Kristine Rolofson – The Husband Project (страница 3)

Meg, bless her, blushed. “Stop,” she whispered.

“I wish you’d hurry up and set a date,” Lucia said. “I want to start planning the wedding cake. Do you want real flowers or frosting flowers?”

“Frosting.”

“Colors?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Meg answered, looking pained. “You’re the baker. What do you think? I’m not sure Owen would go for anything too pink.”

“Some of that depends on the time of year,” Aurora said, plopping a wedding veil on Meg’s head. She fiddled with the headband and fluffed the white tulle. “Red and white for Valentine’s Day would work. It’s a bit of a cliché, but Lucia could make it modern.”

“I could. Or if you prefer spring, I could do April violets,” Lucia murmured. “With yellow daffodils. Or daisies.”

“Pretty,” Aurora said, arranging the tulle so that it expanded like a cloud around Meg’s shoulder-length brown hair.

“A veil? Really?” Meg’s eyes narrowed. “How much have you two had to drink?”

“Very little,” Lucia assured her. “But I’ve been baking cupcakes since four o’clock this morning and I’m wobbly.”

“The veil was your mother’s idea. I guess it’s some kind of family heirloom. I’ll go get your wedding photographer,” Aurora said. “This talk of baking may make me break out in hives.”

Lucia laughed. Meg’s expression was anything but amused, though. “I worry about you,” she said. “You’ve been baking cupcakes at four in the morning for weeks.”

“It’s just for the holidays,” Lucia said, wondering how much longer she could keep up the pace. Early-morning baking, dealing with the boys, frosting and decorating dozens of cupcakes for the noon deliveries. Then picking up the boys at school, laundry, cooking and all the things that went into mothering. She loved it all—well, except for the laundry—but at this time of year she was wearing down fast. However, all the baking was adding to her special savings account in the hope of a March break trip to Orlando. “This is my busiest season, especially for pies. After the holidays I won’t have much to do until Valentine’s Day. So what about February for the wedding?”

“Maybe, but the baby is due that month and Shelly doesn’t want to miss the wedding.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere at all until I know when you’re getting married.”

“You’ll be my matron of honor, right?”

“Absolutely.” Lucia was happy for Meg. Over-the-moon happy. She remembered those months before she’d married Tony, when the world had seemed made just for them, when every look or touch or kiss was magic and life was filled with endless years of possibilities.

“I can help you with the baking, remember,” Meg said. “My kitchen is your kitchen.”

“Thanks, but—” Lucia was about to remind her friend that her kitchen actually belonged to Al, a cook who preferred to be master of all he surveyed, when Aurora hauled Mike over to join them at the bar.

“I told Mike he can take one picture of you, one picture of the ring and one picture of the dessert table, but that’s it,” Aurora said. “And if he complained I’d have Loralee deal with him.”

Mike nodded his agreement, his mouth full of dessert. He wiped his fingers on a crumpled paper napkin before lifting his camera.

“That’s downright mean.” Lucia liked Meg’s mother, but the woman was famous for her multiple marriages and colorful observations, not to mention her flirting skills. Men in her presence were alternately charmed and terrified. She was as different from Lucia’s mother-in-law, Marie, as a woman could be.

“That’s the way it is,” Aurora said with a shrug. “It’s a tough world.”

Lucia moved out of camera range and surveyed the chattering crowd of hungry women. Mama Marie was fussing over the pile of gifts on the pool table, which had been covered with a huge white-and-silver tablecloth. Marie was just under five feet tall, and almost as wide as she was high. A descendant of Italian immigrants who settled in Boston, she had her roots in pasta, meatballs and “gravy,” commonly known in Montana as spaghetti sauce. Her graying hair was cut short and the only makeup she wore was pink lip gloss. She was the most maternal person Lucia knew.

Mike posed Meg behind the stack of presents, took a closeup of the engagement ring and the cupcake stand, then looked longingly at the food table before being hustled out the door by the ever-vigilant Aurora.

Lucia knew that Aurora, thirtyish, mysterious and very self-sufficient, had a lot of experience ushering men out that particular door. She didn’t suffer fools, drunks or boors lightly. Since she ran the only bar in town, the men played—for the most part—by her rules. Her customers minded their manners, their language and their alcohol consumption.

Meg, still wearing her veil, carried a paper plate piled high with meatballs and pasta salad over to Lucia. She nodded toward Loralee. “My mother just told me I needed to use more mascara. She seems to be having a good time.”

“As always.” Loralee, wearing silver boots, black jeans, a white sweater and glittery headband, was knocking back what looked like a blue martini and chatting with Patsy, the local hairdresser.

“She’s talking about coming back here when Shelly’s baby is born or maybe not even leaving at all.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Her broken wrist encased in plaster, Shelly moved carefully around the buffet table and chatted sweetly with Mrs. Parcell, an older woman who, along with her husband and grandson, ranched outside of town. The newest resident in town, the former runaway teen’s long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she sported an overlarge pink sweatshirt that covered her growing baby bump. Lucia guessed the sweatshirt belonged to Loralee, the now-surrogate grandmother who had unceremoniously taken the girl under her wing.

“Has Shelly said what she’s planning to do?”

“Face reality,” Meg said. “At least, that’s what she told us.”

“What exactly is reality?”

“Raising a baby alone. Giving the child up for adoption. I don’t know.”

“We’ll all help her,” Lucia said. “Whatever she decides.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“No,” Lucia said, knowing full well how hard it was to raise children on one’s own. “It won’t be easy. Whatever happens, she’s better off with your mother to keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, which is amazing, since I’m the one who’s always had to keep an eye on my mother.” Meg smiled ruefully. “Do you think Loralee is finally growing up?”

“Well, she hasn’t been married in years,” Lucia pointed out. “That’s progress.”

“You’re right. I should be grateful.” Meg perched on a bar stool and surveyed the party.

Mama Marie hurried over. “You’d probably better start opening presents,” she told Meg. “You’ve got a lot of them, and it’s gonna take a while.”

“I can’t believe this,” Meg sighed. “A party and presents.”

“That’s what happens when you get engaged,” Mama Marie pointed out. “At last.”

“You didn’t have to add the at last,” Meg grumbled.

Lucia laughed.

“I’d like to make a toast!” Aurora lifted a glass of champagne. “Quiet, ladies! We also have several announcements.”

The crowd’s chatter died down, but excitement stayed in the air. Lucia met Mama Marie’s smile with one of her own. Loralee, standing beside her, winked.

“First of all,” Aurora began, “we’re here to congratulate Meg for having the good sense to wait for Owen MacGregor to return to town.”

“It only took sixteen years,” someone hollered. Lucia thought it was Patsy, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Whatever,” Aurora said, waving her elegant hand. “It finally happened, so let’s raise our glasses and wish the couple well. And then? Presents!”

Cheers filled the room as the women clinked glasses.

“Speech!” called Loralee.

“No speech,” her daughter said.

“Just a little one,” Lucia said, pushing Meg forward so she could see the crowd of friends gathered to wish her well.

“Okay.” Meg cleared her throat and smiled at her neighbors. “Thank you, everyone. And thanks especially to Lucia and Aurora for putting this together.” She raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “You’ve seen the ring?”

Another round of cheers.

“I wore this secretly for two weeks when I was a teenager,” she said. “Some of you have heard the story, I know. And I just want to say I’m really happy to have it back.” She laughed when several of the older women fist-pumped the air. “So thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.”

“Open the presents!” This came from Shelly, who looked ready to burst from excitement. At more than six months along she looked ready to burst, period.

Now it was Lucia’s turn to blink back tears. She remembered the sweet discovery of having created a life and feeling the baby move inside her for the first time.

Shelly had inadvertently created a baby with a man who turned out to be married, a man with the morals of a stray, unneutered dog, and her young life had immediately changed and shifted in ways she never could have imagined.

It was a tough thing to learn. Lucia herself had been smacked in the face with the reality that nothing was forever. You never knew what lurked around the corner.

She’d been tiptoeing around corners ever since.

* * *

“HEADING HOME?” The man in the seat next to him turned away from the window and adjusted his seat belt. They were about to take off from a dirt runway in Nicaragua.