Once Tempted (37 page)

“No problem,” he said, obviously pleased that Carrie was so considerate. “Silver Creek has the best breakfast in town anyway.”

“Why don’t you sit next to Carrie, Phil, so that you can go over the guest list with her without all the cups and glasses getting in the way?” Ward suggested.

“Okay.” Phil pulled out his chair, and Ward sat down next to Brian.

Tess made to sit in the chair next to him, but Erica stood up from her own. “Tess, you should take my seat. I’ll sit beside Ward.”

“Erica, it’s not necessary for—” Ward began.

“I just thought that Carrie would like to sit next to her so they can talk about the guest list.”

It was annoying how Erica managed to make her self-centered plan sound altruistic, thought Tess, as she sat in Erica’s vacated seat. Rise above it, she told herself. Ward’s ex-fiancée would be gone soon.

Luckily, Liz, who was serving their table, came over to their table bearing two large stainless steel coffeepots. She placed one pot on the table and then circled the table filling their cups from the other.

Inhaling the rich aroma of black coffee, Tess felt some of her previous grogginess dissipate. She took a slow sip. Oh yeah, much better, she thought.

Finished pouring, Liz said brightly, “What can I get everyone?”

“First off, let’s have two baskets of popovers for the table,” Ward said.

“Mmm, yes,” Erica said. “I have yet to taste popovers as good as the ones here at Silver Creek. Can we have that amazing jam and butter, too?”

“Of course. And Roo’s made an incredible honey butter. It’s got a dash of cinnamon and cayenne. I’ll bring that out, too.” Liz scribbled on her pad.

Brian and Carrie decided on the coddled eggs with ham and cheese; Phil wanted the breakfast burrito; Tess went for the feta and spinach omelet; Erica held off on
her own order until Ward told Liz he’d have the western omelet and then chose that, too.

Tess wondered whether she’d take her coffee black as Ward did to underscore how well matched they were.

Her petty thoughts were interrupted by Brian, who began clinking his coffee cup with the bowl of his spoon. “May I have your attention, please, before my mouth is too full with the best breakfast in California. I want to thank you, Ward and Tess, and you, too, Phil, for all the time and effort you’ve already put in to planning our wedding. Tess, the ideas you’ve given us have been so terrific, I find I’m actually looking forward to the ceremony. Almost as much as I am to the honeymoon. Phil, thanks for emptying this place out so that our friends and family can take it over. Ward, thanks for giving us a basement rate on this shindig so that Carrie and I don’t feel like we’ve completely drained Carrie’s mom and stepdad’s retirement fund. Thanks, too, for being my best friend all these years.” Grinning, he raised his cup. “Finally, here’s to hoping you’ll be in my shoes in the near future. With a little spiffing up, you’ll make a decent-looking groom. Don’t you think so, Tess?” Grinning, he gave her a knowing wink.

As remarks went, Brian’s veered into the red zone of the gaffe meter. No sooner had the words left his mouth than he seemed to recall his future sister-in-law’s presence and the uncomfortable fact that if she hadn’t opted out of the engagement, she and Ward would have already tied the marital knot and the four of them would be well on their way to being one happy family. His freckled face took on the hue of a tomato.

Tess’s gaze flew to Ward’s. He wasn’t a loyal friend for nothing. His expression was amused, revealing no embarrassment or pain.

But Brian wasn’t let off the hook. Erica’s light laugh
filled the air. “Funny you should mention the idea of Ward having a go at marriage, Brian. Ward and I were talking about just that subject last night. I told him I’m planning to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’ve seen the error of my ways. Perhaps we’ll be having another wedding here soon.”

Here was the answer to her unspoken fear: Erica had done a lot more than praise Ward. She’d gone further, paying him the highest compliment by telling him she wanted to marry him. She was willing to say the words to join them forever. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Tess’s throat tightened as panic and remembered hurt roiled inside her. What could she do? What could she say to match Erica’s declaration when her heart still harbored the pain of her last marriage? She knew how quickly a marriage could sour. If she were to fail at one again, her heart might never mend.

Yes, she’d fallen in love with Ward, but did that mean she was ready to consider marriage? Could she brave the risk?

Around the table, everyone had gone silent. Tess couldn’t bear to look over at Ward. What if once again he showed nothing but his professional poker face? She might scream.

Then, just as the silence threatened to become terribly awkward, Phil cleared his throat. “I’d love to look at the guest list so I have a better sense of the VIPs and the MIPs and make sure everyone’s properly placed.”

Tess could have kissed him.

Carrie sank back against her chair in patent relief. “Oh, of course! I’ve got it here, Phil.” She leaned over to grab her bag and placed it on the table. “But what are MIPs?” she continued as she opened the bag and delved inside, searching. “I’ve heard of MPs but not MIPs.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It’s my term
for middling important people. Sometimes they cause more headaches than the VIPs.”

“Oh.” Carrie’s tone was distracted. She’d begun pulling stuff out from the depths of her bulky shoulder bag. First came a large calculator that could probably compute math problems Tess had never heard of. Next, a textbook that Carrie must actually be reading, because why else would someone carry around an inch-and-a-half-thick tome entitled
Active Galactic Nuclei
? After that followed a composition notebook, a laptop, and a bulging wallet stuffed with receipts. As item after item piled up on the table, Carrie looked increasingly panicked. “I was sure I had the list with me—”

“Could it be in your computer?” Tess asked.

Carrie shook her head. “Oh no. That’s my work laptop. My other one is back in Boston.” She looked up, distress etched on her face. “I’m so sorry. I must have forgotten the guest list back home.”

Tess said, “It’s okay, we can—”

“Not to worry, Carrie,” Erica cut in. “I’ve got the guest list right here.” She produced a stapled sheath of papers from her own handbag with a smile. “Christine called when you left from Boston and asked me to bring along a copy. Just in case you left it on your desk under a pile of books.”

“Guess Mom knows me pretty well. Though, in my defense, I’ve been working on this problem, trying to figure out a model for the covariance matrix of the real-space—”

“Of course you were,” Erica interrupted with practiced ease, which Tess thought was a shame. It would be neat to know what a covariance matrix was and what “real” as opposed to “fake” space was. Then again, there was an awfully good chance she wouldn’t understand a word of Carrie’s explanation.

Erica passed her stepsister the stapled papers. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Carrie tucked a lock of reddish gold hair behind her ear. “Okay, Phil. Confession time part two. I didn’t really look at the list Mom sent and honestly I don’t know who falls into the MIP versus VIP category. If it helps, Brian and my friends are solid MIPs—but easy-going ones. They’ll be happy wherever they are. Mom and Benjamin’s friends, not so much.”

“Not to worry, Phil. I’ve got a pretty good idea of who is where in the pecking order,” Erica said.

“Oh, good.”

Tess understood Phil’s relief. There were few headaches worse than dealing with the fallout of guests who created a holy stink because their “consequence” had been overlooked and they’d been booked in a room that failed to reflect their elevated status. It was like a maître d’ sticking a megawatt movie star or a billionaire hedge fund manager at a table next to the bathroom. A big oops.

Phil prided himself on the attention that was paid and the little extras that were provided to the VIPs who came to stay at the ranch. But Googling every guest on the list would have taken time he really couldn’t spare now that the high season was just around the corner.

Carrie looked like she’d just passed a really difficult exam. “Okay, then, I’ll read the names out loud and Erica can tell you whether they’re used to penthouse suites and champagne.” She scanned the first page, then flipped to the second. “Gosh, there are a lot of names—”

Tess could hear the note of panic in Carrie’s voice. Everything had gone so well this weekend; Tess wanted this last planning session to be equally easy so that Carrie could go back to Boston and focus on those covariance matrix things, free of any wedding-detail worries.

“Let’s begin with those who’ve accepted,” she suggested.

“Oh, right. Well, there’s us. I guess Bri and I get to be VIPs—isn’t that nice—and well, all our sets of parents.”

Brian spoke up. “I think to keep the peace we should put my parents in separate hotels. The less contact the better.”

Phil made a notation on his iPad.

“That should go for my Dad, too,” Carrie said. “I think Mom and Benjamin would be less stressed if Dad and Sarah, his girlfriend, were staying elsewhere.”

“Sarah …” Phil’s fingers hovered over the screen.

“Richards,” Tess supplied, remembering the name from her notes.

Across the table Ward smiled at her. How could she not smile back? It went a little way toward easing the pain that Erica’s announcement had caused. Of course, Erica, ever watchful, noticed the exchange.

They went through the list of family members, deciding that Brian’s sister, Allie, and Paul and their two young daughters, Hannah and Grace, should be put in one of the two-bedroom cabins at Silver Creek. Tess would arrange for babysitting for when the girls tired of the festivities. With Allie and Paul’s accommodations arranged, Carrie continued down the list of people who’d been prompt in accepting, with Erica conferring VIP status on a few of the guests invited by Christine Greer Marsh and her husband, Benjamin Marsh.

It was done with such exactitude that Tess wondered if Erica spent her free time memorizing the
Social Register
as well as every
Forbes
list ever compiled. The data stored in her head was impressive—and a touch scary as well. Phil, however, was entranced. His fingers flew over the screen to keep up with the annotated bios she supplied.

Carrie’s mother and stepfather seemed to know a lot of important people. Other than the fact that they lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, Tess wouldn’t have necessarily guessed that about them. Carrie was so modest.

It made Erica’s attitude and her subtle digs more understandable—if not excusable or defensible. Tess now saw why Erica acted as if she were just a little more special than anyone else.

Once they’d sorted out the column of guests who had accepted into ultra-important and somewhat-less-important categories, Carrie began reading off those who’d yet to RSVP.

Phil, recognizing he had an info gold mine in Erica, wanted to know how they ranked, too, so that he could place them in the appropriate cabins or rooms in the Ukiah hotel and B&B as their replies came in.

They’d gone through a half dozen names when Liz arrived, armed with two yellow-and-white-checked linen-covered baskets. Tess sniffed the air, catching the scent of warm popovers, and suddenly she was famished. She let her attention drift as Liz set the baskets on the table and then placed medium-sized ramekins next to them.

“Okay, I say we hit the pause button for a second and enjoy at least one popover before we continue,” Ward said.

Brian was already reaching for the basket, flipping the napkin over so that the delicious steam escaped. “Amen to that,” he said offering a popover to Tess and Carrie.

Even Phil consented. Setting aside his iPad, he passed the popovers to Erica and Ward and then helped himself.

Roo’s popovers were so good, they were inhaled. First helpings were followed by seconds in a stunningly short period of time. The large baskets empty, the tubs of flavored butter depleted, the dinners exchanged guilty glances.

“I don’t know how you live with food like this on a daily basis,” Carrie said to Tess. “It’s too good.”

“Jeff makes a salad that’s almost as delicious,” she said. “And I don’t eat breakfast here.”

“The bread Roo sends over for our morning toast is ridiculously healthy,” Ward said.

Erica scowled, not liking the “our” in Ward’s sentence. Tess understood he was making it clear to everyone—Erica above all—that he and Tess shared breakfast.

Tess’s eyes locked with Ward’s. In them she saw warm approval swiftly turn to something hotter, and she knew he was thinking of what their breakfasts led to when Ward wasn’t on early morning barn duty.

They might have continued staring at each other had one of the guests not stopped by their table to say goodbye to Ward and thank him for the wonderful trail rides. The rides had made the man, who looked to be in his early fifties, determined to take up riding again.

Ward stood to shake the man’s hand and said that he hoped he’d soon be returning to Silver Creek. There were miles of trails still to explore.

Listening to them, Tess felt her smile grow. She loved how Ward conducted himself around the guests. It was a side of him she’d begun to see fully only after she’d started spending time down at the horse barn and corral, where he mingled with the guests who’d signed up to ride. He was always cordial and willing to answer their questions about the ranch. His open love for the property, its horses, and the livestock was evident in his every word. The guests responded to his obvious attachment and enthusiasm, quickly adopting his attitude as their own.

While Ward and the man discussed places to ride near Santa Monica, where the man lived, Erica turned to her stepsister. “Shall we continue with the guest list, Carrie?”

“Better go ahead before the rest of breakfast arrives, babe,” Brian said.

“Okay.” Carrie wiped her fingers on her napkin and picked up the list. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. The Bradfords, Edward and Hope. Wait, I know them.” She paused, frowning in recollection. “Wasn’t Edward Bradford Benjamin’s boss or something?”