Kentucky Home (21 page)

It was a late-summer wedding. They wanted to wait for the mud from the wet winter to dry up, and that gave them more time to put a fresh coat of paint on the barn and fix up the yard. It wasn't a huge wedding, although you wouldn't have known from the amount of food Libby made. Mal tried to help her as much as possible, but every time Libby looked at her, she broke out in happy tears, so Mal decided it would be better if she just left her to fend for herself.

“Who's going to walk you down the aisle?” Luke asked.

She had thought about asking him to do it, since he had, however inadvertently, brought her and Keith together. But he was standing up as Keith's best man, and she didn't want to upset the delicate truce between the brothers.

Katie thought she should walk herself down the aisle. “You're your own woman. No man should give you away.”

They were getting married at the house, the ceremony officiated by Billie, who got her certification on the Internet. It wasn't the most traditional way to start a life together, but that seemed to be par for the course for them. Besides, Billie loved them both and she was thrilled to get the chance to wear something other than scrubs.

Jack was with Mal in the upstairs bathroom, “trying to do something with this hair.” It had grown to about her chin since he'd cut it last, and it was a frizzy mess in the humidity. “Just make it look like me,” she told him. Jack was smoothing it out, finagling it to fall naturally around her face, assuring her that he had been over in the bunkhouse and that Keith's hair was combed and he had shaved.

They were so informal as a couple that they'd decided to get married in a casual ceremony—sundresses for the women, no ties for the men. Mal was wearing a calf-length sheath that Libby had helped her make. Well, she'd pinned the pieces together; Libby did everything else. It was cut against the bias, with seams that ran at a diagonal around her body and a low scoop neck. It was sleeveless, so she wore an antique lace wrap that had been Libby's mother's.

“Something borrowed, sweetheart.”

Jack approved, which was good. He said it “hugged her curves, but not in a slutty way.”

Luke came into the kitchen once when they were doing a fitting, dropping a sledgehammer on his foot.

“He likes it,” Katie had said.

 

 

In the bunkhouse, Keith was getting ready by himself, which suited him fine. Jack had checked to make sure he was going to tuck in his shirt, then made a joke about plucking his eyebrows. At least Keith thought it was a joke.

He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Libby had insisted that Mal spend the night in the house, not in the bunkhouse with Keith. “At least give an old woman the pretense of innocence,” she said. It was more than a pretense, though, since when Keith tried to sneak in the back door to secret his bride-to-be away, he found it locked and the key was not in its usual place under the rock.

So he made his way over to the side of the house, picking up a pocketful of pebbles along the way. He started to throw them at Mal's window, only stopping when he saw the reading light come on. Her hand shot out of the open window. “OK! OK, I see you! Don't throw anything, please.”

She poked her head out and his heart stopped. She was beautiful in the faint glow of the reading lamp and the moon from above. She was wearing an old T-shirt—one of his, from a football camp he went to in high school—and her hair was sticking out in strange waves from sleep.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered. “Want to go for a walk?”

She smiled, then darted from the window. A few minutes later he caught her up in his arms as she raced out of the house.

They walked toward the orchard for a while, holding hands. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?” Mal asked.

“Oh, I don't know, I thought I'd go squirrel hunting.” She knocked him with her hip, and he feigned injury and went down to the ground, dragging her with him.

“Hey! Don't get me all dirty!”

“What, you're not going to shower before the wedding?”

“Of course I am, but what is Miss Libby going to say when I wake up with dirt smudges on my face?”

“She's going to say that you look like a woman in love,” he said, kissing her.

They both stopped at the sound of a breaking twig beyond them. Mal stiffened, and Keith strained his neck to look toward the noise, pushing her up and behind him. He squinted into the darkness. “Is that my father running around the yard naked?” He took a breath to holler at him, crazy old man, but Mal grabbed his arm. She pointed into the darkness, to the place Cal had just come from. Miss Libby, wrapped in a quilt, was skulking back to the house.

Keith turned to Mal, his face serious. “Please, if you love me at all, you will pretend we did not just see that.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly. “See what?”

 

 

Mal could barely look at Libby today, which was good because the older woman's crying was going to set her off, too. Jack declared her fabulous and escorted her down to the foyer. She was going to exit from the house, then walk up a makeshift aisle to where Keith would be waiting for her. Keith. Her Keith.

“Hey, you clean up pretty good,” Katie said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“No! Stop touching your hair, Katie! That piece is supposed to be in front!” Jack was having an apoplexy.

“Thanks, you look pretty good yourself,” laughed Mal. Not many blondes could pull off a yellow dress, but Katie looked smashing in the strapless sundress they had picked out together.

“Ready?”

“Where's my guy?” Mal asked.

Jack sighed. “You're really doing this, aren't you?”

Mal smiled. “Yes, I'm really doing it. Besides, you wouldn't want all of your hard work to go to waste.”

“I have got to get out of this town. A stylist of my talent reduced to being a lowly dog groomer for the day. I have drool on my shoes, you know. You're lucky I love you,” he said, pecking Mal on the cheek. “And you, too, gorgeous,” he said, kissing Katie, who huffed disbelievingly in response. Jack took his seat next to Trevor and the music started, as traditional as a bluegrass wedding band could sound. Luke and Chase were standing up with Keith, and Mal could swear she saw Chase wink at Katie.

Then the wedding march started and she took her first step down the aisle. Peanut, good, obedient dog that he was, walked proudly next to her on his three legs. He was brushed and groomed and his long fur was shining, and he actually looked handsome, which was a surprise to everyone but Mal. She knew there was a prince in there. True, he had eaten off the bow tie they tried to get him to wear, but it was a casual wedding, so nobody really cared.

When they reached the end of the aisle, Mal couldn't take her eyes off Keith. Jack was right, he had brushed his hair, but the wind had blown it out of place. He looked tousled and rugged. Perfect.

Peanut stopped directly in front of Mal, looking Keith straight in the eye. A few people in the audience laughed nervously—it didn't look like Peanut was going to let the ceremony go on. Then Peanut looked back at Mal, then up at Keith. He seemed to nod before trotting off to roll around in the dirt behind the wedding party.

Mal laughed, watching him. Then she felt Keith take her hand, warm and sure. “Ready?” he asked her.

She nodded. Billie raised her hands over their heads. “Dearly beloved . . .”

Can't wait to get back to Hollow Bend?

Here's a taste of
Kentucky Christmas
, available this November.

Andrew Bateman hated snow.

He was batting a thousand on this trip, really. He hated snow, he hated driving, and he hated selling people stuff they probably didn't need. He especially hated sales. But if his cousin hadn't given him this job, he'd be living with his mother. Once a man passes thirty, he doesn't like the idea of moving back in with his mother.

That was another thing he hated. Being thirty-one. Thirty was not so bad. Thirty-one seemed like: no turning back now, buddy. And what was he doing with his life? Well, aside from being Midwest Regional Sales Rep for Bateman Veterinary Supply, and kind of sucking at that. He had made about three sales in Indiana. Now he was just hoping for his next appointment to go well so he could go back to his dinky apartment above his cousin's garage and watch everyone sing holiday songs and drink cocoa and get fat.

He looked quickly at his smartphone. No reception. Dammit. His cousin had warned him about two things: one, that in Kentucky horse country, veterinary supplies were big money, and if they wanted to break into the market, they would have to start small; and two, don't get lost on any dirt roads. It was late, and he was beginning to feel lost as soon as he pulled off the interstate. He thought he would just find a place to stay, then call on . . . whoever it was early in the morning, then start the long drive back.

But when he pulled off the interstate, there were no hotels. No restaurants, not even street lights. He was beginning to think his cousin was playing one of his practical jokes, the kind that made Ed laugh and made Andrew end up with his pants around his ankles or stone-drunk in a biker bar. Kentucky wasn't even in the Midwest. He tapped his GPS, and it sputtered a direction at him. It had only worked sporadically since he crossed the border. Maybe he was just imagining that. Southern Indiana was pretty hilly; surely he'd had reception problems there, too. All he knew was that the satellite wouldn't pick up the signal unless he tapped the GPS. He was used to electronic equipment behaving when he asked it to, but this was getting ridiculous. He would have just turned it off and followed signs to—what was the town called? Hollow Bend, said the nice lady on the GPS. But there were no signs. Only darkness, and hills, and snow.

 

 

Billie Monroe loved snow.

She loved that feeling of putting on your snow boots and zipping your coat up to your chin and seeing your breath as you walked everywhere because it was too dangerous to drive. Besides, it hardly ever snowed in Hollow Bend, at least not enough to stick, and never this early in the winter. She was going to enjoy it.

She tried her best to skip as she approached the entrance to the Cold Spot, Hollow Bend's answer to a hipster hangout. Of course, there were no hipsters in Hollow Bend, so the Cold Spot adjusted accordingly. Everyone was happier with a honky-tonk anyway.

Her best friend, Katie Carson, was standing outside, shivering without her coat and talking to Trevor Blank, who was smoking a cigarette. And shivering. Billie rolled her eyes. Those two were doing their dance again. She had gone out with Trevor once or twice—every girl in town had—but found him a little . . . dumb.
That's not very nice
, she thought. But man, it was true. All those beautiful farm muscles and she still couldn't work up much enthusiasm. It was hard to get too excited over a guy who thought Shakespeare was a fancy mixed drink.

Billie called out and Katie nodded in greeting, keeping her hands under her arms. But her face lit up in a big smile.

“Nice hat, Monroe,” she said.

“You don't like it?” Billie said, fingering the red pom-pom bouncing on her head. “You're just jealous because Miss Libby made a hat for me and not for you.”

“Oh, she made me a hat,” said Katie, smiling. “I just conveniently lost it in the woods. In eighth grade.”

“I like it,” offered Trevor with a shrug. So cute, thought Billie. So cute and so, so dumb.

“Thank you, Trevor.”

He smiled at her. Not happening, thought Billie. You better stake your claim on Katie before Chase gets here.

“Where's my brother?” Katie asked, stomping from one foot to the other. “I thought you said he was coming.”

“Ugh, he's staying home,” said Billie. “Today is the two-month anniversary of his coming back to work with my dad. But he said we celebrated enough for the one-month anniversary.”

“And he wanted to get home to his pregnant wife?”

“He told you?” Billie asked. She had figured it out for herself. Mal had been sick every morning for a month but was still walking around with moony eyes. Keith was much worse, twice as moony as Mal, and every time she passed him, he would put his hands over her belly. For a man who barely spoke, Keith Carson was terrible at keeping secrets.

“No. We all figured it out when they came over for dinner last week. He wouldn't let Mal lift anything and every time he stood next to her, he put his hand over her belly. Miss Libby hasn't stopped crying.”

“Yeah, when he came into the office last week, he couldn't stop smiling, even when he had to pull half a dish towel and a wristwatch out of the Coopers' dachshund.”

“Well, I guess we're drinking alone,” said Katie, opening the door.

“I'll keep you ladies company,” said Trevor, following her inside.

Billie shook her head. She should be annoyed that her impromptu celebration was turning into a third-wheel night, but she couldn't muster up any irritation. She had been a good girl all autumn, and she wanted to cut loose. Besides, she had a lot to celebrate. Thanks to Keith, her father was finally getting ready to retire, it was a week before Christmas, and the night was young. She was about to get drunk with her best friend and a very handsome, if dumb, guy, and it was snowing—really snowing. That never happened in December. Nothing was going to ruin her night.

Until a car skidded on the street in front of her and crashed into the side of the bar.

One minute Andrew was shaking the GPS, because surely
this
was not the town his cousin had booked his sales call in. It hardly seemed big enough for a dog crate, let alone a vet practice. And the next his life was flashing before his eyes as he felt the back wheels lose traction and spin out. It was a short flash, which surprised him because he felt like this drive had aged him about seventy years. There were the plastic fire helmet, the Big Wheels, his first Mohawk, his mom making him grow out his first Mohawk, his first girlfriend, his first girlfriend dumping him, graduation, cubicle, cubicle, cubicle, pink slip. The car finally skidded to a stop with the help of a very sturdy-looking brick building that had no windows. The first thought Andrew registered, as his head snapped in slow-motion toward the air bag, was that he hoped the equipment samples in the trunk were okay or his cousin was going to kill him.

He let his head hit the air bag. What was the point?

Then everything came into sharp focus: his engine steaming, his shoulder burning under the locked seat belt, his head throbbing. Everything felt broken. If he died because of a sales call in Kentucky, he was going to kill his cousin.

A teenager with psychotic-anime eyes was pounding on his window. Oh, please, he thought, don't let me die here. Not until I get to kill my cousin. He focused on her face, every part of his body taking forever to respond to his command to MOVE.

She seemed to be shouting at him. He looked at her lips, and was startled that they were very pretty. No, he thought. He was not falling into this trap. If he went with her, he'd be dead and then he wouldn't be able to kill his cousin. But even through the foggy window and his haze of pain, he could see they were nice lips. He wondered if she would let him kiss her?

“Okay, okay,” he read on her lips. Whoa, he thought. Kentucky was a nice place to die.