Mother of the Bride (48 page)

“I love you, Gus. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe. You haven't said yes yet.”

“Yes,” Cydney said, and sniffled.

“Are you crying
again
?”

“Happy tears, Gus. Goddamn happy tears.” Cydney raised her head, her hands to his shoulders, and gave him a shake. “This is every wish, every dream, every fantasy I've ever had come true.”

“I'd like to hear about those fantasies. Especially the kinky ones.”

“Sorry. No kinky fantasies. A few X-rated, but mostly they're just schmaltzy, happily-ever-after dreams.”

“Tell you what.” He wagged his eyebrows. “We'll make our own kinky fantasies on our honeymoon. Where would you like to go?”

“Paris. The one in France, not Texas.”

Gus laughed, softly so he wouldn't wake anyone. It was a tight squeeze, but he turned on his stomach and propped himself on his elbows. So did Cydney, the sleeping bag twisting around her. She kicked at it, gathered a pillow in her arms and tucked it under her chin.

“Here's what I think about
our
wedding,” he said. “I want you to be the center of attention, so I think we should keep quiet till Aldo and Bebe are hitched. Maybe till your mother marries Herb, but that's your call.”

“After tonight, I'm not sure Mother will marry him. Too bad. It would have been a lovely wedding,” Cydney said wistfully. “A candlelight ceremony on Christmas Eve.”

“We could do that. Or we could be married here at Tall Pines.”

“I'd love to be married here.” Cydney bent her elbow on her pillow and leaned her head on her hand. “But I don't want to copy Bebe.”

“Okay. Got any hot wedding fantasies?”

“A zillion. Want to hear my most favorite?”

Gus grinned. “You bet.”

“It's a church wedding. In Westminster Abbey, because you've been knighted for outstanding literary achievement.”

Gus gave a shout of laughter and rolled on his back.

“You haven't heard the best part.” Cydney clapped a hand over his mouth. “You win a Pulitzer and the Nobel Prize. For a wedding present, you buy me a castle in Scotland. On our honeymoon, we shear sheep.”

Gus laughed till tears rolled down his cheeks. Cydney grinned, watching him, the deep rumble of his half-choked laughter against her hand humming in her bone marrow.

“God, that's funny.” He kissed her palm, rolled toward her and wiped his eyes. “You should write a book about your fantasies.”

“I
am
writing a book about my fantasies,” she said, and kissed him.

A deep, openmouthed kiss that made Gus growl. His arms closed around her and pulled her against him, his lips—and Clyde—hard and eager. A giggle of sheer bliss bubbled up Cydney's throat.

Gus raised his head and sucked a breath. “What?”

“We can't have hot, wild sex in this sleeping bag.”

“How d'you know? You've never done it in a sleeping bag.”

Cydney laughed softly and wound her arms around his neck. Gus bent his head, took her mouth again and cupped her breast.

Around the corner in the hallway, something creaked. Gus pushed up on his hand and swung his head toward the sound. Cydney struggled to sit up beside him, the sleeping bag coiling around her like a snake. She heard a soft tap, then her mother hiss, “What do you want?”

“To apologize. I'm sorry I upset you and Bebe, George. I love you.”

“Go away, Fletch. You're married.”

“About Domino—”

“She's in the hot tub with Gwen's fiance.”

“Listen, George. I can explain Domino and Misha.”

“Gwen will kill him.” Cydney reached over Gus, grabbed the zipper tab and tugged. The teeth stuck.

“Let me.” Gus fumbled the tab out of her fingers and gave it a pull. The teeth dug deeper into the down-filled poplin.

“I don't want to hear about your wife's love affair, Fletch.”

“George, wait.” Cydney heard a thump. Her father's hand against her mother's bedroom door, she guessed. “I love you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. I want you back.”

“Go to your room, Fletch, before Gus catches you.”

“Gus can't catch
anybody,”
he snarled between his teeth as he yanked on the zipper—”till he gets out of this
freaking
sleeping bag!”

“Too late!” Herb crowed triumphantly. “I've caught you, Parrish!”

“Go away, Herb,” Fletch barked. “Wake Bebe and I'll deck you.”

“Goddamn zipper.” Gus jerked and wrenched but it was stuck tight. Cydney tried to help, but her fingers weren't strong enough. “Roll away from me. If I can wiggle out, maybe you'll have room.”

Gus flopped on his back and rolled. Using her elbows and her knees, Cydney inched like a worm out of the down-filled cocoon.

“Both of you go to bed,” Georgette said. “I'm not speaking to you.”

“You were talking to
him
!” Herb accused.

“Well duh, Herb,” Fletch said. “What does that tell you?”

“Why you—”

“Herbert!”
Georgette gave a muffled scream.

Cydney heard a crunch, a thud and crawled faster, the sleeping bag winding around her ankles until Gus tugged it free. A door opened and she held her breath, afraid they'd wakened Bebe.

“Scram, you two!” Gwen threatened. “Or I'll call the warden.”

“Call him,” Herb challenged. “Parrish broke the rules.”

“And you broke my goddamn nose!” Fletch howled.

“Dad!” Gwen cried softly. “You're bleeding!”

“You're an idiot, Herbert! You
both
broke the rules!”

“But Parrish broke them first!”

“Oh, go
away,
Herbert! Fletch, dear! Are you all right?”

“Made it.” Cydney sprawled on her stomach, free at last, and scrambled around on her knees to help Gus out of the sleeping bag.

“Georgette!” Herb cried, stricken. “You're my fiancee!”

“Shut
up
!” Gwen hissed. “If you wake Bebe I'll—”

“Oh no!”
Bebe wailed. “Not again!”

Cydney didn't hear her niece open her bedroom door, but she heard her slam it. People in Springfield probably heard her slam it.

“Well, that tears it,” Gus spat, kicking the sleeping bag away.

“Goddamn it, Herb!” Gwen cried furiously. “Bebe, honey. It's me. Open the door, sweetie.”

Cydney heard Gwen knock and another door bang open.

“Beebs!” Aldo cried. “What—Gramma George. Herb,” he said bewilderedly. “Why are you bleeding, Grampa Fletch? Where's Uncle Gus?”

“I'm here, Aldo.” Gus stood up, pulled Cydney to her feet and led her around the corner into the hallway.

Her father sat on the floor. Georgette knelt beside him, trying to pry his hand away from his nose. Gwen tapped on Bebe's door, her hand on the knob, Aldo beside her in a rumpled T-shirt and shorts. Herb stood, blinking forlornly without his glasses, in wrinkled blue pajamas.

“Do me a favor, pal,” Gus said to Aldo. “Call Sheriff Cantwell.”

“Never mind, Gus. I'm leaving,” Herb said. “Are you coming with me, Georgette?”

“No, Herbert.” She glanced him a gentle, too-bad smile. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” Herb said sadly, and tapped Aldo on the shoulder to turn him around. “Good luck to you and Bebe. I hope you'll be very happy.”

“Thanks, Herb,” Aldo said, and shook his hand.

“Bye-bye, kiddo.” Herb gave Cydney a bleak smile and a wave.

“Bye, Herb.” She smiled back at him and wagged her fingers.

He crossed the hall to his bedroom and shut the door.

“You still want me to call Elvin?” Aldo asked Gus.

“Depends.” Gus folded his arms and scowled at Fletch.

“I broke the rules,” he said, his voice muffled by his hand. His left eye was swelling, Cydney noticed, the bruise Gus' fist had left on his cheek purpling again. “Somebody get me an ice bag and I'll go.”

“Not so fast.” Her mother pushed Fletch down as he tried to stand. “You're still bleeding.”

“Oh, for cryin' out loud.” He brushed her off, pushed to his feet and wobbled. Cydney bit her lip at the blood smeared on his chin and the front of his yellow silk pajamas. “See, George? I'm fine.”

“You are
not
fine.” Her mother rose and faced Gus, drawing her pink silk wrapper around her. “Warden Munroe. May this old bounder have a reprieve until morning?”

“I don't need a reprieve,” Fletch insisted. “I need a ride.”

Herb's bedroom door sprang open. “I could use a copilot, Parrish, and the least I can do is give you a lift.”

“Damn skippy it's the least you can do. I'll get my stuff.”

“Grampa, wait!” Bebe yanked her bedroom door open.

So abruptly she nearly pulled Gwen, who still had her hand on the knob, off her feet. She tripped and might've fallen, but Aldo caught the sleeve of her white bathrobe and kept her upright.

“I mean—” Bebe sucked a shuddery breath and turned toward Gus. “Can Grampa Fletch please stay? Just till he gives me away?”

Gus slid Cydney a sideways, whattaya-think glance. She arched a you're-the-warden, whatever-you-say eyebrow at him.

“Thumbs up, Fletch stays,” Gus said. “Thumbs down, he goes.”

Bebe and Gwen's thumbs went up. Then Aldo's, then
Georgette's. Cydney knew when she was beat, sighed and raised her thumb.

“Thank you, family,” Fletch said humbly, his voice still muffled by the hand cupped over his nose. “And you, Gus.”

“Don't make me regret it.” Gus stepped toward him, took his arm and turned Fletch away from Georgette. “Let's have a look at you.”

“I'd rather leave now, but I don't see well at night,” Herb said. “On the highway, yes, on roads this dark, no. Could I stay till morning?”

“I can drive you as far as the highway,” Bebe volunteered quickly. “Aldo can follow in Uncle Gus' truck and drive us back here.” She looked at Gwen first, then Gus. “I mean, if that's okay.”

Where Bebe's face wasn't pale it was red and blotched from crying. Her eyes were bright and wet with tears. And something else that made Cydney tip her head suspiciously, until Bebe wiped her eyes and she decided, no, it was just the light, just the sheen of tears on her lashes.

Gwen glanced at her. Cydney nodded. “Okay with me,” she said.

“Me, too.” Gwen smiled and curved Bebe's cheek in her palm. “I think the bride and groom could use some fresh air.”

“Boy, could we.” Bebe sighed and cupped her mother's hand.

“Can you find your way home, pal?” Gus asked Aldo.

“Heck, yeah.” He grinned. “You put the signs up this morning.”

“I'll get my things,” Herb said, and darted into his bedroom.

“I'll get dressed,” Bebe said, and slipped into her room.

“Me, too,” Aldo said, and disappeared into his room.

“Your nose is a real mess, slugger.” Gus tipped Fletch's chin up on his crooked index finger and frowned. “Put your pants on. You and I are paying a visit to the emergency room in Branson.”

“Stop fussing, Gus. You're worse than George.” Fletch shrugged out of his grasp and wove on his feet. “I'm fine.”

“Don't be difficult, Fletch.” Georgette took his arm. “You
can't walk Bebe down the aisle if you can't stand up. I'll help you get dressed.”

“Okay.” Her father grinned happily.

Cydney winced as her mother swung him around and steered him into his room. His nose
was
a bloody, swollen mess.

“I'll get some towels and an ice bag,” Gwen said, hurrying away.

“There's one in the freezer,” Gus called after her, then grinned at Cydney. “The one you gave me for
my
nose when I left Kansas City.”

Cydney cringed, remembering. “And you still want to marry me?”

“Hell yes.” Gus laughed and put his arms around her, holding her against him with his fingers laced together in the small of her back. “As Aunt Phoebe used to say, this is more fun than a barrel of monkeys.”

“Seems like fun now, but it can get real old, real quick, bub.”

“So what? We're gonna get old, too, babe. Together.”

“Now
that
sounds like fun.” Cydney sighed and kissed his chin.

A door opened behind them. Gus let her go and Cydney turned around. Bebe stepped into the hall in khaki shorts and a sweatshirt.

“I love you, Uncle Cyd.” She swept Cydney into a hug so fierce she thought she'd cracked a rib. “Don't worry about us. Aldo's a good driver.”

“I'm not going to worry anymore, Bebe.” She backed out of her embrace and held her hands. “You're an almost married woman.”

And so are you,
her little voice said. Just thinking about it gave Cydney a giddy little quiver.

Aldo popped out of his room in jeans and a sweater, swept his palomino bangs out of his eyes and held his hand out to Bebe. Herb appeared in his glasses, dressed, with his suitcase, and shook Gus' hand.

“Thanks for the hospitality, Gus. No hard feelings.”

“None here, Herb. Have a safe trip.”

“I will, thanks. Ready, kids?”

“Ready.” Bebe and Aldo followed him down the gallery stairs.

Gus laid his hands on Cydney's shoulders, turned her toward him and leered. “Wanna help me get dressed, little girl?”

“Undressed, yes.” She leered back at him. “Maybe later.”

He laughed and led her downstairs. Gwen met them in the living room with the ice bag and the towel, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“Gwen,” Cydney said, startled. “You're crying.”

“Of course I am,” she sniffed. “Bebe hugged me and kissed me on her way out and told me she loved me.”

“See?” Cydney knuckled her sister in the arm. “Told you so.”

Gus went upstairs to get dressed. He came back a minute or two ahead of Georgette and Fletch. They were both dressed, Fletch leaning heavily on Georgette with his arm around her shoulders.

“If you don't mind, Angus,” she said. “I'll tag along.”

“Fine with me. I'll bring the car. I wouldn't wait up,” he said to Cydney. “This could take a while.”

Cydney and Gwen waved good-bye from the porch, then shivered inside, barefoot. Gwen shut the door and held out her hand.

“Bet me a pizza in the face Mother marries Dad on Christmas Eve.”

“You're on.” Cydney grinned and they shook on it. “I should warn you. Dad almost spilled the beans about Domino and Misha to Mother.”