Must-Have Husband (Summer Grooms Series) (9 page)

Elizabeth held up her hand in a pledge. “No kneeling in the
dress, even during a Catholic ceremony.”

“And absolutely no dancing,” Connie added with a stern shake
of her head. “There are fines involved.”

“Fines?” Mac asked with surprise.

“You don’t even want to know!” Connie retrieved the heavy
book and set it back on the dresser.

Both women tilted their heads, admiring the dress as if it
were some sort of sacred oracle.

“The important thing is to keep it preserved,” Elizabeth
said.

Connie looked at Mac. “For the next generation.”

He swallowed hard, wondering if he’d want his own daughter
accepting such an enormous responsibility. There might be two Books of Rules by
then. But instead of saying so, he just smiled tightly and said, “Right.”

“Right! Right!” Gilbert echoed.

Elizabeth eyed the happy couple. “So, you two lovebirds.
When’s the big day?”

Connie flushed. “I already told you, Mom. We’re still
working on it.”

“Well, don’t dillydally forever. We can only keep the dress
out of storage so long. Rule number twenty—”

“Four,” Connie finished for her.

“Precisely. And now that it’s here…” She shot Mac a sly wink.
“We might as well use it.”

“I’m sure Connie and I will take that into consideration,
Mrs. Oliver.”

“Please, call me Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth.”

“I think I’ll just pop down the hall and see how the
birthday boy is settling in for the night,” she told the others. Connie and Mac
started to follow her out the door, but she stopped them with a wave of her
hand. “Why don’t the two of you stay here and discuss timing a bit? Perhaps
being in the presence of the dress will inspire you?”

After she’d shut the door, Connie heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry
to have put you through that.”

“It was no trouble.” He strode toward the dress to examine
it more closely. It really was quite nice, for that sort of thing, he supposed.
Not that Mac was accustomed to seeing too many of them. “It’s pretty special to
have something like this in your family.” He met Connie’s gaze. “You’re very
lucky to get to wear it.”

Her eyes flashed with hurt, then watered slightly. “I can’t
believe you actually said that.”

“What? What did I say?”

Connie brought a hand to her chest as she spoke. “That I
was so lucky
to get to wear it?”

“Well, aren’t you?” he asked, dumbfounded.

She huffed. “In a perfect world, yes. In this world
—
the one that you and I
live in?
—
I
don’t see it happening any time soon. Do you?”

Mac felt horrible that he’d somehow inadvertently offended
her. “Connie, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“To what, Mac? Rub in the fact that my family has ordered up
the traditional wedding gown, and Constance Marie Oliver is
—
once again
—
without a groom?”

“I’m here as long as you need me,” he said softly.

“Oh good,” she said, her voice coming out in a whimper as
tears leaked from her eyes. “That means until the end of the weekend, doesn’t
it?”

She reached up a hand to wipe back her tears and raced from
the room as Mac tried to stop her. “Connie, wait!”

But it was too late. She’d already bolted out and slammed
the door. Mac looked down, feeling his boot had caught in something. Oh God, it
was the train of the sacred dress. He jumped back with a start, his boot tip
yanking the length of fabric forward. “Noooo!” Mac yelped as the mannequin
began teetering in the opposite direction. He lunged to catch it, his knees
crashing into the front of the dress.
Rip.
Mac’s stomach clenched at the sickening tearing sound as he and the mannequin
tumbled headlong onto the carpet. The mannequin’s head hit the floor and popped
off with a
crack
, rolling across the
floor like a bowling ball with a swirling bridal veil attached. “Holy crap, I’ve
killed her!” Mac cried with a moan.

“Holy crap! Holy crap!” Gilbert parroted. “Killed her!
Killed her! Killed her!”

Great, now I’ve got a
witness.
Mac scrambled to his feet and carefully righted the mannequin.
But, try as he might, he couldn’t get the torn dress to stay up or the severed
head to stay on. “Oh boy,” he breathed as his heart beat faster. “I’m doomed.”

To his horror, the bird began singing to the tune of “Here
Comes the Bride
.
”

“Doom-doom-de-doom! Doom-doom-de-doom! Squawk!”

Mac ran his fingers through his hair, trying to gather his
thoughts.

“Holy crap! I’ve
killed
her! Killed her! Killed her! Killed her!”

Mac looked toward the corner and gritted his teeth.

Ollie stopped Connie as she raced down the hall, sobbing. “Hey,
sis, what’s the… Have you been crying?”

She met her brother’s gaze with bleary eyes. “It’s Mac,” she
said with a sniff. “I just can’t do this.”

“What’s he done?” Ollie asked combatively. “Because if he’s
hurt you, I swear—”

Connie quickly shook her head. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Well, then, what is it?”

She heaved a breath. “I don’t know if I can go through with
it anymore.”

“Marrying Mac? But why not? I mean, hey,” Ollie said
sympathetically, “I know he’s a little different, doesn’t exactly fit in around
here. But he just needs some time around us, and we’ll get to know him. If you
love him, Connie, then the rest of the family is bound to. I mean, eventually.”

“Even Grandpa?” she asked, raising her chin.

“Especially Grandpa. All he wants is for you to be happy. You
know that.”

“No. What he wants is for me to wear that stupid dress.”

“Hey, listen to me. That dress isn’t stupid. It’s been an
Oliver family tradition for years. All right, I’ll admit at first I thought the
idea was sort of quirky, but now that I’ve seen how all the other women have
gotten into it, I find it kind of…nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. I mean, if Trudy wanted to wear it, I wouldn’t
be opposed.”

“
Trudy?
You can’t
mean…?”

“Not getting anywhere close to thinking about it until we’ve
both finished school. But it is on the back burner, if you know what I mean.”
He grinned, and Connie hugged him soundly.

“That’s wonderful, Ollie!”

“Yeah, it’s cool. But mum’s the word. Okay? I don’t want any
cats out of the bag for a long while. It’s not like I’m asking tomorrow.
Besides,” he said with a grin. “You’re the bride in the spotlight for now.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Ollie had a clue what would make her feel better. “I was
just headed to the kitchen for some Rocky Road ice cream. Want to join me?”

“After a double dessert and that enormous catered dinner?
Are you kidding? You bet!” she said, racing him down the stairs.

Mac shut the door to the gold room behind him and wiped his
brow with the back of his sleeve.

“Sneaking a peek at
the
dress
?” Linda asked as she and Beau strolled by, linked arm in arm.

Mac felt the blood drain from his face. “No…I… Actually, um…”

“Hey, isn’t that supposed to be bad luck before the wedding?”
Beau asked.

“That’s only when the bride is in it,” Mac replied with a
croak.

“Yeah,” Linda said, playfully poking her husband in the
ribs. “Don’t be such a stickler for details.”

Beau laughed out loud as they snuggled together and continued
on their merry way down the hall.

Mac heaved a sigh.

What on earth am I
going to do now?

Chapter Seven

Early the next morning in the billiard room, Wendell Senior
dismissed his nurses, then stealthily rose from his wheelchair, taking his
favorite putter in his hands. How he missed the game, he thought, taking a
broad practice swing. He could see the golf course behind him through the plate
glass window. He and Melissa had commissioned some men to install it shortly
after they’d bought the vineyard, and for forty-eight years, Wendell had never
missed an afternoon of golf. He’d played on through rain, wind, and sun, ever
improving his skill. It was just a shame circumstances and his failing health
had forced him into this chair. Though he did seem to rally some days, he was
concerned things were getting worse. But if his earlier years of smoking cigars
had caused him emphysema, he didn’t want to know it. Best to live out the rest
of his life as well as he could without any further diagnoses getting in the
way. Every time he asked his doctors if he was dying, they said yes. Then
again, they assured him, so were they. Everybody went one day at a time.
Wendell Senior didn’t find this very funny, given his more limited time. Sure,
one might make a joke at fifty. At eighty now, the joke was on him.

He heard the door creak open and scrambled back into his
chair.

“Father? Are you in here?” It was Junior with Elizabeth, his
bride. The boy had really lucked out with that one. She was kind and pretty and
ever the good wife. Plus, she had a solid head on her shoulders and had been a
big help in running the business. Wendell Senior would be able to go to his
grave in peace, leaving Wendell Estates Wines in his son’s and Elizabeth’s
capable hands. Now his final task remained in marrying off his granddaughter.
But seriously, couldn’t she have made a more careful choice for herself?

Wendell pushed back in his chair and set his putter aside. “Yes,
I’m here.”

“Elizabeth and I were hoping to have a moment to talk with
you.”

Wendell frowned, feeling a scolding coming on.

“Where are your nurses?” Elizabeth asked, looking around.

“I sent them out for lattes,” Wendell answered, feeling
grumpy. “I don’t need them around twenty-four-seven, you know.”

“They look like models, Dad,” Junior said. “I’m surprised to
hear you complaining.”

Wendell waved him away. “It’s not the nurses I’m concerned
with. It’s Connie.”

“Precisely what we’re here to see you about,” Junior said.

“She sent you?”

“No. Elizabeth insisted.”

Elizabeth took her husband’s hand.

Wendell studied them both: the united front. “I see.”

“Wendell,” Elizabeth said kindly. “We know that you love
Connie just as much as we do.”

“We also understand that Mac is a little different from the
fiancés she’s brought home before.”

“He took off his clothes at my party!”

Junior drew a breath. “Well, okay, that was unusual. But
Elizabeth has an explanation for that.”

“An explanation?” He studied his daughter-in-law. “In the
sixties, it was free love, then in the seventies came women’s lib. In the
eighties, it was disco, then hip hop; now, I don’t know. But I can tell you one
thing. Disrobing at a party is not the norm in any age!”

Elizabeth raised her brow. “It is at bachelor parties.”

Wendell stared at his son. “You didn’t tell her about…?”

“No, Dad,” Junior said quickly before Wendell could
accidently spout that whole thing about the girl popping out of Junior’s
pre-wedding-night cake. “Our point is this. Connie has made her choice in Mac,
and we
—
Elizabeth
and I”
—h
e tightly
squeezed her hand
— “
believe
that
all of us
should support her.”

“What was I last night if not supportive? I
did
suggest that the new couple have the
first dance.”

“Yes, and that was very nice,” Elizabeth said softly.

“We understand your reservations…” Junior began.

“Do you?” Wendell cut in.

“Of course, we do. He’s in a different line of work than we’re
used to.”

“And out of work besides,” Wendell added. “Ollie filled me
in.”

“He has plans to rebuild his store,” Elizabeth said.

“With what money?”

The three of them looked at each other.

“There’s something that doesn’t add up about this man.”

“Dad, please.”

Elizabeth gazed at him with pleading eyes. “Let’s just give
him this weekend. All right? A little more time to get to know him and prove to
us he’s not nearly the bad guy you think he is.”

“Harrumph.”

“Dad?”

Wendell shifted in his chair, feeling out of sorts again. So
Mac had a burned-down business and was planning to rebuild, with no visible
means of monetary support, as far as any of them could tell. None of this
seemed right to Wendell. In fact, it sounded downright suspicious. As if this
hiking-boot-wearing Tarzan was out to take financial advantage of his
granddaughter. Naturally he wanted her to get married, but to the
right man
, not some tree-swinging
stranger she’d picked up off the Internet.

“Wendell?” Elizabeth pressed when he didn’t answer. “Please
promise you’ll at least try.”

Mac arose early after having spent a fitful night trying to
imagine what he might do to fix his enormous blunder with the dress. It
occurred to him he could ask Ollie to borrow some thread and a sewing needle
while pretending he needed it to stitch up Ollie’s clothes he had ruined. But
then Mac reasoned he shouldn’t go anywhere near that sacred gown again,
especially carrying a sharp instrument. It probably would require professional
repair. Somebody trained in working with delicate materials would have to undo
the damage Mac had caused. His palms grew moist at the realization he’d need to
offer to pay for it, which would probably take all the money from this gig he
was earning to begin with. But could he really charge for his time here when he’d
made a fiasco of the whole event? First by causing a scene on the dance floor,
next by humiliating Connie to tears…then finally by single-handedly destroying
the Oliver family’s crowning glory?

He had to get out of this predicament, but how? He’d already
promised Connie he’d see this weekend through. And when she’d left him in tears,
he’d become more determined than ever to help her. Not for any cash involved,
but because it was the right thing to do. Connie was beautiful and intelligent
and kind. He hadn’t meant to insult her at all by hinting she’d someday wear
that dress, because in his heart he absolutely knew she would. She was a
terrific woman who would make a wonderful wife, for just the right man.