The Secret Wedding Dress (20 page)

Restless, yet filled with energy, Joel ended up pacing the floor in his office. If Sylvie didn’t care to tell him the story of
the
dress, he’d make up his own version. That was better anyway. Magnolia wasn’t Sylvie, and his strip was always a mix of truth and fiction.

Besides, Sylvie was someone he’d come to care for—a lot. God, when he saw her eyes tonight after he’d brought up that damned dress. Unguarded pain. Grief. Maybe the guy in New York had died. Death wasn’t something he did in his strip.

He
spent some time concocting a reason for Magnolia to be carting around a half-finished wedding dress. She was healing from inner wounds inflicted by a thoughtless lover—someone she’d trusted. Someone who’d left her for the clichéd other woman. Or maybe…the guy had used her in another way? What if he’d sponged off her? Off Magnolia’s hard work as a dressmaker.

Rocking in his computer chair, Joel wracked his brain. What if the asshole had talked Magnolia into sewing a batch of wedding dresses, then sold them and pocketed the cash? Oh, yeah. Readers would be totally sympathetic. So, say this guy used the funds to elope with a real bimbo? His readers could relate to that, he’d bet.

Before he shut off his computer, turned out the light and meandered bleary-eyed to bed, Joel had scanned and e-mailed three-fourths of the strips his boss had asked for. As well, he signed the contract and got it ready to return by courier the next day.

S
YLVIE DUMPED
their uneaten popcorn, hand-washed and dried the glasses and bowl and generally tried to wipe out any sign that Joel had spent the evening there. She plumped the couch pillows on her way in to take a bath. Soaking until her hands and feet shriveled, Sylvie finally crawled out After donning her nightgown, she pulled the cover off her last masterpiece. The last of her dream collection. Tonight, she sat and stared at the half-finished garment and cried. This dress represented so much, including the most beautiful of her sketches. And yet there it stood, the symbol of her failure. She hated that even after so long, town gossips were still speculating about her humiliation.

She sobbed until she was drained. Until she fell asleep. These weren’t the first tears she’d shed over Desmond Emerson’s betrayal.
The spy. The thief.
Sylvie knew in her heart that she’d never heal until the memory of that last awful week in New York stopped making her cry.

She
awakened to light, noise and a blinding headache. The dress sat in the corner of her bedroom in all its icy beauty. Yards of silk tulle in a long train sprigged with lacy appliquéd branches, and leaves studded with seed pears and faux diamonds guaranteed to sparkle as the bride walked down the aisle.

Once the previous night flooded back, Sylvie realized she’d overslept. What had awakened her, someone banging at the door? Grabbing a robe, Sylvie called, “Just a minute.” She stopped long enough to zip the cover over the mocking gown.

Flinging open the door, she threw an arm over her eyes to ward off the blast of sunlight. She saw Rianne running up the Mercer drive.

Her sister, Dory, waltzed into the house followed by Kendra and Peg Wiley, Dory’s neighbor and Sylvie’s client, whose spaniel was due to have puppies.

“Are you sick?” Dory asked.

“A headache is all. I took some aspirin last night,” Sylvie fibbed, tying her robe around her waist. She saw Dory circling the room, and was very glad she’d taken the time to restore it to rights.

But she’d missed putting away the video. Dory’s sharp eyes pinpointed it, and she swooped to pull it from the VCR portion of Sylvie’s combination player.

“My sister has a whole evening to entertain her high-voltage neighbor, and what does she do?” Dory wailed. “She watches a boring old movie.” Slapping the case back on the TV, she followed her diatribe with a sound of disgust.

Sylvie did what she always did—she laughed at her sister’s feigned outrage. And at the moment, was glad she’d forgotten to put away the movie. If Joel managed to act cool today, maybe they could keep her family in the dark.

She hugged her niece hello, then greeted Peg Wiley.

The woman could no longer contain her excitement. “Sylvie, Trixie had her babies last night! The vet helped deliver five of the most beautiful pups you’ll ever see. The kids, especially
Kendra and Rianne, are dying to see them. Dory insisted we come and ask Rianne’s dad if she can stay longer. And I came to see if you still want one of the pups.”

“Yes, I’ve decided I do. Just give me time to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Oh, Dory, while I dress, would you make us some coffee?”

Kendra ran up to her mother. “Is it okay if I go next door to see why Rianne’s taking so long? She said she was only going home to tell her dad she wants to stay at our house until after lunch.”

“Wait a minute. Sylvie,” Dory called, “instead of Kendra going next door, you can trot over there in your sexy red robe. If that doesn’t wake up Mr. Mercer’s you-know-what, then he’s a walking corpse.”

Sylvie blushed; she could feel it. “Dory, he’s a nice man. And a good father. But he’s nothing more than a neighbor. I wish you’d stop this.”

“Dad or not, Joel Mercer’s
hot.
Carline thinks so, too.” Dory had followed Sylvie to her bedroom.

Sylvie shoved her sister out.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Dory’s expression was uncharacteristically sober. “It’s not just his looks. He could be the right guy for you. Plus he has a kid—a ready-made family. And considering how much he adores her, he’d probably want another kid if he got married again.” Dory shrugged lightly. “You know, Sylvie, I really wouldn’t trade a moment of motherhood. It’s the most fulfilling experience in the world. And you’re going to wait until it’s too late.”

“Too late? Granted, I’m older than you, but I’m only twenty-six. I recently saw a woman on TV who had twins at fifty.”

“Believe me, sis, you don’t want to wait
that
long. You want to have your children while making babies is fun. Sylvie Shea, you’re a coward.”

“Dory, I’m shutting my bedroom door so I can get dressed in peace. I do not, I repeat, do
not
need lectures from my kid
sister.” Sylvie did close the door then and leaned against it with a sigh. Dory would never let her hear the end of it if she ever discovered how her older sister had spent part of last night.

Dory was banging around in the kitchen when Sylvie emerged. Her eyes drawn to the girls seated on either side of Peg Wiley, she didn’t immediately notice Joel propped in her kitchen doorway, one shoulder against the frame. He held a steaming mug of coffee. “Oversleep?” he asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“I must’ve forgotten to switch on my alarm,” Sylvie admitted, trying her best to douse another blush.

Rianne glanced up. “Daddy forgot to set his alarm, too,” she announced. “I had to ring the doorbell lots of times to wake him up.”

Sylvie loved the fact that he turned red as he mumbled, “I worked in my office until almost one a.m., snooks.”

She would’ve loved to ask what was so fascinating about his job, but Dory came over carrying a pot of coffee and three travel cups. She topped Joel’s, and after handing cups to Peg and Sylvie, Dory filled them.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s load up and go see those pups. I’ll run home and collect Roy first, so Grant can head off to work. Sylvie, guess what? Joel’s taking all us out for breakfast afterward.”

“Why?” Sylvie scalded her tongue on her coffee.

“Oh, call it a celebration,” he said, looking smug as he let his gaze sweep her from head to toe.

Sylvie’s mouth fell open and once again she felt heat flood her face. Last night he’d agreed to keep quiet about what had happened between them.

Aware of exactly what Sylvie was thinking, Joel straightened to his full height before clarifying his earlier statement. “You don’t want to celebrate choosing a new pup? I thought that called for at least an orange-juice toast.”

Kendra and Rianne flew off the couch and danced around
and around. “I want a clown-face pancake with strawberry eyes and a chocolate chip smile,” Kendra shouted.

“Whoa. Lower the volume,” Dory said, stilling her daughter’s frantic movements. “Since Rianne’s daddy’s buying, he gets to choose where we eat.”

Kendra stopped. She glanced up and up and up at her friend’s tall father. “‘Cept for my grandma Nan’s Mickey Mouse pancakes, Bettyanne’s clown pancakes are the best.”

“I want a clown pancake, too, Daddy.” Rianne added her plea to Kendra’s.

“Who’s Bettyanne?” Joel turned helpless eyes on the women in the room. “If I agree, will I be putting some poor neighbor of yours on the spot, Dory?”

She laughed. And it was Sylvie who supplied his answer. “Bettyanne Carmichael runs a Bed-and-Breakfast about two miles out of town. During the winter when tourist season slows, locals can make reservations to have breakfast there.”

“Is tourist season over?” Joel inquired of the room at large.

“Not until after Labor Day,” Sylvie said.

“Not to worry.” Dory hauled out her cell phone. “I heard Bettyanne and Mick’s oldest daughter, Brandy, just got engaged. She’ll want you to make her dress, Sylvie. You guys run on ahead to see Peg’s pups. Here—” she pulled three of Sylvie’s pattern books out of the book shelf “—take these. I’ll phone Bettyanne.”

Dory shoved everyone out the door. It wasn’t until Sylvie found herself seated next to Joel and on her way to Peg’s home, that she wondered whether or not this was another elaborate setup hatched by her family.

“Peg, did Trixie have her puppies early?”

“Maybe a day. I alerted Doc Weber last week. He said he’d drop in as this was Trixie’s first litter. Why did you think she delivered early, Sylvie?”

She turned to smile at Peg. “Just confused, I guess. It’s nothing,” she added.

Joel
glanced at her. “I know what you’re thinking, Sylvie,” he said in a low voice. “This is the marriage vigilantes’ work. But it’s gotta be coincidence.”

She bobbed her head. “You’re right. They couldn’t anticipate exactly when Trixie would give birth.” Shifting closer, she murmured, “Watch what you say at breakfast, Joel. Especially if we’re discussing weddings. That’s when they’re at their sneakiest.”

“I get you. You mean talking about weddings begets more weddings?”

“Exactly.”

“Are you two getting married?” Peg leaned excitedly toward them.

“No, no, and
no!
” Sylvie pounced on her poor unsuspecting friend.

Joel caught Peg’s eye in the rearview mirror and shrugged.

She arched a narrow eyebrow. “Ah, I understand. Nan’s wearing her matchmaking hat again, and this time you two are in her sights, huh, Sylvie?”

“You hit that nail square, Peg. Oh, Joel, turn in the driveway by the dark-green house. That’s Peg’s.”

“I live in the white house next door,” Kendra said from the far back seat. “Mama beat us home. I guess Daddy left, ‘cause Mama’s got Roy.”

They could all see that Dory stood at the end of the drive holding Roy. The minute Sylvie opened her door, Dory came up to explain that eating at Bettyanne’s was out. “Brandy does want you to make her dress, Syl, but she’ll have to come see you. The bed-and-breakfast is full. So it’s breakfast at the café in town, kids, or
nada.
”

They groused a bit, but the prospect of seeing the puppies for the first time made them forget about clown pancakes.

Peg led them up a cobblestone walk and into a pristine house. They followed single file into a den that had obviously
been given over to the dog, who lay on her side in an elaborate doggie bed. The five puppies were tumbling over one another to eat. Trixie raised her spotted head when the visitors walked in and slapped her tail several times against the pillow.

“Which puppy do you want, Sylvie? I promised my husband I’d only keep one,” Peg added, gazing lovingly at all five squirming little creatures.

“I want one,” Rianne said. “Daddy, Peg said they won’t be big enough to leave Trixie for eight whole weeks. But that could be my birthday present.”

Kendra hugged Rianne. “Two look ‘xactly alike. We’re getting one, Mama said. If you take the other one with black spots, our puppies can be twins.”

Joel touched Rianne’s shoulder. “What about Fluffy? She didn’t like Oscar.”

“Oscar’s big. A puppy’s little. I’ve got a calendar that shows kitties and puppies who are friends. I bet they can be friends,” Rianne insisted stubbornly.

“Pup’ies,” two-year-old Roy gurgled, struggling to climb out of his mother’s arms.

“No, you don’t, tiger. We’re going next door. Yell when you’re ready to go eat. About the puppy, Joel—you may as well give in. Kids don’t let up on something like this.”

Feeling sorry for him, Sylvie volunteered to help train the dog. He said okay, and the girls got down on hands and knees to discuss the merits of each puppy as they named their new pets Curly and Spotty. Sylvie selected the runt of the litter, and named him Peanut.

“I’ll talk to Jake when he gets home from work. Maybe he’ll agree to keep the remaining two pups,” Peg mused.

“Serve his favorite meal,” Sylvie suggested.

“Now who’s being manipulative?” Joel snorted. Sylvie had the grace to look guilty. “It’s a good thing the dogs won’t be ready to wean until well after the Labor Day Festival,
Peg. I don’t think I’d want to be training a new pup with all the running around I’ll have to do.”

“Daddy said my birthday will be over before the festival. Kendra, guess what! I get to have a party. Daddy mailed ‘vitations yesterday.” She named the children he’d sent them to. The girls left the pups then and began talking birthday party.

The subject was still being discussed after they were seated at the café.

“Sylvie’s helping me with the party, girls,” Joel said, as he handed around menus. “Don’t forget,” he reminded Sylvie.

“I won’t. What’s the date? I’ll mark my calendar when I get home.”

Rianne shouted out a date a week off. Joel gave the time.

Dory, busy helping her young son decide what he’d eat, let the conversation slide by without comment. That stunned Sylvie. She said as much when breakfast was over and Joel had driven her home.