Daring Brides (4 page)

Then the DJ was cued up, and they danced to the song he’d chosen: Billy Joel’s “Just The Way You Are.” There was something about that song.

He twirled her around, loving how she laughed and sashayed to the beat. Then he handed her off to her dad and grabbed Jill for a dance. When he glanced at his sister and lifted his head as if to say,
Do you want to dance?
Peggy shook her head and nudged Keith onto the dance floor. His nephew ran over to him, so he spent the next dance teaching him how to wiggle his hips to “Sweet Caroline.”

Then he took his turns with Meredith’s mom, her cousins, and her aunt—and all of them confirmed what he knew about Hale women—whether by blood or marriage. None of them liked the man to lead. He mentioned that to Meredith when she finally came back into his arms.

“Something to remember,” she told him with a husky laugh. “You knew what you were getting into when you asked me to marry you.”

He gave her what he hoped was a dashing smile, one that would make her knees as weak as his were after dancing with her pressed against him.

“Promise me our daughters will be the same way,” he whispered.

Her eyes immediately teared up, and he puffed out his chest, proud of himself. The night was almost over, and he finally felt like he was unlocking all the secrets for the perfect wedding day. The bride was supposed to arouse the groom to distraction while the groom was supposed to make the bride get all misty-eyed.

“I promise our daughters will be the same way,” she said with a special light in her green eyes.

Then he took her mouth in a deep kiss to show her just how eager he was to get to work on her promise.

***

Meredith was having so much fun, she didn’t want the night to end. Sure, her feet hurt from dancing too much in her heels. And some of her hair had long since fallen out of her formerly perfect coif. But none of that mattered. She’d married the man of her dreams and was having the time of her life with her family and friends.

Asher spun her around on the dance floor, and heavens did that man have moves. She had to admit there was something charming and very sexy about him, which she could admire as a happily married woman.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Asher,” she said as the song came to an end. “It meant the world to Tanner, and I’m so happy I finally got to meet you.”

“Me too,” he told her. “Now I understand how Tanner could give up the adventuresome life of a war correspondent to settle down in Dare Valley. You make him happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“He makes me feel the same way,” she replied, lifting a foot off the ground and giving her arch a little stretch.

“Who makes you happy?” her groom asked, putting his hand on her waist from behind.

She settled her back against his chest. “You do.”

“Good answer. Are you ready for me to tell the DJ to play the last dance? I want to get out of here.”

Asher chuckled, and Meredith felt her face heat as her mind jumped to their wedding night. She’d been fantasizing about it for weeks now.

“I want one more dance with someone special,” she told him with a smile. “Then you can tell the DJ.”

He kissed her cheek, and she could tell he knew what she meant. “Okay. Make it a good one.”

She headed directly toward her grandpa. He was seated at a table on the edge of the makeshift dance floor with her parents. She’d asked him to dance earlier in the night, but he’d blustered something fierce about being too old, so she’d backed down. This time she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Planting her hands on her hips, she stared him down. “You’re dancing with me. Grab your cane. Does Frank Sinatra work for you?”

He frowned, but he picked up his cane and stood, rubbing his hip. “I told you before. I’m too old to dance with you young people.”

“You danced with Joanie,” she said as she gave the DJ the signal they’d agreed on earlier.

“Fly Me To The Moon” began to play, and they walked to the center of the dance floor. Her parents followed them and started dancing cheek-to-cheek. She was happy to see Jill rest her head on Brian’s shoulder.

“Joanie is my date. Plus, she and I run at the same speed,” her grandpa said, still glowering. “I can’t shake and wiggle to all that junk you young people listen to.”

Since he was being his usual blustery self, she merely kissed his weathered jaw. “I don’t expect you to shake and wiggle to Sinatra.”

“Good,” he harrumphed. “It isn’t dignified.”

Even with his cane, he was a better lead than most men, having been raised in a generation where men knew how to dance with women. She made her muscles go soft as he led her through a basic waltz.

“Grandpa?” she asked. “What’s the secret to a happy marriage? Like you and Grandma Harriet had?”

His breath rushed out. “If your grandma were still here, she’d say the same thing I’m about to say to you. Love. I know that sounds way too simple, but it’s the God’s honest truth. So long as you cultivate that love, you’re good to go.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, making sure to match his slow but confident steps. “Any suggestions on how to cultivate it?”

“Marriage is like putting a newspaper together,” he told her, making her smile.

Leave it to Arthur Hale to use a journalism metaphor.

“You have to remain curious about your partner. You have to keep asking questions. And when something doesn’t add up, you have to dig deeper. Then it’s all a matter of choosing the right words, and when you use the wrong ones—either in an argument or because you’ve had a rough day—you have to print a retraction.”

“Any other sage advice?” she said with a grin.

“Trust your gut. Pay attention to the details. Search for the right words. And never, ever take him or what his story is for granted.” He kissed the top of her head. “And look through keyholes if you need to.”

She laughed. That was one of the journalistic rules he’d taught her growing up. Some of them he’d meant. Others had been for fun. Through it all, he’d opened up the world for her by feeding the passion they both shared.

“I love you, Grandpa,” she said, inhaling his familiar scent of Old Spice and red hots.

He stopped dancing, and they came to a halt.

“I love you too, Mermaid. Now go find your husband so you can dance the last dance together. If he feels anything like I did on my wedding day to your grandmother, he can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

Even though she knew he’d bluster, she pinched his cheek. “You are the dearest man I know.”

He looked up, as if asking heaven for help. “Go on with you.”

With a little nudge, she set off to find Tanner, who was still talking to Asher.

“Are you finally ready for the last dance?” she asked with the slight tilt of her head, which she hoped looked seductive.

“You have to ask?” He was so eager to get onto the dance floor, she had to run to keep up.

The DJ cued up “It Had To Be You,” and Tanner pulled her close, so close she could feel his body heat pouring through his suit.

“You
are
anxious to leave.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that for hours,” he said in a huskier voice than usual.

“I asked Grandpa to tell me the keys to a happy marriage.” Tanner’s dark eyes never left her face as she relayed what he’d said.

When she finished, he said, “I’m not worried about it.”

Even though she wasn’t either, she asked, “You’re not?”

His smile was devilish and charming at the same time. “No. If marriage is anything like running a newspaper, I plan on winning a Pulitzer.”

And as he swept her up into his arms, she whispered in his ear, “Me too.”

Jill & Brian

When Jill Hale had imagined her wedding as a child, she’d envisioned hundreds of friends and families seated in purple velvet chairs under a pink circus tent, the smell of lemonade ices perfuming the air as she married her best friend, Brian McConnell. The morning of her wedding would be magical and straight out of a storybook, just as it should be for a princess.

As she entered her teenage years, her vision changed, and her dream wedding took on an earthier feel. The large gathering would take place in one of the mountainous valleys surrounding her hometown, just as the wildflowers popped open. Then she and Brian had a picnic in just such a bucolic valley with their best friends, Jemma and Pete, and were swarmed by an avalanche of bugs, which put an early end to that notion.

After Brian McConnell broke her heart and took off to New York City after high school to become a chef, her big day changed yet again, turning edgier. She would marry an artist with shaggy long hair who liked to write her poetry. A love priestess would bless their union with wild sage incense and ribbons the same colors of each chakra energy center in her and her partner’s bodies.

Now, at twenty-six, she was finally getting married, and her plans didn’t match any of her earlier visions.

Truth be told, she
wasn’t
having a large wedding, and though she’d looked into the pink circus tent out of curiosity, it turned out they were nearly impossible to rent, least of all to assemble. She
wasn’t
having it in a valley dotted with wildflowers—even if they could have sprayed for bugs, it was too cold on this early May day. And she
wasn’t
marrying a hippie artist to match her own creative self.

But she
was
marrying Brian McConnell, her best friend from childhood
and
the love of her life, and when it came down to it, nothing was more important.

They were getting married on a Friday, which was the only day they could book their local pastor on short notice. Speed was a must because she and Brian had accidentally made a bun in the oven way before they were ready. But they were finally in love. Correction. Brian was finally in love with her. That blockhead had made her wait nearly her whole life, but now that he’d found his brain like the Scarecrow Groom he was, she didn’t care.

She was mostly over the moon about the baby now—except for the puking part—but having a baby had prompted a different approach to wedding planning.

It was like they’d ordered the fast-food wedding special—even though Brian hated it when she called it that. He was such a gourmet food snob sometimes. But she wasn’t complaining. She’d dreamed about marrying Brian McConnell since the third grade. Now she was going to have him for good.

But everything had been so hectic lately, what with her new “Love”—emphasis on the capital L—relationship with Brian, the BABY—who deserved all caps—her new job with The Grand Mountain Hotel, and training Margie to be the new manager of her coffee shop, Don’t Soy With Me. And that was why she was currently locked in her sister Meredith’s bathroom while her mom, her sister, her Denver cousins, and her dear friend, Peggy McBride, chatted outside. They were laughing about something, and she felt a little left out, but it felt good to take this quick moment for herself.

“Jill!” Meredith called. “Did you fall in or something? Come on, we need to get to the church pretty soon.”

Her makeup was flawless, she had to admit, and it did a great job of covering the red splotches on her face from an early-morning bout of morning sickness. She hadn’t put on her dress yet or her shoes. She prayed no one would notice that the bride wore a size eleven heel. Please God let them be too busy gazing in wonder at the most beautiful bride they’d ever seen. Her. She could finally look in the mirror and see her beauty. Brian had helped with that, but she’d mostly done it herself.

Her red hair lay in curled waves down her back. Putting it up in some coif wouldn’t have been her, and no one would have recognized her in the pictures. The pink blush on her cheeks made the hollows look a little more pronounced, like she had more prominent cheekbones. And her signature Hale green eyes—well she wasn’t too shy to admit they looked like sparkling emeralds.

“You’d better call a plumber,” she called back. “My engagement ring fell off my finger when I was flushing, and it went down the toilet.”

“What?”
her sister and a few of her cousins called out.

She opened the door with a smirk and held her left hand up so her ring glinted in the light. “Gotcha!”

Her mother, Linda, fanned herself. “Jill Marie Hale. I swear. Sometimes you give me heart palpitations.”

Since Jill’s dad had recently experienced heart palpitations and then some, her smirk faded. “Sorry, Mom. I was just responding to what Meredith said about me falling in. Jeez. Can’t anyone go to the bathroom in peace anymore?”

“You were in there forever,” Meredith said.

“Natalie,” she said to her cousin, “was she timing me?”

The brunette tapped her watch face. “No, but I was. Jill, you told me to keep you on schedule. You said, and I repeat, ‘You know how I am.’”

Which is why Natalie was always in charge of the wedding emergency kit at family weddings. Unlike a normal kit with red-eye drops or moist towelettes, hers included saltine crackers and sparkling water, which always settled her stomach.