Picture Perfect Wedding (22 page)

Certainly not the way his thick hair curled at his nape. Or how his dark eyes seemed to absorb her every time he looked at her.

She gulped some more wine.

No, she was not thinking about him one more second when all he could think about was his job. Bradley’s focus on work had come later in their relationship, after he’d joined up when work in Whitetail had been harder to find. Always happy to be a laborer and not ever having had clear work plans before signing up, he’d embraced the routine and the camaraderie the forces offered and had left her behind.

I
want this more than I want you.
The words she worked so hard to expunge from her memory taunted her. At least this time, with Tony, she’d recognized the signs up front and saved herself more heartache.

Despite not wanting to relive the evening, her mind was stuck on rewind.
I
can’t do my job in Whitetail if people don’t respect me.

He was trying to pin the problem on her where it didn’t belong, only the moment that thought pinged into her head she suddenly remembered how many times John had ignored him at the coffee cart. The picture of Tina being curt and rude at the supper club loomed large and real. At the time, she’d attributed that behavior to Tina being Tina but the image triggered a flood of small slights, all of which poured into her mind. She pressed her thumbs hard into her temples. He wasn’t imagining it—the town was protecting her.

Nicole
,
I
want a future with you.

The wine in her stomach sloshed against the cheese. Nausea rolled in its wake.

Tony had said those words to her but she’d lost sight of them in the quagmire that was the death throes of her marriage. Was Tony right after all? Was she stuck?

Maybe he didn’t put you in this position.
Maybe you put yourself there.

The stark reality of what she’d done whipped her.

After Bradley had died, she’d let the truth about her marriage take on a warped reality to protect her pride and to protect Max and the town. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do but now it was as if Tony had pointed a bright flashlight onto all of it and illuminated a total mess.

For the very first time she could see that she, not Bradley, was her own worst enemy. Exactly how to help herself was less clear.

* * *

“This is so cool, Uncle Luke,” Grace said, her expression serious as she shook a sealed baggie full of ice.

“It’s my turn now,” Ethan said, pulling on gloves and reaching for the bag.

Luke and the children were in the farmhouse kitchen surrounded by sticky maple syrup they’d tapped from the maple grove, milk from the dairy and cream from his Amish neighbor. The only items that hadn’t come fresh off a farm were pecans and vanilla essence.

Luke crossed his fingers and rechecked the recipe he’d found on the internet. “I hope it’s going to work.”

He’d been tempted to involve his mother as his cooking skills weren’t fabulous but he figured he was capable of heating ingredients and stirring. Besides, if it was an absolute disaster, doing it this way made it look like he was just being a good uncle and involving the kids in an activity. No one would realize he was exploring an idea that had taken hold of him a few days after Erin had given him that photo.

It had kept calling him back to look at it, the black-and-white tones showing no mercy on his emotions. Every time he studied the photo, he got the same tug on his soul that the farm always inflicted and he knew it would be impossible to walk away from it.

You just need to work out what you want to do with the farm.
You need your own project.

The night Essie’s calf was born and Erin had said those words, he’d rejected the suggestion out of hand. It was only after seeing the photograph that her words had kept coming back to him like the rhythmic beating of a tribal drum. They refused to leave so here he was, experimenting with making ice cream.

“My arms are getting tired.” Ethan passed the bag to Luke.

He checked the clock as he shook the bag. “Not much longer and we’ll be eating maple syrup and pecan ice cream.” He’d also put a batch in the freezer just in case the shake-in-ice method failed.

“Yum!” Grace licked her lips.

“Mom, look at us,” Ethan called out to Keri as she entered the kitchen with his grandparents, having just got back from town.

Martha’s eyes popped at the scene and Vernon shot Luke a questioning look while Keri burst into laughter.

“What are you guys doing other than making a big ol’ mess?” Keri asked.

“I’m teaching your kids that everything in ice cream comes off of a farm.” Luke passed the bag to Grace for a final shake.

“We tapped maple syrup and milked a cow too.” Ethan ran his finger through the trickle of syrup on the counter and then licked it clean.

Vernon nodded his head in approval. “All food comes from farms, Eth. When I was a boy my grandma gave me the job of turning her ice cream churn and my reward was that I always got the first scoop.”

“I’ll get out the careful cups then,” Martha said, using her expression for the good china in the cabinet. “Homemade ice cream deserves the best.”

Five minutes later they were all seated around the large farmhouse table, dipping small spoons into the ice cream.

Keri sighed as she finished her last mouthful. “Good job, kids. That’s the creamiest ice cream I’ve tasted in a long time.”

“Can we have more?” they chorused.

Martha looked at the small but now empty bag. “We’ll have to make some more but this time we can use the ice cream maker.”

“We have an ice cream maker?” Luke asked, surprised and pleased.

“Yes, Luke, we do.” His mother smiled. “I used to make ice cream all the time when you were little but I guess over the years it’s moved farther back in the cupboard.”

Vernon’s forehead was creased in concentration. “This is our milk?”

“Our Holstein milk and Josef’s cream,” Luke clarified.

“Ah.” His father’s eyes lit up. “Jersey butterfat. You can taste it.”

Luke nodded. “It’s good, right?”

“The texture’s perfect. You can’t get better than Jersey for butterfat.”

His father gave him a smile of old—one that had been missing from the moment Luke had mentioned the possibility of giving up the farm. “I’d pull back on the maple syrup, though, son.”

“Our syrup’s obviously stronger than the shop stuff the recipe suggested.” Luke was enjoying the shared understanding with his father. He’d forgotten that despite their occasional clashes about how some things should be done on the farm, most other times they’d talk long and hard about all sorts of things.

“We’ve been spoiled,” Vern said. “Your great-great-grandfather planted the first maple trees a hundred and forty years ago and every generation’s added some more from the seeds. They’ve always yielded quality syrup and I’ve always thought we should do more with it but the cows kept me busy enough.” He checked his watch and stood up. “Talking cows, we should make a start.”

They all rose and Keri and the children scooted off to find Phil with the promise they’d wash up the supper dishes. Martha started collecting the empty ice cream bowls. “Luke, I’m going to invite Erin to supper before Keri and Phil leave and your father and I drive back to Arizona for his next golf tournament.”

He waited for the usual chagrin that bubbled inside him every time his mother waded into his life, but it didn’t come. If agreeing to this avoided a lecture about settling down from his mother then it wasn’t even a price to pay because spending time with Erin was no hardship at all. “Sure, why not. Just not Thursday because the radar’s showing sunny weather and I’m going to cut the hay in the middle pasture.”

“You’ve got plenty of time, Martha,” his father said, reaching for his hat. “I withdrew from that tournament.”

His mother’s hand faulted on a dish. “You did? You didn’t mention it to me.”

His father’s face showed no emotion other than a slight tick of a muscle in his cheek. “I’m telling you now.”

His mother marched behind the counter and flicked on the faucet, jerkily squirting liquid detergent into the water. “Did it occur to you that I might have commitments in Arizona?”

His father sighed. “Bridge is not a commitment, Martha. Neither is golf.”

His mother slammed the green container down on the counter. “Well it’s a commitment to me.”

“I’m off to the parlor,” Luke said, feeling like an inadvertent voyeur in his parents’ marriage. He grabbed his hat and made a hasty exit.

Martha punched down the faucet and the silence in the room swirled heavily in the air between her and her husband. She noticed a corner of the wallpaper peeling back where it met the tiles above the stove. This kitchen had heard so many of their conversations over the years and not all of them had been congenial, but this was the first time she felt like a massive chasm had opened up between them. That they were no longer walking the same life path.

“Mart—” Vern’s face softened, “—you can play bridge here in Whitetail. You know the farm has to come first.”

A hot breeze blew through her, sparking a resentment that almost knocked her over. “The farm has always come first, Vern, but I’m not prepared to put it first anymore.”

His pale blue eyes held a steely resolve. “You don’t have a choice. Our retirement income is tied up in this.”

“Of course I have a choice.” She’d never liked being told what to do and she started scrubbing the first piece of china with more force that the gold rim required. “We both have a choice and I’m making mine. I refuse to spend another winter in Wisconsin. Come September first, I’m driving back to Arizona with or without you.”

He strode to the screen door. “You best prepare for a solo journey, then.”

The door banged shut into the latch with an ominous finality. She took in a deep breath. What had got into her? She knew better than to issue Vern with an ultimatum—she’d learned that in the first year of their marriage all those years ago. The man had stubborn as one of his chromosomes.

But the thought of spending another winter in Wisconsin was more than she could bear. Her mind raced, frantically flipping through options and searching for a solution. Her hands stalled in the suds. Her “get Luke settled” plans needed to kick up a gear.

Erin Davis was exactly who Luke needed as a life partner. With Erin here on the farm with Luke, she could get her husband back. She just needed Erin’s cell phone number. Drying her hands, she picked up the kitchen phone with its long cord and dialed Wade.

Chapter Seventeen

“So are there any questions about the Littlejohn wedding?” Nicole asked the town meeting, playing for time.

“Why did the damn Littlejohn wedding need a town meeting anyway?” Luke asked Erin not so sotto voce from the front row.

Luke was right. Strictly speaking, this wedding didn’t need a full town meeting, just one for the main stakeholders, but Nicole had called it anyway. As her eyes scanned the open doors and her mind willed Tony to walk through them, she heard Erin and Wade’s unison response of, “Shh.”

She leaned back into the microphone. “The bride has very particular instructions and I want to make sure everyone’s on board. This wedding is bigger than Bridey Callahan’s which launched Weddings That Wow and everyone needs to view it as the next level in what we can offer brides. Erin, we’ve allowed extra time for the photography but the bride must leave Lakeview Farm by five.”

“I’m more than happy for her to leave earlier than that,” Luke said as he leaned back in his chair.

Erin elbowed him in the ribs.

John stood up with an indulgent smile. “I think you’ve covered everything, Nicole, and then some. So if there are no other items, I’ll call this meet—”

“There’s one more thing.” Sweat broke out on Nicole’s palms and she could feel her glasses slipping.

“Nicole, dear, I know this is a big wedding,” called out Ella Norell, “but truly you’ve been over everything three times and everyone’s ready for coffee.”

“Did you make cream puffs?” Al asked hopefully.

“Sorry, Al, but the Littlejohn cake has taken me longer than I expected. The bride kept changing her mind.”

“Now, there’s a surprise.” Luke rolled his eyes at Erin, which she ignored.

There was some movement at the very back of the room and she instantly knew that Tony had arrived.

Do it now.
She opened her mouth to speak.

A chair scraped against the floor. “Nicole, can you hurry up, I have a date,” Melissa said.

All heads snapped toward the dress shop owner.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Melissa said indignantly. “It isn’t like I never have a date.”

“Actually, it’s been five months, dear,” Ella said, pointedly looking toward the back of the hall. “So is it anyone we know? Someone
new
to town?”

No way in hell.
Nicole wrenched back control of the meeting. “Sit down, Melissa.”

The brisk tone in her voice stunned her friend, whose behind hit the chair abruptly. Everyone was now back facing her and she gripped the lectern to steady herself.

“I wanted to thank everyone here for the support you’ve given Max and me.”

Murmurs of sympathy fluttered across the room but she kept her gaze fixed on the enormous clock set high on the wall and concentrated on saying what she needed to say.

“Bradley grew up here and he’ll always be part of this town. No one will ever forget his winning touchdown at the homecoming game in his senior year, which gave Whitetail its first win against Hayward in eight long years.”

A ripple of nodding heads and smiles lit up the room with an energy that only a happy, shared memory can.

Her fingertips numbed. “Everyone here knows that Bradley wasn’t afraid of hard work but being a farm hand or a barman didn’t make him happy. When he joined the military he left Whitetail a husband and a father, but the transformation to the man he became took place while serving his country in a rocky and barren land so very different from here. It was there that he found his true calling.”

She paused for a breath and heard Erin say quietly to Luke, “This sounds like a eulogy.”

And in so many ways it was. It was the one she hadn’t been capable of giving at Bradley’s funeral—in fact she hadn’t spoken at all, leaving everything to the town.

“Being a soldier opened him up to a new world and over time he came to see that his home was no longer here. He’d spoken of not returning to live in Whitetail.”

This time the eddies of noise in the room were of surprise. Her gaze sought out Tony who sat perfectly still, his broad shoulders square and tight, but his dark eyes were fixed on her.

Her mouth dried and her tongue seemed to swell up to twice its size as she mustered the courage to say what needed to be said. To take a leap of faith into the unknown and to burst the complex bubble she’d placed herself in. It was time to tell the truth.

“Bradley was committed to the military and he’d become a career soldier. Even if he hadn’t died, our lives—his, Max’s and mine—would have changed so much as not to be recognizable.”

She could see questions on people’s faces but she wasn’t here to destroy their faith in the Bradley they wanted and needed to remember. She was here to take control of her future. “I want to continue to live my life in Whitetail with you all, just as I’ve always done. I want Max to learn your stories about his father and not just the ones where he made the touchdown or was a war hero. Max also needs to hear the stories about when his father was fallible.”

“If you want, I’ll tell Max how he put the tractor into reverse by mistake and flattened half a field of squash,” Keith called out with a grin.

“Thanks.” She threw him a grateful smile. “Me living here also means I need you all to accept that I’ve reached a point where I want to date again. I don’t know what the future holds but what I do know is this. If everyone here wants me to be happy again, and I know you do, then the one thing you can all do is not give anyone I date a hard time, no matter what happens between us.”

Tony’s mouth opened and then closed. John’s face showed a battle of emotions, including grief for his dead nephew and pain that she was moving forward. Empathy filled her. “John, me dating doesn’t change the fact Max is a Lindquist and an Ackerman. Him having contact with that part of his family will always be important.”

Ella Norell stood up, her pink hair bright under the lights and her face solemn. “We only wanted to protect you from being hurt again, dear.”

She nodded. “I know and I let you do it but I’ve learned life is a series of bumps and getting hurt is part of it.”

She was no longer the naive twenty-year-old who’d married her high school sweetheart, and Tony had weathered his own relationship breakdown. Both of them were seasoned marriage veterans without any illusions, but with a great deal of hope.

She looked directly at him. His swarthy and handsome face was filled with one big question.

She licked her lips. “Tony Lascio?”

Fifty heads of all shapes and sizes turned as one toward the back of the room.

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly on the floor. “Yes?”

“Today I baked my very first lasagna.”

A slow smile spread across his cheeks and his curls danced wildly.

Ask him.
“Will you share it with me?”

He strode down the center of the hall and bounded up onto the raised platform until he was standing so close to her she could feel the erratic beating of his heart. A beat that matched her own. Silently, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her swiftly but thoroughly.

As the bliss of the kiss wove through her, she lost her place in time and space and the next minute her feet left the floor. Now she was cradled in his arms with her cheek resting against his shirt and basking in the glow of heat and caring radiating from his eyes. “I’m thinking this means yes to the lasagna?”

He nodded. “And to everything that follows.”

Her entire body relaxed inside and out.

He moved sideways, clearing her of the lectern, and spoke into the microphone, his voice deep and authoritative. “I’m depending on you all not to set anything on fire tonight.”

“You got it, Chief,” yelled one of the junior firefighters.

As he carried her out of the hall, the noise of the crowd flowed over them—some murmurings of surprise, some of resigned support, along with genuine woots and cheers. She’d taken the first step in her new life and it felt like freedom.

* * *

Tony lay in his bed with Nicole’s legs tangled in his and her white-blond hair spread across his chest like a veil. Despite the reassuring press of her weight against him, he still couldn’t quite believe that his day had ended in this most amazing but unexpected way. She’d put herself out there for him, demanded her place with him, and his heart was fuller than it had ever been.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “That was some speech you made.”

She raised her head, her brown eyes still slightly glazed from her orgasm, and gave him a wry smile. “You were right. I needed to take control and tell the town what I wanted.”

“And you did it in a way that protected their memory of your husband.”

“My ex-husband,” she said firmly, her emphasis on the ex. “I’m thinking some people might guess, though.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t matter, let them wonder. You made it clear it wasn’t open for discussion.”

She propped up on one elbow and her fingers traced circles on his sternum. “I hope I made it clear to everyone that you and I are not open for discussion either.”

“Baby, given what happened at the end of the meeting, we’re
all
that they’re talking about right now. In the Udder Bar, at Sven’s and in kitchens all over town. Hell, I bet there’ll be a pop quiz at the coffee club in the morning.”

She laughed and kissed him. “I bet out of everyone, though, we’re having the most fun.”

Remembering how generous a lover she’d been, he felt his body stirring again, pressing hard against her thigh. Her eyes instantly darkened. God, she was beautiful and he wanted to make love to her forever.

Her hand started to move down his body but he wrapped his palm around her wrist, halting the progression. There were things that needed to be said first. Checks that they were both on the same page. “Nicole, I meant what I said the other day. I want a future with you. With you and Max.”

Her love and honesty circled him. “I know you do. That’s what today was all about. I want it too.”

“We should probably go slowly for all our sakes, right?”

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Tony, we just had sex. I think the trail of discarded clothes between here and the sitting room is evidence we overtook slow at your front door.”

He grinned at her. “I meant going slow for Max. I promise to respect his father’s memory but I want to be his stepdad. He’ll need some time to get used to the idea of us as a couple and all of us being a family so I was thinking, picnics and outings and stuff like that. He was telling me his soccer team needs a coach. I could do that.”

Nicole blinked rapidly, trying not to cry because every self-help book on the planet probably advised a woman not to become a blubbering mess in front of a new lover. Only Tony was so much more than a lover. He was her friend and her future partner. “Max will love it.”

“How would you feel—” he suddenly looked uncertain, “—at some point in the future, about a brother or sister for Max?”

Her tears of happiness breached and fell, hitting his shoulder. “I love it.”

“And I love you.”

He kissed her tears, flicking them off her cheeks with his tongue, and her body caught the wave of a different kind of happiness.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her under him. Her breasts ached for his touch and her nipples hardened, brushing his chest. She gasped as his hot mouth closed around the sensitive bud, and she bucked against him, sending delicious shocks of pleasure into her. But it wasn’t enough. Need had her wet, slick and ready, and her muscles twitched to feel him pressed hard and deep inside her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands tugged at his hips, pulling him forward and guiding her into him. A long, blissful sigh left her lips.

He gave a deep, throaty laugh and hooked her gaze. “Baby, this is only the beginning.”

As he moved inside her, she matched his rhythm and they drove each other upward, higher and higher until they flung themselves out into a shared future filled with optimism and trust.

* * *

Erin strode along Main Street waving to people she knew as she took a call from Connie. “You know, I’m not sure Mac is the sort of dog who needs a white bow on his collar,” she said, already able to see and hear Luke’s reaction to
that
suggestion. Before Connie could counter she added, “My Maggie-May, however, would be darling in bows if your flower girl wants to walk her down the red carpet aisle.”

“I wanted a farm dog, Erin,” Connie said tartly.

Erin stood a bit taller. “Maggie-May bailed up a raccoon last night, preventing it from getting into the barn with the cows, so she’s a farm dog now.” Even Luke had said Maggie-May had earned her stripes.

“I’ll think about it.” Connie didn’t sound convinced.

When the bride hung up, Erin pocketed her phone and kept walking. She had a list of errands a mile long, including talking to Al about driving the hay wagon for Connie. As she neared the market, she made a mental note to collect the ice cream she’d ordered on her way back. With John’s help, she’d been sourcing all sorts of different-flavored ice creams for Luke, who adored the cold, sweet stuff but was unusually fussy about what constituted good ice cream. It had become her mission to find a brand that totally wowed him. So far she was falling short but she was determined to succeed.

A text came through and she hesitated to look. For the past three days her father had been texting around this time of day. She knew she should reply and tell him she didn’t want to see him but the tiny seed of hope she could never quite squash that he’d changed was holding her back from typing the words. Her phone beeped again and she pulled it out of her pocket.

Erin
,
Vern and I would love it if you came to supper tonight at the farmhouse.
7pm?
Martha Anderson.

Her mouth dried. She could ignore a casual “you must come over sometime” like she had at the bonfire party but this was an invitation with a specific date and time. Did Luke know his mother was trying to push them together? She needed to check with him before she replied to Martha because in her book, casual and fun didn’t include a sit-down meal with the parents. She hit speed-dial but it went straight to voice mail.