The Wedding Shop (24 page)

H
ALEY

February 4

There couldn't have been a better day to ride the Harley down I-65 to Birmingham. The first Thursday in February, yielding a perfect, beautiful, clear, cold day. Mom suggested she take Dad's truck since he drove his new BMW to work, but Haley wanted the freedom of the Harley.

A month after applying for the wedding shop renovation permits, she needed a day on the road to think, clear her head, connect with God.

But before hitting the road, Haley pulled up to the shop. She'd left her notebook with all her plans on the mezzanine.

Up the stairs two at a time, energy surged through her. It happened every time she entered the shop. Since Cole and Gomez had knocked down the walls, a light filled the salons. Haley gazed down from the mezzanine. A glow emanated from the shop beyond the light falling through the windows. As if the old place was relieved someone loved it again.

She patted the banister. “Don't worry. I'm doing all I can.” She'd returned to her knees again and again, asking God to help her find the money and resources she needed.

She had an appointment with a bank in Nashville next week.

Back down the stairs, she hit the foyer when the front door swung open. Dax's tall broadform filled the doorway.

Haley stumbled backward, her heels tripping over the bottom step. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Dax inched inside, a faux humble expression on the high cut of his cheeks.

“Out. Right now.” She fired toward him, shoving his six-foot-three frame out the door. His presence tainted her shop, its beauty and innocence. “Get out.”

Dax stepped back, her force against him like a fly hitting a tree. “Calm down, Haley. Geez.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” She pressed the old lock push button and pulled the door closed behind her, locking it, then clutched her notebook to her chest. “How'd you know I was here?”

“I didn't. But I remembered you said something about an old wedding shop downtown. I saw your bike out front when I drove past.” He grinned like he'd discovered gold at the end of a rainbow.

“Good-bye then.” Haley started down the walk, toward her bike and the dark car parked behind it, a shiver in her bones deeper than the cold.

This was
so
Dax. Just showing up. Trying to inch back into her life. Win her over with his big fat lying eyes and corny grin that used to make her knees weak. That still carved a pit in her stomach, if she were honest.

“I've missed you.” Dax leaned his muscled frame against his car, his feet buried in the black snow lining the curb. “I wanted to see if we could—”

“We? There's no we. No us.” She'd punch him in the arm if he'd feel any of it beneath his coat and wad of California beach
muscles. “What about ‘I never want to see you again' left room for doubt?”

“You were mad.”

“Of course I was mad. Dax, you
are
married.” She balled her fist, ready to swing. Oh, she wanted to swing, hit his perfect nose with her fist. “And you drew me into your web of lies and deceit. I can't blame you because I willingly, stupidly went along!”

“Then you'll be glad to know that the situation has been rectified.”

“Rectified? Your marriage and children have been
rectified
. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I'm getting divorced.”

Haley laughed. “Sure, like the ten thousand other times you said that? All the times I begged you to leave her?” She'd lost a piece of her soul when she hooked up with the ox watching her with a smirk and steel-blue eyes. “Do what you want, Dax, but count me out. There is not now nor ever will be a
we
, as in you and me.”

Once she heard “home” was the next direction in her life, she hoped, prayed, believed that returning to Heart's Bend—and now opening this shop—would restore some of what she'd surrendered to this man.

Her innocence. Her dignity. Self-respect. Her hope and zest for life.

Now he stood before her threatening it all.

“So this is it? The wedding shop?” He moved up the front walk again, inspecting the storefront, the pillars by the display window, the ratty landscaping.

“Dax,” Haley said, checking the time on her phone. “I have to go. I have an appointment.”

He peered back at her. “I can help you with this place. I told you I would. Whatever you want, darling.”

Darling? The word on his lips filled her being with a sour taste. “No thanks.”

“Really? Come on, I know you don't have any money.”

“Thanks to you.”

Dax ran a chain of gyms and hawked a series of workout videos that was getting him some acclaim. Haley's credit card and savings helped bankroll his first exercise video.

“You know I owe you. You helped me. Now it's my turn to help you.” He cocked a sporty grin, wiggling his eyebrows. “Last year was a very good year for DM Enterprises.”

And have his nasty tentacles touching her life, her precious shop? No way. If not for herself, then for the love of Miss Cora.

“Dax, you came a long way for nothing. And I really do have to go.”

“Actually, I have a meeting in Nashville.” He walked toward her. “A couple of country music artists got in shape with my videos. We're talking partnership, music to go with a new series of videos.” He waited for her to respond, to be impressed. “Will you meet me for dinner tonight?”

“No.” She turned for her bike, sliding her notebook into the saddlebag. “Have a good meeting and a good life.”

“Come on, babe, why're you doing me this way?” He came around her bike, reaching for her.

“Dax—” As she twisted free, Cole pulled alongside, powering down the passenger window.

“Haley, are you ready? For the
thing
.”

Right, the
thing
. “Yes, I'm on my way. Am I late? So sorry.” At her bike, she pounded on her helmet and revved the engine. All the while Cole waited, his expression like the idling rumble of the truck's engine.

But wait. She had to make one thing clear. Hopping off her bike, Haley walked back to Dax, who stood beside his car.

“When I get back, don't be here. Don't even be in this town.”

C
ORA

October 1931

I
believe I feel rather ill.” She parked along the curb of the central west end of St. Louis, near Forest Park. Had her car not been a luxury purchase a few years ago she feared someone might come along and ask her to “park round back.”

What a fine,
fine
neighborhood.

Beside her, in the passenger seat, Birch, with his fedora riding low over his brow, accentuating the fine angles of his face, whistled low. “Did you know about this?”

“Not a clue,” she said low, more to herself.

“I guess if he is one of the richest men on the river, this shouldn't be a surprise.”

The green lawn was thick and carefully maintained. Most of the lawns in Heart's Bend were brown due to the heat and lack of rain.

Pulling the emergency brake, Cora left the engine to idle, twisting her hands around the firm steering wheel, staring toward the grand front door centered between a row of windows.

The only sound between her and Birch was their individual breathing. After a moment, Birch shifted around, running his hand down his Sunday trousers, his tan, muscled arm peeking from behind the rolled-up sleeve of a well-worn, well-washed dress shirt. His dark tie hung loose about his neck, the top collar button
open. Perspiration beads dotted his forehead and a single trickle of sweat eased down beside his ear.

“Birch.” Cora stretched her hand to his knee. “Thank you.”

He peered at her, but only for a moment. “Anything for you. You know that.”

It'd been almost two months since the shop burned. Cora moved in with Odelia while Tony Nance put together a crew to repair the place.

The fact that Odelia and Cora didn't kill each other was a testament of God's good grace. She'd recovered from the smoke inhalation but still battled headaches and evening fatigue.

Cora dug up her insurance policy and sent a telegram to the main office in New York. They sent an inspector who determined the fire was not arson and authorized funds for the repairs.

Daddy had his many flaws, but his insistence that she purchase insurance saved the shop in these hard times.

But none of her good fortune flowed toward her relationship with Rufus. Here she sat in St. Louis, looking for answers.

“When I was a kid,” Birch said, “my dad drove up to see the sights of the World's Fair. He wanted me to ride along, but Mama thought it'd be too overwhelming for a nine-year-old. Years later Dad said he regretted letting her have her way on that one.”

“Daddy and Mama went too. Left me and EJ with Aunt Jane.”

“If I ever have a kid, I'm taking him to the World's Fair. Dad said it was a sight to see and brought me a coin from the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. I still have it.”

“Really? Mama and Daddy brought us a book on the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. And I still have it.” She sighed. “Thank goodness. I can't imagine the loss if the whole shop had gone up in flames.”

Her momentary sadness solidified into anger. The same emotional melting and freezing she experienced all weekend. Because of her foolish devotion to Rufus, she'd almost lost everything—her
business, pictures, furniture, dishes, treasured memories like the book from the fair. Her future.

“We should get your book and my coin together.” He meant to be lighthearted, but Cora felt the deeper intention of his comment. And by the way he cleared his throat and stared away, he felt it too.

They'd not addressed his proposal since that day at his house. Nor on the drive up. Instead, they chatted about farming, the weather, who in the community was most impacted by the collapse of the banks. How the shop repairs were coming. The fall harvest and coming fair.

Cora brought him up-to-date on Mama since she telephoned last night.

“I still haven't told her about the fire. I just couldn't. Birch, you should've heard the happiness, and relief, in her voice. She laughed heartily when she told me about going to the theater with my aunt and uncle and getting lost during intermission. It was a melodious sound I could not crush with news of a fire. If I told her, she'd be on the next bus home. I just can't do it to her.”

Birch agreed. Cora was handling everything well. No need to drag Esmé back.

“Well, we've stalled long enough for them to look out the window and see us.” Birch folded the map and tucked it neatly into the glove box. “Do you want to turn round? You don't have to go in there.”

“But we drove all this way.”

“So?”

“Do you think he lied, Birch? Really? Why should I trust some Daughtry fella when Rufus is the man I know, love, and trust?”

“Don't ask me. Go inside and find out.”

She snatched up her Ingber beaded bag from where it sat on the seat and popped it open, took out her gloves, and slipped them on with determination. But with each move, her nerves stirred, arousing her adrenaline and making her weak.

“Stop.” Birch placed his hands over hers. “I'm not going in there if you're a nervous wreck. You'll just appear to be begging and, I'm sorry, you're better than that. Cora, I don't understand why you can't see yourself as you truly are—strong, independent, kind, a fine,
fine
Christian woman.”

“I see myself as I am. A rather tall, skinny, plain, foolish woman who needs a lot more Christ in her life.”

Birch stirred in his seat, hands clasped over his knees. “Well, if you're determined to say everything negative I won't try to change your mind with truth.”

“Birch, can we just get through this? Then you can scold me.”

“Let's go.” He huffed and puffed, tugging at his tie. “I don't promise not to punch his lights out.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Have you seen him? He's got arms like Gene Tunney.”

Birch frowned. “And have you seen my arms?” Yes, as a matter of fact she had. “I'm plenty strong, Cora.”

“Precisely. So no fighting.” Cora yanked on her door handle and there she froze. “I'm all tingly and afraid.”

“Because you'll find out the truth.”

“You think you know me so well, don't you?”

“Don't I?” He brushed back his loose, dark bangs, his pale blue eyes fixed on her. “Been knowing you since we were kids. Since y'all came out to Granny's farm for picnics and such.” He laughed, deep and rich, pressing his fisted hand to his lips. “Remember the time we went swimming in the pond and a big ole water snake surfaced and swam alongside us?” He slapped his knee as his laugh filled the car. “I swear you walked on water getting away from it.”

“Goodness, I was twelve. And hush up. You're laughing as hard now as you did then.”

“It's still the funniest thing I've ever seen. Should be in a picture show.”

“You're not helping.”

“Laughter always helps.” He popped open his car door and walked around to her side. “Come on.” He opened her door, offering his hand. “If you want, I'll wait out here. Might run to the drugstore for something cold to drink.”

“What?” Cora hesitated, then gave him her hand. As she rose from the car, his warm hand steadied her. Calmed her cold nerves. “You're going to send me in there by myself? I'd have thought more of you, Birch Good.” She clung to his hand.

“If you ask me, you ought to walk in there like Gunga Din, give him what for and then some.”

“Gunga Din, huh? All right.” She stepped forward, but her weak limbs betrayed her. She stumbled against the car.

Birch slipped his hand about her waist. “Dang, long ride up here must have made your legs fall asleep.”

Her gaze met his. “In case I forget to say it later, you're sweet, Birch. Thank you for being here.”

They walked up the three short steps to the glossy black wrought iron fence surrounding the three-story redbrick home. At the gate, Birch lifted the latch as Cora started the long walk to the front door. Once or twice, Birch touched her back ever so gently.
I'm here.

She rang the bell. On the other side, footsteps hammered against what sounded like a marble floor. Then the door opened to reveal a young colored woman in a maid's uniform, and Cora ached to see her darling Liberty.

“May I help you?”

“Y-yes. I'm looking for Miriam.” Her heart beat with each syllable.

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Miss Cora Scott.”

“It is Sunday afternoon. She spends time with her family. I'll have to see if she can receive you.” The maid pushed the storm door open. “Wait in the foyer.”

“Th-thank you.” Cora leaned into Birch. “I think I'm going to be ill, Birch. I declare I do.” Cora drew a deep breath. Steady now, steady. Glancing about the vast foyer, indeed whoever lived here had money. The marble floor and damask curtains were merely surface indicators.

Low, murmuring voices came from the other side of the wall. “Well, here, take Rufie. Change his diaper.”

In the next breath, a slender, very beautiful woman with pearls around her neck and rich auburn hair framing her delicate face approached, her belly round with life. “I'm Miriam St. Claire. Can I help you?”

Birch's thick arm came about Cora's waist.

“Sorry to barge in on you unannounced. I-I'm Cora Scott.” She offered her hand, a routine, mechanical move, because she certainly had no idea what she'd say next. She'd told herself Miriam was a sister, a cousin, a girl Rufus cared nothing about, really. But she was his wife. With child!

“Birch Good.” He shook Miriam's hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Florence said you needed to speak with me?” She rested one hand on her belly, glancing between Cora and Birch.

“W-when is your baby due?”

She smiled, relaxing. “One month.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Almost thought I lost him, or her, two months ago. Praise be . . . Well now, how can I help you?”

Could she just turn tail and run? Miriam grew more stunning by the moment. And when she smiled Cora knew then she'd been tricked, lied to, by Rufus. Who would want
her
, with her plain brown hair and sharp features, when this Clara Bow–like darling waited at home? Bearing him children, no less.

“Darling, I heard the door. Who's here?”

Rufus. She'd know his voice anywhere.

Cora dug her fingers into Birch's arm as Rufus descended the
stairs, wearing dark trousers and a smoking jacket, his wild mane combed and in place.

“A Miss Cora Scott, darling.”

He stopped, the color draining from his high cheeks. A dark, wicked bolt licked through his eyes and fear bloomed in Cora's middle. She'd never feared him. Until now.

He walked toward her with calculated, stealth movements. A lion protecting his pride. She'd invaded his lair and he'd not tolerate it.

Birch tightened his grip. She couldn't stop shaking. How magnificent he looked. So powerful and handsome. And truly terrifying.

“Miss Scott,” he said, his tone, his eyes, his expression directing her.
Do not say a word.
“Miriam, is this a friend of yours from the Women's League?” His gaze locked with hers and she could feel the draw, the pull, the intent to control.

“No, darling. She just came to the door asking to see me.”

“I'm Birch Good.” He stepped forward, offering his hand to Rufus, but the man ignored him, drilling his gaze deeper into Cora's.

“If you're looking for a charity donation, we've given our allotment for this month.” He wooed her into lying.

“Darling, we have the clothes for the charity barrel.” Miriam gave Cora the once-over. “We mustn't forget people have fallen on hard times. Let me send Florence to box them up.” She squeezed her husband's arm, dazzling him with her perfect smile.

“No,” Cora blurted, finding her courage, her Gunga Din. “We don't need charity. We've not c-come here for a handout.”

“Oh, my mistake.” Miriam turned back to the foyer. Surely she felt the tension. “Well then, how can I help? Florence said you needed to speak to me. What is it?”

“Darling,” Rufus said. “I am parched. Can you get me a glass of tea? The sweet kind I like. With a few ice cubes.”

“Yes, I'll just ring for Florence.” She moved to the front corner, to the damask pull hidden among the draperies. “Shall we sit? I'll have Florence bring us all some iced tea. Have you had iced tea before, Cora? Rufus brought the recipe back to us from somewhere deep in the south. How lucky he is to travel, see the country.”

“Yes, I've had iced tea.”

“Miriam,” Rufus said, his voice smooth, sweet. “Please, can you supervise Florence? She didn't get the concoction correct the last time. The tea was entirely too sweet.”

“I'm not sure that's possible,” Birch said, his awkward chuckle increasing the tension.