Wedding at Wildwood (7 page)

“Should I, after you just warned me away not five minutes ago?”

“Probably not, but you don’t seem the type to heed warnings, anyway.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Dillon. I’d like to get to know you—the real you. So will you come to the rehearsal dinner?”

“Will you sit by me and make sure I behave?”

Smiling, she remembered they’d had this conversation before. “All right, I’ll sit by you, if you
promise
to behave.”

“Then I’ll be there. I’m not the best man, of course. But I get to be an usher, at least.”

“I’m proud of you—for doing this for your mother.”

“Are you, really?”

Repeating his earlier words, she said, “More than you can ever imagine, Dillon.”

Silence, then a shifting of feet. “Good night, Issy.”

“Good night, Dilly.”

Then, “I do own a chain of bookstores. And I do love to read. Come on back some night and I’ll pull out a volume of Keats or Shelley and I’ll read poems to you by the light of a single candle.”

Touched by that gentle image, she said, “A romantic, too? Dillon, you are full of surprises.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

With that, he was gone. She heard the soft thud of the screen door, then watched as the lamp went out.

Turning, Isabel was left with only the moon to guide her home. The way looked long and empty and lonely.

The rehearsal dinner was being held at the Camellia Country Club, an exclusive golf and tennis retreat for the few in the area who could afford the monthly membership fees.

Isabel had never been invited to any of the social events at the club, but she’d often heard stories about the tradition and beauty of the place from Susan and her other school friends who had been part of the more popular crowd.

Tonight, Isabel stood on the stone steps leading up to the glass doors of the banquet room, wondering how she would be received now. It was funny, really, that the very people who’d shunned her when she was growing up poor on Wildwood, now welcomed her back with open arms and glowing praise. Funny how a little fame and fortune could turn people’s opinions around.

Once, Isabel would have relished being a part of Wildwood society. Now, she only wanted to run away from the glare of its too harsh light. Because, she knew in her heart, they were curious simply because she had seemed so hopeless to them before. It was a morbid curiosity, not a friendly one. They wondered how she’d done it. How had the poor, odd farm girl succeeded against so many obstacles? And, she believed, they somehow envied her even while they regarded her with a quiet disdain.

Well, I survived all of you,
she told herself now as she stared up into the chandelier-adorned entrance, her hands sweaty and her breath coming too fast.
I went out and made it, in spite of your low opinions of me.
Her victory, however, was hollow. She would never really triumph over this small-town mentality until she could learn to accept and forgive it. But she would go in there and do her job.

“You were the prettiest girl at the church,” a deep male voice said from behind her.

Whirling, she saw Dillon standing by a potted cedar tree, his eyes bright with amusement and questions. “I mean it, Isabel. You far outshone the nervous bride and her stand-in, and any of the fifty or so bridesmaids. I like your dress.”

Nervous herself, Isabel smoothed the floral cotton of her sleeveless fitted sheath, then patted the upswept coil of hair centered on top of her head. “Thank you, but there’s only about seven bridesmaids in all.”

“Looked like at least fifty to me,” Dillon commented as he sauntered up the steps. His tie was crooked, and so was his smile. “Of course, I stopped counting once you started flashing that camera. It was more fun to watch you. You really enjoy your work, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she admitted as he came to stand on the same step with her. “I got a few shots of you, you know.”

“Give me the negatives,” he said briskly, while his eyes teased her. “Can’t have any evidence lying around.”

“Evidence that you did indeed show up?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Then he leaned close. “How’d I do, anyway?”

“You were the best usher I’ve ever seen.” And the best-looking one. Dillon filled out his casual sports coat and khaki pants rather nicely.

“No, I mean, how did I act?” he asked, his eyes on her.

“You were a perfect gentleman, but do you really care?”

“I care about your opinion of me. And I did see my mother beaming a time or two.”

“She was proud of both her sons tonight.”

Dillon nodded, looked around, then took her arm under his. “Now, onto the celebration. I think I can manage this if you stick with me. I’ll be the envy of every other usher in the place.”

“So, you’re using me for your own purposes?”

“Haven’t I always?” The teasing light went out of his eyes then. He stopped her as they entered the carpeted lobby. “Isabel, I hope you know that I’d never use you. You…you mean a lot to me. Seeing you again has meant a lot to me.”

There was a
but
in there somewhere. You mean a lot to me, but…we can’t be together. We have to remain just as we always were, secret cohorts. We can’t take it any further than that.

It would be so hard, but she’d have to honor his silent conviction. Because it was the only thing she could do.

Touched, she said, “Me, too, Dillon. I’m glad you’re my usher tonight.”

He leaned close again. “Let’s get this show on the road, then we’ll sneak out and go back to Wildwood.”

“Sounds good.”

They both looked up to find Eli staring at them across the expanse of the lobby, his brown eyes flashing disgust and disapproval.

“Get a shot of that,” Dillon said, then winked at her as if to ease her concerns.

Isabel didn’t miss the uneasiness in his words, though. Nor did she miss the unbridled hostility between the two brothers as they passed each other.

Eli gave them a plastic smile. “Mother wanted you both here tonight,” he reminded them, his features set in a serene line for any passersby. “But I expect you both to be on your best behavior. I won’t have either of you making a scene at this dinner.”

“You mean like this?” Dillon said just before he pulled Isabel close and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Pulling away, Isabel shot a warning look at Dillon, then turned to Eli. “Relax, Eli. Dillon and I are just friends. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Dillon said, regret evident in his words. “Nothing more, brother. And certainly, nothing less.”

“N
othing less than the best for my bride,” Eli announced to the people gathered in the private dining room at the Camellia Country Club. Amid the clatter of crystal and the sighs of those surrounding him at the elaborately decorated table, he raised Susan’s hand and kissed it. “Here’s to you, Susan.”

Everyone applauded the happy couple then settled in to enjoy the dinner of prime rib and all the trimmings. Susan beamed, her eyes bright and shining, her sighs filled with dreams and hopes, her hand touching on her future husband’s sleeve now and again.

“Kinda sickening, don’t you think?” Dillon whispered close to Isabel’s ear. “My brother can really lay it on thick when he needs to. Does the word
hypocrite
come to mind?”

“Don’t sound so cynical,” Isabel whispered back. “Even if you and I aren’t the marrying kind, you have to admit Eli seems to genuinely love Susan.”

Dillon shrugged, wondering where she’d gotten the impression that he wasn’t the marrying kind, then speared a cut of the juicy meat centered on his gold-rimmed dinner plate. “Yeah, he loves her all right. Like he loves his hunting trophies and his Peanut Farmer of the Year award. Susan’s another conquest to add to his many accomplishments.”

Surprised at the venom in his words, Isabel dropped her fork to stare over at him. “Why do you and your brother hate each other so much?”

Dillon leaned back on the mauve brocade chair. “Just your basic sibling rivalry, darlin’.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. I remember you fighting when we were growing up, but this goes deeper. What happened between you two, Dillon?”

He glanced over at her, his eyes going into that deep gray zone that she knew meant he didn’t intend to answer her question. Except with a question. “What happened to celebrating this blessed occasion?”

Determination clouding her better judgment, Isabel leaned close. “Oh, no, that trick won’t work tonight. I want some answers.”

“And I want you to smile for me,” he countered, his expression guarded and cautious. “If I wanted to talk about my troubles with big brother, I certainly wouldn’t do it here, tonight.”

He had a point there. She sat back in her own chair and glared down at the remains of her baked potato and marinated asparagus spears. She was just about to tell him they’d discuss this later when Susan motioned to her from the doorway of the room.

“Want to come with me to powder my nose, Isabel?”

“Sure.” Seeing the desperation and determination in the other woman’s eyes, Isabel couldn’t refuse. Turning to Dillon, she said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Hold my spot.”

“Of course.” Dillon glanced up in time to see Susan’s worried expression. “Don’t tell me the bride’s getting cold feet?”

“Just a case of the jitters,” Isabel assured him. “She probably wants me to get some more shots of the dinner crowd.”

“Well, tell her you’re off duty now.”

“I’ll be right back,” she assured him, wishing she could feel confident about Susan’s intentions. She had a sneaking feeling Susan was going to press her about getting Dillon to stay and help with the crops.

And she was right.

“Have you talked to him?” Susan asked the minute they entered the vanity area of the elegant powder room.

“No,” Isabel replied firmly, glaring at her friend in the gilted mirror’s reflection. “Susan, I can’t do this. I can’t ask Dillon to stay here—he’s only here tonight because of his mother.”

“Well, isn’t that just great. Doesn’t he even care that Eli’s working his fingers to the bone to try to save Wildwood?”

Alarmed at Susan’s exaggerations, Isabel turned to face the other woman. “Don’t be so dramatic, Susan. Wildwood seems to be thriving. You just need more attention from Eli.”

Gripping Isabel’s arm, Susan shook her head, causing her golden curls to spill around her face. “No, I’m not being selfish, Isabel. Eli needs to find some help before this place kills him.”

“What’s going on?” Isabel asked, real concern filtering through her resistance. Susan looked so panicked, so afraid, that Isabel knew this was about more than wedding jitters.

Falling across the mint green velvet divan centered in the small lounge, Susan glanced around to make sure they were alone. “It’s Wildwood. Eli’s trying so hard to hang on, Isabel. But…things aren’t so good.”

Shocked, Isabel bent down in front of Susan. “Tell me.”

Susan lowered her head, then whispered, “Well, Eli hasn’t come out and told me anything, but I’ve figured it out for myself. I think he’s heavily in debt…what with the house and this huge investment in getting this cotton crop going. He’s overextended himself a bit and now he’s worried sick about it. That’s why he’s been so moody lately.” Grabbing Isabel’s hands, she looked up, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t care about the wedding. I just want Eli to be happy. I want to make him happy, but if he loses Wildwood—”

“This can’t be happening,” Isabel said. “Wildwood has always been so secure, so formidable. What about all the money Mr. Murdock left to the family?”

Susan wiped a hand under her eyes. “Apparently, there wasn’t a whole lot of that after Mr. Murdock died. And with Dillon taking every penny his mother could give him and leaving Eli to take care of things—well, maybe now you can understand why I think he needs to help his brother out.”

Isabel sank down on the divan beside her trembling friend. “You’re right. This is much worse than I imagined. I’m surprised Eli’s even coherent enough to go through with the wedding. I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

“He is,” Susan said, tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve told him over and over I’ll call the whole thing off. We could have something simple and less expensive, but he insists that we’re going to keep up appearances. And besides, my folks are paying for most of it, anyway.”

“Appearances!” Isabel sprang up to pace the length of the narrow sitting area. “Now, that’s a Wildwood tradition, if I ever heard one. Appearances mean everything. Mustn’t let people know the truth, no matter the cost. How antiquated and futile, Susan. That old southern pride kicks in every time, though.”

Susan stood, too, worry causing tiny wrinkles to appear between her carefully plucked eyebrows. “You can’t say anything to Eli, Isabel. But you’ve got to explain this situation to Dillon. Let him offer to stay and help, that’s all. Make it look like a peace offering.”

“Just to keep Eli’s pride and ego intact! Susan, that would be like sending Dillon to the slaughter. He’d have to bow down to his brother all over again. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Cynthia Murdock said from the doorway. “My goodness, girls, this is a celebration, remember. Why do you two look as if someone just died or something?”

“She doesn’t have a clue,” Susan whispered through stiffly clenched teeth, then turned with a bubbling smile toward her mother-in-law.

“We were just discussing last minute details, Mrs. Murdock,” Isabel said, hating all of this deception. “I was trying to convince your stubborn future daughter-in-law that I don’t think I can pull off the shot she’s requesting.”

“Oh, we’ll work on such stuff later,” Cynthia admonished, waving jeweled fingers in the air. “Right now, I want you both back in the dining room. I have a special surprise.” Smiling like a conspirator, she said, “I’m going to officially welcome Dillon back into the fold—publicly—so there will be no mistake that I’m glad to have my son home.”

Isabel’s eyes widened as she watched Susan’s strained features. Tonight wouldn’t be a good time to try to bring her sons together, but Cynthia looked very determined.

“Do something,” Susan mouthed while Cynthia checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

Isabel didn’t have time to wonder what she was supposed to do. Cynthia, pleased with her bright red lipstick, ushered them out into the lobby.

“Come along, children,” she said, her cream pumps clicking on the marble floorway. “Everyone is waiting.”

“What took so long?” Dillon asked when Isabel sank back down into her chair. “You missed dessert—I ate your lemon pie.”

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Isabel said in what she hoped was a controlled tone, wondering how in the world she could possibly stop Cynthia Murdock from inadvertently causing further hostility between Dillon and Eli.

“You don’t look too hot,” Dillon said, his eyes flashing between concern and cynicism. “Are you all right? Did Susan say something to upset you?”

Isabel’s chuckle was shaky. She supposed she could bring a halt to the proceedings in the old-fashioned way—she could faint. But that wasn’t her style. No, best to just let the evening take its course, then get Dillon out of here as soon as possible.

“I’m okay. I just got a little warm—it’s so stuffy with the humidity outside. Maybe we could leave early—it looks like rain.”

“That wouldn’t do for Eli’s cotton crop at this stage,” Dillon said dryly, missing her request to leave. “Boll rot.” Then, “Here, drink some water.”

Isabel took a big gulp of the sparkling water with lemon. It felt good going down, and calmed her nerves to a more rational state. Dillon’s attention had certainly perked up at the mention of rain. Maybe he was more worried about his brother’s doings than he was letting on. “Do you know a whole lot about growing cotton?”

“I know a whole lot about farming,” he countered. “Remember, I grew up on a farm.”

“I remember,” she replied, thinking this could be a good time to suggest that he might want to stick around and help his brother. “It’s just that you never seemed as dedicated as Eli.”

Dillon’s features sharpened into the scowl she remembered so well. “I loved Wildwood,” he said simply. “Loved the smell of the wet peanuts after a spring rain, loved the feel of corn silk rushing through my hands. Sorry, I’m getting a bit too poetic on you, Isabel, but I always loved farming. It’s just that with Eli hovering over me, I didn’t get to put any of my theories into practice.”

“Theories?” She stared at him as realization hit her. Dillon was a thinker. He stood quietly and listened, really listened, to the world around him. Yes, he probably did know everything there was to know about farming. And, he was probably chomping at the bit to be included in his brother’s new venture. Maybe Susan had a point after all. Maybe. But if she didn’t try to get Dillon out of here soon, it wouldn’t matter.

“Dillon—”

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight,” Cynthia said just then, standing at the head of the table, her smile wide. “I’m so proud of my sons—both my sons—and since this is a celebration, I have a special announcement tonight.”

Eli glanced over at Susan, his dark eyes immediately questioning. Isabel figured he didn’t like surprises; Eli liked to be in control at all times, nothing was supposed to escape his attention or his approval. Susan’s smile was a strained line against her pale face, but she gave a valiant effort at comforting her fiancé by patting his hand and kissing him chastely on the cheek.

Dillon shrugged and quirked a brow toward Isabel. “Mother’s always up to something, isn’t she?”

“She loves her family,” Isabel said by way of a warning.

Cynthia’s soft gaze moved from Eli’s frowning face to Dillon’s puzzled one. “Tonight, I’d like to officially welcome my younger son, Dillon, back to Wildwood. We’ve missed you, son, and we just want you to know that you will always have a home with us.” With that, Cynthia came around the table and stopped at Dillon’s chair, then leaned down to hug her son close.

Surprised and clearly uncomfortable at being thrust into the spotlight, Dillon stood to return his mother’s affection. “I love you, Mother,” he said, his voice low. “Thank you.”

Cynthia let go of her son, but held a hand on his arm. Then she looked down the table at Eli. “Son, won’t you join me in welcoming your brother home?”

Isabel held her breath as she watched the play of expressions moving over Eli’s harsh features. He stood, shock and anger evident in his every move. Throwing down his white linen napkin, Eli stalked around the table to confront his stunned mother.

“So, we kill the fatted calf for my brother? Is that it, Mother? We welcome him back with open arms and no questions asked, after the way he abandoned us, after the way he squandered Daddy’s hard-earned money?” Glaring at Dillon, Eli extended a hand, but the gesture was anything but brotherly or forgiving. “Welcome home, brother. Did you run out of money? Did your fancy bookstore go under? Is that why you came back to Wildwood?”

A hiss of embarrassed shock rushed through the hot, crowded room, followed by a rush of sandpaper sharp whispers. Dillon didn’t reach for his brother’s hand. He just stood there, his features etched in granite, the pulse at his jaw vibrating a pounding beat as blood rushed to his face.

Clearly appalled, Cynthia grabbed Eli’s arm. “Son, please. You have to let go of all of this bitterness. It’s time you forgive your brother and remember that he is family.”

Eli jerked his arm away. “I can’t do that, Mother. Not now, not tonight. You can forgive Dillon if you want, but I can’t.”

With that, he turned and motioned for Susan. She rushed to his side, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her head down. But before Eli could take his intended and leave, Dillon sent his chair crashing across the soft carpet as he pushed away from the table.

“Stay, brother, and celebrate your wedding. I’ll go and you can pretend I was never here. That’s what you’ve been doing for years now.” Then he turned to his mother. “I’m sorry.”

With that, he pivoted and stalked out of the room, his back straight and his head high. Only Isabel had seen the gleam of tears forming in his stormy eyes.

And only Isabel knew the hurt he was feeling right now.

Which is why she got up and ran after him.

“Dillon, wait,” Isabel called as she followed him out into the parking lot. Off in the distance, thunder warned of an impending storm.

“I don’t think so,” he said over his shoulder. Then he reached his motorcycle and slung one leg over the padded leather seat. “I’ve had enough celebrating for one night, Issy.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” she said, throwing her leg over the seat behind him. Quickly pulling her skirt down, she slung her camera bag across her shoulder and held on to his waist. “Let’s go.”