by Miles, Cindy
“Let me take a look at you,” Reagan said to Emily as they readied inside the Quinns’ river house.
With her hands, Reagan saw her sister. Gently, she ran her fingertips over her dress, and as Em had already described, it was a vintage Empire waist gown, ivory in color, with a velvet ivory sash and pearling in the lace. Gently, Reagan let her hands move to Emily’s hair, where she had it neatly arranged in an updo, tendrils of wispy length hanging down and laced with baby’s breath. Dangling pearl earrings Reagan had found on one of their antiques store journeys. “I think you must be the most beautiful bride there ever was,” Reagan said.
Emily grasped Reagan’s hands, their fingers entwined. “Rea, I’m so excited!” she said happily. “I’m marrying my best friend.” She giggled. “And he’s hot!”
Reagan laughed. “This will be the most perfect day ever.”
“Well, now, if you’re finished primpin’ and fussin’ in here, let’s get this circus on the road, yeah? I’m starvin’!”
Reagan jumped at the sound of Jep’s gravelly voice, and she and Emily giggled. “Jep!” Emily cried.
The screen door creaked open, Jep’s slower footfalls sounded and then he stood beside them. “I swear you two make a picture,” he said, and Reagan could hear the grin in his voice. “Prettiest gals on the island. Now let’s go. This tie and top hat look damned ridiculous.”
“You look downright sexy, Jep Malone,” Emily crooned.
“Hmm. Well, the suspenders ain’t so bad. Come on now. That middle grandson of mine has been pacing a hole in my yard.”
The other bridesmaids, getting ready in the back of the house, hurried into the living room, their heels clicking against the hardwood in the river house. Emily had asked Jep to give her away, and with a crack in his voice, he’d agreed. Owen was Matt’s best man, and Nathan and Eric were, well, his other best men. One of Matt’s comrades had joined the wedding party—Coby Jenkins, a big, bearded marine—and he would escort one of Em’s maids down the aisle, and Nathan the other. Eric, of course, had Reagan’s arm, and as the vintage music rang out over the marsh, he was suddenly there, beside her.
“God, Reagan Rose,” Eric whispered in her ear. “You look like something out of an old movie. You’re stunning.” He kissed her ear. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off you this entire night?”
Reagan grinned and nuzzled his throat. “Well, silly,” she whispered back. “Don’t.”
A low groan escaped Eric’s throat from somewhere deep down inside, and Reagan merely grinned.
Everyone lined up, as they had during rehearsal the night before, with Eric and Reagan leading the way. As they began their slow march across the lawn, Eric described everything in full detail for Reagan. She held on to his arm and listened intently, and a smile wouldn’t stray from her lips as he explained the event in a very guy-like manner as Matt and Emily’s song, “Come Josephine in My Flying Machine,” drifted on the October wind.
“If someone were to just happen up to this event, they’d think they’d fallen back in time,” Eric began. “Everyone has come in ’30s dress. Men in suspenders, some in hats, the women in hats and dresses. Now, Mr. Wimpy and his brothers all came in their World War II uniforms. All except Ted,” Eric said with a quiet chuckle. “He couldn’t fit into his.”
“Eric,” Reagan whispered. “Behave.”
“Okay. My dad has on duds like the rest of us. White long-sleeved shirt, suspenders. Looks pretty spiffy, if I do say so myself. Twinkle lights have been strung from tree to tree and over the dock, and since the sun has dropped it looks like a bunch of fireflies lighting up the backyard.”
“Go on,” Reagan urged.
“You should see Jep in his getup. I’ve never seen a guy pull at a tie so much. Looks pretty good, though. And your sister,” he said softly. “Beautiful, Rea. You should see Matt’s face,” he continued. “He just caught sight of her behind us and literally can’t take his eyes off her.”
Reagan’s heart filled as he continued with his description of her sister’s wedding day, and after he walked her to where she was supposed to stand and wait to give Em the ring for Matt, he leaned close to her ear.
“I can’t stop staring at you.” His warm voice washed over her. “I’ll be back for you, Reagan Rose. Don’t go anywhere.”
Reagan blushed. “I’ll be right here.”
As the band played on and the other bridesmaids joined Reagan, she knew her sister had begun her walk because the crowd literally gasped. Gasped. Reagan listened closely, hanging on to every sound she could grasp; the frogs in the marsh, along with the small birds that lived in the saw grass, joined the band in their song. The October breeze rustled through the live oaks and magnolias, stirring the leaves and brushing against Reagan’s skin. She detected the rustle of Emily’s dress as Jep walked her down the aisle. And as her sister and Matt Malone began their nuptials, Reagan would never forget the quiver she heard in Matt’s raspy voice as he vowed to love Emily forever.
It was then that Reagan really, really grew to love Matt.
And when Emily repeated her vows, her lyrical voice cracked a little, and Reagan could hear the tears of absolute joy as she promised to love Matt forever, too.
Childhood best friends, reunited.
She couldn’t be happier for her sister.
And when the preacher introduced Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Malone to the crowd, and then told Matt he could kiss the bride, Matt’s deep raspy voice was loud enough for only Emily, and Reagan, to hear.
“I know that,” he said, and the crowd cheered and laughed as, apparently, Matt swept Em into some kind of humdinger, as Jep would call it.
The music started back up, and the soulful voice of Ella Fitzgerald as she sang “Dream a Little Dream of Me” drifted over the marsh, and before she knew it Eric had slipped her hand into his arm and they were walking back down the aisle.
During pictures, Reagan rose on tiptoes and whispered to Eric. “My eyes don’t look all crazy, do they?” she asked. “You know,” she said. “Crazy eyes?”
Eric laughed. “Of course you have crazy eyes, woman,” he teased. “Anyone who looks at you can see in your eyes you are crazy about me.” He kissed her softly. “No. Your eyes are gorgeous,” he assured her.
Emily had hired a photographer who also brought along an antique camera. The kind on a stand, where the photographer puts their head beneath a black cloth—he took some authentic vintage photos. Reagan had no doubt they’d all turn out grand.
Once the pictures were finished, it was party time. The band played vintage tunes, and the Charleston was danced on the back lawn. Eric continued to describe everything around them to Reagan, including how Emily had taken a turn dancing with each of the war brothers, although quite slowly, and even old Jep gave her a turn.
After the cake had been cut, and the bride and groom had teasingly smashed a little on each other’s nose, the garter from Em’s leg had been shot into the crowd of bachelors; Reagan gathered with the other maids while Em tossed the bouquet.
Before she knew what was happening, the bundle of flowers landed right in her upturned hands.
And there was a shout from the crowd as Eric hollered Yes!
Reagan blushed clear to her roots.
Then, as it grew time for Matt’s big surprise, Eric slipped into the Quinns’, bringing her present for Matt and Emily, wrapped in gauzy material.
Matt led Emily down to the side yard, where everyone followed, and he walked her in front of him, his hands over her eyes.
And then swept her up into his arms and set her into the basket of a hot air balloon.
Their flying machine.
Emily let out a squeal of joy, and Eric escorted Reagan to her.
“I wanted to show this to you before you left,” Reagan told her sister and Matt.
E
mily pulled the gauzy material loose and gasped as she looked at the painting Reagan had done for their wedding present.
It was a couple, the bride’s head leaning against the groom’s shoulder, as they took off in their flying machine over a sunset river, the sky filled with floating lanterns.
Emily leaned over the basket’s edge and kissed Reagan on the cheek.
“It’s perfect!” she whispered. “I love you, Rea.”
“Reagan, this is the best,” Matt said, and he, too, kissed her. “We’ll treasure it forever, sis.”
Again, Reagan was filled to busting. Her sister’s happiness, the integration into the Malone family—everything was as it should be.
If only their parents had been able to be here for it.
Eric tucked Reagan against him and they walked back, and as the hot air balloon lifted, the guests all released their lanterns, and they drifted up, up, and Reagan couldn’t make out much in the shadowy sky, but she did see flickers of light as they wafted away, and Ella’s voice followed Emily and Matt into the night.
Reagan’s hand lifted and grazed Eric’s cheek. Her hero. Her heart. She wondered what their wedding might be like, should they have one. The thought made her stomach quiver with butterflies.
He loved her.
She loved him.
What more could she ask for?
* * *
“NOW, THAT’S A SIGHT,” Eric whispered against Reagan’s ear as Matt and Em drifted off to the beach, where they’d make a night pass around Cassabaw, then land on the north shore and head off to their honeymoon. A place quirky, vintage Em had always wanted to go, just because of the movie.
Casablanca.
“A bride and groom dressed in old-time wedding clothes, waving from the basket of a hot air balloon and surrounded by rising lanterns.” He nuzzled her neck. “This night is magic, girl. Do you feel it?”
Eric slipped his hands over her hips, then grasped Reagan’s hand, moving her other to his shoulder, and as Ella Fitzgerald sang “Love is Here to Stay,” began to slowly dance to the music. Reagan tucked her head into his shoulder. “I do feel it,” she admitted. “Thank you for helping me see my sister’s big day,” she said softly, moving her lips to his throat.
A soft groan escaped Eric’s throat. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said. “Anything for a gorgeous girl in a lace dress.” He nuzzled her neck. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are yet?”
“Hmm,” Reagan teased. “I’m not sure. Say it again. I’ll see if it sounds familiar.”
Eric’s lips brushed her ear as his mouth kissed the soft shell. “I’m so in love with you, Reagan Rose Quinn,” he whispered, and shivers ran down her spine. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”
Reagan snuggled closer, and Eric twirled her, and she laughed. “I’m so in love with you,” she whispered back, and she felt his gusty sigh wash over her.
Eric Malone had been her bratty next-door neighbor as a kid.
He now guided her effortlessly in a timeless dance, to timeless music, beneath a sky dotted with lanterns.
And he loved her. Said she was all his.
And she knew then a happiness had found her—one that would last forever. The kind of deep-soul joy that made life seem brighter, even though she moved through shadows and darkness.
“You’re my light,” she said against his ear, and his arms went around her fully and tightened. Possessive. Full of love.
And she never wanted him to let go.
“I envision us barefoot, at the end of the dock at sunset,” he breathed against her. “You in your soft, fancy gown, me in my tux,” he said softly. “We’ll drift off down the river beneath fireworks.”
Reagan squeezed her eyes shut and smiled. He hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, but it sure sounded like it was on his mind.
It’d been on hers, too.
“I like the sound of that,” she whispered as his lips found hers.
“I like the sound of you,” he said after a long kiss. “Forever.”
Reagan knew she’d found it. Love. Forever.
Her hero.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from WHISPERS UNDER A SOUTHERN SKY by Joanne Rock.
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Whispers Under a Southern Sky
by Joanne Rock
CHAPTER ONE
RUNNING ON FUMES, Amy Finley coasted into the driveway of her temporary home shortly before midnight. Even after ten years away from Heartache, Tennessee, she’d remembered how to get to her father’s old hunting cabin. It was one of the only places in her hometown where she’d actually made a few happy memories.
Now, shoving out of the passenger side of her car—the driver’s door was broken—Amy stepped onto the pine-needle-covered ground in the woodsy hills east of where she’d grown up.
Her sisters figured no one had been in the cabin in the last six years. Their father had died four years ago, but even before then he’d abandoned his old habit of coming up here in the fall as he’d gotten more involved in his career as mayor of Heartache.
Erin, the older of Amy’s two sisters, had promised Amy the electricity and water would be turned on this week, so the property would be slightly more livable for Amy’s return.
She found the key to the front door by sliding a hand beneath a windowsill around the side of the building. Same place it had always been, inside a hollowed-out knot in the pinewood. It was a miracle no rodents had made off with the key in all these years, although she hadn’t been worried. She would find her way inside the rustic cabin one way or another. Security wasn’t tight around here.
Something she planned to address as soon as possible if she wanted to feel safe.
At the thought, a shiver tripped over her skin despite the mild fall weather. Tucking deeper into her pale blue hoodie, she refused to think about The Incident. The night that had driven her from Heartache for an entire decade, making her miss her father’s funeral. Her sister’s wedding. Her mother’s alleged recovery from severe bipolar disorder.
She’d believe that when she saw it. If she ever worked up the nerve to face her mom again, anyway.
For now she told herself to take her return one step at a time. Her first step w
as moving into the cabin and starting renovations. She would need the distraction of a project to get her through the other tasks she’d set for herself. She was here to make amends with her family—her siblings if not her mother. And, perhaps more important, she’d come home to support her sister as Heather prepared to testify against a local criminal awaiting his trial.
Amy had her own reasons for needing to see the man behind bars, but no one in her family knew about those, and she planned to keep it that way.
One step at a time.
Turning the rusted, thin key in the lock, she used her shoulder to nudge open the door. Instead of smelling the must and mildew she expected, however, the clean scent of lemon polish drifted past her nose. What on earth?
The door creaked open on stiff hinges and a floorboard groaned under her tread-worn tennis shoes as she stepped inside. Flicking on the lights in the small space, she saw the pine-plank floors had been swept clean. One of the single-pane windows had also been opened, and a set of calico curtains hung on the wrought iron rods above the windows.
Her sisters co-owned a consignment shop in the small downtown area. They must have brought some finds from their business up here to give Amy a warm welcome. An antique glass milk jug held a vase of wildflowers on the tiny counter next to the white porcelain kitchen sink. A green plaid place mat held a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, one clean glass and a pan of brownies visible through a layer of plastic wrap.
She dropped the duffel bag from her shoulder and closed the front door behind her, drawn to the brownie pan despite the chilly breeze blowing through the whole house from the open window. A crisp yellow notecard sat atop the treats.
Welcome home, Sis. Can’t wait to see you when you’re ready. Love, Heather and Erin
It was the kind of thoughtful gesture a normal sister should love.
Except that it had taken her ten long years to face her siblings after that hellish week when she’d been seventeen and her world had fallen apart.
This hunting cabin was still fifteen miles from the home where she’d grown up, but it was the closest she could bring herself to seeing any of the Finleys even now.