Saying Yes To The Dress!: The Wedding Planner's Big Day / Married for Their Miracle Baby / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride
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“Michigan,” she said tersely. “It’s a farm community in Michigan. It has a population of about fourteen thousand. Of course, my company serves the surrounding areas, as well.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Don’t say ah like that!”
“Like what?” he said, genuinely baffled.
“Like that explains everything.”
“It does. It explains everything about you.”
“It does not explain everything about me!” she said. “In fact, it says very little about me.”
There were little pink spots appearing on her cheeks, above the sunburned spots.
“Okay,” he said, and put up his hands in mock surrender. Really, he should have left it there. He should keep it all business, let her know what she could and couldn’t do construction wise with severe time restraints, and that was it. His job done.
But Drew was enjoying flustering her, and the little pink spots on her cheeks.
“How old are you?” he asked.
She folded her arms over her own chest—battle stations—and squinted at him. “That is an inappropriate question. How old are you?” she snapped back.
“I’m thirty-one,” he said easily. “I only asked because you look sixteen, but not even Allie would be ridiculous enough to hire a sixteen-year-old to put together this cir—event—would she?”
“I’m twenty-three and Allie is not ridiculous!”
“She isn’t?”
His brother’s future wife had managed to arrange her very busy schedule—she was shooting a movie in Spain—to grant Drew an audience, once, on a brief return to LA, shortly after Joe had phoned and told him with shy and breathless excitement he was getting married.
Drew had not been happy about the announcement. His brother was twenty-one. To date, Joe hadn’t made many major decisions without consulting Drew, though Drew had been opposed to the movie-set building and Joe had gone ahead anyway.
And look where that had led. Because, in a hushed tone of complete reverence, Joe had told Drew who he was marrying.
Drew’s unhappiness had deepened. He had shared it with Joe. His normally easygoing, amenable brother had yelled at him.
Quit trying to control me. Can’t you just be happy for me?
And then Joe, who was usually happy-go-lucky and sunny in nature, had hung up on him. Their conversations since then had been brief and clipped.
Drew had agreed to meet Joe here and help with a few construction projects for the wedding, but he had a secret agenda. He needed to spend time with his brother. Face-to-face time. If he managed to talk some sense into him, all the better.
“I don’t suppose Joe is here yet?” he asked Becky with elaborate casualness.
“No.” She consulted a thick agenda book. “I have him arriving tomorrow morning, first thing. And Allie arriving the day of the wedding.”
Perfect. If he could get Joe away from Allie’s influence, his mission—to stop the wedding, or at least reschedule it until cooler heads prevailed—seemed to have a better chance of succeeding.
Drew liked to think he could read people—the woman in front of him being a case in point. But he had come away from his meeting with Allie Ambrosia feeling a disconcerting sense of not being able to read her at all.
Where’s my brother? Drew had demanded.
Allie Ambrosia had blinked at him. No need to make it sound like a kidnapping.
Which, of course, was exactly what Drew had been feeling it was, and that Allie Ambrosia was solely responsible for the new Joe, who could hang up on his brother and then ignore all his attempts to get in touch with him.
“Allie Ambrosia is sensitive and brilliant and sweet.”
Drew watched Becky with interest as the blaze of color deepened over her sunburn. She was going to rise to defend someone she perceived as the underdog, and that told him almost as much about her as the fact that she hailed from Moose Run, Michigan.
Drew was just not sure who would think of Allie Ambrosia as the underdog. He may have been frustrated about his inability to read his future sister-in-law, but neither sensitive nor sweet would have made his short list of descriptive adjectives. Though they probably would have for Becky, even after such a short acquaintance.
Allie? Brilliant, maybe. Though if she was it had not shown in her vocabulary. Still, he’d been aware of the possibility of great cunning. She had seemed to Drew to be able to play whatever role she wanted, the real person, whoever and whatever that was, hidden behind eyes so astonishingly emerald he’d wondered if she enhanced the color with contact lenses.
He’d come away from Allie frustrated. He had agreed to build some things for the damn wedding, hoping, he supposed, that this seeming capitulation to his brother’s plans would open the door to communication between them and he could talk some sense into Joe.
He’d have his chance tomorrow. Today, he could unabashedly probe the secrets of the woman his brother had decided to marry.
“And you would know Allie is sensitive and brilliant and sweet, why?” he asked Becky, trying not to let on just how pleased he was to have found someone who actually seemed to know Allie.
“We went to school together.”
Better still. Someone who knew Allie before she’d caught her big break playing Peggy in a sleeper of a movie called Apple Mountain.
“Allie Ambrosia grew up in Moose Run, Michigan?” He prodded her along. “That is not in the official biography.”
He thought Becky was going to clam up, careful about saying anything about her boss and old school chum, but her need to defend won out.
“Her Moose Run memories may not be her fondest ones,” Becky offered, a bit reluctantly.
“I must say Allie has come a long way from Moose Run,” he said.
“How do you know? How well do you know Allie?”
“I admit I’m assuming, since I hardly know her at all,” Drew said. “This is what I know. She’s had a whirlwind relationship with my little brother, who is building a set on one of her movies. They’ve known each other weeks, not months. And suddenly they are getting married. It can’t last, and this is an awful lot of money and time and trouble to go to for something that can’t last.”
“You’re cynical,” she said, as if that was a bad thing.
“We can’t all come from Moose Run, Michigan.”
She squinted at him, not rising to defend herself, but staying focused on him, which made him very uncomfortable. “You are really upset that they are getting married.”
He wasn’t sure he liked that amount of perception. He didn’t say anything.
“Actually, I think you don’t like weddings, period.”
“What is this, a party trick? You can read my mind?” He intended it to sound funny, but he could hear a certain amount of defensiveness in his tone.
“So, it’s true then.”
“Big deal. Lots of men don’t like weddings.”
“Why is that?”
He frowned at her. He wanted to ferret out some facts about Allie, or talk about construction. He was comfortable talking about construction, even on an ill-conceived project like this. He was a problem solver. He was not comfortable discussing feelings, which an aversion to weddings came dangerously close to.
“They just don’t like them,” he said stubbornly. “Okay, I don’t like them.”
“I’m curious about who made you your brother’s keeper,” she said. “Shouldn’t your parents be talking to him about this?”
“Our parents are dead.”
When something softened in her face, he deliberately hardened himself against it.
“Oh,” Becky said quietly, “I’m so sorry. So you, as older brother, are concerned, and at the same time have volunteered to help out. That’s very sweet.”
“Let’s get something straight right now. There is nothing sweet about me.”
“So why did you agree to help at all?”
He shrugged. “Brothers help each other.”
Joe’s really upset by your reaction to our wedding, Allie had told him. If you agreed to head up the construction, he would see it was just an initial reaction of surprise and that of course you want what is best for your own brother.
Oh, he wanted what was best for Joe, all right. Something must have flashed across Drew’s face, because Becky’s brow lowered.
“Are you going to try to stop the wedding?” she asked suspiciously.
Had he telegraphed his intention to Allie, as well? “Joe’s all grown up, and capable of making up his own mind. But so am I. And it seems like a crazy, impulsive decision he’s made.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“You’d think he would have asked me what I thought,” Drew offered grimly.
A certain measure of pain escaped in that statement, and so he frowned at Becky, daring her to give him sympathy.
Thankfully, she did not even try. “Is this why I can’t have the pavilion? Are you trying to sabotage the whole thing?”
“No,” he said curtly. “I’ll do what I can to give my brother and his beloved a perfect day. If he comes to his senses before then—” He lifted a shoulder.
“If he changes his mind, that would be a great deal of time and money down the tubes,” Becky said.
Drew lifted his shoulder again. “I’m sure you would still get paid.”
“That’s hardly the point!”
“It’s the whole point of running a business.” He glanced at her and sighed. “Please don’t tell me you do it for love.”
Love.
Except for what he felt for his brother, his world was comfortably devoid of that pesky emotion. He was sorry he’d even mentioned the word in front of Becky English.
CHAPTER THREE
“SINCE YOU BROUGHT it up,” Becky said solemnly, “I got the impression from Allie that she and your brother are head over heels in love with one another.”
“Humph.” There was no question his brother was over the moon, way past the point where he could be counted on to make a rational decision. Allie was more difficult to interpret. Allie was an actress. She pretended for a living. It seemed to Drew his brother’s odds of getting hurt were pretty good.
“Joe could have done worse,” Becky said, quietly. “She’s a beautiful, successful woman.”
“Yeah, there’s that.”
“There’s that cynicism again.”
Cynical. Yes, that described Drew Jordan to an absolute T. And he liked being around people who were as hard-edged as him. Didn’t he?
“Look, my brother is twenty-one years old. That’s a little young to be making this kind of decision.”
“You know, despite your barely contained scorn for Moose Run, Michigan, it’s a traditional place where they love nothing more than a wedding. I’ve planned dozens of them.”
Drew had to bite his tongue to keep from crushing her with a sarcastic Dozens?
“I’ve been around this for a while,” she continued. “Take it from me. Age is no guarantee of whether a marriage is going to work out.”
“He’s known her about eight weeks, as far as I can tell!” He was confiding his doubts to a complete stranger, which was not like him. It was even more unlike him to be hoping this wet-behind-the-ears country girl from Moose Run, Michigan, might be able to shed some light on his brother’s mysterious, flawed decision-making process. This was why he liked being around people as not sweet as himself. There was no probing of the secrets of life.
“That doesn’t seem to reflect on how the marriage is going to work out, either.”
“Well, what does then?”
“When I figure it out, I’m going to bottle it and sell it,” she said. There was that earnestness again. “But I’ve planned the weddings of lots of young people who are still together. Young people have big dreams and lots of energy. You need that to buy your first house and have your first baby, and juggle three jobs and—”
“Baby?” Drew said, horrified. “Is she pregnant?” That would explain his brother’s rush to the altar of love.
“I don’t think so,” Becky said.
“But you don’t know for certain.”
“It’s none of my business. Or yours. But even if she is, lots of those kinds of marriages make it, too. I’ve planned weddings for people who have known each other for weeks, and weddings for people who have known each other for years. I planned one wedding for a couple who had lived together for sixteen years. They were getting a divorce six months later. But I’ve seen lots of marriages that work.”
“And how long has your business been running?”
“Two years,” she said.
For some reason, Drew was careful not to be quite as sarcastic as he wanted to be. “So, you’ve seen lots that work for two years. Two years is hardly a testament to a solid relationship.”
“You can tell,” she said stubbornly. “Some people are going to be in love forever.”
Her tone sounded faintly wistful. Something uncomfortable shivered along his spine. He had a feeling he was looking at one of those forever kinds of girls. The kind who were not safe to be around at all.
Though it would take more than a sweet girl from Moose Run to penetrate the armor around his hard heart. He felt impatient with himself for the direction of his thoughts. Wasn’t it proof that she was already penetrating something since they were having this discussion that had nothing to do with her unrealistic building plans?
Drew shook off the feeling and fixed Becky with a particularly hard look.
“Sheesh, maybe you are a member of the Cinderella club, after all.”
“Despite the fact I run a company called Happily-Ever-After—”
He closed his eyes. “That’s as bad as Moose Run.”
“It is a great name for an event planning company.”
“I think I’m getting a headache.”
“But despite my company name, I have long since given up on fairy tales.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Uh-huh,” he said, loading those two syllables with doubt.
“I have!”
“Lady, even before I heard the name of your company, I could tell that you have ‘I’m waiting for my prince to come’ written all over you.”
“I do not.”
“You’ve had a heartbreak.”
“I haven’t,” she said. She was a terrible liar.
“Maybe it wasn’t quite a heartbreak. A romantic disappointment.”
“Now who is playing the mind reader?”
“Aha! I was right, then.”
She glared at him.
“You’ll get over it. And then you’ll be in the prince market all over again.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not him, by the way.”
“Not who?”
“Your prince.”
“Of all the audacious, egotistical, ridiculous—”
“Just saying. I’m not anybody’s prince.”
“You know what? It is more than evident you could not be mistaken for Prince Charming even if you had a crown on your head and tights and golden slippers!”
Now that he’d established some boundaries, he felt he could tease her just a little. “Please tell me you don’t like men who wear tights.”
“What kind of man I like is none of your business!”
“Correct. It’s just that we will be working in close proximity. My shirt has been known to come off. It has been known to make women swoon.” He smiled.
He was enjoying this way more than he had a right to, but it was having the desired effect, putting up a nice big wall between them, and he hadn’t even had to barge in the construction material to do it.
“I’m not just getting a headache,” she said. “I’ve had one since you marched through my door.”
“Oh, great,” he said. “There’s nothing I like as much as a little competition. Let’s see who can give who a bigger headache.”
“The only way I could give you a bigger headache than the one you are giving me is if I smashed this lamp over your head.”
Her hand actually came to rest on a rather heavy-looking brass lamp on the corner of her desk. It was evident to him that she would have loved to do just that if she wasn’t such a prim-and-proper type.
“I’m bringing out the worst in you,” he said with satisfaction. She looked at her hand, resting on the lamp, and looked so appalled with herself that Drew did the thing he least wanted to do. He laughed.
* * *
Becky snatched her hand back from the brass lamp, annoyed with herself, miffed that she was providing amusement for the very cocky Mr. Drew Jordan. She was not the type who smashed people over the head with lamps. Previously, she had not even been the type who would have ever thought about such a thing. She had dealt with some of the world’s—or at least Michigan’s—worst Bridezillas, and never once had she laid hand to lamp. It was one of the things she prided herself in. She kept her cool.
But Drew Jordan had that look of a man who could turn a girl inside out before she even knew what had hit her. He could make a woman who trusted her cool suddenly aware that fingers of heat were licking away inside her, begging for release. And it was disturbing that he knew it!
He was laughing at her. It was super annoying that instead of being properly indignant, steeling herself against attractions that he was as aware of as she was, she could not help but notice how cute he was when he laughed—that sternness stripped from his face, an almost boyish mischievousness lurking underneath.
She frowned at her computer screen, pretending she was getting down to business and that she had called up the weather to double-check his facts. Instead, she learned her head of construction was also the head of a multimillion-dollar Los Angeles development company.
The bride’s future brother-in-law was not an out-of-work tradesman that Becky could threaten to fire. He ran a huge development company in California. No wonder he seemed to be impatient at being pressed into the service of his very famous soon-to-be sister-in-law.
No wonder he’d been professional enough to Google the weather. Becky wondered why she hadn’t thought of doing that. It was nearly the first thing she did for every event.
It was probably because she was being snowed under by Allie’s never-ending requests. Just now she was trying to find a way to honor Allie’s casually thrown-out email, received that morning, which requested freshly planted lavender tulips—picture attached—to line the outdoor aisle she would walk down toward her husband-to-be.
Google, that knowledge reservoir of all things, told Becky she could not have lavender tulips—or any kind of tulip for that matter—in the tropics in June.
What Google confirmed for her now was not the upcoming weather forecast or the impossibility of lavender tulips, but that Drew Jordan was used to million-dollar budgets.
Becky, on the other hand, had started shaking when she had opened the promised deposit check from Allie. Up until then, it had seemed to her that maybe she was being made the butt of a joke. But that check—made out to Happily-Ever-After—had been for more money than she had ever seen in her life.
With trembling fingers she had dialed the private cell number Allie had provided.
“Is this the budget?”
“No, silly, just the deposit.”
“What exactly is your budget?” Becky had asked. Her voice had been shaking as badly as her fingers.
“Limitless,” Allie had said casually. “And I fully intend to exceed it. You don’t think I’m going to be outdone by Roland Strump’s daughter, do you?”
“Allie, maybe you should hire whoever did the Strump wedding, I—”
“Nonsense. Have fun with it, for Pete’s sake. Haven’t you ever had fun? I hope you and Drew don’t manage to bring down the mood of the whole wedding. Sourpusses.”
Sourpuss? She was studious to be sure, but sour? Becky had put down the phone contemplating that. Had she ever had fun? Even at Happily-Ever-After, planning fun events for other people was very serious business, indeed.
Well, now she knew who Drew was. And Allie had been right when it came to him. He could definitely be a sourpuss! It was more worrying that he planned to take off his shirt. She had to get back to business.
“Mr. Jordan—”
“Drew is fine. And what should I call you?”
Barnum. “Becky is fine. We can’t just throw a bunch of tables out on the front lawn as if this were the church picnic.”
“We’re back to that headache.” His lips twitched. “I’m afraid my experience with church picnics has been limited.”
Yes, it was evident he was all devilish charm and dark seduction, while it was written all over her that that was what she came from: church picnics and 4-H clubs, a place where the Fourth of July fireworks were the event of the year.
She shifted her attention to the second no. “And we absolutely need some sort of dance floor. Have you ever tried to dance on grass? Or sand?”
“I’m afraid,” Drew said, “that falls outside of the realm of my experience, too. And you?”
“Oh, you know,” she said. “We like to dust up our heels after the church picnic.”
He nodded, as if that was more than evident to him and he had missed her sarcasm completely.
She focused on his third veto. She looked at her clumsy drawing of a small gazebo on the beach. She had envisioned Allie and Joe saying their vows under it, while their guests sat in beautiful lightweight chairs looking at them and the sea beyond them.
“And what’s your complaint with this one?”
“I’ll forgive you this oversight because of where you are from.”
“Oversight?”
“I wouldn’t really expect a girl from Michigan to have foreseen this. The wedding—” he managed to fill that single word with a great deal of contempt “—according to my notes, is supposed to take place at 4:00 p.m. on June third.”
“Correct.”
“If you Google the tide chart for that day, you’ll see that your gazebo would have water lapping up to the third stair. I’m not really given to omens, but I would probably see that as one.”
She was feeling very tired of Google, except in the context of learning about him. It seemed to her he was the kind of man who brought out the weakness in a woman, even one who had been made as cynical as she had been. Because she felt she could ogle him all day long. And he knew it, she reminded herself.
“So,” she said, a little more sharply than intended, “what do you suggest?”
“If we scratch the pavilion for two hundred—”
“I can get more people to help you.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can probably build you a rudimentary gazebo at a different location.”
“What about the dance floor?”
“I’ll think about it.”
He said that as if he were the boss, not her. From what she had glimpsed about him on the internet he was very used to being in charge. And he obviously knew his stuff, and was good with details. He had spotted the weather and the tides, after all. Really, she should be grateful. What if her bride had marched down her tulip-lined aisle—or whatever the aisle ended up being lined with—to a wedding gazebo that was slowly being swallowed by water?
It bothered her to even think it, but Drew Jordan was right. That would have been a terrible omen.
Still, gratitude was not what Becky felt. Not at all.
“You are winning the headache contest by a country mile,” she told him.
“I’m no kind of expert on the country,” he said, without regret, “but I am competitive.”
“What did Allie tell you? Are you in charge of construction?”
“Absolutely.”
He said it too quickly and with that self-assured smile of a man way too used to having his own way, particularly with the opposite sex.
“I’m going to have to call Allie and see what that means,” Becky said, steeling herself against that smile. “I’m happy to leave construction to you, but I think I should have the final word on what we are putting up and where.”
“I’m okay with that. As long as it’s reasonable.”
“I’m sure we define that differently.”
He flashed his teeth at her again. “I’m sure we do.”
“Would it help you do your job if I brought more people on-site? Carpenters and such?”
“That’s a great idea, but I don’t work with strangers. Joe and I have worked together a lot. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“That wouldn’t be very romantic, him building the stuff for his own wedding.”