The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (67 page)

“It could have had something to do with Peter,” Gerry said dryly, reminding them that this wasn’t Laura’s first trip to the altar.

“Peter? He was just the warm-up act.” Alice dismissed him with an airy wave, saying to Wes, “You see, darling? If you don’t watch out, you could end up in the same boat.”

Wes gave a hearty laugh. “I have two mottoes: Never own a car you can’t handle, and never marry a woman you can.” Big and handsome in a swashbuckling sort of way, with a head of iron hair and beard to match, he’d always struck Gerry as a man who’d encountered little in life he couldn’t handle. He kissed Gerry on the cheek before extending a hand to Aubrey. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The look Wes gave him was that of a kindred spirit. The founder and CEO of a multibillion-dollar cable network, he, too, had drawn his share of unwanted attention from the press. “Sam tells us she couldn’t ask for a better tenant.”

“Probably because I’m hardly ever there,” Aubrey told him.

“Is Lupe driving you crazy yet?” Of the two girls, Alice looked the most like her mother—she had Sam’s delicate bone structure and heart-shaped face, but her hair was blond and her blue eyes carbon copies of Martin’s.

Aubrey laughed. “She can be a bit domineering at times.”

“Mom’s tried for years to get her to retire. I guess she thought renting the house out would do the trick. I guess it hasn’t.”

“I don’t mind—in fact, I’m not sure how much would get done without her.”

Alice looked as if she were wondering where Gerry fit in. “Well, I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet. In fact, we’d love to have you two up for dinner sometime.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. It wasn’t anything against Alice and Wes, just that contrary to Aubrey’s public person—or maybe in reaction to it—he almost never socialized outside of family and old friends. Luckily, he was saved from having to reply by the roar of Laura’s Explorer making its way up the dusty track, brightly colored streamers rippling gaily from its bumper. As it topped the rise, Gerry watched Finch break away from Andie to attend to her duties as maid of honor.

Hector, in jeans and a pressed white shirt—a silver bola tie his only concession to the occasion—climbed from the front seat and walked around to Laura’s side. As she stepped down, dressed in a plain organdy gown that might indeed have passed for a slip, but which suited her perfectly, Gerry couldn’t help thinking of a cactus flower blooming after a long dry spell in the desert. Laura had lost the ten or so extra pounds she’d put on after the divorce and, though Alice had always been the prettier of the two, at this moment she was by far the most beautiful woman on the hill. Her brown eyes sparkled and her olive skin glowed. A crown of baby roses sat atop her shining brown head.

Hector, bandy-legged from a lifetime on horseback, with a broad chest hammered to iron hardness from hoisting bales and heavy machinery, hooked an arm through Laura’s, his dark eyes fixed on her as if they were the only two people for miles around.

Gerry glanced about at the other guests—roughly fifty in all, with Hector’s contingent far outweighing Laura’s. A whole passel of his relatives were talking animatedly among themselves while Sam made the rounds, putting her spotty high school Spanish to use. Luckily, Gerry hadn’t had to find room for them in her house. Alice and Wes, as their wedding gift, had put them all up at the Horse Creek Inn.

Gerry’s gaze fell on Ian, chatting with Anna Vincenzi by the makeshift altar—fittingly enough, a saddle tree decked in flowers. Anna looked less drab than usual in a flowered dress and lipstick, her plump cheeks pink from the unaccustomed attention—usually she was overshadowed by Monica.

A few feet away, elderly Maude Wickersham, one of Laura’s strays who’d stuck around long enough to become a fixture, peeked out from under a cartwheel hat almost big enough to topple her tiny frame. She wore a shantung suit from another era, one of her thrift shop purchases, no doubt. Gerry watched her totter over to greet Mavis, who looked equally festive in a circle-cut denim skirt and fancy cowgirl shirt like the ones Dale Evans used to wear.

The crowd parted as Laura and Hector began making their way to the altar, stopping to greet people along the way. Laura was holding her hem up to keep it from trailing on the ground, revealing a pair of brand-new cream suede cowboy boots that made Gerry smile, they were so … well, Laura. Hector had on cowboy boots of his own, black with fancy stitching, and a belt with a conch buckle that would have felled a bull.

Gerry blinked back sudden tears. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. What was it with her? For someone so dead set against another wedding of her own, how could she be such a sucker for other people’s?

She caught sight of Father Dan getting his ear chewed off by Sam’s sallow-faced sister Audrey—as different from Sam as night from day. Since Laura was divorced he hadn’t been able to officiate, and now it seemed he was fair game for every soul in need of unburdening. Poor Dan. Gerry would be forced to rescue him if she kept it up.

The Episcopal minister was an old friend of Laura’s from college: a tall, plain-faced woman with cropped brown hair. She looked stately standing opposite Laura and Hector, her robe and surplice fluttering in the breeze, yet managed to conduct the ceremony in a down-home manner, more like a big sister handing out advice. Gerry smiled, half expecting her to remind Hector to always put the toilet seat down.

In keeping with the relaxed tone, Laura read aloud a short fairy tale about an elderly couple granted a single wish, which was to die together when the time came, and who were subsequently transformed into trees forever entwined. Hector, his voice hoarse with emotion, followed with a Pablo Neruda poem that he read both in English and in Spanish. It was followed by Finch shyly stepping forward to give a speech about Laura taking her in when no one else would, and how she hoped Hector would be as happy with her mother as
she
was. By the time vows were exchanged, there wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd.

Gerry glanced over at Sam, who was smiling through her tears. Both daughters married off, and now she was about to start all over again. Living proof, Gerry thought wryly, that good things didn’t necessarily come in neatly labeled packages by registered mail.

“They look happy, don’t they?” Aubrey murmured. Gerry thought she caught a note of wistfulness in his voice, and wondered if he was thinking of Isabelle.

“They’ve earned it.” She didn’t trust herself to say more—she was too choked up.

When she dared look at him, she saw that he was gazing not at Laura and Hector but at the mountains rising in the distance. Suddenly she wanted to snatch him back from wherever he’d gone in his mind. She could do what Isabelle couldn’t—warm his bed—but in every other way he’d remained faithful to his wife.

Then Aubrey took her hand, squeezing it gently and making her wonder if she was only imagining things.

Back at the ranch, decked in balloons and crepe paper streamers—Maude’s doing, no doubt—even the animals joined in celebrating: Rocky, the terrier, tagged after everyone holding a plate, hoping for a scrap; dear old Pearl, too old and dignified to beg, padded about with her big yellow head offered up for stroking; while the cats, Napoleon and Josephine, darted anxiously amid the thicket of legs crowding the living room. Even Punch and Judy, and Finch’s new chestnut mare Cheyenne, nickering in the barn, were making themselves known.

Sam darted over to plant a kiss on Gerry’s cheek. “I hope you’re hungry, because there’s enough food for a small army.” She didn’t have to say it: Lupe was in charge.

The smell of barbecued chicken drifted from the backyard, and Gerry could see past Sam into the kitchen, where Lupe, her thick black braids wrapped about her head—the only thing about her that hadn’t aged—bustled about like the world’s oldest general. The makeshift table at one end of the cozy living room, an old door propped on sawhorses and covered with an embroidered cloth, was laden with serving bowls and platters and baskets heaped with Lupe’s famous jalapeno cornbread. What a difference from Alice’s elegant reception on the lawn at Isla Verde!

Sam must have been thinking of Isla Verde, too. She turned to Aubrey with a smile. “By the way, Mr. Hathaway wanted me to tell you the roofers will be finishing up some time next week. I hope all the noise hasn’t been disturbing you too much.”

Gerry recalled that Mr. Hathaway was the property manager Sam had hired, which in turn reminded her of why Sam had rented Isla Verde out in the first place: All the upkeep had been more than she could handle on her own.

“Not in the least.” Aubrey
had
mentioned the noise, but was too much of a gentleman to let Sam know.

“Well, if you need to get away, there’s always Gerry’s.”

Gerry shot her a warning look. “One day at my house and he’d be running home to his leaky roof.”

“Not to mention Lupe.” Aubrey, thankfully, wasn’t taking it too seriously.

“As far as Lupe goes, you’re on your own. I gave up on her years ago.” Sam said with a laugh. “Excuse me …”

She darted off to rescue Anna, who’d been cornered by one of Hector’s uncles, a grizzled older man who clearly had an eye for the ladies. From Anna’s panicked expression it was obvious she didn’t understand a word he was saying.

“So far, so good,” Gerry muttered, glancing about. For the moment at least, they were being officially ignored.

Aubrey cast a faintly ironic glance at Andie and Justin, standing in line at the table, plates in hand. “I get the distinct impression your children haven’t missed a thing.”

Gerry sighed. “Knowing them, I don’t doubt it.”

Aubrey sipped his wine, regarding her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass. People pressed in around them, laughing and talking, everyone having a good time— even the old Miller twins, Olive and Rose, who’d had a bit too much to drink and were giggling like schoolgirls as Sam’s brother Ray attempted to teach them the Texas two-step.

“I’m not sure they know what to make of me,” he said.

Tipsy from the champagne, Gerry leaned close to confide, “They’re a little intimidated, I think.”

“Am I such an ogre?”

“Worse—you’re famous.”

He smiled. “I hope the two aren’t synonymous.”

“You’re also the second bomb I’ve dropped on them in less than a month.” The thought of Claire brought a dull ache.

“Your daughter, yes.” He sipped his wine, his long fingers curled about the stem of his glass. “Still no word?”

“Not yet.” Gerry forced a smile, determined not to cast a pall over the occasion. “Look, forget I mentioned it. I shouldn’t be boring you with all this stuff.”

His fingertips brushed lightly over her arm. “You could never bore me.”

The small hairs on her forearm prickled. Oh, God, she shouldn’t have had so much to drink. How much easier to keep everything tidily in a box when you’re sober.

“That’s why we get along so well—I’m never around long enough to test it,” she said tipsily.

Gerry expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. She caught a flicker of something in his eyes, and felt a cool rush of unease. So often with him she sensed he was walking in two worlds: the past, with its memories no flesh-and-blood woman could measure up against, and the present, in which each step had to be carefully negotiated. Then the look was gone, and he was once more smiling at her as if she were the only woman in the room.

He took her arm. “Shall we get something to eat before it’s all gone?”

By the time they reached the head of the line, serious inroads had been made into the platters. They helped themselves to barbecued chicken, black bean salad, and tamale pie before wandering out onto the porch, where a number of the other guests were enjoying the unusually mild weather. The food was as delicious as it looked and Gerry ate more than she should have. She was about to head back inside for a drink of water to quench the fire from Lupe’s jalapeno cornbread when Aubrey said, “Will you excuse me a moment? I see someone I’d like to talk to.”

She glanced in the direction he was looking and saw a beautiful young Hispanic woman in hip-hugger jeans and a sleek top that left little to the imagination—one of Hector’s young cousins, no doubt. She felt a quick, hot little stab, then saw that it was Hector’s brother Eddie he was heading toward. She remembered that Eddie was a minor celebrity in his own right—on the rodeo circuit. Annoyed at herself for jumping to conclusions, and even more for being jealous, she frowned as she pushed open the screen door.

Inside, she caught sight of Father Dan in line at the table. She couldn’t help noticing that it was time for a haircut—any longer and Althea Wormley would accuse him of being one of those hippie priests who, according to Althea and her ilk, had taken all the sanctity out of the Church with their guitar masses and freewheeling discussion groups and other such tomfoolery.

She sidled up to him. “Having fun?”

He turned to her with a smile. “To be honest, I feel a little out of place. I don’t usually come to weddings as a guest.”

“Think of all the future business you’ll be drumming up.” She glanced in the direction of Sam’s nephews—Audrey’s boys—both angular and dark-haired like their mother, doing their best to impress Rose Miller’s twin granddaughters, Dawn and Eve.

“Oh, there’s never a shortage of people wanting me to marry them,” he said, blue eyes twinkling in his broad Irish face. “It’s when they come to me after the bloom is off the rose that I wish I’d counseled them to wait.”

She felt a deep affection for her old friend. How many times had she gone to him for advice? Dan didn’t have all the answers, and that’s what she loved about him. If he didn’t have advice to give, he listened instead. He was the only priest she knew who didn’t feel the need to quote chapter and verse for every ill under the sun.

“I don’t think the bloom will ever be off
that
rose.”

She nodded in the direction of Laura and Hector, surrounded by family and friends. They already wore the look of old marrieds—hands loosely linked, their gazes straying to each other before reluctantly pulling away to focus on whoever was speaking.