did you give Avery chicken for dinner?” she demanded.

  “I did. I got some rice and vegetables out for myself before I added the chicken.”

  “So you aren’t going to try to make us be vegetarians?” she asked.

  “Arabelle, where did you get the idea I would try to force you to do anything?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Let me count the ways,” she said under her breath.

  She had a point. He didn’t reply. She shook her head, as if she was trying to shake it off. Maybe she was tired of fighting. He sure was—though he had the feeling there were many battles in front of him.

  “So not vegan? You eat cheese and eggs?”

  “Yes.”

  She reached for the iron skillet he’d used for the stir-fry. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

  He stood up. “You don’t need to. I’ll get something when I get home.”

  “You aren’t going home. You fell asleep on the floor of Avery’s room.”

  He sat back down and wondered if she expected him to sleep with her, wondered if he would.

  “Here.” She set a plate in front of him and gave him a glass of water. “Take your meds. I’m going make up the twin bed in the extra room.”

  That answered that.

  “I warn you it’s a kindness to call a space that size a room,” she went on. “When she lived here, Lanie used it to store books and DVDs.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes for a second. “Right now you’re my patient.” She walked away.

  And that answered that.

  Chapter Eight

  Arabelle settled herself into the chair that Will held for her at a big round table in the private dining room at the Merritt Country Club.

  Thank God it was over—or at least it would be after this lunch party.

  What a week it had been. The minute Gail Avery breezed into town, Arabelle had lost control of her life, not to mention the wedding. Gail had come through Birmingham and picked up five dresses appropriate for a daytime home wedding. Then Arabelle had been forced to try them all on and parade in front of not only Gail, Lanie, and Susie, but the book club clan, who had appeared in mass like black magic on Halloween night. After they all (all having nothing to do with Arabelle herself because she didn’t care) finally agreed on the tea length champagne silk, Helen from the little dress shop in Mountain Brook had driven to Merritt to do the alterations.

  There had been talk of flowers, cakes, music, and all manner of foolishness that Arabelle had wanted no part of. But in the end, there had been all of that—and there had been guests and not just the book club clan and their assorted spouses and children either. Half of Merritt had gathered at the farm for the nuptials and now they were filing into this dining room for the celebration lunch.

  When Gail had not been able to make Arabelle go to Reed’s Jewelry to make bridal selections, she had gone herself and registered the same china, crystal, and silver that Mimi had had—not to mention a grand assortment of other useless items. So there had been gifts, so many gifts from all over the state.

  What there had not been were attendants. Gail had tried to insist but Arabelle had drawn the line, citing space issues. Truth was, handing her flowers to someone other than—well, it just could not happen.

  In the midst of all this, she and Will had not seen much of each other in private but had been seen in the public eye way too often.

  Her gut turned. Trouble was, in public and with Avery, the old Will, so kind and so stoic, came out. He just wasn’t inclined to share any of that with her—at least not in private.

  Though she was still puzzling over the wedding kiss. They had been in public, true, but it had turned out to be a very private moment. When they’d joined hands and exchanged rings, there had been little warmth between them and she had expected the kiss to be brief and cold, too. Will had probably intended that. In fact, he had looked a little surprised when Luke had directed him to kiss the bride. Then his face had taken on that I’ll do what I have to look. But the moment he took her in his arms and joined his mouth to hers, something warm and sweet bloomed between them and went on to suck the breath out of her. Will must have felt it too because the kiss flamed up and went on too long. For the barest second, she had forgotten where she was and it seemed he had too. Why else would she have opened her mouth? Why else would he have cupped her cheek and twined his tongue with hers? It was the polite delighted laughter from the crowd that brought them back. They jumped apart, red-faced, which brought on applause and more laughter.

  For the briefest second, she had felt a glimmer of—something? Hope? Happiness? Plain old hormone surge? Either way, it didn’t matter. He had muttered, “Sorry,” even as he smiled for the crowd.

  And that had made her sad because, though she didn’t want to kiss him, didn’t want to feel like he’d made her feel, she didn’t want him to be sorry either.

  Now, he laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “Are you doing all right there? Can I get you anything?”

  Back to business. Very solicitous, affectionate even, but not a bit of heat—and all for show. He had sworn that in public they would look like the happiest couple alive and he was good at his word.

  Luke and Lanie were entering the country club dining room now, each holding a toddler—their own and hers. Avery struggled to get out of Luke’s arms.

  “Daddy!” Ah, that was something else that had happened this week. Will had traveled the smooth course from Sainted Man With Big Truck to Daddy—very shiny, very new, and very sought after. Arabelle was just the woman with the green beans and the washcloth.

  “Hey, pal!” Will smiled that delicious deep dimpled smile and swung Avery into his arms. If Will was appealing in jeans and flannel shirts, he was devastating in his charcoal suit and blinding white shirt. He was unaware of that, of course, just as he was unaware of all the tender looks directed at him from the wedding guests. Some were even wiping their eyes.

  Arabelle knew what they were thinking, the same things they had been saying all week: “What a good man! What a lucky boy. Why, you’d never know that child wasn’t his own flesh and blood. Just look at them together!”

  Now Will was leaning toward her and smiling, “Avery, doesn’t Mama look pretty?”

  “Mama!” Avery said as if he had just remembered her and held out his arms. She hugged him to her and breathed his baby smell.

  “Did you have fun?” she asked. For some reason everyone thought she and Will had to leave the wedding alone together. Probably because of that kiss, it had been a quiet awkward ride from the farm—though mercifully short. Unfortunately, the drive to the bed and breakfast her mother had arranged for would not be such a short trip. It was just south of Nashville and would take a couple of hours. Very romantic sounding. She could hardly wait. “Did you like riding in the car with Emma and John Luke?”

  “Jiffy and me ride in Daddy’s big truck,” he said.

  “Yes. Yes. I know you do. Every chance you get.”

  “Down!”

  “Down?” Will had procured a booster seat and was installing it between Arabelle’s chair and his own. “You don’t want down. You want to sit in your chair and eat some lunch.”

  Just then the family descended.

  “Will, don’t you want me to take that boy over here with Gail and me so you can sit by your bride?” Senator Daddy spoke.

  “He’s fine here.” Will set Avery in the seat and worked very hard on figuring out how to fasten him in. Did he have to bite his bottom lip with such rapt, adorable concentration?

  She looked away, only to see her whole family—even Luke—beaming at him. Apparently, they thought he was adorable too. So sweet, so intent on being a good father. Precious.

  She wanted to run.

  “I’m still not sure about this table arrangement,” Gail Avery fretted, looking around as the other tables in the roo
m filled. “Arabelle, I don’t know why you wouldn’t agree to a long head table. Everyone wants to see the bride.”

  “I told you, Mother,” she said patiently. “I want for all of us to be able to visit together. We couldn’t do that if we were lined up like a group of experts at a panel discussion.” People were a lot more interested in seeing the groom than the bride anyway.

  Emma picked up on the word expert and apparently knew what it meant.

  “I am a good flower girl. I was flower girl for Mommy, for Miss Tolly, for Miss Lucy, but not Aunt Belle.” She said the last three words in a little sing-song voice and looked at the ceiling.

  That again. If she had one regret, it was that she had refused any attendants, including flower girl. Emma had been harping on it all week and now she gave Arabelle a pitiful look. This truly hurt. She and Emma had always adored each other.

  “Emma,” Lanie said firmly. “That’s enough. I told you Aunt Belle’s wedding was simpler than the other weddings you’ve been in.”

  “Uh huh,” Emma said in a tone that clearly said she wasn’t buying it and continued to look at the ceiling.

  Lanie gave her a stern look, while the parents, Luke, and even Susie looked at Arabelle with disappointed eyes.

  She had done the unforgivable, hurt Emma, hurt Carrie’s child.

  And damn it, what Emma wanted was how it should have been. Emma should have preceded her up the aisle scattering rose petals and Carrie should have been at her side, along with Sheridan. But if that had been the case, would there even be an Avery? And if there was no Avery, what else mattered?

  She could feel her heart beating in her temples.

  “Emma, I’m sorry,” she said. “I made a mistake. I should have let you be flower girl.” There, she’d said it, admitted she was a monster, a horrible, horrible monster who made five-year-old nieces sad.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Emma said with a sigh and put her napkin over her head and face.

  Lanie shook her head and gave Arabelle a sympathetic look. “Napkins are for laps, Emma. Not heads.”

  “I need to cover up my sad face,” she said.

  Lanie plucked the napkin off her head, folded it, and put it in her lap. “I suggest you turn your sad face into a glad face if you want Beau to come over to play later.”

  Emma sighed dramatically and parted her lips over her clenched teeth in a wooden sham of a smile that might have been funny under other circumstances.

  That was it. She’d stood all she could.

  “Here!” Arabelle rose abruptly and grabbed a handful of flowers out of the centerpiece. “Here, Emma. You’re the flower girl of the party.” She walked around the table and handed them to the child. “Look. Pluck the petals off like this and walk around the room and scatter them. Say hello to everyone. Tell them you’re the flower girl. If you run out of flowers, come back. I’ll get you more.”

  Emma giggled and reverted to her sunny self. “Thank you, Aunt Belle! I love you!” And she was off.

  When Arabelle turned back, all the adults were looking at her with open mouths.

  Luke was the first to speak. “Arabelle, Emma doesn’t get everything she wants. That was not necessary. She needs to learn.”

  “So I really can’t win, can I?”

  She might have cried if she had any cry left in her, but she didn’t—hadn’t in months. The last tears she’d shed had been tears of grief, joy, and guilt over the joy when she’d found out Avery hadn’t been on that plane with Sheridan and David. She hadn’t even been able to cry at the funeral.

  Suddenly, Will was on his feet, coming toward her. He put his arms around her like he meant it, though she knew he didn’t. Still, she liked his arms around her and hated that she could revel in the false safety.

  “Shh. Simmer down,” he whispered. “It’s fine. Come back to the table.” He gently brought her back and ushered her into her chair.

  She could actually feel the waves of approval emitting from everyone in the room toward him.

  “Bride’s nerves,” her mother said and fussed with the ruined centerpiece, trying to coax it back into shape.

  “What we need here is some Champagne!” her father said.

  “Sanders, that’s for later. After lunch, with the cake,” Gail said.

  “I say it’s now,” he said and motioned for a waiter.

  The senator had spoken and soon corks were popping all over the room.

  “I’ll serve our table.” Daddy took the bottle from the waiter and poured first for Arabelle, then her mother, Susie, and next Lanie. “Now for the groom.”

  But Will put his hand over his flute and said, “None for me.”

  Everyone looked puzzled.

  The senator laughed. “Champagne is kind of a sissy drink. I’ll order a bottle of bourbon. How’s that?”

  “Not on my account,” Will said. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Oh?” Gail raised her eyebrows like she did when she wanted to know more.

  “The rest of you go ahead,” he said. “Really. I have never drank, never will. I don’t have an alcohol abuse problem if you’re worried about that—and I can see where you might be. Everyone at this table knows my dad was a drunk; it’s no secret.” He laid his hand on Avery’s head. “But I will never take the chance of putting my son through that.” And as an afterthought he added, “Or make Arabelle live like my mother did.”

  Gail and Susie wiped their eyes. Luke and Lanie smiled.

  And the senator beamed. “Well. That’s fine, son. Just fine.”

  Saint Will rides again. And they were just now serving the crab cocktail. No doubt he’d be Emperor of the Universe by the time was the cake was cut.

  • • •

  Will was tired of the strife, tired of rage running his world. He’d been partying down with that anger like it was his twin brother home from the war—and he wasn’t proud of that no matter how good the reason. But something had happened to him there in the dining room when Arabelle had become so upset, something even more significant than that hot kiss that he hadn’t seen coming. Gail Avery had claimed Arabelle was suffering from bride’s nerves but he knew better. She’d been at the breaking point all week and he was to blame for a big portion of it. In that moment, he had wanted to comfort and protect her. And maybe he could.

  What was done was done and it was time to start putting their life in order.

  The festivities were over, they had changed out of their wedding clothes, and Arabelle’s car was at the front door of the country club waiting for them. The rice had been thrown; the hugs and goodbyes had happened over and over again.

  Now he stood with the passenger door open, ready to help Arabelle in but she wouldn’t budge. She had almost gotten in the car twice, but stopped to cling to Avery and give last minute instructions to Gail, Susie, and Lanie. Meanwhile, Avery was trying to break loose in order to get to John Luke and Lulu Bragg, who were playing nearby.

  “Mama, Avery get down!” he cried.

  “Shh, baby. Just a minute.” She turned back to her mother. “You might have to rock him. And don’t forget Jiffy. If he wants some juice, that’s fine but mix it half and half with water.”

  “Arabelle—” Gail began.

  Will stepped forward and took Avery. “Arabelle, he’ll be fine. We won’t even be gone twenty-four hours. And we’ll call later.” This little trip had been a surprise from Arabelle’s parents. He had intended to take Arabelle and Avery to his house and start getting them settled in—with no plans for sex.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was time. That kiss at the altar said so.

  And she had been one beautiful bride. Gorgeous. Something stirred in him.

  “Down, Daddy! Go see John Luke!”

  “Sure, pal.” He kissed the boy’s head. “Give your mama love first.”

  Arabelle clung to the boy like she was never going to see him again. Finally, Will pried him away from her and handed him to Lanie.

  When he turned back, Arabe
lle frowned at him. Adorably. He smiled and cupped her cheek. He couldn’t help it.

  “You’ve already said your goodbyes, Arabelle. Let’s go.” He took her arm and finally managed to deposit her in the car.

  “Do you want me to drive?” she asked. “It is my vehicle.”

  “I’ll drive. You’ve had a rough day.”

  When he started to pull away, the crowd that had gathered to wish them well cheered, probably because they were tired of waiting for them to leave.

  “At least no one decorated the car,” he said.

  “Look, I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I know you don’t want to go to this B&B. Neither do I but I couldn’t stop it. You’ve seen my parents. They’re steamrollers.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “I did at first but it might be good for us. And I think your parents are nice.”

  She gave out a little bark of laughter that was totally devoid of any humor. “You would. They love you. Everybody loves you.”

  Everybody but you. Where did that come from?

  He swung the car onto the interstate. “Why don’t you take a nap?” he said. “You’ve had a hard day.”

  “Yes, I have,” she said. “It takes a lot out of a person to devastate a five-year-old.”

  “Are you worried about that? Emma was not devastated. She was acting like a brat and you let her get to you.”

  She practically came out of her seat. “Emma is not a brat! She is a precious child. What’s more, she’s my niece and I love her. And she used to love me.”

  He was not going to argue with her, no matter what. “She still does. And Arabelle, I did not say Emma was a brat. She’s great kid. I said she was acting like a brat and she was. All kids act like brats sometimes.” He took a deep breath. “And as bratiness goes, she was charming about it.

  Who knew that a napkin could be a hat and a mask, all the while inspiring guilt?”

  She almost smiled.

  “I’ve got to hand it to her,” he went on. “She’s got your number. I might need to schedule some private lessons with Miss Emma. Might need to get a napkin of my own.”

  “She is her mother’s daughter,” Arabelle said fondly.