Read You're Busting My Nuptials (Tizzy/Ridge Trilogy Book 2) Online
Authors: Ann Everett
You're Busting My Nuptials (Tizzy/Ridge Trilogy Book 2)
You’re
Busting
My
Nuptials
’re Busting My Nuptials
By
Ann Everett
© 2012-2013, Ann Everett. All Rights Reserved.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission of the copyright owner or the publisher.
Image from Deposit Photos purchased by Ann Everett
Cover design: Octagon Lab
Formatting by AnnMarie Stone
In Memory of
William Eugene “Saint” McLean
1921-2011
My sweet daddy and one of the best story tellers I’ve ever known.
BIG TEXAS THANK YOU
to the following who read and critiqued this book from beginning to end:
Connie Baber, Maggie Banks, Dagny, John DeBoer, Nancy DeMarco, DelSheree Gladden, Irene Hamilton, Patti Anne Yaeger-Hauge, James Hawkins, C. E. Jones, Christina Mertens, Sandi Nason, Janet Taylor-Perry, Linda Rosen, Ashley Wilde, and Linda Ulleseit.
Chapter One
Twenty-four hours ago Tizzy Donovan was naked in Ridge Cooper
’s bed, screaming to get God’s attention. She loved everything about Ridge. How his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck when he needed a haircut. Steel blue eyes set against the hard lines of his face. Broad shoulders, thick chest, the way he held the steering wheel of his truck. God, she could see him, standing straight, thumbs hooked in his front jeans pockets, cowboy hat settled just right. The more vivid the image, the hotter she got.
A knock at the door snapped Tizzy from her daydream. She turned from the window as Matron of Honor, Rayann Tatum, peeked into the room and offered a mug to Tizzy.
“Is he here?” Tizzy gasped, and accepted the drink.
Rayann flipped her long blonde hair back and widened her green eyes. “Not yet.”
“He’s not coming.” Tizzy put the cup to her lips and took a big gulp. “Oh my God!”
“Sorry, I should have warned you, that’s tequila, not punch. I thought you probably needed something stronger by now, but you may want to go easy on it because I don’t think you’ve eaten since yesterday.”
“Wonderful, now I’m going to hell for drinking in the church house. Not to mention all the fornicatin’ I’ve been doing with Ridge, and today he doesn’t show up to make an honest woman of me.”
Tizzy knocked back the rest of the drink and thought of every possible scenario for her groom’s absence.
Wrong church? There was only one Methodist Church in town. Flat tire? He lived close enough to walk to the ceremony. Cell phone gone dead? Two land lines were at his disposal. Heart attack? The chance of that couldn’t be high, but it would definitely be the best excuse.
“No, Rayann. It’s been over an hour. He isn’t answering his phone. Daddy went to his house. His truck’s gone. He’s not coming.” She started to pace. Her bare feet sank into the deep carpet, a small comfort against the ache the rest of her body was suffering. “What’s wrong with me? My first husband joined the Marines to get away and now Ridge doesn’t show up for our wedding. Am I that bad?”
Rayann fell in beside Tizzy and matched her pace. They zigzagged across the room like a band formation during a half-time show. “C’mon, Tiz. It has nothing to do with you. Boone enlisted to avoid Marlene. You know better than anybody what a witch his sister was. He didn’t want to spend his life working with her at the bank.”
Tizzy stopped at a small table and stared down at her wedding invitation.
James Ridge Cooper and Marjorie Louise “Tizzy” Donovan, request the honor of your presence.
Up until an hour ago, it had been a perfect day. There
’d not been a cloud in the sky. The sun shone across a heaven of endless blue, and the temperature hovered in the upper sixties. It held promise of being one of the best days of Tizzy’s life and now was turning out to be one of her worst. “Ridge told me he fell in love with me at first sight. I think
you
realized I was in love with him before I did.”
“Oh, Honey.” Rayann embraced her. “You’d been a widow and without a man for five years. To say you were horny would be an understatement. You named your vibrator.”
A lump formed in Tizzy’s throat and her thoughts jumbled. “Yeah, and
Clark Kent
was getting plenty of action.” She rested her head on Rayann’s shoulder. “Ridge is the perfect man for me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When he calls me ‘Margie Lou,’ my heart skips a beat.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“He gave Gracie a kitten.”
“Yes, and he gave you azaleas.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. He’s perfect. Any other man would have sent roses, but not Ridge. He gave me shrubs.”
Rayann patted her friend’s back and spoke softly. “I’m sure he has a logical explanation for not being here.”
Tizzy lifted her head and looked at her friend. “You’re right, but what is it?”
“I’m sorry, Tizzy. Lord knows, I don’t have the answer.”
Tizzy rested her cheek on Rayann’s shoulder again and distracted herself with happier thoughts. First United Methodist church held wonderful memories. Youth fellowship, Bible school, choir. She felt love from her
church
family. They grieved with her when Boone died and rejoiced with her when Gracie was born. They even accepted Tizzy’s weird habit of sometimes talking to dead people.
She raised her head and stared out the window. Brilliant leaves danced on the branches of sweet-gum trees standing at the edge of the woods. She lost herself for a moment.
“October is such a beautiful month, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for Rayann to answer. “You go on now. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Take your time. Nana McAlister and her Sunday school class have been serving the congregation punch and cookies for the last thirty minutes, so they’re happy.”
Once the door closed behind Rayann, Tizzy ran her hands across her ivory trumpeted lace gown.
Ridge would love this dress.
She adjusted the shawl collar draped over her breasts. She’d tried on a least a hundred before deciding it was the one.
She fiddled with her hair, secured a loose strand, then pressed the top of her nose between h
er fingers to pinch back tears.
Near the doorway, a table covered with wedding gifts got her attention. She walked over to it, ran a hand across the shiny white wrappings and silky ribbons.
These will all have to be returned.
She moved to the mirror and practiced smiling a few times, then checked her makeup, and decided there was no need to rehearse anymore. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the adjoining room.
Everyone waiting turned, not to greet a happy bride, but to console her.
Saint McAlister fixed his gentle blue eyes on his daughter.
“Do you want me to announce for the congregation to go home, Sweetie?”
Tizzy slowly shook her head. “No, Daddy. I’ll tell them.”
She walked out into the sanctuary with the rest of the wedding members close behind. They stopped near the doorway. She moved to the center of the room and stood beneath the ivy-twined arbor. At the sight of her, the crowd became so quiet; she could hear the air move.
Tizzy let her eyes sweep the full view of the area. Flower-filled wicker baskets hung from each pew. The sweet scent of roses and frilly snapdragons drifted to her. She realized she was holding her bridal bouquet. She brought the flowers to her nose, inhaled deeply, prayed silently for strength, and addressed the gathering.
“Thank y’all for coming today and being so patient. Unfortunately, there’s not going to be a wedding.”
Every pew was packed to capacity and everyone gave a collective sigh.
Her voice trembled, but she managed a weak smile. “Nevertheless, I would like for y’all to go into the fellowship hall for the reception. The cake is absolutely to die for. Five layers, each one with a different filling. Raspberry, lemon, coconut, cherry, and chocolate. Ridge insisted on chocolate.”
The congregation didn’t move, apparently shock and awkwardness holding them in place. “Please, go. I’m fine. Really,” she lied. The truth was, at the moment, she wanted to scream and release all the anger and confusion simmering just below her skin.
She turned to the organist. “Mrs. Steele, please play the recessional.”
The musician nodded and bore down on the first note, holding the tone for a few long beats before starting the song. One by one, the group came to their feet and whispered among themselves as they filtered from the room.
Tizzy settled beneath the arbor and gazed to the end of the aisle. Her chest tightened. Emotions flooded over her. Maybe she had one of those post-something-or-other disorders. Post wedding disorder. PWD. Left at the Altar Disorder, LATA. That had a nice ring to it. Perhaps she should just call it WTF Disorder, Wed Tizzy—Forgetaboutit.
A headache started to develop from all the questions spinning in her brain and the fact she’d had nothing to eat all day, except a double shot of tequila.
She looked around the room. Members of the wedding party clustered together, waiting for instructions. Her parents, Saint and Pattiecake, sat down on either side of her. “What do you want us to do, Tizzy?” Pattiecake asked.
Tizzy lowered her head, massaging the area near her eyes. “Make sure everyone gets served. I took a long time deciding about the cake, and I hate for it to go to waste. That would be a shame. Ask Aunt Sugarpie to take all the flower arrangements to the nursing home. I want someone to enjoy them. I realize I’m not going on my honeymoon, but I’d still like for you to keep Gracie for the next few days.”
Saint took her hand in his. “Of course we will, Sweetie. What are you going to do?”
She rested her head on his shoulder and spoke around the knot in her throat. “I’m going to find Ridge.”
It took a few seconds for the impact of Tizzy’s words to register with everyone, and when they did, her dad was the first to speak.
“Tizzy, I’m not sure you should—”