Always the Designer, Never the Bride (11 page)

"I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"I could go either way, but I thought you looked really lovely before when you tried on the dress and the veil, and your hair was loose."

"Yeah, Devon likes my hair down."

"There you have it. Problem solved."

Audrey sat down on the bed while Carly stood in front of the mirror, holding up varied amounts of hair.

"I wish she could be here," Carly stated, and Audrey looked up to see her friend gazing back at her through the mirror's reflection.

"Who?"

"Your granny."

"Oh." A warm breeze of nostalgia blew by her, and Audrey smiled. "She would be so happy for you, Caroline. She really loved you."

"There was no one like her, Aud. And I miss her."

Me too.

"I'm sorry about Kim Renfroe."

This time, she said it out loud. "Me too."

"Do you think it would have gone differently if you'd given her my dress?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. She's a bit of a loose cannon."

Carly plopped to the bed beside her and rubbed Audrey's arm. "It's hard to hitch your wagon to a loose cannon, I guess."

"You have no idea."

"You have so much talent. You're gifted, you really are."

Audrey waved her off and turned away.

"I mean it. And she doesn't know what she missed by not giving you more of an opportunity to prove it to her."

"Thanks."

"You're going to get your break."

Audrey wanted so much to believe Carly, but she couldn't muster it up just then.

"You are. Kim Renfroe is a stupidhead."

Audrey pushed out a laugh. They had been using the term since childhood, but she hadn't heard it for years.

"Yeah, she is." She squeezed Carly's hand and smiled.

"I love you."

"Love you too, Caroline. Now let's start on your hair."

Wedding Traditions
When the Groom Is in the Marine Corps

• The Marine Corps groom wears dress blues.

• A boutonniere is never worn with a military uniform.

• The arch of swords—where six or eight Marines (or men
in uniform) raise swords overhead as the newly-married
couple leaves the altar.
No one else may pass beneath the arch.

• The last sword-bearer forming the arch will often tap the
bride lightly with his sword, saying, "Welcome to the
United States Marine Corps, Ma'am."

• If the groom is in uniform, it is customary for him to stand
ahead of the bride in the receiving line.

• The official Marine Corps song is often played as the bride
and groom enter the reception hall for the first time as
husband and wife.

• A noncommissioned officers sword is often used to cut
the wedding cake.

5

I
'm so glad we did this, man."

J. R. nodded at his brother and took a swig from the Coke in front of him.

"Carly never lets me eat like this. Today's my only chance."

"I'm all for the splurge," J. R. said with a chuckle. "But you better take it easy there. That's about your fifth or sixth Krystal burger, bro."

"Eighth."

"You get the trots on your wedding night, and who do you think she's gonna blame?"

Devon cracked up. "My stomach's made outta steel. You oughta see the stuff we eat in the desert."

"Still."

Devon stuffed the last tiny cheeseburger into his mouth. "You worry too much."

"And you don't worry nearly enough." J. R. thought about it a minute before he asked, "Speaking of which, how are your nerves about getting hitched? Again."

"Good," Devon replied over a mouthful. "I mean, I'm already Carly's husband in every way that matters. This is all just for her benefit, to let her have her dream, you know?"

"I'm just making sure you're ready, that's all."

"I was born ready," Devon quipped, his eyes sparkling as he grinned at him. "Carly's the one, man. Nuff said."

J. R. nodded, and any reply he might have made was pushed away from his thoughts as his cell phone pulsed.

"Russell," he told Devon before answering. "What's up?"

"I just saw your chickadee, mate. Got her britches in a wad. Thought you might want to pop over."

"Audrey?" he asked. "None of your Aussie nonsense. Talk English, bro. You're in America now. What happened?"

"Morning meeting left her eating dust," Russell cracked. "Kit-Kat says she's in a really harsh way."

J. R. groaned. "She was meeting up with some blueblood this morning. I guess it didn't go well."

"Not from the looks of it, mate. Thought you'd wanna know."

"Thanks, Russell. Where are you?"

"Tanglewood," he answered. "Gonna take my new sweetie to eat in a bit. Got my duds handy too, so I'll meet you boys here a little later, rightie?"

"Yep. Later."

J. R. folded his phone shut and tucked it into his pocket. A poke in his gut made him wonder why Audrey's bad news felt so personal.

"Something happen?" Devon asked.

"Yeah." Then, "Nah. Not really. You ready to go?"

"I was—"

"Born ready. I know."

As they climbed into Devon's bright red truck, J. R.'s gut lurched a bit. Audrey had been hanging her future on that morning meeting, and it just about killed him to know she'd been disappointed. He reached forward and cranked down the stereo.

"I'm just going to make a quick call," he said, and Devon nodded, still mouthing the words to the Keith Urban song whispering in the background.

"Honeymoon suite, please."

When the operator at The Tanglewood connected the call, Kat picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Kat. It's J. R. Hunt. Is Audrey there?"

"She can't really come to the phone right now," she told him. "Can I have her call you?"

"Oh, man. Is she all right? Russell told me about the meeting."

"Yeah. It was brutal. But she's healing the wounds by diving into the whole maid of honor deal. She's painting Carly's toenails at the moment."

J. R. grimaced, trying to picture it. "Well, I guess that's a good thing."

"With Audrey, it's hard to tell."

He chuckled. "I hear that. Listen, can you give me her cell number so I can put it into my phone?"

"You mean . . . to call her?"

"Well, not right now. But later, maybe."

Kat giggled. "That's very optimistic of you. Yes, I'll give it to you. But don't take it personally if she doesn't answer. She's still working on embracing the advancements of today's world."

J. R. repeated the number three times before saying a quick good-bye, still repeating the number. He quickly tapped it into the address book on his phone as Devon cranked up the stereo again.

"Ah, Blake Shelton," he commented. "Love this dude."

Devon sang along, something about a deer head over somebody's bed. Had he heard that right? At the stoplight, Devon turned to J. R. and shouted the colorful chorus in full rock star animation.

"Settle down, bro," he said with a chuckle.

"Nah!" he blurted. "It's my weddin' day! And I'm marrying the most—" He poked his head out the window like a hound and shouted. "—beautiful girl in Atlanta!"

J. R. wondered if he'd ever find his match the way Devon had. He didn't figure any woman would put up with his lifestyle for long. Oh, he had a permanent place in Santa Fe to call home, but he sure didn't spend much time there. Four rooms with a couch, a bed, a stereo and some tools sat perched atop his real home, a large garage. He spent twice as much time on the road as he did in Santa Fe, and it had been such a long time since he'd even considered making room for the possibility of a regular someone; the saddest part was that he hadn't even noticed anything missing from his life until it reflected back at him in the mirror of his brother's life.

And until he'd spotted a platinum blonde pin-up girl who instantly tossed off a few sparks and ignited something J. R. wasn't even sure he'd
ever
felt before. Or if he had, he sure didn't remember it like this.

Devon's thoughts about Carly were more about a long-range future, a bunch of kids, a dog in the back of the truck, and a country song soundtrack than J. R.'s would ever be. Audrey Regan sure didn't have
that
in her! Not that he cared, of course. But still . . . he'd thought of little else in the last eighteen hours beyond the softness of her lips and the way she'd grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into another kiss.

J. R. rolled the window all the way down and leaned into the cool breeze, reminding himself of a wedding on the horizon. And after that wedding, she would go back to New York City, and he'd set out for Austin to meet up with another corporate raider type in a thousand-dollar suit with a brokendown Harley in his garage and a lingering dream in his head: a leather vest, torn-up old jeans, and the roar of their bikes as he jammed through the desert with his buddies who bore no real resemblance to Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda anywhere except in his imagination.

"You're thinking about Audrey, aren't you?"

J. R.'s eyes popped open and he jerked toward Devon so quickly that his neck cracked. "What?"

"You can admit it, man. I can see that she got to you."

"What are you talking about?" he objected. "I'm thinking about my trip to Austin, you dolt."

"Sure you are."

The pompous, knowing smile on his brother's face made J. R. toy with the idea of slugging him.

"Hey, check it out. I haven't been to this bakery in years. Let's stop in for a couple brownies."

"Dev, are you joking, man? You just had eight Krystal burgers, fries, two Cokes and a lemon pie. Now you want a brownie?"

"C'mon," he said as he reeled around the corner into the parking lot. "These brownies will blow your mind."

Devon was right about the brownies at the Backstreet Bakery. They were great. But it was a little unappetizing to watch him shove three of them down in the space of about ten minutes. To make matters worse, he belched all the way back to the house, stinking up the cab until J. R. rolled down the window again in an effort to save himself.

"Man, you reek. You better gargle with Windex or something before you try to kiss your bride later."

"Yeah," Devon replied halfheartedly. "I guess I overdid it. I'll try some Pepto when we get home."

"I hope you have the industrial stuff because you're getting married in just a couple of hours."

Devon groaned. The minute he threw the truck out of gear, he pushed the door open and lost his lunch. Literally. All over the driveway.

"I can't believe this," he strained, bent in half, partway out of the truck and partway still in. "I can eat anything without it getting to me."

"All evidence to the contrary," J. R. replied, tossing his head back against the seat.

The next round began with more of a scream than a heave, and J. R. threw himself out of the truck in search of fresh air that didn't stink of fast food grease and curdled chocolate.

"Ah, man, Carly's gonna kill
meeeeeee."
And it started again.

"Not if I do it first."