A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn

by Cheryl Holt

  To her enormous relief, Rachel had vanished, so Jennifer had been able to watch for guests by herself, but no one had arrived, and eventually, she’d been too annoyed to keep on with her vigil. She’d headed up the stairs, where her father was sprawled on the couch and staring at a baseball game on television.

  Clearly, he deemed the room to be his sanctuary, and he hadn’t yet ventured out. Would he ever? How about for the wedding ceremony? Would he bother then?

  It was a day for people to bustle in, to hug and chat and reconnect, but it didn’t seem as if any of that was happening. The Inn appeared to be empty, as if she, her dad, and her siblings, Rachel and Kyle, were the only ones present. So far, it didn’t feel like a celebration at all.

  Because she hadn’t paid for any of it, she was working hard to conceal her exasperation, but she couldn’t shuck off the anger that was bubbling under the surface and desperately struggling to burst out.

  “I didn’t catch any of that,” she told Eric. “When will you be here tomorrow?”

  “I’m guessing about the same time you expected me today.”

  “All right.” What else could she say?

  “Josh will be strolling in though. Welcome him for me, would you?” Josh was his best friend and best man.

  “I will.”

  She took a deep breath, determined to tamp down her frustration. Her father was pretending to be enthralled by his ballgame, but she had no doubt he was avidly eavesdropping, so she slipped out onto the balcony.

  “Your parents are both coming this afternoon,” she said to Eric. “Your stepmother and stepsister too.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re supposed to have supper with them.”

  “Wow. Is that tonight? I’d forgotten.”

  “I can’t face them alone. What if a fight erupts? What if I need a referee?”

  “They won’t fight,” he claimed, “and besides, you’re an Amazon warrior, babe. You’re Wonder Woman. You can handle it.”

  “Didn’t you tell me Crystal and Sharon haven’t seen each other since the divorce?”

  “I’m pretty sure not.”

  “I can’t bear to imagine how it will go. You’re putting me in a terrible bind.”

  “I’m sorry, babe, but it can’t be helped. I wish . . .”

  He trailed off yet again, and she waited and waited to hear his voice, but the call never stabilized. Finally, in case his reception was better than hers, she said, “Keep me posted. And if you can get here later tonight, please do.”

  She waited some more, then the call cut off. She grumbled with aggravation, then went inside, first forcing a smile so her father wouldn’t notice any upset.

  “Eric’s not coming?” he immediately asked, proving that she’d been correct to suspect that he’d been hanging on her every word.

  “No. There’s some wicked weather in New York. The plane can’t take off.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “We’re having supper with his parents! I can’t picture myself hosting the meal if he’s not there. How will I ward off any bullets that are fired?”

  “I always think divorce is so sad.”

  “Should I cancel it?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Why would you cancel it?”

  “I just wanted Eric to be with me. His absence will make it so awkward.”

  He waved away her concerns. “We’ll be fine, peanut. Don’t worry about it. You have plenty of other issues to plague you at the moment.”

  It was his answer to every problem: Don’t worry. But how could she not?

  She’d like to vent about Rachel and the bridesmaid’s dress, would like to tell him how it didn’t seem to really be her wedding or that perhaps it was somebody else’s wedding. She didn’t feel special or important, but he’d never learned how to commiserate over those sorts of topics.

  It had her contemplating her mother again. If her mother had been alive and with them, Jennifer would have had a female shoulder to cry on.

  “I guess I’ll . . . ah . . . track down Rachel,” she said. “She’s in a snit over her dress. I should probably find out why.”

  “She hates the color.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  She went over to the door, and as she reached for the knob, someone knocked. She presumed it would be Rachel who’d have forgotten her key. She’d be bored and eager to complain about how she wasn’t having any fun, but when Jennifer opened it, she was so astonished she had to blink three times to be positive she wasn’t hallucinating.

  “Amy?”

  “Surprise!” her older sister said. “I bet I’m the very last person you thought you’d see this afternoon.”

  “You certainly are.”

  Jennifer turned to her dad who hadn’t bothered to tear himself away from the television screen. “Dad, look who’s here.”

  He yanked his gaze to the door, and when he laid eyes on Amy, he muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned. What convinced you to join us?”

  “After significant reflection,” Amy responded, “it dawned on me that I couldn’t bear to miss my little sister’s wedding.”

  “A very wise decision,” he said. “I’m glad you listened to me.”

  Jennifer scowled at him. “I assumed you didn’t care one way or the other if she attended. You nagged at her to come?”

  “I didn’t nag,” he said. “I simply informed her that you’d like to have her here. I figured it would help to make up for your mom not being present.”

  “It definitely will, Dad. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Amy was flighty and distracted and normally lost in her own peculiar world. But she was the kindest female on the planet, and she exuded a peacefulness and serenity that others could feel. She was sweet and big-hearted, and she would fix the pesky perception that everything was wrong and there was no celebration in progress.

  Jennifer grabbed her sister’s hand and dragged her into the room.

  “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  The bartender studied her, then said, “I’ll need to see an ID.”

  “Isn’t this a private inn? Why would you need an ID?”

  “It’s private,” the woman replied, “but Colorado law applies. No ID, no liquor.”

  Lindsey silently fumed as she mentally debated comments that would change the shrew’s mind. At the clubs she patronized in LA, it was easy to get served when you were underage. Club owners liked the young and glamorous to frequent their businesses. It lured in customers and pushed reputations as cool spots to party.

  Should Lindsey mention who she was? Should she bribe the woman?

  From how the witch was glaring, it wouldn’t do any good. Maybe she’d have Crystal talk to her instead. Crystal could explain a few facts of life, namely that her mother had booked the stupid venue, and the costly stay was being paid for with Dennis’s money. It ought to buy Lindsey whatever she wanted.

  She had a fake ID up in her room, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have to show it, so she hadn’t brought it down. Why wasn’t every item at the Inn included for free? Especially all the liquor she felt like drinking?

  If she couldn’t use the bar, she’d have to bum a ride into the pathetic village they’d passed on the way up the hill. There’d been a liquor store on the main street, but it was a shitty little town. The clerk at the counter would probably be just as fussy about checking IDs.

  She’d only been at the Inn for two hours, and she was already miserable. How much shittier would it become before she could escape to California?

  “Thanks for nothing,” she mumbled, and she sauntered out of the bar and walked into the Great Room.

  It really was a great room, with high ceilings and a huge rock fireplace. Comfortable chairs and sofas were scattered around, so people could loaf
and chat, but there were three dead animal heads leering down from the walls: a stuffed buffalo, a moose or an elk (she didn’t know the difference), and some other mammal she couldn’t identify. Was it some sort of antelope?

  What type of idiot hung dead animals on his walls? Who believed anybody would like to stare up at them? It was creepy.

  There was one other person present, a boy about her age of nineteen sitting on a sofa. He was uber-good looking, with dark hair and yummy brown eyes. His hair was long and pulled into a topknot she liked. He was wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and boots. The clothes weren’t expensive or particularly impressive, so he didn’t have any fashion sense, but then, guys usually didn’t.

  He was handsome enough to suit her, and she wondered if he’d be friendly or if he’d be an asshole. Boys generally fell on the asshole side of the fence.

  She’d pestered her mother about the guest list, and Crystal had insisted she hadn’t invited any kids, so Lindsey had predicted she’d stumble around like a lost dog, but she might not be the lone straggler after all.

  He had earbuds in his ears, and he was leafing through a magazine, so he didn’t notice her, which was annoying. She was always noticed, wherever she was. With an exaggerated flourish, she plopped down in the chair next to him. Then she crossed one leg over the other and impatiently dangled her foot so he couldn’t ignore her.

  As she’d planned, he glanced up, and she decided he was even cuter up close.

  “I’m Lindsey,” she said.

  He didn’t reply, but simply gaped at her, and she signaled to his earbuds. He took them out and asked, “What did you say?”

  “I’m Lindsey. Since this is a private wedding, you must be a guest. Who are you connected to?”

  “I’m Kyle Layton. I’m the bride’s brother.”

  “I’m the groom’s stepsister.”

  Lindsey assessed him forever, her hot gaze starting at the top of his head and meandering down. As a rule, she didn’t bother with guys her own age. They turned out to be either stupid or fawning. Or they’d try to boss her and put her down so they could feel superior. Or they were actors who hoped she’d introduce them to her stepdad, Dennis.

  When she partied—when she could sneak away from her mother, which was practically always—she liked older men. They were much more interesting, but Kyle Layton might serve a purpose.

  “Hello, Kyle Layton,” she said. “I’m Lindsey Holliday.”

  “Hello.”

  He didn’t display any indication that her name rang a bell. She wasn’t an ordinary girl, and his failure to recognize her was infuriating.

  In all circumstances, she was worshipped and adored, and she would admit to being completely accustomed to the acclaim. She wanted to ask, Don’t you know who I am?, but that was beyond the bounds of rude.

  “How are you enjoying the wedding so far?” she inquired merely to continue the conversation.

  “It’s all right, I guess. My oldest sister just strolled in and surprised us. We weren’t expecting her, so that was nice.”

  “You have a sister who wasn’t going to attend?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “It certainly must be.”

  “She lives in a commune, and she doesn’t like to leave it.”

  “A commune! Like a hippy?”

  “Yes, she’s kind of a hippy.”

  “How old is she? Seventy?”

  “No, she’s thirty. She had some awful things happen when she was younger, and she likes a simpler life. We let her have it.”

  Lindsey peered around the room, lingering on a dead animal head. The animal seemed to glare back condemningly, as if blaming her for its situation, and she fought off a shudder.

  “My mother and I just arrived,” she said, “and I’m already bored to tears.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “She arranged the wedding, and I warned her that this place would be a ridiculous choice, but she never listens to me.”

  She paused, giving him an opportunity to complain too, but he didn’t. “I like it. It’s pretty. It’s different.”

  “At home, I like to party, but with this being the country and all, I doubt it will become very wild.”

  “Probably not, but then, we’re here for the wedding. I suppose that should be the entertainment.”

  “You and I should hang out.”

  He evaluated her oddly, almost as if he was busy and she was bothering him. Was he blind? Was he gay? Why wasn’t he more excited to meet her?

  She was gorgeous and very, very rich. There wasn’t a guy alive who didn’t yearn to get closer to her.

  “Yes,” he eventually said, but with no enthusiasm, “we can hang.”

  “I’m from LA.”

  It was an opening remark that usually drew tons of comments, but he gaped at her as if he’d never heard of it.

  “I’m from Oregon,” he said.

  “What do you do in Oregon?”

  “I’m in college—at U of O in Eugene.”

  “I’m in college too!” But she didn’t mention which college, and luckily, he was so self-centered he didn’t ask. With the admissions scandal bubbling up, her mother had ordered her to keep quiet. “What are you studying?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ll be a sophomore in the fall. I’m thinking about psychology or criminal justice.”

  They were the two idiotic majors of every kid in the universe. Boring!

  “I haven’t decided either,” she told him, “and I don’t really care about school. I only went because my mom nagged about how good it would be for my image.”

  “And has it been good for it?”

  “The parties are cool, and I have some great friends, but the classes are fairly lame.”

  “Your classes are lame? Seriously?”

  “What’s the point of reading ancient novels and writing papers all night long? Besides, I have my own business, and it’s incredibly successful.”

  “What business?”

  She gestured to herself. “I’m Lindsey Holliday. I’m an influencer.”

  “Oh.” He was totally unimpressed.

  “I talk to people about what I like to wear and eat and stuff like that.”

  “I know what an influencer is.”

  He was frowning as if he didn’t deem her career to be important. Well, screw him!

  “I’m very popular,” she felt compelled to add. “I have four-million subscribers to my YouTube channel.”

  “Wow,” he said, but with not a hint of the awe he should have exhibited.

  Now that they’d chatted, it was obvious he was an unsophisticated nobody, and they didn’t have anything in common. She wouldn’t waste any energy on him. It didn’t matter that they would be the only nineteen-year-olds present. She’d have to find someone else to amuse her.

  On the other side of the Great Room, behind the fireplace, she could see the bar along the back wall. The bartender washed some glasses in the sink, then she dried her hands and waltzed off, leaving it temporarily unattended.

  “Would you excuse me for a minute?” she said to him.

  “Sure.”

  Apparently, he wouldn’t miss her because he immediately stuck in his earbuds and started reading his magazine again.

  She glanced around to guarantee no one was watching, then she hurried over and through the empty bar. She grabbed two bottles of liquor off the shelf and hid them in her bag, then she sauntered back to where Kyle was sitting. She casually eased into her chair, wondering if she might have been observed, but the place was quiet as a tomb.

  For a facility that was about to host a wedding, there wasn’t much action in the lobby.

  “Would you like to take a walk?” she asked him.

  “I suppose we can.”

  “There’s a hot s
prings pool. I’d like to see it.”

  “I already found it. I can show you where it is.”

  She lifted a bottle out of the bag, so he could catch a glimpse of it. “We can party while we’re there.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” he said. “I’m not legal yet, and it would upset my dad if he discovered it.”

  “You don’t drink because your dad wouldn’t like it? Are you a saint? Are you a baby?”

  He shrugged, unconcerned over her snarky tone. “At our house, we had a big issue in the past with underage drinking. I know better.”

  She sighed, nearly told him to never mind, that she’d walk on her own, but the afternoon stretched ahead like the road to Hades. He was dull as dirt, exhaustingly polite, and too straight-laced for words, but he was really cute. She had to lower her standards.

  She pointed to the doors that opened out the rear of the building. “Let’s check out those hot springs you’re so proud of.”

  He looked at her, looked at the bag where she had her stolen liquor, looked at her again. Just when she thought he’d refuse, he stood and nodded. “It’s pretty there. You’ll like it.”

  He marched out, and she accompanied him, having to take quick steps to keep up. She was five-foot-two, and he was tall, maybe even six feet, so his legs were extra long. She liked tall guys, so their friendship might not be that bad. She’d have to suffer until he said something worth hearing or did something worth watching.

  And of course, he was disgustingly well-behaved, so she’d have to try to corrupt him. The notion was too tempting to resist.

  “Could you help me?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you work at the Inn?”

  “No. I’m a guest.”

  “Oh, sorry. Can you tell me which trail will lead me back to it? All these trees look the same, and I’m completely lost.”

  Amy smiled at the guy standing in front of her, thinking he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen: lanky, blond, tan, fit, with legs that went on forever. He hadn’t shaved, so there was a hint of a beard, and the stubble made him resemble a pirate. He appeared comfortable in his body, as if he was a dancer or an athlete.