A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge / Three Times A Bridesmaid…: A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge

‘You’re just teasing me with false hope.’

‘It’s chilli,’ she said, in no mood for teasing him or anyone else. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you own this place?’

‘Does it matter?’

He said it lightly enough, but there was a challenge in those dark eyes that suggested it did.

‘It does when the manager feels he can’t ask you to leave, despite the fact that the room has been bought and paid for by a bona fide guest,’ she replied.

‘None of my resort managers would expect a sick guest to leave. You, I take it,’ he said, ‘have no such inhibitions.’

‘Too right. Although, since we both now know that you’re not a guest, you’d better enjoy that chilli while you can.’

‘That sounds like a threat.’

‘I don’t make threats. I make promises. Unless you make your own arrangements to leave, I’ll be ordering up an air ambulance to take you out of here first thing in the morning. You’d better decide where you want it to take you.’

‘Ambulances only have one destination,’ he pointed out. ‘They’re not a taxi service.’

‘Right. Well, that’s an additional incentive because I’m betting they don’t have an la carte menu at the local hospital,’ she replied, refusing to think what that would be like.

He was successful, wealthy. Hospital would be a very different experience for him, she told herself, blocking out the memory of her mother shrinking away to nothing in a bare room.

Gideon McGrath would be in a private suite with the best of everything. Maybe. Would the local hospital have private suites?

‘Is that really chilli?’ he asked gently, as if he genuinely sympathised with her dilemma. And, just like that, all the hard-faced determination leached out of her and she knew that she couldn’t do it.

‘I wanted you in a good mood,’ she admitted. ‘I even phoned your PA and gave her your message.’

‘What did she say?’

‘The exact word was unrepeatable,’ she replied. ‘Have you never heard of Serafina March?’

‘March? That’s Cara’s name. Is she a relative?’

‘Her aunt. She’s the queen of the designer wedding. She wrote The Perfect Wedding, the definitive book on the subject.’

‘I take it there is some reason for you telling me this.’

‘You can relax, Gideon. This hasn’t got anything to do with your marketing department thinking up new ways to drum up business. Serafina visited her niece in the office and saw some photographs of this place. Quiet, off the beaten track, just what she was looking for.’

‘Why didn’t someone just say no?’

‘Apparently she is unfamiliar with the word. Cara offered to take the blame, fall on her sword if it will help.’

‘Only because she knows she’s indispensable.’

She’d said that too, but Josie didn’t tell him that. Instead, she swallowed a mouthful of water, then, hot, tired, she pushed her glasses onto the top of her head, tilted it back and poured the rest of it over her face, shivering as the icy water trickled down her throat, between her breasts. Then she poured herself another glass before turning to find Gideon staring at her.

‘Did you want some water?’ she offered.

‘Er…I’ll pass, thanks.’

She glanced at the glass in her hand and then at him. ‘No…’ Then, despite everything, she laughed. ‘You really shouldn’t put ideas like that into my head. Not after the morning I’ve had.’

‘Pass me the chilli and take the weight off your feet,’ he said. ‘My shoulder is at your disposal.’

It was a very fine shoulder. More than broad enough for a woman to lay her head against while she sobbed her heart out. Not that she was about to do that.

‘You already said,’ she reminded him, uncovering the chilli and passing it to him, along with a fork. ‘But if your shoulder was truly mine I’d have it shipped out of here so fast your feet wouldn’t touch the ground. The wise decision would be to go with it.’

Gideon grinned as he tucked into the first decent food he’d had for two days. She was a feisty female and if they’d been anywhere else he’d have put his money on her. But it was going to take more than tough talk to shift him. This was his home turf and all the muscle was on his payroll.

She poured herself another glass of water, this time to drink, and needed no encouragement from him to sink onto the lounger beside him.

‘Damn, this is good,’ he said. Then, glancing at her, ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Her only response was to lift her hand an inch or two in a gesture that suggested eating was too much effort. Maybe it was. Now she was lying down, her eyes closed, the I’m-in-charge mask had slipped.

He’d seen it happen a dozen times. Visitors arrived hyped up on excitement, running on adrenalin and kept going for an hour or two, but it didn’t take long for the journey, the heat, to catch up with them. It had happened to him once or twice and it was like walking into a brick wall.

‘Okay, give,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can help.’

‘You can, but you won’t.’ She caught a yawn. ‘You’ll just lie there, eating your illicit chilli and gloating.’

No…Well, maybe, just a little. He was in a win-win situation. He could make things as difficult for her as possible but, no matter what horrors occurred at this wedding, he knew the pain wouldn’t show on the pages of Celebrity.

Short of the kind of disaster that would make news headlines, the photographs would show smiling celebrities attending a stunningly original wedding, even if they had to fake the pictures digitally.

In the meantime, he had the pleasure of the wedding planner doing everything she could to make him happy.

He smiled as he lifted another forkful of his chef’s excellent chilli. Then lowered it again untasted as he glanced at her untouched lunch.

Was she really not hungry? Or was the food…?

He eased himself forward far enough to lift the cover on her plate.

Steamed fish. Beautifully cooked, no doubt, and with a delicate fan of very pretty vegetables, but not exactly exciting. Clearly, she’d taken the ultimate culinary sacrifice to give him what he wanted.

‘I won’t gloat,’ he promised.

‘Of course you will,’ she replied without moving. Without opening her eyes. ‘You’re hating this. If you could wave a magic wand and make me, Crystal, Tal and the whole wedding disappear you’d do it in a heartbeat.’

‘My mistake,’ he said. ‘I left the magic wand in my other bag.’

Her lips moved into an appreciative smile. ‘Pity. You could have used it to conjure up another couple of rooms and solved all our problems.’

‘Two? I thought you were just one room short?’

She rolled her head an inch or two, looking at him from beneath dark-rimmed lids. Assessing him. Deciding whether she could take him at his word.

‘Don’t fight it,’ he said. ‘You know you want to tell me.’

‘You’re the enemy,’ she reminded him. Then, apparently deciding that it didn’t matter one way or the other, she let her head fall back and, with a tiny sigh, said, ‘My problem is the chief bridesmaid.’

‘Oh, that’s always a tricky one. Has she fallen out with the bride over her dress?’ he hazarded. ‘I understand the plan is to make them as unflattering as possible in order to show off the bride to best advantage.’

Her mouth twitched. ‘Wrong. I promise you the bridesmaids’ dresses are show-stoppers.’

‘Oh, right. The bride has fallen out with the bridesmaid for looking too glamorous?’

‘Not that either.’

‘The bride caught her flirting with the groom?’ Nothing. ‘Kissing the groom?’ A shake of her head. ‘In bed with the groom?’

‘That would mean the wedding was off.’ Her voice was slowing as she had to think harder to find the words. ‘This is worse. Much worse.’

‘What on earth could be worse than that?’

‘The chief bridesmaid has dumped her partner.’

‘Oh.’ He frowned, trying to see why that would be a cause for wailing and gnashing of teeth. ‘Surely that means you’ve got an extra bed? You could share her room and the happy couple could have yours. Problem solved.’

‘Problem doubled,’ she replied. ‘The reason she dumped him is because she has a new man in her life and she’s not going anywhere without him.’

‘Okaaay,’ he said, still not getting it. ‘One man out, one man in. No gain, but we’re just back to square one.’

‘If only life were that simple. Unfortunately, her ex is the best man and while I’d love to suggest that you move in with him, solving one of my problems,’ she said, still awake enough to wield her tongue with sarcastic precision, ‘it seems that he wants to show the world just how much he isn’t hurting. To that end, he’s bringing his brand new girlfriend with him.’

‘You’re not convinced that it’s true love?’

‘Anything is possible,’ she admitted, ‘but it would have made my life a whole lot easier if he’d declared himself too broken-hearted to come to the wedding…’

All the tension had left her body now. Her hand, beside her, was perfectly still. Her breathing was slowing. For a moment he thought she’d gone, but an insect buzzed noisily across the deck just above her and she jerked her eyes open, flapped at it.

‘Celebrity would have loved a tragic broken-heart cover story, a nice little tear-jerker to wrap around the wedding,’ she said, easing herself up the lounger, battling her body’s need for sleep, ‘and bump up the emotional headline count. And a new best man would have been easier to find than another room.’

‘You’re all heart, Josie Fowler.’

‘I’m a realist, Gideon McGrath. I’ve left David juggling the accommodation in an attempt to find some space somewhere—anywhere. Hopefully with sufficient distance between the best man and the bridesmaid to avoid fingernails at dawn.’

‘And if he can’t?’

‘If the worst comes to the worst I’ll let them have my room.’

‘And where will you sleep?’ he persisted as she began to slip away again.

‘I can crash in the office,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve slept in worse places…’

And that was it. She was gone. Out like a light.

He took his time about finishing the chilli, wondering where Josie had slept that was worse than David’s office floor. Who she was. Where she came from, because she certainly wasn’t one of those finishing school girls with cut-glass accents who regularly descended on his office to organise the launch parties for his new ventures.

It wasn’t just her street smart, in-your-face image that set her apart. There was an edginess about her, a desperate need to succeed that made her vulnerable in a way those other girls could never be.

It was a need he recognised, understood and, replacing his plate on the tray, he eased himself off the lounger, straightened slowly, held his breath while the pain bit deep. After a moment it settled to a dull ache and he wound out the shade so that when the sun moved around Josie would be protected from its rays.

That done, he tugged on the bell to summon Francis, then he made it, without mishap, to the bathroom.

Maybe he should make Josie’s day and keep going while he had sufficient movement to enable him to get onto a plane. Perhaps catch up with Matt in Patagonia.

Just the thought was enough to bring the pain flooding back and he had to grab hold of the door to stop himself from falling.

Josie opened her eyes. Glanced at Gideon.

He was lying back, hands linked behind his head, totally relaxed, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. She met good-looking men all the time in her job. Rich, powerful, good-looking men, but that was just work and while they, occasionally, suggested continuing a business meeting over a drink or dinner, she was never tempted to mix business with pleasure.

It had to be because she was out of her comfort zone here, out on a limb and on her own, that made her more vulnerable to a smile. He had, despite the bickering, touched something deep inside her, a need that she had spent a long time denying.

While there was no doubt that he was causing her all kinds of bother, it was as if he was, in some way that she couldn’t quite fathom, her collaborator. A partner. Not a shoulder to cry on—she did not weep—but someone to turn to.

She wanted him gone. But she wanted him to stay too and, as if he could hear the jumble of confused thoughts turning over in her brain, he turned and smiled across at her.

The effect was almost physical. Like a jolt of electricity that fizzed through her.

‘Okay?’ he asked, quirking up a brow.

‘Y-yes…’ Then, ‘No.’

Her mouth was gluey; she felt dried out. Not surprising. It had been a manic forty-eight hours. A long evening at the office making sure that everything was covered while she was away. A quick meeting with the bride, a scramble to pack and get to the airport. And she’d spent most of her time on the plane getting to grips with ‘the design’, making sure she was on top of everything that had to be done.

‘There’s water if you need it,’ he said, nodding towards a bottle, dewed with moisture, that was standing on the table between them.

‘Thanks.’

She took a long drink, then found the stick of her favourite strawberry-flavoured lip balm she always kept in her pocket.

‘What was I saying?’ she asked.

‘That you’d slept in worse places than David’s office.’

She paused in the act of uncapping the stick, suddenly chilled despite the hot sun filtering through the trees as she remembered those places. The remand cell. The six long months while she was locked up. The hostel…

She slowly wound up the balm, taking her time about applying it to her lips. Taking another long pull on the water while she tried to recall the conversation that had led up to that.

The shortage of rooms. The wretched bridesmaid and the equally annoying best man. That was it. She’d been telling him about the need for yet another room. And she had told him that she’d sleep in the office if necessary…

After that she didn’t remember anything.

Weird…

She stopped worrying about it—it would all come back to her—and, in an attempt to make a joke of it, she said, ‘You won’t tell David I said that, will you? About sleeping on his office floor. I don’t want to give him an excuse to give up trying to find somewhere.’

‘I won’t,’ Gideon assured her. ‘Not that it matters. David won’t let you sleep in his office. Not if he values his job.’

‘His job?’ She frowned. ‘Are you saying that you’d fire him? When you’re one of the reasons we’re in this mess?’

‘There are health, safety, insurance considerations,’ he said. ‘You’re a guest. If anything were to happen to you while you were bedded down on the office floor, you’d sue the pants off me.’

‘Too right.’ She’d considered denying it, but clearly it wasn’t going to make any difference what she said. ‘The pants, the shirt and everything else. Better leave now,’ she urged him. Then, just to remind him that he owed her a favour, ‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’

‘Yes, thanks. Your sacrifice was appreciated.’

Sacrifice? Didn’t he know that city girls lived on steamed fish and a mouthful of salad if they wanted to keep their figures? At least when they were being good. She could eat a pizza right now, but the fish would do and she turned to the tray. It wasn’t there. There was nothing but the bottle of water.

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