Wedding at Wildwood (3 page)

“Thoughtful of you,” Dillon countered. “But, hey, I won’t if you won’t, brother.”

“I’ll be too preoccupied with my bride to pay you any attention,” Eli retorted, a distinct smugness in his words.

Wanting to counter his lack of tact, Dillon said, “Well, it certainly took you long enough to find a woman willing to put up with you.”

That hit home. Eli set his glass down, then placed both hands on his hips. “I don’t see you bringing any young ladies home to meet Mama.”

Cynthia clapped her hands for quiet. “Enough of this. Can we please sit down to have a pleasant dinner together? Gladys and I made baked catfish and squash casserole.”

“Why did you have to invite him back here?” Eli asked. “And for my wedding, of all things?”

“I wanted your brother here,” Cynthia said, tears glistening her eyes. “I wanted my sons to make peace with each other.”

Eli stomped to the sink to wash his hands and face. Then turning to dry himself with a dishtowel, he said, “I don’t have to make peace with Dillon, Mama. He’s the one who should be doing the apologizing. He ran off.”

“No, you drove me off,” Dillon said, then he turned to his mother. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay in this house. I’ll be at the wedding, Mama, and I’ll show up at all the required functions, but if you need me, I’ll be at Wildwood.”

“You can’t stay in that run-down house,” Cynthia said, grabbing his arm as he headed for the door.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Let him go,” Eli called. “Let him try to survive in this heat, with no water or electricity. He’ll be back across the road soon enough.”

Dillon gently extracted himself from his mother’s fierce grip. “I’ll see you later, Mama.”

“That’s just like you,” Eli said. “Turn and run again. You never could stick around long enough to do any good around here.”

“Eli, hush,” Cynthia said. Then she called to Dillon, “I’ll bring you a warm plate over later.”

Dillon just kept walking, and he didn’t stop until he reached the wildflower field. Then he fell down on his knees and stared up into the starry sky. He wanted to get on his motorcycle and ride away. But, this time, something held him back. This time, Isabel’s green eyes and sweet-smelling hair haunted him and held him while her words came back to taunt him.

What are you doing back here?

Maybe it was time he found the answer to that question.

Maybe this time, he
would
stay and fight.

The next morning, Isabel remembered just how interesting things could become in a small town. The wedding of one of the most eligible, elusive bachelors in the county was the talk of the small hamlet, so everyone who was anyone would be invited to the event. And those who weren’t invited would bust a gut trying to hear the details.

Isabel was scheduled to meet Susan Webster at the bridal shop on Front Street at ten o’clock. Susan’s mother wanted Isabel to see Susan in the dress, then they’d decide where to start taking the preliminary pictures of the bride in all her splendor.

Pulling her rented Jeep up to the curve of the Brides and Beaus formal wear shop, Isabel got the strange sense that the curious townspeople were watching
her
return closely, too.

“Guess I’m a strange creature,” she told Susan after hugging the other woman. “The radical free spirit comes home to Wildwood.”

“We gave that particular honor to Dillon,” Susan said, her bright blue eyes lighting up in spite of the wisecrack. “Did you know he’s moved back in the old house? Opened up a couple of rooms. He refuses to stay in Eli’s house.”

Hoping she didn’t sound too interested, Isabel tossed her long braid aside and shrugged. “Dillon always was a loner.”

“Understatement,” Susan replied, dragging Isabel into the back of the long, cluttered shop. Past the pastel formals and tuxedos that went flying off the racks at prom time, they entered the bride room where Susan’s plump mother, Beatrice, sat going over the final details of the bridesmaid dresses with a clerk.

“Hello, Isabel,” Beatrice said, smiling up at her. “Isn’t this exciting? My baby’s finally getting married, and to Eli Murdock. I’m so proud.”

“It is exciting, Mrs. Webster,” Isabel replied, bending down to hug the older woman. She’d have to be careful about keeping her real feelings regarding this match to herself. “And I’m touched that you both wanted me to be a part of it.”

“Wait until you see the dress,” Beatrice enthused, her attention already back on her job as mother of the bride.

“Wow, look at all this lace and satin,” Isabel quipped, holding a hand to her eyes as she looked around at all the dresses and veils hanging in the prim room. “So bright and so white.”

“Still wedding shy, I see,” Susan said, sweeping around with her arms wrapped to her chest. “Not me, Isabel. I’m very happy.”

Isabel eyed her high school friend, wanting desperately to ask her how she’d fallen for a cold fish like Eli Murdock. But she wouldn’t dream of saying anything to hurt kind, gentle Susan. “You look sickeningly happy,” she told Susan, her smile genuine. “You were meant to be married.”

“Took me long enough to notice Eli, though,” Susan said as they settled down on a cushioned sofa. “Imagine, all those years in the same town, then one day we ran into each other at the Feed and Seed….”

“Very romantic,” Isabel said, grinning. “Tell me, did it happen over the corn seeds or maybe the…er…manure pile.”

“Oh, you!” Susan laughed, then patted Isabel’s hand. “I’m so glad you’ll be taking the pictures. I insisted, you know. I told them you were nationally famous and we might not be able to get you for such a frivolous assignment, so I convinced Eli to pay you big bucks.”

Isabel didn’t hide her surprise. “Well, that explains a few things. I couldn’t understand why the Murdocks wanted me so badly.”

“Oh, they do,” Susan assured her, her face flushing. “I mean, Mrs. Murdock agreed wholeheartedly—”

Seeing the other woman’s embarrassment, Isabel shrugged again. “I understand, Susan. Eli wasn’t too keen on the idea of hiring me to take your wedding pictures, huh?”

“I can explain that,” Susan began, clearly appalled that she’d let that little tidbit out.

“No need,” Isabel replied. “Eli and I never did see eye to eye. But that’s all in the past. And if the request came from you, then I accept completely, and…I don’t mind taking some of Eli’s money off his hands. Now, show me this dress everyone keeps raving about.”

Ever the excited bride, Susan hopped up. “It’s so beautiful!” Then she turned to stare down at Isabel, a troubled look on her pretty features. “Eli’s changed, Isabel. Really, he has.”

“I know you wouldn’t marry him if you didn’t believe that, Susan,” Isabel replied softly. “And I do hope you’ll always be as happy as you look right now.”

Just to prove her point, she snapped a picture of Susan. And captured the tad of sadness she saw flickering quickly through the girl’s eyes. Had Eli already started causing worry to his young bride?

“Susan,” she asked as she watched her friend chatting with one of the clerks, “you’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”

Susan whirled around, her features puzzled. “Wrong? What could be wrong?” Then lowering her head, she sighed, “It’s just…I’m so excited I haven’t been able to eat or sleep. I’m so in love, Isabel.” With that, Susan was off to the dressing room to put on her elaborate bridal dress.

Not good at waiting, Isabel got up to saunter around the shop. She’d brought her own gown to wear to the wedding, but some of the dresses offered here were quite lovely. Remembering her first prom, she balked as a vision of a young Dillon in his prom tuxedo, with a popular cheerleader encased in satiny pink by his side, came to mind. Isabel’s dress that night had been homemade, an inexpensive knockoff made from a pattern with some gaudy material her mother had found on sale.

It had been Dillon’s senior year, but Isabel had still been a junior in high school. Dillon had teased Isabel about her date, a football player who had a reputation for taking advantage of young girls’ hearts, then later that night Dillon had asked Isabel to dance with him. She’d promptly refused, too afraid of her own mixed feelings to get near him. And too obsessed with Dillon to let the football player make any moves on her.

“Get over it, Isabel,” she told herself now as she watched a bright-eyed teenager drooling over the many formal dresses crushed together all around them like delicate flower buds. She refused to think about Dillon Murdock.

But when the front door of the shop opened and the man himself stepped into the room, she had no choice but to acknowledge him. His masculine presence filled the dainty store with a bold, daring danger. And his eyes on her only added to the rising temperature of the humid summer day.

“Dillon,” she said, too breathlessly.

“Isabel.” He strode toward her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I see they’ve put you straight to work.”

“Yes. I’m here to get a few shots of Susan in her dress and to set up a more formal location for her portrait shots.”

He nodded, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Mama wanted me to get fitted for a tux. I tried to get out of it, but—” His shrug was indifferent.

The image of him in a tuxedo made Isabel want to drool just like a teenager. But she quickly reprimanded herself, and putting on a blank expression, said, “But your mother persuaded you to come in anyway.”

He nodded, a wry grin slicing his angular face. “You know the woman well.”

Isabel wanted to remind him that she knew all the Murdocks very well. Well enough to be wary of any association with them. Instead she asked, “How is your mother?”

Dillon hesitated, then decided to keep his family problems to himself, not that it mattered. The whole town would probably soon be talking about his renewed feud with his brother, and the fact that he’d moved into the run-down plantation house.

He shrugged. “You know Mama. She’s tough. And she’s okay, I reckon. Stressed about this wedding.”

And probably about having him back home, no doubt, Isabel decided.

Just then a nervous female clerk came forward. “Mr. Murdock, I’m Stacey Whitfield. If you’ll just follow me, we can have you fitted in no time.”

“Thanks, Stacey,” Dillon said with a winning smile. “Give me a minute, all right?”

The fascinated woman bobbed her head, then hurried to stand behind the counter, her eyes glued to Dillon and Isabel.

Dillon fingered a bit of lace on a nearby sleeve while the teenaged shopper Isabel had noticed earlier now had her wide eyes centered on
him
rather than a new frock. Isabel watched in detached amusement as the young girl’s mother shooed her out the door, the woman’s look of disapproval apparent for all to see.

“My reputation precedes me,” Dillon observed on a flat note. “Mothers, lock up your daughters. He’s back in town.”

“Should they be worried?” Isabel asked, all amusement gone now.

“No,” he replied as he came closer, his hand moving from the trailing lace to a strand of curling hair at her temple. “But maybe
you
should be.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she stared him down anyway, challenging him with a lift of her chin. “Why me?”

He leaned closer. “Because if I chase after anybody while I’m here, it’ll be you, Isabel. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Snatching his hand away, Isabel busied herself with checking her camera. “I don’t have time for catching up, Dillon. I’m only here as a favor to Susan and my grandmother.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Angry at herself more than him, she snapped, “You can stop playing games with me, Dillon. I’m not the naive young girl I used to be. And I won’t be taunted and teased by a Murdock, ever again.”

Clearly shocked at the venom in her words, Dillon backed away. “I guess I didn’t realize you could hold such a grudge. But you’re right. And wise to stay away from the likes of me.” Turning to stalk toward the door, he called to the confused clerk waiting to take his measurements, “I’ll be back later, Stacey. It’s a little too confining in here right now.”

With that, he slammed the front door, leaving a stunned silence to follow him, and all eyes clearly on Isabel.

S
he refused to feel guilty about what she’d said to Dillon. The man needed to know right off the bat that she wasn’t interested.

But, she reluctantly told herself, Dillon had looked so dejected, so hurt when she’d accused him of taunting her. She’d seen it in his stormy eyes just before he’d shut down on her. Then, he’d warned her away, as surely as he’d tried to draw her near. Now the whole town would probably be talking about the little scene in the bridal shop.

When Isabel went into the back with Stacey to tell Susan that Dillon had left, the bride-to-be was clearly flustered.

“What do you mean, he left?” a frazzled Susan asked poor embarrassed Stacey. “We have to fit him for that tuxedo!”

Stacey shuffled her loafered feet and looked over to Isabel for support. “He…he was talking to Isabel and he—”

“Dillon couldn’t wait,” Isabel explained, shooing Stacey away with the wave of her hand. Turning Susan back around to view herself in the three-way mirror, she commented on the exquisite bridal dress. “This is incredible, Susi.”

Looking over her silk-and-lace reflection, Susan soon forgot all about Dillon’s leaving. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” Isabel said, although she herself would have chosen a more understated wedding gown. All that pearl beading and lace seemed a bit overwhelming. But then, she reminded herself, she wasn’t the one getting married. “I knew you’d make a lovely bride. Now, let me just get a few candid shots of you here, and then we can talk about the formal portrait for the newspaper. You know, I thought about the wildflowers. How would you feel about setting up a shoot there?”

Susan’s excitement changed to worry in the blink of her blue eyes. Looking over at her mother for support, she said, “Oh, I don’t know—Eli hates those flowers. He calls them weeds.”

Mrs. Webster fussed with Susan’s veil, then nodded. “It’s true, Isabel. Eli doesn’t like the wildflower patch. It’s been a bone of contention between him and his mother for some time now.”

Susan lowered her voice to a whisper. “Something about it being Dillon’s favorite spot—”

“What?” Isabel raked a hand through her long hair to keep from saying something she’d regret.

“Couldn’t we do it somewhere else?” Susan questioned, her blue eyes big and round. “How about in the garden behind Eli’s house? He had it especially landscaped—that big nursery from Albany did it. They did such a good job, too.”

The image Isabel had of Susan in her wedding gown amid the wildflowers died on the vine. Eli certainly wouldn’t want his bride centered in a field that only reminded him of his unwelcome brother. Remembering how lonely Dillon had looked the night before, she couldn’t help the little tug of regret in her heart. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so nasty to Dillon earlier.

Reminding herself she was being paid to please the bride
and
the groom, and that she had to stand firm regarding Dillon Murdock, she nodded. “If that’s what you want, of course, we can do the shoot there. But Eli can’t see you in your dress, remember?”

“Oh, no.” Susan’s big eyes widened. “That’d be bad luck and we don’t need any more of that.”

Curious, Isabel asked, “Have you had some problems?”

Beatrice Webster pursed her lips, then started to speak.

Susan hastily shook her head to stop her mother, then gazed at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes glistening. “No, everything’s fine. It’s just that Eli has this cotton crop to worry about, and well, he works so hard. And now, Dillon’s already started showing himself. I won’t have him ruining my wedding, Isabel, I just won’t. We only invited him back because his poor mama wanted him here for his brother’s wedding, and he doesn’t even have the common decency to try on his tuxedo.”

Isabel stopped snapping pictures to stare up at her friend. “Susan, Dillon left the shop because of me. We…we kind of got into a little argument and I’m afraid I was rude to him. I’ll try to smooth things over with him, I promise.”

Clearly relieved, Susan clapped her hands together, her number one concern right now her wedding. “Would you please try to get him back in here, tomorrow morning if possible? We’ve only got a few days left before the rehearsal supper, then the wedding.”

“I promise,” Isabel said, dreading the whole affair all over again. She must have been crazy to even accept this assignment.

An hour later, she found herself in the wildflower field, amid the honeybees and the butterflies, dreading having to see Dillon again. But she had to apologize and persuade him to do his duty. A promise was a promise, and she
had
caused him to leave the shop.

Only she didn’t run into Dillon in the field. Instead, she saw his petite mother hurrying across the path, a huge plate covered with a white linen napkin balanced on her wrinkled hands.

“Miss Cynthia,” Isabel called, rushing to help the woman with the heavily laden plate. “My goodness, you’ve got enough food here to feed an army!”

“Isabel! I heard you made it in. Susan’s mother—that woman calls me at least three times a day.” Cynthia stopped to take a long, much needed breath. “How are you, dear?”

Isabel dutifully leaned down to kiss the woman’s rosy powdered cheek, noting that Miss Cynthia was dressed impeccably just to cross the road and tramp through a field. She wore a pink cotton shell, pearls, and dressy gray slacks with matching pumps.

“I’m all right, Miss Cynthia. Do you want me to carry that for you?”

Cynthia shifted the platter, then laughed nervously. “Heavens, no. I’m just in a hurry. Eli will be home soon, and I’ll have to answer to him. He doesn’t want me carting food over here to his brother.”

Isabel hurried along with Miss Cynthia. “Just like you used to do—sneaking Dillon food after he got sent to bed with no supper.”

“I’m just an old softy, aren’t I?” Cynthia said, her sharp eyes moving over Isabel. “My, you’ve changed. You’ve turned out to be quite a lovely young lady, Isabel.”

“Still a little tomboy left, though,” Isabel said, remembering how Cynthia Murdock used to encourage her to wash her face and put on some makeup. Isabel had resented the woman’s heavy-handed suggestions at the time, but now she only smiled. Apparently, Beatrice Webster hadn’t wasted any time updating the whole town on Isabel’s improved grooming habits. Straightening the flowing skirt of her soft linen dress, she told Miss Cynthia, “I did remember some of your fashion tips.”

“I can tell,” Cynthia agreed as they reached the back porch of the old mansion. “That red sundress is mighty fetching with your blond hair.”

Fetching. Only Cynthia Murdock could use an old-fashioned word like that and make it sound classy and completely perfect. But the woman could also cut people into ribbons with a few well-chosen words, Isabel remembered.

“Let me get the door,” Isabel said now without thinking.

The two women were busy laughing and talking as they entered the long central hallway of the cool, shuttered house. Which is why they didn’t see the man standing at the end of the long kitchen, splashing water from an aluminum bucket sitting on the wash drain all over his face and bare chest, until it was too late to back out of the room.

Dillon heard the commotion, then looked up to find his mother and Isabel standing there in the doorway, looking at him as if he were doing something scandalous.

“I didn’t hear a knock,” he said, his lazy gaze moving from his shocked mother’s face to the stunning woman standing beside her. “And I don’t recall inviting two pretty ladies to dinner.”

Cynthia quickly got over her shock and set the heavy platter on the cracked counter. “I found Isabel walking through the wildflowers. And…there’s plenty enough here for two.”

Dillon didn’t bother to hide his bare chest, or the surprise his mother’s bold suggestion brought to his face. “Mama, are you trying to fix me up with our Isabel?”

Cynthia snorted. “I was trying to cover up for your lack of manners, son. Where is your shirt, anyway?”

“Over there.” He pointed to a suitcase tossed carelessly up on one of the many long counters. “Throw me one, will you, Isabel?”

Gritting her teeth, and pulling her eyes back inside her head, Isabel chose a plain white T-shirt to hurl at him, her small grunt of pleasure indicating that she wished it had been something that could do a little more damage.

Dillon caught the shirt, his eyes still on Isabel. With lazy disregard, he pulled it over his damp hair, then tucked it into the equally damp waistband of his jeans. “Sorry, Mama, but I didn’t know I’d have an audience for my bath. Guess it’s a good thing I kept my breeches on.”

Cynthia threw up her hands. “He’s still a charmer, isn’t he, Isabel?”

“Oh, he is indeed.” Isabel turned to leave. “And I really can’t stay. I just wanted to say hello, Miss Cynthia.”

Dillon leaned across the old, planked table standing in the middle of the kitchen. “What’s your hurry?”

Isabel turned to see him reclining there, bathed in a golden shaft of afternoon sunlight, his gray eyes almost black with a teasing, challenging light.

She wanted to take his picture again. But she wouldn’t, because she wasn’t going to stay in this hot room any longer. She’d just have to figure out some other way of getting him to cooperate with Susan about that tuxedo. If she stayed here right now, she couldn’t be sure she’d be in control of her wayward feelings.

Tossing back a long strand of hair, she said, “Actually, I was taking pictures and I ran into your mother. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Cynthia cleared her throat and shooed Isabel back into the room. “Stay and talk to my son, please. Maybe you can convince him to come over to Eli’s house, where there’s plenty of fresh water and air-conditioning.”

Isabel hesitated, her gaze locking with Dillon’s. “I don’t think it’s my place to argue with your son, Miss Cynthia.”

“And why?” Cynthia questioned with a diamond bejeweled hand on her hip. “You two used to argue all the time. That boy used to send you running, nearly in tears. But only after you’d given him a good piece of your mind.”

Isabel lowered her head to stare at a crack in the pine flooring. “Well, that was then—”

“And this is now,” Dillon finished. “Mama’s right. I’m not minding my manners. Stay and talk to me a while, Isabel. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“That’s more like it,” Miss Cynthia said, nodding her approval. “You two can keep each other company until we all get through this wedding.”

Dillon lifted up off the table then to come around and kiss his mother. “Thanks, Mama. Now, you’d better get back. I suspect Eli doesn’t know you’ve been feeding me.”

“I’ll take care of Eli, son.”

“Yep, you always have, haven’t you?”

Cynthia stopped at the wide doorway. “I’d be more than happy to take care of you, if you’d stay here long enough to let me.”

Dillon’s smile was bittersweet. “I’m fine, Mama. Really. Now, scoot.”

Cynthia gave an eloquent shrug, then waved to Isabel. “Bye, now. Tell your grandmama hello for me, honey. Oh, and I might have some alterations to bring down to her next week. A couple of dresses that need taking in. I don’t trust anybody else to do the job.”

“I’ll tell her,” Isabel promised, thinking that as always, Miss Cynthia had reminded her of her place. Her grandmother was still the hired help, no matter how fond Miss Cynthia was of Martha Landry. She waited until she heard the click of Miss Cynthia’s heels on the back steps, then looked up at Dillon. “I’m not staying for supper, and I can see myself out.”

He reached out a long tanned arm, catching her by the hand to hold her in her spot. “Was it something I said?”

She glanced back up to find his eyes centered on her with that questioning, brooding intensity. “No, Dillon. Actually, it was something
I
said. Susan is upset that you didn’t get your fitting this morning. Will you just go back in tomorrow and get it over with?”

He dropped her arm to move to the red ice chest he had propped in one corner of the room. “Want a soda?”

“Okay,” she said without giving it much thought. Just like she’d come bursting in here without much thought, to find him half-clothed. How she wished she’d knocked, but then, he probably would have come to the door bare-chested anyway. When he came back to hand her the icy cold can, she told herself she’d take a couple of sips then leave gracefully.

Then he pulled the white linen cover off the fried chicken. “Mmm, Mama does know how to fry up a chicken. Doesn’t that smell so good?”

Her stomach growled like the traitor it was. Taking a bit of meat that Dillon tore from a crispy breast, she nibbled it, then tried to put the fat and calorie content out of her mind.

Unrolling the silverware his mother had thoughtfully provided, Dillon dipped a spoon into the white mound beside the chicken, then held it out to Isabel. “Want some mashed potatoes?”

“Stop it!” Isabel said, taking out her frustrations on the pop top on her drink. The sound hissed and sizzled almost as loudly as the tension between them. “Just tell me you’ll go back in and get your tux.”

“I might,” he said after shoveling the potatoes into his own mouth. Then he picked up a drumstick and bit into it. Chewing thoughtfully before he dropped it back on the plate, his eyes on her, he said, “Then again, I might just show up like this.” He shrugged and waved the white napkin over his jeans. “Or, I might not show up at all.”

That comment caused her to set her drink can down with a thud. “Oh, that would be just perfect. Show everyone around here that they’re right about you after all. Make Susan feel even worse and cause your mother even more heartache. Yeah, Dillon, I’d say just blow the whole thing off. Why should you try to do something for someone else, anyway?”

In a blur of motion, he dropped his napkin and stood before her, one hand on her shoulder and one braced on the panelled wall behind her. “Don’t, Isabel. Don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

She took a shuddering breath, her face inches from his. “Why do you fight so hard against everything?”

His gaze traveled over her face, then back to her eyes. “Why are you standing in my kitchen telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing?”