Picture Perfect Wedding (4 page)

The spoon hovered between them but although he seemed to be staring straight at it, he didn’t move to take it from her. “Suit yourself.” She put it down next to the cardboard tub and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m a photographer.”

He snapped out of whatever momentary daze he’d been in, wiped the spoon on his shirt and plunged it into the ice cream. “And you’re telling me this why?”

There was no point avoiding the reply. “Because I’m a wedding photographer and I’m here today representing my client. When she gets married, your sunflower field will be in full bloom and I wish to shoot some of her wedding photos there.”

The ice-cream-filled spoon stalled at the peak of his full lips. “No.”

She couldn’t say she was shocked at his reply but she was pissed at the fact he hadn’t even taken a minute or even a second to consider it. “Just like that?”

He put the spoon in his mouth and closed his lips firmly around it before pulling it out clean. “Just like that.”

For an insane nanosecond she wondered what it would be like to have those lips closing around her mouth and then her common sense screeched
ewwwww.
Given his lack of table manners who knew what went into his mouth or when he’d last cleaned his teeth.

He didn’t have bad breath when you were lying on top of him earlier.

Shutting out the off-topic nonsense, she said, “Believe me, the photos will be stunning. The golden light of early evening will blaze against the vibrant heads of the flowers.”

“Yeah?” He scratched his head.

“Yes.” A ray of optimism had her leaning forward. “The photos will not only capture the magic of the moment but they’d be enduring art passed from generation to generation.”

“I don’t think so.”

The man was a philistine. “Granted, you may not be able to picture or appreciate how artistic and stunning these photos will be, but I can assure you that you’ll be well compensated for the use of your field.”

“I will.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure if he’d asked a question or if he’d made a statement. She decided to plow on rather than let herself panic that he was about to name a dollar amount beyond the exorbitant fee Connie had approved for the field. “You most certainly will.”

His eyes flashed a thousand shades of blue. “I’m glad you agree that my crop of high-energy sunflowers will increase my cows’ milk production and as a result, earn me more money.”

For the first time since he’d sat down at the table, a keen intelligence shone through. Along with his words, it completely disarmed her. “Um, that’s great for you and the cows I guess, certainly, but why not maximize the field’s full potential by letting my client and me pay for two hours of its time? I’d shoot at the covered bridge first and then come to your field.”

“I don’t need the aggravation of a wedding party tramping through my pasture and—” he raised a brow, “—squealing when cow dung stains their shoes.”

It was a direct shot at her reaction to the loss of her suede sandals earlier in the day and her chin shot up defensively. “Now that I know about the conditions, the wedding party will be well-prepared with appropriate footwear.”

He snorted. “I’ll bet my last dollar your bride has never stepped out of the concrete-and-glass jungle she lives in or worn rubber boots.”

Bingo.
So he did know about Connie, which meant he must have listened to all her messages on his phone. Irritation at his snap judgment about people who lived in the city spilled over. “Is that why you won’t take her calls? Because she lives in a city? How very rural of you.”

He leaned forward, the golden stubble on his face glinting in the rays of the setting sun that streamed through the window. “No.” He spoke softly, his breath fanning her face.

Her focused mind started to fog around the edges.

He leaned back. “I didn’t return her calls because she’s batshit crazy.”

She shook her head quickly, knowing exactly how to play this. “No, she isn’t. She’s just a bride who wants the best. I’ve worked with a lot of brides and sure, they can get a bit jittery a few weeks before the wedding, but that’s expected. When Connie didn’t receive a return call from you, that may have contributed to her becoming a little angsty.”

He looked at her with razor-sharp astuteness. “A
little
angsty? Is that what you’re calling the hysterical rants she left on my phone?”

Hysterical seemed overly dramatic even for a pragmatic farmer. She knew Connie could be demanding but she wasn’t hysterical. “Which is why
I’m
here as a voice of reason and to appeal to your sense of...um...”
What?
She searched her brain wildly, looking for the right thing to say.
Appeal to good breeding?
Nah, that wasn’t going to work.

As she stuttered and struggled, he watched her and this time he raised both brows. Again his eyes gleamed with an intelligence she might have underestimated.

He pulled your car out of the mud.
“...sense of community,” she finished triumphantly.

He slowly tilted back in his chair and the front legs left the floor. “Only Miz—” he elongated the title, “—Littlejohn isn’t part of
my
community and to be honest, she’s the sort of nightmare I can live without.”

The field was slipping out of her reach and along with it her shot at the Memmy and a secure future to banish her worst fears. “Would it help if I promised you categorically that we wouldn’t cause a fuss or get in the way or—”

“Just like you didn’t get in the way this afternoon?” The front legs of his chair hit the floor as his rumbling-bass laughter filled the room. “Oh, yeah, I can see that working here...or not!” He stood up as if the conversation was finished.

Desperate, she shot to her feet. “Two thousand dollars will go a long way toward something on the farm.”

He stiffened. “Money isn’t going to make this fall your way, Erin Davis. A sunflower field is food for my stock and covered bridges are for preventing the formation of black ice. It’s that simple.”

Utter frustration wrapped around disappointment and she slapped her hands against her hips. “And silly me. Here I was thinking Whitetail was all about weddings and giving the bride what she wanted.”

“It is, but that’s the town and this is
my
farm.”

So much for a sense of community.
She threw down her last card—the one she hated playing because no one ever cared about other people’s dreams except the person involved, but desperate times meant desperate measures. Pressing her hands together in supplication, she said, “Haven’t you ever wanted something so much it ached inside you? For me, this is exactly like that.”

For a moment he gave her such a long look she got the oddest feeling he wasn’t actually seeing her at all but gazing right through her and glimpsing something else entirely. It took all of her self-control not to look over her shoulder to see what he was staring at.

A new tension ringed him and his mouth firmed into a straight line. “Wash up before you leave.”

Despair curdled her stomach. “Is there
anything
I can say or do that will change your mind?”

“No.” He grabbed his hat and walked out into the night.

The slamming of the door behind him rammed home how badly she’d failed. She’d let down Connie and herself, and their brilliant idea had taken a mortal blow. It wasn’t just a sunflower field and a picture of a bride; it was her insurance policy for the future. She sank into the chair and let her head fall onto the table, trying very hard not to cry.

Memories assailed her of the time she was fifteen and her world had been turned upside down by her father. Back then, in the space of a few hours, she’d lost everything she’d known to be her life. The horror and dread that it could happen all over again clawed at her, pulling her back to a dark place she’d vowed long ago she’d never visit again. Tonight, she barely had the energy to resist and when her phone played the bridal march she did the unthinkable and let it go through to voice mail. She hated how one man could stand between her and her dream. One very ill-bred, uncivilized, close-minded, country hick!

So much for country hospitality and friendliness—obviously that was just a rumor propagated by the tourism board. She stood up feeling raw and vulnerable, needing a cuddle from her precious dog which would make things slightly less dismal, but when her fingers closed around the door handle, she stopped and turned slowly around.

A large, greasy roasting pan along with an array of other cookware sat waiting to be cleaned. Every part of her wanted to turn her back on the mess that represented her current problems, but that would be exactly what Luke Anderson would expect of someone from the city. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction and besides, burning bridges had never been her style. The only thing of any use that her father had taught her was that you never know what’s around the corner and yesterday’s enemy may well be tomorrow’s friend. Although not in a million years could she ever picture Luke Anderson being a friend.

The low moos of the cows in the barn drifted in through the open window and she remembered the pretty view she’d photographed and all the farms dotted over the countryside that she’d driven past today.
That’s it!
The idea slammed into her, buying her hope.

Luke Anderson might have just said no, but she was in rural Wisconsin and his wasn’t the only farm in the district. She smiled at the thought.

Chapter Three

The following morning the sun was shining, buoying Erin’s spirits. The clerk at the motel on the edge of town hadn’t been able to answer her questions but he’d suggested she go to the Whitetail Market and Video early because the townsfolk started their day by stopping there to buy coffee, doughnuts and the paper, and to generally chew the fat. “It’s the unofficial version of the town meeting,” he said. “If someone doesn’t know the answer, they’ll know someone who does.”

The moment she crossed the threshold of the shop, John Ackerman boomed, “You’re back! And how did that meat roast up for you?”

She smiled. “As you promised, it was perfection. Do you make coffee as perfect?”

“I have a breakfast blend freshly brewed. Cream and sugar?”

“Just cream, thank you. I imagine you know most everybody in town?”

The grocer beamed. “And the district. The Ackermans have been in town almost as long as the Andersons.”

She tried not to shudder at the memory of last night. “As in Luke Anderson?”

“Yes, ma’am. They beat us here by a few months, but we’re both considered founding families.”

He was taking her proffered money when a rushed voice called out, “Have the strawberries been delivered for the wedding?”

“Fresh picked this morning, Nicole, and so sweet I was tempted to keep some for the store.”

“Great. I was worried that Lindsay and Keith might have been distracted given everything that’s happening today.”

The woman sounded stressed and Erin stepped back to allow her to move forward to the coffee counter.

As she brushed past she said, “I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me.”

Dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse and a cinch-waisted jacket, she gave Erin an apologetic smile as her shoulders drew up and rolled back.

Erin got the distinct impression the similarly aged woman was putting herself back together to present a different face entirely. Despite her perfectly blow-dried hair and tailored suit, there was something about her that seemed almost sad.

“Please, let me pay for your coffee,” said the woman.

Erin shook her head. “It’s fine, really, but it sounds like you need more than just breakfast blend.”

She laughed tightly and extended her hand. “I’m Nicole Lindquist and I’m always a little strung out when we’ve got a wedding on.”

“Nicole’s Whitetail’s wedding planner,” John said proudly, “and my niece by marriage. Are you in town for the wedding, Erin?”

“For a wedding, yes, but not today’s. I’m a photographer and—”

“You saw my advertisement?”

Nicole’s squeal of delight made Erin jump. “Ah, no, should I have?”

“We need to talk.” The pervading air of sadness vanished. “Can you spare me a minute?”

The request intrigued her. “Sure, and perhaps you can help me with my problem too?”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Nicole motioned her over to a table by the window, tucked away from the counter and the rest of the busy store. A vase of summer daises gave it a homey touch and a copy of the
Whitetail Bugle
sat next to it, neatly folded.

As they seated themselves, John arrived with two apple Danishes, gave Nicole a wink and said, “My treat.”

“Thanks, John.” Nicole gave Erin a guilty smile. “John knows my sweet tooth goes into overdrive on the morning of a wedding. I always make a vow that I’ll get through on almonds, carrots and celery sticks but—”

“Coffee and pastries are so much more satisfying.” Erin understood completely, knowing how much physical energy she burned up on a shoot lugging her equipment, not to mention nervous and creative energy. “Tell me about this advertisement I haven’t seen.”

Nicole wrapped both hands around her coffee mug. “A year ago, Whitetail hosted the Callahan-Neiquest society wedding and from that moment we’ve had a steady stream of bookings. Not only can we provide the chapel and the reception, we can also provide everything a bride needs from invitations to transport. The only thing stopping us from being full-service is a photographer. As a stop-gap measure, if brides don’t have their own photographer, we’ve been using Eric from
The Bugle
but weddings are not his strong suit and we really need a resident wedding photographer.”

Erin shook her head, not wanting Nicole to get her hopes up any further. “I’m sorry, but I live in Minneapolis.”

“But you travel anywhere the bride wants to get married right?”

“I do, but I’m building my business in the Twin Cities.”

Nicole nodded and sipped her coffee. “So you have a studio and everything there?”

“I wish.” She sighed thinking how after the debacle with Luke Anderson, her big plans for a secure future seemed almost unobtainable. “I rent studio space if I absolutely have to, but for engagement shots, I find the best photos are often the ones taken in locations familiar to the couple. Where they’re most relaxed.”

She smiled, picturing the set of prints she always showed prospective clients. “My favorite engagement shoot took place in and around a tree house. The couple had been childhood sweethearts and the tree not only relaxed them but it represented the solid love they had for each other.”

Nicole’s eyes lit up. “That sounds amazing. So are you heavily booked?”

Erin pictured her planner which had sporadic bookings scattered over it, but was empty for the next few weeks until Connie’s wedding. She shrugged, not wanting to be too specific. “You know what the wedding business is like. Feast or famine. How do you keep going over winter?”

“It’s quieter for sure, but in a small town everyone has more than one job. I run the hairdressing salon so I have work all year round but it’s the weddings I love best. This year, we’ve got four winter weddings booked already because Annika, our invitation designer, married Finn Callahan. They had the most amazing winter wedding complete with a sleigh.” She sighed dreamily before giving a wry smile. “And because Finn had been considered the Chicago bachelor no woman could ever land, the wedding got a
lot
of publicity.”

Nicole sipped her coffee. “Summer’s a different story, though. Every weekend is booked through until the leaves fall.”

Erin stared at her not quite believing her ears. “Every weekend?”

Nicole nodded. “It gets frantic, that’s for sure, and I have someone doing most of the salon work. Not every bride wants me to be their wedding planner and some bring their own team in with them, but most use me because I know everyone in town and where their strengths lie and what they can offer.” She glanced at her watch before looking back at Erin. “You said you needed some help?”

She pulled her mind back from the fact that Whitetail was such a popular wedding destination and said, “Has a Connie Littlejohn ever contacted you?”

“The name’s familiar.” Two lines appeared at the bridge of Nicole’s nose as she thumbed through her notebook. “Oh, yes, I remember. I took a phone meeting with her to book the chapel and the supper club but she was brusquely insistent that she was doing everything else herself.”

That sounded like Connie. “We’ve run into a snag with the photos and I need a sunflower field in full bloom in three weeks’ time.”

“Too easy.” Nicole smiled. “Lakeview Farm is perfect and the farmer’s name is—”

“Luke Anderson, I know.” She tried to sound bright and cheery because she never did sad. “I met him yesterday, but he’s the grouchiest, most disagreeable guy I’ve ever had to deal with. And he said a categorical no.”

“Luke said no?” Nicole sounded stunned.

“Yes. So can you give me the names of five other farmers around here who grow sunflowers and I’ll contact them.”

For the first time, Nicole frowned. “I don’t think there are any others. This far north it’s not a commonly grown crop.”

Erin’s gut churned with rising panic that an alternative sunflower field was unobtainable. “Are you sure there are no others?”

“Pretty sure. Most of the local farmers think Luke’s crazy giving up a field to sunflowers.”

“That makes sense,” she said, relieved at least that her gut reaction about Luke Anderson had been spot on. “He sure seems crazy to me.”

“Luke graduated summa cum laude from CALS.”

“What does that stand for? Crazy as a Loon School?” Erin gave a tight laugh before taking a sip of coffee.

“No.” Nicole’s brow furrowed as if she didn’t understand the joke. “It’s the College of Agriculture and Life Science at UW Madison.”

Coffee spurted out of Erin’s nose and she grabbed a napkin. UW was no community college. It was a widely respected school and known internationally. She took a closer look at Nicole. Her expression held no guile, which matched the fact that her voice had been firm and matter-of-fact. She thought of the moments last night when a sharp intelligence had pierced Luke’s backwoods persona. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I’m sure the only reason some of the older farmers think he’s crazy is because he’s innovative and it unsettles them.”

The picture Nicole was drawing wasn’t sitting at all well against the man she’d spent the previous evening with. “So Luke Anderson’s eccentric as well as being ridiculously grumpy and letting his dog eat off his good china?”

This time Nicole laughed. “Are you sure you actually met Luke? I think I’ve only ever seen him angry twice in his life. Mind you, it’s hay season and every farmer’s grumpy from a lack of sleep.”

“Six foot two, blond, blue eyes, and a misogynist?”

You forgot ripped body.

“The height, hair and eye color are definitely Luke.”

A niggling feeling that she’d been played by Mr. “Women belong in the kitchen” Anderson started to grow.

Nicole continued, “I can’t understand why he’d say no to you. His family is very civic-minded and have always hosted Breakfast on the Farm. Do you want me to talk to him?”

No.
What she really wanted was a totally different farmer. One who didn’t look like he’d been touched by the gods of gorgeousness, one who didn’t make her lurch from desire to repulsion in a heartbeat, leaving her totally unsettled, and especially one who hadn’t spun her along, all the while laughing at her expense. “All I need is
one
other farmer with a sunflower field within a twenty-mile radius of Whitetail.”

Nicole got a scheming glint in her eye. “I tell you what. If you can be the photographer for today’s wedding, I’ll put out the word that you’re looking for a sunflower field.”

Erin didn’t mind the barter exchange but she had some professional concerns, knowing from acute experience that brides didn’t cope well with last-minute changes. “Usually I’ve photographed the bride and groom at an engagement shoot and built up a rapport. Won’t it stress the bride that she’s never met me?”

“Not Lindsay. She’s lived in Whitetail all her life and is the most laid-back woman I’ve ever met, which is why she was happy to use Eric. Truth be told, I’ve done more stressing about her wedding than she has.” Nicole stood up. “How about we go meet her now and she can tell you what she wants. I promise you it won’t be sunflowers.”

Erin’s phone bleated out the wedding march and Connie’s number came up. A streak of guilt caught her under the ribs and she clicked on Decline Call, sending it to voice mail. She’d texted Connie earlier saying,
things looking up.
She hadn’t told Connie that Luke had said no and she didn’t plan on doing that until she had an alternative to offer the bride. Why unduly upset her when in a few hours’ time she’d hopefully have another field to use and a much more cooperative farmer to work with?

Besides, the fee for the wedding shoot would more than cover another night’s accommodation and the waitressing tips she was giving up by staying in Whitetail. In fact, it would cover a lot more.

“It all sounds like a plan.” With a smile she stood up and followed Nicole out of the store.

* * *

Luke arrived late to Lindsay and Keith’s reception, having been held up by a difficult calving. At least he wouldn’t need to explain. Lindsay and Keith were longtime time family friends, and their picnic wedding reception in the park was in full swing with the three-piece band belting out tunes from the eighties. The couple had been married quietly with just their immediate family in attendance, but they’d invited most of the county to the party which doubled as Lindsay’s fortieth birthday celebration. He grinned as the tall and willowy bride in a simple, white sheath dress strode across the grass to greet him. Even in bare feet she was taller than her new husband.

“Congratulations, Lins.” He kissed her cheek. “After all those years of living together, you finally made an honest man out of Keith.”

She laughed. “I always intended to but life gets busy. Now you’re running the farm, you know exactly what it’s like. Have you finished your hay?”

The groom, an organic vegetable farmer whose stocky build, chrome-dome and earring made him look more like a biker, joined them. He slid his arm around his new wife’s waist. “No shop talk today, honey. No talk of the weather, fertilizer or strawberry-eating gophers. Come dance with me.”

He spun her away and Luke looked around for something to eat and drink. A group of women gave him a “come join us” wave as they sipped on champagne and bit into enormous chocolate-coated strawberries. From the accompanying giggles he figured they’d been doing it for quite some time. He gave them a friendly wave before looking beyond the bar to a long line of trestle tables he assumed had groaned with food earlier in the afternoon. Lindsay and Keith grew the best produce in the county and he saw the remains of platters of crudités, as well as marinated mushrooms and sundried tomatoes along with fresh, green salads. Luke had nothing against salads or vegetables, per se, as long as they were decorating meat.

The thought of meat reminded him of last night’s supper. Erin Davis’s only redeeming quality was that she could cook and the meal had even eclipsed Wade’s roasts, which was saying something. Even so, he’d been relieved when he’d got back to the house at midnight to find it empty and her car gone. After his little performance last night, he was certain she wouldn’t be making a return visit to Lakeview Farm; in fact she was probably back in Minneapolis by now. Not that his “no” to the sunflower field had been acting. He’d only ever listened to one of the thirteen messages Connie Littlejohn had left on his machine and even then, that had been one too many. The tone and content of the message had been enough to tell him that he wouldn’t want her anywhere near his farm no matter how much money she was offering.