Daring Brides (8 page)

Now she was suspicious. “What? Did he pick out my underwear or something? You might have mentioned that before I put this contraption on.”

Jill barked out a laugh. “Pick out your underwear? That’s a good one. I never thought about consulting with Brian on my undies before our wedding.”

Peggy took the present and tore the paper off. Her hands started to sweat when she saw the black jewelry box, and then her mouth pretty much dropped to the earth’s interior when she opened it. Inside was a necklace with the biggest red gem she’d ever seen. Two inches long, it looked like one of those stalagmites her son had done a book report on, except it was a brilliant, clear blood red.

“What is…it?” she asked a bit breathlessly. My God, it must have cost a fortune!

“It’s a ruby, I believe,” Meredith said, handing her a card. “I think he probably tells you that in here.”

“Wowza,” Jill said, gaping like a fish. “Now that’s a rock.”

A rock. Why would he give her a rock like this to wear? She was a deputy sheriff for heaven’s sake. She caught the criminals who stole things like this. She opened the card.

Dear Peggy,

I know what you’re thinking. Why in the hell did Mac give me something like this? Well, you need to understand the lore around rubies. I came across a passage about Burmese warriors wearing them to make themselves feel invincible in battle. I couldn’t think of a better talisman for the woman I’m marrying, the warrior for justice who always puts herself in harm’s way to uphold law and order. I wanted you to wear this today so you’d know—if you don’t already—that I love you as you are and will never try to change you. So, my warrior bride, indulge me and wear this today and every day you strap your gun to your side, knowing it’s my way of protecting you, even though I know you can take care of yourself.

All my love,

Mac

A huge ball of emotion rose in her chest as she gripped the note. Crap. That man always knew how to get to her. His warrior bride. She rather liked the sound of that. When she set the card aside and pulled the necklace out of the box, her palms weren’t sweating anymore. The gold chain was long enough for her to pull it over her head. The gem fell just past her breasts, which was good since Mac knew she didn’t like drawing attention to them.

“It’s beautiful,” Meredith said with an audible sigh.

“Can I read the note?” Jill asked, as eager as a nosy neighbor.

“Sure, why not? At least someone will know why I’m wearing it. Anyone else will think it looks ridiculous on me.”

Meredith tunneled in closer to her sister to read the note, and soon there were alarming tears popping into their eyes.

“That man is the single most romantic man on the planet,” Jill said wistfully. “Burmese warriors. He’s a Renaissance man, that’s for sure. Which is why I love working for him.”

“He’s a keeper,” Meredith agreed, “and he’s right. It does suit you. Peggy, the warrior bride.”

And as she turned to look in the mirror on the wall, she saw herself in a new light. She looked powerful, like Joan of Arc must have looked as she led men into battle. Perhaps Mac did know her better than she knew herself.

***

Of all the ways Mac had expected to pass the time before his wedding in the private suite he’d commandeered, it hadn’t been singing. No, he’d thought he and his friends might play poker. Smoke a few cigars. Well, they’d smoked a few cigars with their bourbon, but no one had mentioned cards, much to his surprise.

No, his dear old friend, Rhett Butler Blaylock, had talked their mutual friend, country singer Rye Crenshaw, into leading a rendition of “God Bless The Broken Road.” A man of romantic notions, Rhett claimed it reminded him of Mac and Peggy.

Most of the guys joined in as soon as Rye started strumming out the song on his red guitar, and the sing-along had continued from there. Rhett couldn’t carry a tune if his life depended on it, and so far it hadn’t, or he’d be dead. Fortunately, Mac’s other friends
could
carry a tune, so between Rye and Clayton Chandler and John Parker McGuiness, Rhett’s mulish braying could hardly be heard.

“Those things stink,” Keith, his soon-to-be son, said. The boy stood at his side, pointing at his cigar with distaste.

The cigar’s acrid scent offended some people, but to Mac, the one he was enjoying smelled like tea, tobacco, and cardamom. He could almost imagine other poker players in times past smoking them in Macau when the Portuguese influence there was strong.

“Cigars are like bourbon,” he told Keith. “You either like them or you don’t. And it’ll be years before you’re old enough to find out which it is for you.”

Mac paused to listen to Rye’s rendition of the old Tim McGraw classic, “My Next Thirty Years,” which he thought was fitting for his wedding day. He had no trouble imagining himself and Peggy and Keith thirty years from now. She’d still be kicking criminal butt, and he’d still be playing poker and running hotels.

With any luck, their family would be bigger than it was now. Peggy was open to having more kids, and he was more than excited about that. Helping his single-mom sister raise his nephew, Dustin, who was currently arm-in-arm with Rhett, singing right along with the rest of the guys, had shown him how much he wanted to be a father. And Keith, whom he already loved as a son, had shown him what a wonderful mother Peggy was. After growing up in a dysfunctional household, he couldn’t wait to have the family he’d always dreamed about.

“Why don’t I open a window?” Mac said to the boy, who was now pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Even though it was winter, a slight breeze would help. Besides, the last thing he wanted was for Peggy’s nose to wrinkle up at the cigar scent when she met him at the end of the aisle.

“Mom won’t let you smoke those in our house,” Keith informed him with a serious frown.

“I know she won’t, so when I have a hankering for one, I’ll have one here,” Mac said as he opened the nearest window. “Okay?”

He thought for a moment and then gave him a serious nod. “Okay. Maybe I can try them one day when I get older since you like them so much. But we can’t tell mom. She wouldn’t like it.” He often acted a lot older than his seven years, and Mac knew it came from being raised by a single mom.

“No, she wouldn’t like it.” On that they could agree.

“And I have to be eighteen to smoke. It’s the law.”

He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Keith knew every age limit associated with every law for the average citizen, courtesy of his law-enforcing mother. “You’ll be at least eighteen. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, wrinkling his nose again. “Can I have another soda?”

“How many have you had?” The country music spectacle had distracted him enough that he’d lost count.

Keith looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Dustin! How many sodas have I had?”

His nephew kept on singing, swaying with Rhett now, but he held up two fingers.

“Two?” Mac said. “How about some water? Your mom doesn’t like you to drink soda.”

The boy kicked out his right foot like he was kicking an invisible rock. “I know. She says it’s bad for my teeth and makes me jittery.”

“Maybe you can have another after the ceremony,” Mac said in an easy tone. “Today is a pretty special day.”

“It sure is,” the boy said with a bright smile now, showing a missing tooth. “You’re going to be my real dad. In the eyes of the law and everything.”

He pulled the boy in for a hug. “And everything. Now go on over to the bar, and grab a water.”

“Okay,” Keith said and darted off after squeezing him tight.

Mac sat back on the leather couch and surveyed the snow falling in the mountains outside. Somehow it only added romance to the scene. Then he shook his head. He was pretty much seeing romance in just about everything today. He wondered if Peggy felt the same way—even though she wasn’t particularly sentimental. How would she react to his wedding present? Her first response would probably be anxiety over the expense. His money still made her nervous. Then she would panic about wearing it. But hopefully she would soften once she read the note. Well, he would find out as soon as he saw her at the ceremony.

“Mac Maverick Maven,” Rhett called out. “Come on over here and sing with us. We need another bass.”

They didn’t, but he rose from the couch and spared a glance for his future brother-in-law, who sat in an arm chair with a bourbon in his hand.

“Are you planning to join us?” he asked Tanner. “I don’t think I can fight Rhett off any longer.”

“Sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. “You have to face the lions alone. Or throw them out.”

Even though he knew the man was teasing, he stroked his chin as if considering the suggestion. “If Rhett’s voice brings in the hounds, we might have to.”

Since he wouldn’t put it past Rhett to corral Dustin into dragging him over if he didn’t come willingly, Mac strolled over to join the singing party. Some of the guys were casually sitting on bar stools while others were standing. Rhett had joked that his location was closer to the Pappy Van Winkle, but the man hadn’t touched his bourbon for over an hour. He’d been too busy singing like a lark.

“Mac, my boy,” Rhett said, reeling him in with a meaty hand. “Good of you to join us.”

Mac took his position on Rhett’s right side while Dustin peered at him from the man’s left.

“Hiya, Uncle Mac,” he said, grinning in that dopey, delighted way teenage boys did when they were included in adult male rituals.

“Hi, Dustin,” he said and gave his nephew a high five.

Rhett jostled them both when he wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

“Do you have a request, Mac?” Rye said, fingering the chords.

He gave them all a sly smile. “How about ‘I Have Friends In Low Places?’”

Rhett slapped him on the back. “Now, I know you mean that to be a joke, but I do love that song. Rye?”

The country singer’s only response was to start playing, and that was how Mac Maven ended up singing a Garth Brooks classic on his wedding day.

***

Jill was acting like a rabid beauty queen in her attempts to strong-arm Peggy into putting on a darker lip gloss. She’d balked at lipstick since she rarely—read almost never—wore makeup. But Jill was sneaky. She’d convinced Peggy to let her dab some powder and a splash of color onto her cheeks so she could avoid grease shine in her wedding photos, which was when she had stealthily swiped the first round of lip gloss onto her mouth. Since it hadn’t looked terrible, Peggy had kept it on.

“Jill, I am not going to put Plum Berry or whatever that is on my lips,” she said, crossing her arms. Who came up with names like that, anyway? “I have more than enough goo on my face.”

“But it will match your ruby,” Jill protested. “We have to change your lip gloss.”

Match her ruby? “Because of my necklace? What planet are you from?”

“Venus,” Meredith said, and when Peggy gave her a blank look, she added, “Never mind. Jill, leave the poor bride alone.”

Jill re-inserted the wand into the container, and Peggy breathed a sigh of relief.

The door to the suite clicked open and inside ran her son, followed by her brother, Tanner.

“Mom!” Keith said, coming to a stop in front of her. “You’ve got to see what Dad set up in the reception area. It’s so cool. It’s a S’mores bar with a fire and everything. He said he did it for me. Isn’t that the coolest? Of course, he said I’d need to share because other people like S’mores too.”

Her heart melted like a glob of wax under a flame. Keith had already taken to calling Mac “Dad” because he adored him. Thank God the feeling was mutual since Keith’s father pretty much defined deadbeat. Who else but Mac would have thought about giving her son something special on their wedding day?

“That sounds pretty cool,” she said. Her son’s tiny bow tie was slightly crooked, which only made it more adorable.

“Wow!” Keith said. “Where did you get that?”

He was pointing to her necklace, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Your…dad gave it to me.” She was still practicing calling him that. Each time she said it, she felt a funny pinch in her heart.

“Cool!” he said and then ran over to give Jill and Meredith hugs.

Tanner halted the moment he saw her. “Wow. Peggy you look incredible. Who’s responsible for the lip stuff?”

He knew her too well.

Jill raised her hand. “Me! Isn’t it great?”

“
Fabulous
,” he drolled and strolled over to kiss his wife as soon as Keith let her go. “How are you ladies faring?”

“We’re good,” Meredith told him. “How is the groom’s party doing?”

Peggy hadn’t wanted to fret with attendants or anything. The idea of having bridesmaids walk down the aisle in gowns she’d selected was more abhorrent to her than a prison sentence. Still, she couldn’t deny she was grateful to have Meredith and Jill with her now.

“Rhett talked Rye into singing,” Tanner told them, “so they’ve been belting out country classics for all of an hour. Mac even joined in on ‘I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.’”