Best Laid Wedding Plans (5 page)

“Through Katy Perry and well into Luke Bryan. You have eclectic tastes. And some real nice moves.”

In her eyes he read the war waging between anger and common sense with just a touch of self-consciousness thrown into the mix.

She flicked off the music. “I'm sure my song choices didn't have you driving all the way out here.”

“Nope. Like I said, I came on business.”

“We discussed your business already, and I said no.”

“Aren't you curious? Don't you want to hear my proposal?”

She wiped a hand down her neck and chest and glanced at her empty water bottle. “It's hot today. Why don't you come in? I'll fix us a glass of tea. You can actually have your own.”

He grinned, remembering the glass they'd shared before Dee-Ann came to Jenni Beth's rescue. “Is Charlotte here?”

“She is.” She opened the door.

He followed her inside, the temperature a good ten degrees cooler.

“Charlotte? We've got company.”

“Who is it?” The housekeeper came around the corner, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Well, if it isn't Mr. Cole Bryson himself.”

After a hearty hug, she stepped away. “Where have you been keepin' yourself? A body could die waitin' for you to show up.”

“I'm sorry. I've missed you, beautiful.” He leaned in again and gave her a peck on the cheek. “The job's been keepin' me busy. I've been spendin' a lot of time in Savannah and Atlanta.”

“Hear your business is doin' real good.”

“It is,” Jenni Beth said. “He gets off on tearing down old houses, then picking their bones to sell the pieces, like a scavenger. He wants to do exactly that to Magnolia House.”

Disapproval darkened Charlotte's face. “Jenni Beth, you watch your mouth.” Hand on her hip, she rounded on Cole. “You wouldn't do that, would you?”

He felt like a three-year-old caught sticking a paper clip in the electric socket. Dangerous ground here. “Jenni Beth is exaggeratin'.”

“Oh really?” Those gray-blue eyes focused like a laser on his own. “Maybe I misheard our conversation this morning.”

Cole's mind went to the phone call he'd eavesdropped on at the bank. He definitely hadn't misheard that one-sided conversation. He'd spent most of the drive here trying to decide how to broach it with her.

“Cole? Cat got your tongue?”

“You made some assumptions. Not all of them are correct.”

“Well, maybe you can illuminate me now. Which part of our talk did I misunderstand?”

“Didn't you offer me some iced tea?”

“Oh, you're slick, Cole. Nice try, but it won't work.”

“I'll get that drink for you,” Charlotte said. “You want one, Jenni Beth?”

“Yes, please.” She tapped her sandaled foot on the old oak floor. As soon as Charlotte was out of sight, she asked, “So?”

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't do it. He couldn't come totally clean with her. At least not until he knew a bit more. Who had Richard been talking to? And exactly what in the hell had he meant by a “little nudge”?

How badly did the banker want her to fail? What would he be willing to do to make that happen?

Without the answers, along with some alternative plans, Jenni Beth would tell him to go away and mind his own business—something he didn't intend to do.

Without the money Richard would loan her, this place hadn't a chance of surviving. But sure as shooting, if he even hinted at what he'd overheard of the banker's conversation, she'd get her back up and refuse the loan. Everything would be lost at that point.

And it would be his fault. Didn't matter he already thought it was a scatterbrained scheme.

Damned if he wouldn't be the loser either way in this one. If she caught wind of the banker's conspiracy—and that he'd known about it—he'd be dead meat. His plans would go up in smoke right along with hers.

“So nothing,” he lied, praying he'd made the right decision.

“I don't like you, Cole Bryson.”

“So you say.”

“It's true.”

He saw the flicker in her eyes, thanked God she wasn't being truthful, either. Still, the words hurt. But he'd play along with her because he'd certainly given her reason to think less than highly of him.

“Okay.” He tucked a stray strand behind her ear before she could pull away. “Want me to not like you back? Unfriend you on Facebook?”

She punched his shoulder. “Why are you here?”

“You've got some Herculean plans.”

“Dream big,” she quipped.

He ignored her. “They'll be expensive and time-consuming.”

“And?”

“Don't be naive. At least walk into this project with your eyes open.” He pointed a finger at her. “And don't underestimate Richard's motives. The bank is in business to make money.”

“I understand that. It's called interest.”

“He'll make more if you default on your loan.”

“What are you saying?” Jenni Beth came to full alert.

Shoot. He'd stepped into the deep end of the pool, and if he wasn't careful, he'd take in a heck of a lot of water before he resurfaced.

So he went on the offensive. “Nothing you don't already know. Use your head. You go into something like this with the bank, you'd better damn well be sure you can pull it off.”

“I can.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She hesitated. “Why would you want to do that?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, quelling the urge to shake her. This woman went beyond infuriating. “What? I can't offer my help without an interrogation?”

“No, I don't think you can. You want to destroy my house, board by board. You said so. Why the hundred-eighty turnabout?”

“You make me crazy.”

“Then leave.”

His jaw tightened. “No. You want a reason? Because I promised Wes I'd look after you.”

Tears misted her eyes, and he swore under his breath. Why in the hell had he said that? Full of regret, he stepped toward her. “I'm sorry.”

She held out a hand. “Don't touch me.”

He threw up his own hands. “Fine. But if you don't mind, I'd really like to take a look at those porch columns before I leave. Don't know how they're still standing. One strong wind and they'll come tumblin' down.”

“You think I don't know that?”

She followed him back outside. Ignoring her, he ran his hands over the columns. Examining them up close, he realized they were worse than he'd suspected. “These posts are rotten clear through. They need to be replaced.”

Charlotte, teas in hand, stepped outside. “Here you go. You ought to offer the boy a seat, Jenni Beth.” She nodded at the swing. “Either of you want a cookie?”

“Cookies? We're not ten anymore!” Jenni Beth closed her eyes. Shaking her head, she apologized. “I'm sorry, Charlotte. That was rude. I—”

“It's okay. Something's goin' on between the two of you, so I'm goin' to take myself off to a safe zone before things start flyin'.”

Neither said anything as she disappeared into the house.

“I miss him, too, Jenni Beth. Wes was my best friend.”

Her chin came up. The defiance drained from her. “I know. I'm sorry. Again. It's just—”

“I'm steppin' on your toes.”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “It's not that. Not really.” Her gaze traveled over the porch, the columns, the windows that were all but falling out. On a half-sob, she said, “Look at this place.”

He did exactly that, taking in the decay, the overgrown gardens.

“Will the money you asked for cover materials and labor?”

Bright spots of red colored her cheeks. “No. Not if I hope to have any start-up money.”

“Can I help?”

“I don't mean to sound rude—”

She stopped when he snorted. “Whether you believe it or not, I really don't. I know I can't do this alone. But why are you making it so easy for me?” Her voice held suspicion.

“You don't trust me, do you?”

When she remained quiet, he had his answer.

“Show me around.”

“Now?” she asked.

“Yeah. Now. I'm here.”

Her body language made it clear she wanted to refuse.

“Come on,” he urged. “I'm not takin' inventory, sizin' up stock for my store.”

“You sure about that?”

He tamped down the pain. “Positive. What can it hurt, sugar? Give me some idea of the size of this project you're bitin' off.”

She plunked her glass down on a small white wicker table. “Fine.”

Ooo-whee
. The lady still hadn't learned to control that temper. He set his glass beside hers and caught the door inches before it slapped shut in his face. Zeke, the old Lab, squeezed past him and plopped down in the hallway. A smart man would hop back in his pickup and head down the highway.

Well, he'd never claimed to be a Rhodes Scholar.

It had been a long time since Cole had been past the first floor in this old house. A long time since he'd had a sleepover here, years since it had been a second home. He and Wes had grown up as close as brothers.

He stopped beside Wes's portrait, his hand on the oak banister. The picture had been taken the year his friend had graduated from college—full of life and ready to take on the world.

Now it hung, a sacred memorial in an ornate gilt frame. Damn!

“I miss this guy.”

“Me too.”

A moment of shared loss passed between them, their differences forgotten.

“Do you remember what you were doing when you found out we'd lost him?” Her voice was a whisper.

Cole nodded. “Like it was yesterday. I was loadin' a customer's pickup with some green and white tile. My cell rang. When I saw your dad's number on the screen, I knew. Felt like the bottom had dropped out of my world.”

She nodded. “I was at a trendy little restaurant in Savannah drinking a cosmopolitan. Discussing wedding plans with a bride and groom.” Her lip trembled. “I haven't been back to Adelaide's since. Haven't had a cosmo since.”

“I can understand that.”

“Can you?”

He nodded.

“I've driven blocks out of my way to avoid the restaurant. Find an excuse to leave if a cosmo is ordered at my table.” Her breathing had grown ragged. “Unreasonable, right?”

“No.”

“They're triggers. Triggers I can't defeat.”

“I can't watch hockey anymore,” he said, running a hand up and down her arm. “Without Wes—”

“It's awful, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Crazy thing is, I have no idea how I got home from Adelaide's that afternoon. No clue what I told my bride and groom.” She leaned into Cole for a moment. “I had a friend finish their wedding plans. I couldn't do that, either.”

They stood in silence. A clock in the hallway ticked off the minutes.

“The day of his service? Mixed in with the sympathy cards a friend forwarded from Savannah?”

“Don't. Don't do this, sugar.”

“No. I need to. I can't talk to Mama and Daddy.”

“Then go ahead. Get it out.”

She swiped at the tears that escaped, took a deep breath. “Mixed with the sympathy cards was a letter. From Wes.” Her voice broke. “His last to me. He asked about Mama and Daddy. About Charlotte and the dog. Told me not to worry. Other than being sick of eating sand, all was fine.”

Cole laid his forehead on hers, held her tightly to him, and rubbed her back. Felt the waves of pain that washed over her, threatened to swamp her. Acknowledged his own pain. His loss.

He reached out, wrapped his index finger around hers. The smallest of touches, a connection.

God, he was still a mess over this; the wound felt fresh and new. It was being here. Here where Wes had grown up. Where they'd traveled the road from boyhood to manhood.

Releasing her finger, he feathered his own beneath Jenni Beth's chin, tipped it up so their eyes met. “I'm sorry, honey. So damned sorry.” His voice grew husky on unshed tears. “You didn't want to hear that from me before, but…”

“I know.” She met his gaze unblinkingly, a haze of those same tears in her eyes. “And that was selfish of me. I wanted to believe no one suffered as badly as me. That I had the monopoly on grief. I—” She shrugged. “Well, that doesn't matter.”

He believed it did. Whatever she'd been about to say bothered her. A lot. But she'd shut down. Made it clear sharing time had ended. At least on this subject. He could live with that. For now.

“Where's your college picture?”

“Mine?”

“Yeah. Yours. The other kid in the family.”

She flushed and waved her hand in the air. “Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure Daddy hung it anywhere.”

“Why not?”

Jenni Beth's back stiffened. “It doesn't matter.”

But it did. It should. The Beaumonts had two children. One dead, one fighting for the family's heritage. Both deserved to be celebrated. It irritated him that they took their surviving child for granted.

A couple steps ahead of him, Jenni Beth moved on, and Cole trailed behind her. He reminded himself why he'd come but still found it hard to focus on the house rather than the sweet butt in those short shorts.

He told himself she didn't put that little swivel in her walk to torture him. That it simply came naturally to her. And didn't that make it all that much more dangerous?

He forced his mind to the task at hand.

“You're gonna want to replace the trim along the ceiling here,” he drawled, “and on down the hallway, too.”

The dog had roused himself enough to join them and poked along, sniffing at everything as he went.

“Expensive?” she asked.

“I think we can find some salvage pieces. Should help. We'll check the house first. Might be able to borrow from some of the rooms that won't be on public display, and then replace it later when some money rolls in.”

“I hadn't thought of that. Good idea.”

“I've got lots of them.” He grinned wickedly, and she rolled her eyes. Better, he thought. Anything that took her mind off the bad. Although he still considered this a fool's dream, the renovation might be good for her, for her parents.

Maybe the family would come back to life along with the house.

At the second-floor landing, the trio—man, woman, and dog—wandered into the first of the bedrooms. “This is the one I'll use for the bridal suite. If we take down the wall between here and the next room, we should have plenty of space to deck it out the way it needs to be.”

“You'll need a powder room for your brides.” He studied the layout.

“The closet ought to work for that. We can run the plumbing from the bath that's already on this floor.”

He nodded. “What all will you want in here?”

“Mirrors. Lots and lots of mirrors. A makeup station. A hair station. Somewhere other than the closet-turned-powder-room to hang clothing and gowns.”

“Yeah. You'll need both rooms, then.” He opened the closet door and studied the small space. “Should work.”

“The study downstairs will be the groom's room.”

“Keeping them separated till the last minute, are you?”

“Absolutely. It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride beforehand.”

“My guess is that custom started back when marriages were arranged,” Cole said. “The bride's parents didn't want the groom to catch a glimpse of what he was getting till it was too late to back out of the deal.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Maybe it was so the bride wouldn't run away in fear when she saw her future husband.”

“Yeah, there's that side, too.” He pointed upward. “You should be able to reproduce that cornice without much sweat—or cost.” Casting a sideways glance at her, he stepped back into the hallway. “What'll you do with the rest of this floor?”

“Family area. A private spot for Mama and Daddy. We'll keep the kitchen and dining room downstairs, of course. The parlor and common areas will be shared by clients and their guests and my parents when it's not in use. But I thought I'd give them an apartment on this floor.”

“Boy, this will be a big change for them, won't it? Going from the whole house to basically one floor?”

“Yes, it will.”

She clasped and unclasped her hands. He fought the urge to take them in his own, calm her.

“They understand the need for it, though.”

“I sure hope so.” He placed a finger beneath her chin, tipped her head so their eyes met. “What about you?”

She batted away his hand but held his gaze. “I'm a realist, Cole. I understand life doesn't always hand us what we want. I know, too, that if you want something, you'd better be willing to work for it.”

For someone who had started life with so much, fate had sure dealt her a tough hand. Yet here she was, determined to ride it out and turn it around. He admired her for that, found it impossible to turn his back on the mess. On her.

“You have paper? A pencil? Think I'd better start writin' some of this down. Heck of a lot more to do than I originally thought. I didn't realize the place had gotten so out-of-hand.”

He read the tug-of-war on her face. The pull between truth and family pride. Understood what this cost her.

Truth finally won out.

“Things have been going downhill for quite a while. But before…” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “Before we lost Wes, Mama and Daddy actually made a halfhearted attempt to maintain things. If for no other reason than appearance. Now?” She shrugged. “They simply don't care.”

“This house is your inheritance as much as it was Wes's.”

“Yeah, well, tell them that.”

The same anger that had grabbed him by the throat on the stairs snaked through him again. Why didn't Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont get down on their knees and thank God they still had one child? How could they be so careless with her? He tamped down the mad. It wouldn't do any good. No sense wasting energy on it.

For now. There'd come a time, though, when it could be addressed. Till then, he could show her
he
valued her—if she'd let him.

“Paper? Pencil?” he asked again.

“Sure.” She dug a small tablet and the nub of a pencil out of her back pocket.

“How you get anything in those pants besides you is a mystery only Mother Nature could explain.”

She threw him a saucy grin, and he instantly felt better. This was the kid sister he knew so well.

Except, hell, she wasn't a kid anymore. And she definitely wasn't his sister. Not by a long shot. And thank God for that! Jenni Beth Beaumont had grown into one incredible woman.

Why hadn't some guy snapped her up by now, claimed her as his? And why did the idea of that happening not sit well with him? Was it because of their history together?

No, it was just his protective side, he argued. Nothing more. Yet when Laurie, his own kid sister, had announced her engagement, he hadn't even flinched.

That was different. He'd known the guy. Sort of. They'd been in a couple classes at college together.

And none of this mattered, did it? He'd help her with the house as much as he could. He'd keep his promise to Wes. Maybe make up for what he'd done to Jenni Beth in Savannah. Get Mr. and Mrs. B. through this. Then he could sleep easy again. End of story.

They went through several more rooms with Jenni Beth chatting about the minimal amount of work needed.

“Since nobody but family will be in this area, I'll pretty much ignore these rooms and concentrate on the public area until I get the business up and running. I want to make the space comfortable for my folks, but I'm hoping to get by with fresh paint and some furniture rearrangement.”

Cole nodded. “They can use downstairs for any entertaining they might do.”

“Exactly.”

One door on the left stood closed. Hand on the jamb, he asked, “What's in here?”

The instant he turned the knob and pushed open the door, he wished he hadn't. It was a punch to the gut.

Wes's room. Looking like a memorial—or a tomb. The drapes were closed, but even in the dim light, Cole made out a pair of boat shoes kicked off haphazardly at the foot of the bed. A pair of worn jeans draped across the back of a desk chair. A room waiting for its owner.

An owner who wouldn't be coming back.

“What the heck?” Pain rushed through him, violent and new. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

She laid a hand on his arm. “I'm sorry. You didn't give me a chance—”

“It's been a year and a half, Jenni Beth. This is insane.”

“I know.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she blinked at them. “My mother—she can't deal with it. Can't let him go.”

“Then somebody else should. This—” He stared at his friend's room. He wanted to drop to his knees. Wanted to howl with pain.

His breath hitched. How could they live like this? How could Jenni Beth stand to come back here? To walk past this room every day knowing what was behind the door?

“You don't understand. Daddy and I tried to talk to her but finally gave up. She'd never forgive anyone who came in here and disturbed her son's things.”

“This isn't healthy.” His voice cracked.

“I agree, but—” She shook her head helplessly.

“Her hair's gone white,” Cole said. “Last time I ran into her at the Dairy Queen, I was shocked.”

“Stress does that sometimes.”

When he reached for her hand, she pulled back.

He pretended he hadn't noticed and reined in his emotions. “Why are his things here? In this room? He always had the attic. Boy, did I envy him that space. It was the coolest room ever.”

She nodded. “Yeah, he had it until he went away to college. Because I envied him that space, too, I badgered my parents till they let me trade with him. The first Thanksgiving, when he came home for vacation, he begrudgingly helped move his stuff down here and lugged mine up to the attic.”

“Guess it made sense.”

“It did. I was here, and I needed the space.” She toyed with the hem of her tank top, pulled at a loose thread. “By that time we knew he'd never come back home to live. After college he'd move on. None of us thought he'd go into the service, but we understood his plans didn't include returning to Misty Bottoms.”

Gently, Cole shut the bedroom door and drew in a ragged breath. Jenni Beth had gone pale. This was worse than awful.

He jerked his head upward. “What needs to be done up there? In the attic.”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Little by little, I've made it my own. I covered Wes's god-ugly institutional green paint with a fresh coat of pale, pale pink and hung some frilly curtains. When I came back from Savannah last week, I brought my things with me and did some more fussing with the room. I divided it into bed, bath, and work areas. So I'm totally self-contained.”