The Secret Wedding Dress (6 page)

Rianne
ducked her head. “’Kay, Daddy. I’ll try and remember.”

Sylvie laughed spontaneously. “I have a niece and nephew whose every other word is who, what, why, where or how. Rianne’s very polite. I think we’ll get on famously. Oh, and do call me Sylvie.”

Joel rocked forward and back on his heels and narrowed his eyes, as if her request was an imposition.

What was the man’s problem?
One minute he seemed a nice, decent guy. The next, a grouch. Sylvie’s concentration on the father was broken by a question from the daughter.

“I don’t know what those cookies are, the ones you said you were making. Actually, I’ve never helped make cookies. Is it all right if I don’t know how?”

Sylvie gazed down into the girl’s anxious blue eyes. “Never? Maybe your mom calls these sugar cookies. They’re made from dough you refrigerate and squeeze out in different shapes from a cookie gun.”

Rianne continued shaking her head. “I don’t think my mama makes cookies at all. She only talks on TV.”

Sylvie felt herself nodding. “Oh, uh, then you’re in for a treat, honey. I already have the dough made. You get to help with the good part, squishing it through the press and painting the shapes with edible paints after they come out of the oven and set for a while.”

The girl’s dragging steps sped up and she gave a few little skips. “What’s edible paint?”

“Just what it sounds like. Paint you can eat.” Sylvie smiled over Rianne Mercer’s obvious skepticism. “They didn’t have such a thing when I learned to make cookies. My sister owns a kitchen shop in town. She first tried these paints last Christmas. Our Christmas plates did look fabulous.”

“Daddy said the woman who used to live in your house made the yummiest oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“Really? That would be my Grandmother Shea. Hers
were
tasty. I
have her recipe. If we have time, how would you like to mix up a batch to bake and take home to surprise your dad?”

“Yes, please.” Rianne beamed.

“I’m fairly sure I have all the ingredients we need. Oh—” She paused. “Unless you and your dad have too many desserts on hand as it is.” At Rianne’s vigorous shake of the head, Sylvie led the way into her kitchen. “First we have to wash our hands,” she announced.

“Why did all those ladies who don’t know us bring us food, Sylvie?”

“It’s called being neighborly,” Sylvie said, sharing a towel. “People wanted to welcome you to town.”

“Oh. Daddy thinks they just wanted to find out all about us.”

“That, too.” Sylvie laughed. “It’s the drawback of living in a small town, kiddo. Everyone wants to know everyone else’s business.”

“Why?”

“That’s a very good question.” She got out the bowl of chilled dough and put the first batch into the press. Talk fell off as she showed the little girl how to push the plunger to create a slow, steady flow. As the dough softened, Rianne grew more adept, and her confidence soared.

“Are you sure you aren’t teasing me about never making cookies before?”

“Nope. Daddy doesn’t like to cook. And Mrs. Honeycutt, who watched me after kindergarten, has something wrong with her blood so she can’t eat sweet stuff.”

“Diabetes?”

“Yes. You’re smart, Sylvie. You don’t even know Mrs. Honeycutt.”

“You’re pretty smart yourself. I’ll bet you’ll be taking on some of the cooking soon.” Sylvie was tempted to ask how long it’d been since the girl’s father had assumed meal preparations in the Mercer household, but she didn’t want Joel to accuse her of trying to pump information out of a kid.

The
afternoon slipped by in a flurry of activity and laughter. Sylvie discovered the adorable little girl could converse intelligently at a level far above her age. And unlike the adults in Sylvie’s life, Rianne didn’t once question why Sylvie was still single. Why she’d never found some nice man to marry.

They’d painted all the designs on the sugar cookies and were sampling the ones that were broken as they waited for the last pan of oatmeal cookies to come out of the oven. Sylvie’s phone rang. She checked the readout. “Hmm. It says unavailable. Probably somebody wanting to sell me something I don’t need.”

“Daddy doesn’t answer those kinds of calls, either.”

The caller didn’t give up even after clicking into her answering machine. “Yeah?” she said to Rianne. “When you work at home, you learn that other people figure you aren’t really working. Even friends and people who should know how busy you are take advantage.”

Rianne wiped her hands on her shorts. “Yep. Daddy says if it’s ‘portant, the person wouldn’t have any reason to hide his name.”

Sylvie pulled on her oven mitt and bent to take the last cookie sheet out of the hot oven. Well, here, finally was an opinion she and Joel Mercer saw eye to eye on.

She had one row of cookies left to remove. In the back room, Oscar started barking furiously. The outburst was followed by someone banging loudly on her side door. “Can you ask whoever’s there to wait a minute? Don’t open the door, because I have no idea who it would be.”

“It’s my daddy!” Rianne announced.

“Oh, in that case, unlock the door and let him in.”

He roared in like a whirlwind. “I was afraid something was wrong over here. Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?”

Sylvie calmly set the last cookie on the cooling rack before she turned to face him. “Was that you who just tried to
call? It said unavailable, and Rianne told me you don’t answer those calls, either. Is there a problem?”

Color streamed into his cheeks. “I…ah, Rianne’s been over here for three hours. I thought I should see how you were doing.”

“Good.” Sylvie dumped the hot pan in the sink.

“Daddy, we had fun! Come see the cookies I squished out and painted all by myself.” Grasping her dad’s hand, she dragged him to the center island. He didn’t make it all the way; instead, his piercing gaze stalled on the latest batch of cookies.

“Are those by chance oatmeal raisin?” He leaned down to peer at them more closely and sniffed the steam rising from the hot cookies.

His daughter flashed Sylvie an unhappy glance. “He spoiled my surprise.”

“In that case, what can we do but give him a sample right now? Who better to tell us if these are as good as the ones he remembers?” Sylvie took a plate from the cupboard and piled it with cookies from the still-warm batch. Then she took three glasses, which she filled to the brim with milk. She motioned her guests to sit on the stools grouped at one end of her counter.

Joel bit into the first cookie gingerly, as if it might bite back. The grin that spread over his face spoke louder than any words of praise.

Sylvie nudged Rianne. “There’s your answer. Your surprise is a big success. You and I should probably eat only one apiece. Especially since we shared the sugar cookies we broke.”

“These are
fantastic!
I can’t tell you how many times I’d buy some bakery cookies and remembered these. Nothing I’ve tasted has ever lived up to them. Still, I wondered if I’d blown them out of proportion.” He grinned at Sylvie and then at Rianne. “I ask you, snooks, have you ever tasted anything quite this fantastic?”

Rianne
nodded. “The chocolate chip ones Sylvie said her mother made. They’re my very favorite, and I’ve never had any that tasted better.”

Joel’s face fell, but Sylvie burst out laughing. “There you have it. That’s what I love most about kids. They’re so honest.”

“Meaning adults aren’t?”

Sylvie lifted her glass of milk and touched the rim of his. “More power to you, Mr. Mercer, if in your thirty-some years of dealing with people, you still believe they are.”

Considering that he twisted truths to make them humorous for his comic strip, Joel said nothing, but stole a second cookie.

“Ah, I see I made my point.” Still, she was thankful when her phone rang again. Anyway, Rianne rushed to show her dad the edible paints and explain to him, as Sylvie had to her, that they were made out of vegetable dyes.

Sylvie, who tended to see her life as an open book, answered the phone on the second ring, knowing her sister Dory was the one calling.

“I hear voices,” Dory said almost at once. “I won’t interrupt, since you’re with clients. Phone me back as soon as you’re free.”

“I’m free now, Dory. I’m in the kitchen with my neighbors. We’re drinking milk and trying out Grandma Shea’s oatmeal-raisin cookies. I haven’t made that recipe in years, have you?” The phone crackled with static but was otherwise silent.

“Dory? Did you put me on hold?”

“You’re serving milk and cookies in the middle of a work day?”

“I’m taking a break. Rianne Mercer has been over here helping me make the Sunday school snack.”

“You’re feeding Mercer’s daughter, right? The kid from next door? For a minute there, I thought you meant you were entertaining Mr. Sexy himself.”

Warning bells sounded in Sylvie’s head, but she couldn’t resist inquiring, “That description came from where, Dory?”

“From
everybody who saw him in town this morning. Plus, I ran into Kay Waller at lunch. She agreed. Apparently she got a look at him while she was at your house for a fitting. She said you told her the guy has a wife. Hmm, funny, other people say Mercer only ever mentions his daughter. Kay and I think you should ask him outright about his marital status. If he’s divorced, it gives you the perfect opening to invite him to Kay’s wedding this Saturday.”

“Why would I do that, Dory? He doesn’t even know Dave or Kay.”

“For one thing, it shows your intent to stake your claim. For another, you wouldn’t be the only unattached female at the wedding dance. Kay and I feel—”

“
What?
I can’t believe you two—”

“We’re thinking of
you,
Sylvie. You need a life.”

“Dory, I
have
a life. And I’ll thank you to butt out of it.” She’d spoken so sharply, Sylvie felt Joel Mercer’s eyes boring into her back. Hunching her shoulders, she tried to step around the corner into the hall for some privacy. It was harder to ignore the tic of irritation that began to hammer insistently behind her eyes. “Look, Dory, I know you guys are sincere. But I guess you haven’t talked with Carline since yesterday. I already have a date for the wedding.”

“No kidding? You sly dog. Who?”

“Uh, Buddy Deaver.” Sylvie almost dropped the phone because Dory screamed in her ear.

“Tell me this is a joke! I know his family has money and all, but Sylvie, he’s a loser with a capital L.”

The tic turned into a dull pounding at the base of Sylvie’s skull.

“No one in the world is as boring as Buddy,” her sister wailed. “Not only that, he’s two full years younger than me, which makes him three years younger than you. People will think you’re desperate, Syl.”

“Carline said he graduated in your class.”

“He
did. He’s a nerd who got bumped up two grades.”

Sylvie’s heart dived to her toes, but she wasn’t about to give ground to her sister, especially after Dory had been the one to foist Chet off on her. “Look on the bright side, Dory. It’s become the thing to date younger men.” She ended the call before her sister could do more than sputter. Turning as she started to hang up the phone, Sylvie walked squarely into Joel Mercer. She felt a wave of heat emanating from his body and blindly aimed the receiver at the hook on the wall phone, but missed twice.

Eyeing her curiously, Joel plucked the receiver from her limp grip and dropped it into place. “That was my sister,” she offered lamely.

“I gathered. Is everything all right?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.” Sylvie shivered, stepped back and rubbed her bare upper arms.

“Okay, then. It’s getting late, so Rianne and I will be on our way after she thanks you. We should hurry—she has to go to the bathroom.” He grinned crookedly. “I’m embarrassed to admit I already polished off every cookie on the plate.”

Releasing a hand she’d clamped around her arm for stability, Sylvie waved down the hall. “Don’t make her walk all the way home for that. Rianne, honey, I have two bathrooms. The main one is down the hall, second door on your left. The other’s between the two rooms on your right. That’s for my guest bedrooms. And…uh…my sewing room.”

“No need to trouble you.” Joel might as well have saved his breath. His daughter sailed past him, headed down the hall at a dead run.

“Poor kid,” Sylvie murmured. “She had a glass of water earlier, and that huge glass of milk with the cookies. I should’ve pointed out the location of the bathrooms earlier.”

“She’s not shy. She could’ve asked.”

“At that age, ask a near stranger? Get outta here! Girls her age would burst rather than do that.”

The
look crossing Joel’s face was one of pure horror. “Why are girls so difficult?” he muttered.

“You think she’s difficult at…what—six, seven? Wait until she reaches the dreaded teens.”

“She’s almost six. And please don’t mention
teenage.
I can’t force myself to think that far ahead.”

Though his tone was lighthearted, Sylvie sensed an underlying desperation to his remark. Just then she knew that, whatever the reason, her neighbor’s wife was out of the picture. Joel Mercer was raising his daughter alone.

Sylvie couldn’t offer him any help beyond the cookie-baking they’d done today.

Stepping around Joel, she knelt and pulled a disposable aluminum pan out of a bottom cupboard, where she kept a supply for taking dishes to church socials or family potlucks. Straightening, she began loading the pan with the oatmeal cookies.

Tension thickened the air until suddenly Rianne bounded back into the room. “Daddy, come see,” she said excitedly. “Sylvie’s got a whole room full of headless people, like at Dillard’s ’partment store. They’re all wearing beautiful dresses like I want for my Princess Barbie. There’s even some dresses for kids.”

The cover Sylvie started to snap over the cookie tin shot off and clattered to the counter. “Headless people!” She laughed. “Rianne, you had both of us going there for a minute. She’s seen my dress forms,” she explained to Joel. “I sewed gowns for an entire wedding party.” Managing at last to get the lid on the container, she handed it to him.