Mother of the Bride (23 page)

“Too bad,” Gus said, levering himself out of the Jeep with his cane.

“Not the end of the world,” Herb replied cheerfully as he walked around the Cadillac to open the passenger door. “Just a flat tire.”

“We'll try for Eureka Springs tomorrow.” Georgette rose out of the car, took a look at Gus over the dusty white roof and raised her sunglasses. “Good heavens, Angus. What have you done to yourself?”

“Uh, well, Mother,” Cydney began, coming around the back end of the Jeep. “It's a long story, but the upshot is—”

“I broke my toe running for the alarm,” Gus cut in. “The power surged when it came on and set the damn thing off. Cydney was kind enough to drive me to Branson to have my foot x-rayed.”

“Well, come inside.” Georgette gestured for him to follow her and Herb up the porch steps. “I'll fix you an ice bag.”

When they disappeared through the front doors, Gus turned toward Cydney. “What is it with you people and ice bags?”

“You didn't have to lie for me.” She leaned against the Jeep's tailgate, glaring at him. “I'd rather tell the truth and let my mother kill me.”

“I did trip up the foyer steps. I can't prove it but I did. For all you or I or the radiologist know, that's when I broke my toe. And for the last time, I don't lie. But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't for someone who thinks I'm a sleazy, self-absorbed prick.”

“Do you want me to watch you delete the Grand Plan to Wreck the Wedding or not?”

“You bet I do.”

“Then let's go. I've got a book to write.”

Gus didn't need the cane going up the stairs, he had the banister to hang on to, and he managed to hobble across his office to his big blue leather swivel chair. Cydney perched one hip on the corner of his desk and watched over his shoulder while he performed the keystrokes to send the Grand Plan to the recycle bin. He poised the track ball over Yes to confirm and glanced at her.

“Care to do the honors?”

She shook her head. “You wrote it, you delete it.”

Gus did, then followed the file to the trash bin. “Last chance,” he taunted. “Sure you don't want a copy to show Georgette?”

“Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? My mother would pack Bebe out of here so fast it would make her head swim.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head at him. “I'm surprised you didn't think of it.”

Gus wished to hell he had. This was twice—
twice
—she'd seen a perfectly brilliant solution to ridding Aldo of Bebe Par-rish, one that had gone right over his head. Too bad he was a sleazy, self-absorbed prick of his word and he'd sworn off sabotage. He clicked the file and Delete, sighed as the Grand Plan vanished into cyberspace, then swiveled his chair around to look at Cydney.

“Your thought processes absolutely amaze me,” he said. “How do you think of these things?”

“Easy.” She smiled and tapped her temple. “I've got what it takes.”

chapter

eighteen

The sleazy, self-absorbed prick could always rewrite the Grand Plan, but since he hadn't thought of giving it to her mother and she had, Cydney doubted that he would. What a dipstick. Sitting up there in his Ivory Tower with a bomb in his hands and too stupid to light the fuse.

How did he ever plot his way through a book?

If they were speaking, she'd ask him. Cydney sat in front of her laptop at the Duncan Phyfe desk in her room, chin on her fist, frowning at the cursor blinking at the end of the one and only line she'd typed more than an hour ago—”CHAPTER ONE.”

“Great start, Cydney,” she muttered. “Chapter one of what?”

Her mystery-in-progress was five years old and in Kansas City. She couldn't remember where she was in the story—or her detective heroine's name—so she'd decided to start a new book. She was determined to think one up. And she would, by golly, just as soon as she got over being mad as hell at Dipstick and hurt by his betrayal.

“Knock off the pity party, Cydney.” She sat up straight and placed her fingers on the keypad. “Butt in the chair, fingers on the keys and—”

“Hey, kiddo.” Herb tapped on the door. “Georgie-girl sent me to tell you dinner's ready.”

“Thanks, Herb.” Dipstick was the last person on earth she wanted to see. Maybe he wouldn't show for dinner, but if she didn't, Georgette would be the next person at her door. “I'll be right down.”

Cydney changed into khaki trousers and another ribbed pullover, this one forest-green, and picked her hair out as best she could. She could've washed and dried it twice in the time she'd spent staring at the cursor and feeling sorry for herself, but oh well. She slapped on powder foundation, a little blush and lip gloss. Just in case Dipstick did show.

Halfway down the back stairs, she smelled pot roast. The sconces on the dining room walls and the cranberry lamps on the buffet were lit. So were the candles on the table, gleaming on the Blue Willow china—only four places set—and a small vase full of red and gold zinnias.

“Darling.” Georgette pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen with a smile and a bowl of mashed potatoes. Herb followed with the pot roast. “Bebe phoned. She and Aldo are staying the night in Branson, so it's just you and me and Herb and Angus.”

Yippee skippy,
said Cydney's little voice.

“How went the shopping, or did Bebe say?”

“She's sure we'll love everything she bought.” Georgette put the bowl down and looked at Cydney across the table. “
W-a-a-ay
cool stuff.”

“Uh-oh,” Herb said for both of them.

“Evening, all,” Dipstick said, limping into the room in his stockinged feet without his cane.

He'd been in the shower—his hair looked wet—and he wore faded jeans and a blue oxford-cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Just glancing at him, Cydney felt a stab of hurt and an ache of longing so sharp it snatched her breath. She pulled her chair out and sat down, angry with herself and wishing she'd stayed in her room.

“You're limping along pretty good there, Gus,” Herb said.

“The foot feels much better,” he said, sitting down on Cydney's left.

Right on the edge of her peripheral vision, right where she could
just
see him all through dinner. The harder she tried to ignore him, the more aware of him she was—the aura of warmth emanating from his body, the gleam of the candles on his fresh-shaved jaw. He seemed perfectly relaxed and totally
oblivious to her, while every word he spoke and every move he made rubbed her sore feelings raw.

When her mother got up to clear the table, Cydney pitched in, rinsing dishes and stacking them while Georgette cut a blueberry pie—something else she'd whipped up and tossed in the cooler—and topped the slices with whipped cream. Cydney made coffee and tea from the kettle simmering on a back burner and offered her mother clean forks. When Georgette reached for them, she snatched them away.

“Pot roast is your best take-no-prisoners meal, Mother. Who are you trying to con, wheedle or browbeat?”

“What's the Grand Plan you and Angus were shouting about in the driveway?”

“None of your business.”

“Then I'll pry it out of Angus.”

“With a crowbar, maybe. Blueberry pie, no way.”

“Bet me.” Georgette filched the forks from Cydney.

“What do I win if you can't get him to talk?”

“Like that'll ever happen.” Her mother rolled her eyes, slid the plates onto a tray and headed for the dining room.

Cydney followed with the tea and the coffee. Georgette doled out pie and Cydney filled cups. When Dipstick finished, he shifted in his chair to look at her mother and crossed his right knee over his left.

“Delicious, Georgette. I couldn't have asked for a better last meal.”

Her mother blinked at him. “Last meal?”

“I figure that's what it'll be after you hear what I have to say. I'm totally, utterly and completely opposed to this wedding taking place next Saturday. I invited you to Tall Pines intending to do everything I could to see to it that it doesn't happen.”

Cydney stabbed herself in the lip, dropped her fork and swept her napkin over her mouth. Her eyes teared and she tasted blood. The glint in her mother's eyes said Dipstick would be tasting it, too, in a minute.

“Can I say, Angus,” she said tightly, “that I'm not surprised.”

“You can say whatever you like, Georgette. I intend to.”

“You have more to say?”

“I have plenty to say.” So did Cydney, just as soon as her lip stopped bleeding and the feeling came back. “I told Cydney when she came to see me at the hospital Tuesday morning that arranging the wedding around Gwen's return from Russia is backwards. You're all rushing around to pull this off in a week so she won't be inconvenienced.”

“No, that's not why. We're rushing around to pull this wedding off in a week because that's what Bebe wants.”

“If Bebe wanted to jump off a bridge, would you let her?”

“Oh come now, Angus. That's stretching the analogy.”

“No, Georgette, I don't think it is. What Bebe wants, Bebe gets, because you and Cydney give it to her. I know why you do it, because I do the same thing with Aldo. I overindulge him because I love him and he's all the family I have left. But mostly I do it because he lost his father and mother. I try to make up for their loss, just like you and Cydney try to make up for Gwen dumping Bebe and going on with her life.”

“Baldly put,” Georgette said, her nostrils flaring. “But accurate.”

“I tried to voice my objections at dinner Tuesday evening, but you were all so caught up in where to have the wedding, no one heard me. That's what gave me the idea for the Grand Plan.”

“Doan dooh dare do dis,” Cydney said, her napkin pinched around her bottom lip. “Owl quill dooh.”

“What the—?” Dipstick shot her a scowl that morphed into a startled blink. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Tabbed byslef wid by pork.”

He fished a half-melted ice cube out of his water glass, tied it in a corner of his napkin and tossed it to her. “There's an ice bag. Put in on your lip and stay out of this.”

“Ooh dude lub dat, wooden dooh, dooh—”

“Put the ice on your mouth and be quiet, Cydney,” her mother snapped. “We can't understand you.”

No one had ever understood her. She'd thought last night that Dipstick did, that they had a rapport going, but he was
only setting her up to use her. Cydney grabbed the makeshift ice bag and pressed it to her lip, furious that she couldn't do anything else.

“Tell me, Angus.” Georgette laid her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “Would the Grand Plan that came to you Tuesday night be the Grand Plan you and Cydney were shouting about in the driveway?”

“Yes. The complete title was Grand Plan to Wreck the Wedding. I wrote it when I got home Tuesday night. Cydney discovered it on my laptop when she went up to my office to turn off the alarm. She was understandably upset. That's why she dropped the rock on my foot.”

Herb guffawed and winked at Cydney. Her mother shot her a nice-job-but-I'm-going-to-kill-you-anyway look, then focused her attention on Dipstick and listened to him tell the rest of the story. Accurately and dispassionately, which surprised Cydney. No lame excuses, no self-serving crapola, just the facts, ma'am, unflattering as they were to what he'd done and what he'd intended.

“I appreciate your candor, Angus,” Georgette said when he finished. “I assume you'd like us to leave in the morning.”

“Not at all. I'd like you to stay and have the wedding here at Tall Pines next Saturday. I'm still opposed to this marriage. I don't think it has a snowball's chance in hell of lasting—and frankly, I hope to God it doesn't—but I have no intention of trying to stop it. I gave Cydney my word. I don't think she believed me, even though she watched me delete the Grand Plan this afternoon. She doesn't trust me.”

Georgette sat back in her chair, clasped her hands in her lap and eyed Dipstick speculatively. “Why should I trust you, Angus?”

“My nephew is the most important thing in the world to me, Georgette. If Aldo finds out about the Grand Plan, he'll never forgive me. He'll never speak to me again. If I break my word, all you have to do is tell Aldo. You won't get that kind of insurance from Lloyd's of London.”

Georgette tipped her head at him. “Could you reconstruct the Grand Plan from memory?”

“Most of it, yes.”

“Then I'd like to have it in writing, please.”

“I thought you might.” Dipstick drew a folded sheet of paper out of his right back pocket. “Handwritten, signed and dated.”

“Thank you.” Georgette took it from him and rose to her feet. So did Dipstick and Herb to hold the back of her chair. “I'll tear this up when Aldo and Bebe are pronounced man and wife.”

“Thenyou'll stay?” Dipstick asked.

“Yes, Angus. It's more than you did for Bebe and Aldo, but I'll give you a chance. Finish clearing up for me, would you, Cydney?”

Her mother slipped the Grand Plan into her pocket, took Herb's arm and walked out of the dining room.

“Well.” Dipstick sat down. “That went better than I thought.”

Cydney touched her lip. It was fat and numb from the ice, but it had stopped bleeding. She laid the napkin aside and looked at Dipstick.