Simple Gone South (Crimson Romance) (32 page)

She hesitated. “I can’t leave you with all this. And alone in the church.”

“I’ll have it done in no time. And I’m not alone. Franklin is vacuuming the sanctuary. He won’t leave until I do.” Anna Beth looked hopeful. Lucy laughed. She seemed to be laughing a lot tonight for other people’s comfort. “Go, Anna Beth. Make Christmas happen for your children.”

“Really, Lucy? You don’t mind? I won’t forget this.” And she was gone, calling Dale as she went.

“Merry Christmas,” Lucy said to the empty air and began to arrange flowers and greenery methodically. Maybe she would deliver the flowers to the hospital herself. She could even do it tomorrow, on Christmas Day, instead of the day after. Those sick people would need a little extra cheer. And come to think of it, she might need to get away from Missy’s for a little while.

She had signed up for hot chocolate and sofa time with Missy, something they both usually loved. But not tonight. Whatever Missy’s tact turned out to be would feel wrong—whether she tried to console, motivate, or even ignore. Though ignoring wasn’t likely. Not Missy’s style at all.

She tucked one final piece of holly into the last arrangement. All done. She wiped down the counters and locked the door of the flower room. Franklin was polishing the altar with lemon oil when she went into the sanctuary.

“I hope I haven’t held you up, Franklin,” she said.

“No.” He paused and smiled at her. “I like to leave everything clean before I go. Besides, I left one big rambunctious mess at my house. Grandkids everywhere. My wife chopping and cooking ninety to nothing. Grown kids playing cards and arguing like they’re five years old. They all think they’ve got to spend the night with us on Christmas Eve. You can’t walk for the sleeping bags.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Lucy said.

He laughed and went back to his polishing. “It is at that. I just wish it could be a quieter kind of wonderful. Wrap up good, Lucy. It smells like snow out there. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said as she walked to the vestibule.

And though she wouldn’t have believed it, when she opened the church door, it didn’t just smell like snow, there was snow—beautiful magical snow falling for a Christmas Eve night.

Except there was no magic—not for her. The only magic she’d ever known, the only magic she’d ever wanted, was in Nashville, Tennessee.

She pulled her coat tight around her and started down the steps.

And, to her amazement, magic stepped out of the shadows.

Lucy held her breath as Brantley mounted the bottom step and held his hands out to her. There was no power on earth that could have stopped her from walking toward him, though she questioned the wisdom in that. But there were snowflakes on his eyelashes, in his hair, all around him. How could she not go to him?

When she was two steps above him, he dropped to his knees.

Her heart sank. Not again. “What are you doing?” she asked.

He smiled but it wasn’t his dazzling golden boy smile. This smile was a little sad but maybe a little hopeful too.

“I got us into this mess on my knees and I’m going to get us out on my knees. I mean that, Lucy Mead.” He took her hands in his. “I am asking you
not
to marry me. I am acknowledging my fears and my demons. But I am willing to fight those demons so that the next time I come to you on bended knee, your answer can be yes.” He squeezed her hands and gave them a little shake. “You said a lot of things to my dad that made a lot of sense. I do want to hide in you.”

Maybe there was some magic to be had after all, if he truly meant what he said. Still, she had to hear more. “I accept your proposal to not marry you,” she said.

“I am not going to promise I will ever be completely over what happened to my family. I can’t promise that I won’t always want to hide in you just a little. But I do promise this: I will not ask you to marry me again until I am completely sure that I can stand on my own. And wise though you may be, Lucy Mead, there was one thing you told my dad that was dead on wrong. You said I didn’t love you. I do, Lucy. With everything I’ve got, I love you. But I will not ask you to be my wife again until I am absolutely sure the need for you has diminished until the love outweighs it.”

Maybe there was some magic to be had and they had a chance.
Maybe
was a scary place to live, even scarier than
probably
. But not nearly as bad as
never
.

He rose but he didn’t take her in his arms or kiss her like she thought he might. Instead, he took her hand and they sat down together on the steps. “I won’t lie to you Lucy; I’m a mess. But I guess you knew that. I had a long talk with my dad today and we both learned some things we didn’t know. Then we got Big Mama in on the sad fest. I’ll tell you all about it later. It’s not everything, but it’s a start.”

“Sometimes a start is much more than just the beginning,” she said. It all sounded good, but there had to be a plan. You just didn’t get up one morning and think
I’m going to lose weight
and expect results if you didn’t do anything differently. “Where do we go from here?”

“First, I’m not going to run anymore.” He looked to her for approval and she squeezed his hand. “I’m going to talk more to my family. Big Mama says there’s a grief counselor at the church and I might try that. Or who knows, I might go to a full-fledged shrink, lay myself out on the couch and talk till I’m hoarse, if that’s what it takes. I’ll figure that part out.” He gave her a sidelong look and dropped his eyelids. “And I hope I’m going to be able to talk to you.”

“You can always count on that,” she promised.

“I’m going to put a building to rights. And I’m going to live in this town. If you’ll let me, I’m going to be with you and love you because I want to, not because you have to keep me in one piece. I have to do that myself.” He laughed. “I sound like some kind of a self-help book, don’t I?”

“You sound like a man,” she said slowly, “who has decided that he’s going to work hard until he’s all right.”

He smiled and this time it was that golden boy smile. “I hate to appear any needier than I already have but I’ve laid my heart at your feet and I haven’t heard a word about getting any of that back.”

She was astounded. She
hadn’t
said it, had she? “Do I love you? Brantley, loving you is the story of my life, the only story I know. And that’s a story that’s never going to end.”

She laughed, and this time it wasn’t for anyone’s comfort, but because a little edge of happy took hold and began to spread.

“Never?” He closed in like he was going to deliver up a Christmas kiss. “I usually don’t like that word, but in that context, I’ll take
never
. But I’m going to be looking for some forever too.”

And she got her magical Christmas kiss with the snow doing a joyful dance around them.

June weddings were overrated. They had to be. Lucy was sure there had never been a more perfect wedding than hers and it was almost September.

And she hadn’t even had to do very much to make her wedding happen. For the first time in their professional lives, Lucy’s parents had not left the country for the summer but had, instead, come to Merritt to be with Lucy and get to know Brantley. Michelle Meade, Aunt Annelle, Miss Caroline, and the book club girls had insisted that Lucy just tell them how she wanted her wedding and they would make it happen.

“After all,” Tolly had said, “it’s your turn. You practically slaved over all of our weddings.”

“It’s not our fault that she’s the one with flair,” Missy said. “When we get done with this wedding, it’s liable to look like a barn dance.”

“It will not,” Lanie said. “She’ll tell us what to do. And you never mind Missy, Lucy. We’ll take care of everything.”

And that had been fine with Lucy—more than fine. She’d had the interior of a building to finish restoring. Now, the Alden Fairfax Brantley Cultural Center was complete and the first function to be held in the Eva Brantley Kincaid Ballroom was Lucy’s wedding reception.

She stood in the corner, not minding one bit being a wallflower at her own party. Her husband wasn’t beside her and she didn’t mind that either—especially since he was playing the piano so everyone could continue to dance while the musicians took a break.

Lucy had not understood the significance of the piano playing until late last spring when he had nonchalantly strolled to the piano at Miss Caroline’s and started to play. There had been tears, first from Miss Caroline, then Charles, and finally, Lucy, once she understood what a hurdle he had crossed. But Brantley hadn’t cried. He’d just smiled and continued on with his rusty rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl
.
”

It had not always been easy. He’d made progress, had setbacks, but he had not run. He’d wanted to a few times, especially the night they had their first argument—something that was also progress but sure hadn’t felt that way at the time. She’d never meant to bring up Savannah, never meant to make a snide remark about how he’d rejected her, but it had been hot, she was tired, and he was being an ass about something. She couldn’t even remember what now.

But the words came out and he was not one bit humble or apologetic. He claimed he’d done the
honorable
thing, the
right
thing, and he stood his ground, never backing down one inch, until they went around and around about it for over an hour.

Then one of them laughed and they made up in the most miraculous way. It was in the sweet moments after making love that he told her that he had finally been able to have a disagreement without thinking someone was going to die because of it.

His therapist would be pleased.

If she had had any doubt that he was going to heal, she would have known better when in June he finally came to her, as he said, “on bended knee.” The ring he presented to her was not the platinum and diamond one that he had pulled out of his pocket all those months ago at the parade party.

No. It was antique rose gold, set with rubies and diamonds—his mother’s ring. And just hours ago at the same altar where he’d been baptized and laid his mother and grandfather to rest, Brantley had slipped Eva’s wide wedding band on her finger.

Now, she ran her finger over the rings and sent out a promise and a prayer.

“Hello, baby girl.” She looked up to see Charles, handsome in his black tie attire. “Admiring your rings? I sure love seeing them on your hand.”

She tried to swallow her tears and failed miserably. “Just making someone a promise that I’ll do my best to love her baby the way she would want him to be loved.”

“Oh, I think she knows that. We all do.” He took a snowy handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her eyes. “But no tears tonight. There’s too much happy here for that.”

And there was. She looked out on the dance floor, where her three best friends and bridesmaids were dancing with their husbands to the beat of Brantley’s questionable rendition of “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?”
No broken hearts there. Her parents were drinking Champagne with Annelle, Lou Anne, and Miss Caroline. Tiptoe Watkins danced in a circle of three with Emma and Beau. And though Evelyn was a guest at the wedding, she was tidying the buffet and seemed to be giving the caterers a piece of her mind. And, oh, look! Arabelle, who, to Lucy’s delight, had come for the wedding, was letting Will Garrett lead her onto the dance floor.

Brantley hit a sour note, but never slowed down and neither did the dancers.

Charles and Lucy laughed together.

“He never was very good,” Charles said.

“Yet he plays on,” Lucy said.

Just then Brantley ended with a flourish and called across the room. “I’ve got time for one more before those hired musicians run me off this fine instrument that my dad bought for this room. But I can’t play this next one without my bride sitting with me on this bench.” He patted the place beside him and gave her a wink and smile.

Then he broke into “My Girl” as she wove her way through the crowd to him.

Before they began writing as Alicia Hunter Pace, Stephanie Jones and Jean Hovey were friends—not just friends, but the finish each other’s sentences and swap shoes on the sidewalk kind of friends.

They had no idea their writing styles would be so different but, upon reflection, they could have looked at their travel styles for a clue. Jean once got off a plane in London with eight dollars, an ATM card, no reservations of any kind, and a vague idea that she wanted to go to the Victoria and Albert museum. When Stephanie travels, she arrives with a detailed concrete plan written in a notebook that she carries in a coordinating tote bag that matches her calendar and her shoes.

There’s something to be said for both philosophies. Traveling by the seat of one’s pants—whether in a foreign country or on the printed page—can lead to adventures never recorded in a guide book, but it seems to work out better if there is a plotter along with her hand on the rudder.

Writing with a partner—most people wouldn’t do it; most people shouldn’t do it. It could easily lead to hair pulling, lawsuits, and funeral food.

But it works for them.

Stephanie lives in Jasper, Alabama, where she teaches third grade and wishes for a bigger bookstore. She is a native Alabamian who likes football, civil war history, and people who follow the rules. She is happy to provide a list of said rules to anyone who needs them.

Jean, a former public librarian, lives in Decatur, Alabama, with her husband in a 100-year-old house that always wants something from her. She likes to cook but has discovered the joy of Mrs. Paul’s fish fillets since becoming a writer.

Stephanie and Jean are both active members of the fabulous Heart of Dixie Chapter of Romantic Writers of America.

Simple Gone South
is the third book in the Gone South series.

For Luke and Lanie’s story, check out
Sweet Gone South
.

For Nathan and Tolly’s story, check out
Scrimmage Gone South

Visit them at their website,
http://aliciahunterpace.com/