Daring Brides (13 page)

Dustin grinned and then reached over to hug her. “I love you, Mom.”

She inhaled his scent. Somehow even over the musky cologne Rhett had bought him for the wedding, she could still smell the little boy scent she’d always cherished about him. “I love you too, Dustin.”

After their boy took his seat, Rhett held out his hand to Abbie. After giving her bouquet to the wedding planner, who stood discreetly off to the side, she clasped his hand in hers.

They turned to face the preacher, who was waiting patiently for them.

“Everyone, please be seated,” he said to their guests.

She didn’t remember much after the ceremony began. Her mind might as well have been filled with thick, fluffy clouds at sunrise streaked with pinks and blues. She heard the preacher speak and tell the story of how they met, but all she could seem to focus on was Rhett and how he was looking at her, how he was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

When Rhett said his vows to her, he cried through it, and so did she. When it came time for her to say her vows, her throat clammed up, and it took her a moment to recover her voice. Her profession to love him all the days of her life came out more like a whisper, but it didn’t matter. The only one who truly needed to hear it was Rhett.

They exchanged rings, and by then, she and Rhett were both grinning like fools, their tears completely gone.

The preacher finished with a blessing, and it moved her to watch Rhett bow his head while still holding both her hands. She felt the blessing all the way to her soul. This was true love, the kind that came from some special design, something bigger than either of them. And she was grateful, so grateful, it had found her after all these years of being on her own.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the preacher said.

“This is my favorite part,” Rhett said in a hushed voice, making her laugh.

“You may kiss the bride,” the man said.

“You better believe it.” Rhett pulled her close to his body and cupped her cheek. “My wife.”

When he kissed her, she met his mouth with equal parts gentleness and benevolence. No one had told her their first kiss as husband and wife would feel different, but somehow it did. It was like receiving a beautiful quilt from your grandmother, knowing it wasn’t just beautiful but would always keep you warm and remind you of all the love and support that comes with that magical unit called a family.

When they parted, she stared at him. He was her family now—her husband, the father of her son and any more children they would have together.

As they walked down the aisle, it felt like they were paving a new path together. And theirs was lined with the sweet fragrance of her favorite rose.

***

If there was one thing Rhett knew how to do, it was throw a party. Rhett surveyed the reception area. He would have been comfortable getting married in a bar strewn with white lights, but Abbie was a table-setting kind of girl, so they’d compromised. Whisky barrels covered with glass tops displayed the various food stations. He could see Rye, Clayton, and John Parker piling on the dry-rub ribs he’d begged to have on the menu. Abbie hadn’t gone for his idea of including a whole spit pig, so they’d have to make do.

An old upside-down wooden soda box off in the corner held the cloth-covered jams and preserves his mama had brought from her lady friends in Natchez to give as gifts to the guests. She had insisted that she provide something, and since he knew his mama’s bourbon-infused plum jam to be the best in five counties, he’d agreed after running the idea by Abbie. There was a simple chalkboard sign that said
Please Take A Jar As Our Thanks For Coming.
He’d already seen Rye take two.

Surrounded by his family and friends, he had the impulse to stand up on a table and make a toast to his new bride.

But he knew Abbie didn’t much care for that kind of flamboyance. Plus, his mama would take him to the woodshed for acting like a deranged groom, even if the deranged part was simply because he was as happy as a lark. Usually she was the one who climbed up on a table, for what she called dancing, and he could only hope she might use a little restraint at his wedding. Which was highly unlikely, he knew.

He eyed his mama as she approached him. Eugenia Lynn Blaylock had never been a small woman. She joked that she’d popped out of her mama’s womb with the God-given curves she’d proudly worn all her life. Her blue dress hugged her ample bosom, and she was already three sheets to the wind from all the mint juleps she and his cousin must have thrown back before the ceremony. She hugged him hard, her hands strong from all the sewing she’d done to provide for them when he was no more than a sprout.

“Son, you’ve done your mama proud, marrying that angel and agreeing to raise her son like your own. I can pass on to my maker now.”

“Don’t you dare talk about dying on my wedding day, Mama,” he told her, hugging her back equally hard since she liked a good squeeze. “Abbie and I plan to give you more grandbabies to dote on besides Dustin.”

She ambled back, her eyes sparkling. “All right then. I’ll wait. Just not too long. Abbie, my dear. I just keep telling Rhett how lucky he was to find an angel like you. Honey child, I swear, you were the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. Who made that gown for you?”

Abbie found his hand. She was still a little daunted by his mama—like most people were at first. Eugenia was loud and feisty and flamboyant. He was a chip off the old block.

“I found it at a bridal boutique in Denver, Mrs. Butler.”

“Honey child, how many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Mama?’ I may have raised this rascal, but I look after my own, and you and Dustin are family now. Dustin, come on over here and give your Me-Maw a kiss.”

If Abbie was daunted, Dustin was flat-out intimidated. Rhett’s mama pinched the boy’s cheeks every chance she got and fussed over him something fierce. Neither one of them had ever been fussed over by the likes of Eugenia Lynn Butler. It would take some getting used to.

Rye nudged Dustin forward, fighting a grin. “Get on over there to Mama, Dustin. She doesn’t bite.”

Even his buddies had taken to calling her Mama. Well, all of them except for Mac. Somehow his mama was charmed by how elegantly Mac Maven called her Mrs. Butler in that dignified way of his.

Dustin padded forward like he was facing the guillotine. Sure enough, Mama pinched his cheeks and then gave him a healthy slap on the back.

“You’re going to grow up to be a fine man, Dustin,” she told him. “I can always tell. The ship is still out on that one over there.”

“Me?” Rye asked, pointing to himself as he swaggered over. “Come on, Mama, you know you like me the best.”

Her laughter guffawed out as Rye swung her around like she didn’t weigh almost two hundred pounds. She pinched his cheek too after he set her down, and he winked at Dustin as if to say, “She does that to everybody.” Well, again, except for Mac. Nobody would ever pinch his cheeks.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a buttered monkey,” Rye said, slapping Clayton on the back. “Let’s go find some food.”

“A buttered monkey?” Abbie asked, her eyes wide.

“It’s just a saying, sugar,” he told her, chortling. “I decided not to put that on the menu for today.”

“Thank God.” She took the white wine Mac handed her. “I need to wet my whistle to keep up with y’all.”

He could feel a shit-eating grin spread across his face. She was working on her colloquialisms, and it was too sweet for words. “I need to find me a mint julep.”

“Charleston, honey,” his mama called out to his cousin, who stood talking with John Parker. “Could you go find me and Rhett two of those delicious mint juleps?”

“You got it, Aunt Eugenia,” Charleston said, excusing herself.

“Rhett, I’ll just go and make sure Rye doesn’t swallow up all the food.” John Parker glanced over his shoulder at their friend, who had made a beeline for the buffet immediately after setting Eugenia down, and then looked back at him. “You know how crazy that man can get at a buffet.”

“One time Rye ate three whole ducks at this tiny Chinese restaurant we came across in Atlanta,” Rhett told the group. “The poor owner asked him to leave. It was hilarious.”

His mama guffawed, and Rhett caught sight of the Hale clan, looking over to see what the ruckus was about. He waved to Jill and Brian, Meredith and Tanner, and Arthur Hale, who was just about Rhett’s favorite old man.

If he had thought there was a chance in hell that Arthur Hale would go for his mama—who was that man’s junior by twenty years at least—he would have played matchmaker. But he just couldn’t see the two of them coming together. It was a darn shame.

Charleston returned with his mint julep, and he loved seeing the fancy pewter cup piled high with crushed ice and topped with a swig of fresh mint and a black straw, the proper Kentucky-Derby way.

“I’d say y’all know how to throw a party,” Charleston said, throwing her blond hair back over her shoulder. “Yours reminds me of a cross between
The Hart of Dixie
meets
Downton Abbey.”

Rhett had heard of that British show, but he’d never watched it. Now,
The Hart of Dixie,
well, he might have watched re-reruns when he was on the road playing poker. He didn’t do much carousing any more, but a man needed something to divert him.

“Why, thank you,” Abbie said graciously.

He’d bet his front teeth she’d never watched
The Hart of Dixie.

“I really like this little town, Rhett,” his cousin said. “I can see why you’ve made it your home beyond the obvious.”

He
had
made it home, which couldn’t have surprised him more. If you’d asked him years ago, he would have bet good money he would one day settle down in the South with a good Southern girl. But meeting Abbie had pretty much blown all those might-have-beens to bits. Thank God.

“You’ll have to come visit us,” Abbie said.

“Yes. Absolutely. You can stay anytime.” Dustin blushed.

It was hard for a man not to blush if he wasn’t related to Charleston. He’d even seen Rye react to her that way before. Her skin was all peaches and cream, her hair like cornsilk, and she had the most unusual shade of eyes—violet—which made her one of the most sought-after debutantes in Natchez. But she had a mind of her own and a mouth on her, so if you so much as tried to tell her what to do, God help you. Which was why she was nearing Southern spinsterhood at the age of thirty-three. Thank God she was a self-made business woman. She’d learned to sew from his mama since her own mother had taken ill and died way too young, and now she owned one of the finest fashion boutiques in Natchez. She designed clothes and sometimes still sewed them herself even though she employed a string of women to help, including his mama.

“That’s awfully sweet of you, sugar,” Charleston told Dustin with a smile. “Y’all will have to come to Natchez too. Rhett, you must bring them during Spring Pilgrimage sometime. Abbie, by the look of the wedding gown you chose—which is too lovely for words—you would go mad-hare crazy over the gowns.”

Rhett cleared his throat. “Charleston, sugar, we might need to ease them in a little bit gentler than that.” Pilgrimage was like walking back into another time with its antebellum reenactments, and if Abbie and Dustin thought his mama was something…well, she was in her element there.

“You’re probably right,” his cousin said. “I think I’ll go find me some of those wonderful ribs. Rhett, I heard you talked the chef from our favorite place in Memphis into giving the recipe to Mac’s chef. You old dog, you.”

He gave her a saucy wink as she headed off.

“I’ll…ah…go help her,” Dustin all but stuttered. “In case she gets lost.”

“Charleston lost?” His mama barked out a laugh. “That will be the day. Even when that girl is off the beaten track, she’s sure she’s in the right place.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” he said, and Mama nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.

“You need to grab your bride a plate, Rhett,” she said. “She looks a bit peaked.”

He turned to survey her. She did look a little drained. Likely from all the conversation with his family.

“How about we find us some food and sit over at the head table?” he asked. “We can talk to the rest of our guests after we eat.” So far, they’d barely made their way inside the reception area.

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Where should we start first?” he asked her, surveying the buffet. He waved to Jane and Elizabeth, who waggled their fingers back at him. Damn, he loved those girls, but it was still weird to see them in normal clothes. Of course, Elizabeth’s red dress had flair while Jane’s tan one suited her more conservative nature when she wasn’t in costume as a poker babe.

“I rather feel like some sea bass, asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes,” she told him.

Yeah, he couldn’t see her sucking the head of a crayfish, and today wasn’t the day to initiate her into that Southern staple. “That sounds like a great plan. Why don’t you go rest your feet while I make you a plate?”

Her radiant smile was answer enough. “Well, my feet do hurt a little. Why can’t they make wedding shoes that don’t pinch your toes?”