CHAPTER TWO
Maggie cleaned at warp speed after Donny and his brother hauled the seventy-five pound wedding cake out to their van. All that pointless mooning had shaved precious minutes off her schedule. While Coralee finished loading the big industrial dishwasher, Maggie rushed upstairs. The great thing about living in an apartment above your own bakery was the commute—which in her case was no more than twenty seconds.
Gus sprang up from a nap on her bed, which was strictly off limits, but Gus liked to pretend he didn’t know that. She heard his nails scrabbling on the hardwood floor in her bedroom. Then he came charging around the corner, tongue lolling, eyes bulging ecstatically. By prancing adorably around her legs, Gus tried to charm her into not scolding him, and it always worked. Maggie knelt down to pet his soft ears.
“Your breath is terrible,” she said as he gusted it all over her. “We’re switching you back to mint Milk Bones.”
Back end still wriggling, Gus preceded her into the bedroom. There would be a telltale warm spot on the bed, of course, but no time to fuss at him now. She shed her clothes and then cranked on the shower. As steam filled the bathroom, she watched her reflection fog over in the full-length mirror. When was the last time she actually looked at herself or paid the slightest attention to her body? Unbidden came the thought of what Jake would see if he were standing here. She imagined him gazing at her full breasts and small waist, her low-slung hips and strong thighs. A shiver rolled over her.
Oh, yes. More mooning. With a sound of disgust, Maggie got into the shower. She loofahed away all thoughts of Jake by scrubbing till her skin turned pink. Then she washed her hair using peppermint shampoo that promised extra shine.
By the time she dried her hair, grabbed her dress and clattered down the stairs, it was already half past one. Damn. Maybe weddings naturally put all kinds of stupid ideas into your head about…mating. Who knew better than she did that even if two people loved each other, that didn’t guarantee things would work out. Love was for fools and teenagers. At twenty-eight, she was far from being either one.
“Just lock up when you’re done,” she called to Coralee on her way out. Maggie ran outside to her truck, wondering how long it would take in this traffic to get to Cassidy and Mason’s ranch.
For the first time in the history of Cuervo, population three thousand, every parking space on Main Street was full. She stood blinking, trying to take it in. Men toting video equipment, microphones and camera lights wandered the streets, but there were regular folks, too, ones she’d never seen before, some standing around, others pushing baby carriages or strollers, clearly here to sightsee.
“My God,” she said out loud.
Network news vans idled in gridlock traffic. Across the street she could see other shop owners with their faces pressed against the windows, clearly just as alarmed as she was.
Maggie threw her shoes and purse in the front seat of her red 1953 Chevy pickup. In her rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Owen pointing straight at her while talking to someone who looked suspiciously like a TV reporter.
Even as Maggie started backing the truck out, the reporter and her cameraman were hurrying over. Maggie gave the engine more gas, narrowly avoiding a guy on a bike, and pretended not to see the reporter trying frantically to wave her down.
Maggie had managed to dodge the press so far. She sure wasn’t going to give up now. She saw an opening behind her and floored it. Score one for the local girl.
A minute later, her phone rang. She swiped to answer the call.
“For heaven’s sake, Maggie, where are you?”
Maggie could always tell when her mother was agitated because Priscilla’s drawl got more twang in it than a steel guitar.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m on the way. Listen, did you check to see if the cake arrived in one piece?”
“The caterers pushed it into the hallway and we had to save it. Look, I don’t trust that wedding planner. I’m pretty sure she drinks.”
To Priscilla, anyone who accepted an offer of a second beer “drank.” Maggie floored it to the next stoplight. “Mom, we’ve been over this. The wedding planner isn’t drunk. She’s just French.”
“Well, I don’t care what she is! I told Cassidy once if I told her a million times—”
“Can you do something for me?” Maggie asked. “I need you to tell April to get everyone dressed and started with the makeup artist.”
“That’s the Maid-of-Honor’s job. If you were actually here—”
“Mom, April is a Maid-of-Honor. We both are.”
Injured silence. Priscilla had objected to having two Maids-of-Honor. She argued that Maggie, as the older sister, should serve in the role exclusively. Also that April didn’t have a strong enough personality to boss six other women around. Plus, at twenty-two, her youngest daughter had no business organizing a bachelorette party where there might be sex toys.
“Fine,” Priscilla snapped and the call ended.
Maggie picked up speed on the back road. She crested a hill and the road descended into a shallow valley dotted by huisache trees. The ranch Mason had bought for Cassidy and her daughter Lexie, made of wood and glass and slate, appeared in the distance. She could see the enormous pavilion festooned with tulle and ribbons. The horse barn, converted temporarily to a wedding venue, had its big doors flung wide.
Well, Cass, you did it, Maggie thought, and her heart swelled with tender pride for her sister, for all the single moms who’d given up on love. Cassidy had rediscovered love with a vengeance. Here then was a monument to that devotion, a place for Cassidy, Mason and Lexie to live when they weren’t in Dallas during the season. Of course, Mason’s place in Dallas was spectacular, too. But after being a teen mom and living on fast food wages, Cassidy deserved every good thing coming to her.
Better still, there’d been no prenup, so Cassidy would be set no matter what awful thing came down the road. Maggie gave herself a mental kick for being so cynical. But hey, she knew, even if no one else did, that love and marriage often came with an expiration date.
She pulled up under a giant soapberry tree and cut the engine. There weren’t many people in back, which would make it easier for her to slip into the house without having to talk to anyone. She gathered her things, shut the door and then hurried toward the house.
Standing next to Lexie’s new dog was Jake, smoking a cigarette.
He looked so remote and mysterious, an elegant contrast to the weathered wood of the nearby barn and the bent, wind-crippled mesquite trees. With the grace of the strong, he squatted down to pet Max, who panted up at him adoringly.
Watching his big hands roam over the dog’s fur and his lips moving as he spoke to it made her restless inside, something that felt a lot like impatience, yet deeper. Hungrier.
Before he caught her staring at him, she rushed through the back door of the ranch house and entered a storm of perfume, hair spray, and a dozen women talking all at once.
“We were waiting for you,” Cassidy’s friend Darlene said. She looked petrified, as though moving might spoil her dress. “Did you hear how many people are going to be there? What if I pass out right in front of everyone?”
Maggie gave Darlene a quick hug. “They’re going to be the ones who pass out because you look that gorgeous.” She waved to red-haired Jessica Coleman, who was busy tying Lexie’s sash.
“Thank God you’re here,” April said, rushing over, her pale pink chiffon gown floating behind her. “Mom is furious. The wedding planner tried to put steer horns in the pavilion because she thought that’s what we do here in Texas. And we caught one of those paparazzi hiding in the barn.”
Maggie sucked in a breath, wondering which fire to put out first. “Okay, find Mason. Tell him the wedding planner has to get rid of those steer horns. Then find the security guy. If he doesn’t fix the paparazzi problem, tell him he’s going to have me to deal with. And he’s not going to like that.”
April looked a little sheepish. “Wouldn’t you rather tell him? Seeing as how you two talked earlier?”
“April Lynn Roby, don’t make me mom you. You’re a social worker, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah, but yelling at people isn’t part of my job.”
Maggie gently escorted her sister to the door. “Go. Yell. That way, they’re sure to hear you.”
When Maggie turned back to the room, everyone besieged her with problems—a lost bouquet here, a rising pimple there. For about thirty minutes, all she did was find flowers, shoes and concealer. Then Shelby Dawkins thought she spotted a rain cloud in the distance and everyone rushed, screaming, to the window. It took Maggie another ten minutes to calm down everyone.
Finally, Cassidy exited the dressing room fully made up and with her honey-blond hair in loose flowing curls. Even without the three-yard train, her gown was a fairytale, fitted close until mid-hip and then flaring out in a cascade of creamy charmeuse. The strapless neckline required tight corseting to support the weight of the fabric, but it made her waist appear extra tiny.
Even though weddings filled Maggie with a dread akin to jury duty, she found herself bubbling over with excitement like everyone else.
“Wow.” Lexie stared rapturously at her mom. “You look like Elsa from Frozen.”
Cassidy took a visible breath and appeared to steady herself. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Seeing how nervous her sister was, Maggie said, “Know what you need? Just a teensy bit of champagne. Jess, do you mind?”
Jessica dashed out of the room while the rest of the bridesmaids gathered around Cassidy to exclaim over her gown. Shy, self-effacing Cassidy was the last woman on earth to enjoy being looked at, but at least she hadn’t locked herself in the bathroom the way Maggie and April had thought she would.
Jessica rushed back into the room with a champagne flute filled to the brim. “Here you go.”
“Whoa there.” Maggie swiped the flute, poured half in the sink, took a sip for herself, and then handed the rest to Cassidy. “Don’t chug.”
But as she watched her sister do battle with her nerves, Maggie kept thinking how two people in love never saw it coming. They stood in front of a minister and said “I do” and had no idea what it felt like to watch love turn into fury. How shared dreams could be chipped away, bit by bit, until there was nothing left.
“Aunt Maggie, can I ask you something?” Lexie asked.
“Ask.” Maggie smiled indulgently. Lexie was always the answer to her own crabbiness.
“Grandma said you hate weddings. She said you call them…” Lexie frowned, clearly trying to remember. “Oh, yeah. ‘Overrated costume dramas for people who don’t have a clue about life.’”
Conversation stopped. Cassidy gazed at her over the rim of her champagne glass and Maggie felt herself flush to the roots of her hair.
“Grandma says a lot of things,” Maggie told her. “But if there were ever two people who could make it work, Mason and your mom are at the top of the list.”
“Gosh, I feel so much better now,” Cassidy murmured.
“Well, I think weddings are rad,” Darlene said. “Especially this one. It gives me hope because, let’s face it, you can’t date in this town without everyone knowing your business.”
The collective groans echoed Maggie’s own beliefs on that subject. Dating in Cuervo was a group sport. But then, you couldn’t go to the corner grocery in shorts and a pair of espadrilles without someone talking about you behind your back.
For some reason, Jake slid through her mind. Jake who was clearly not from Cuervo.
While everyone shared their dating horror stories, Maggie sat for hair and makeup. She listened, thinking maybe the best way to “date” in Cuervo was with someone you never expected to see again. Was that so wrong? That way, nobody knew about it. And if they didn’t know about it, they couldn’t trash-talk you. Get in, get out, no fuss, no muss, no strings, no hurt feelings, no gossip, no—
“Maggie, Mom wants to see you,” April said from the doorway. She stopped. Blinked. “Well, don’t you look amazing?”
She did? Maggie finished wiggling her foot into a pink satin slipper and turned around to see herself in the mirror. With her hair in a loose chignon, all spiraling tendrils and artfully woven baby’s breath, she looked like one of those eighteenth century ladies who read poetry under a silk parasol. Her skin had never been more radiant. The smoky eyeshadow played up the darkness of her eyes. Maybe weddings weren’t so bad after all.
“You’d better hurry,” April told her. “The guests are starting to pour in and Mom is having a come apart.”