Every Bride Needs a Groom (12 page)

Crystal nodded. “Every time we get one of those, we feel like pulling our hair out by the time they're gone.”

“Code pink and blue,” Madge said into the walkie-talkie. “Code pink and blue.”

Brady flew into gear, moving the mannequin wearing the $6,700 gown and other merchandise up out of reach. Madge went to the jewelry case and closed the glass panel on the front, then got on her walkie-talkie again and radioed the news to a teenage boy in the back of the store, who headed our way and started pulling the shoe rack up out of reach.

Lori-Lou didn't seem to notice any of this. She'd decided
to pacify her children with some M&Ms. Perfect. Just the solution in an ocean of white satin and crepe.

Twiggy sighed as she looked my way. “We get at least two of these a day. I adore kids—in theory, anyway—but they wreak havoc on the place.”

“You wouldn't believe the thousands of dollars small children have cost us over the years.” Madge shuddered. She shoved the walkie-talkie into her pocket.

I'd have to remember to tell Lori-Lou later. Right now she was busy giving Gilly a juice box. Grape. Lovely. I could see it now—all over the ivory silk gown directly to the child's right.

“What is it about mamas?” Madge asked. “So many are preoccupied.”

“They don't pay attention to their little
dah
-lings.” Crystal's Southern accent thickened. “So those precious children just run a-
mock
.”

“That's amuck, Crystal,” Dahlia said.

“Amock. Amuck. It's all the same thing. They
tay
-uh the place up and Mama Mia is ob-
liv
-ious. Then when she's gone, we all have to work double time to put the place back ta-
gay
-thuh.”

“Remember the kid with the chocolate bar?” Twiggy visibly shivered. “I'll never forget that.”

“Four hundred dollars just to get the stains out of that taffeta dress.” Dahlia's eyes moistened. “I worked for weeks on that dress, only to see it covered in chocolate like a kid's T-shirt after a day at the circus. Horrible, horrible.” A lone tear trickled down her left cheek.

“If Nadia sees the kids with the M&Ms, we'll have to call in a therapist,” Twiggy said. “Someone needs to talk to Lori-Lou before any damage is done.”

I raised my hand. “I'll do it. She's my cousin, after all.” I'd
just gathered the courage to say something to Lori-Lou when the door of the shop swung open and an older fellow, mostly bald, stepped inside. Tall and thin, he seemed especially out of place in a bridal gown shop. And judging from the expression in his eyes after he pulled off his sunglasses, he felt a little out of place too.

“Ugh.” Madge slapped herself on the forehead. “Just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, the devil himself has to show up.”

“The devil?”

“Well, a distant cousin, anyway.” Madge turned to the others, eyes wide as she said, “Alley-oop!”

Brady, who'd been hyper-focused on Lori-Lou and the messy kids, startled to attention. “Shoot.” He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned. “Here we go again.”

I watched as the older man took a few steps in our direction, his focus on Brady. Unfortunately, he didn't happen to see that Gilly had taken up residence on the floor directly in front of him. The poor guy tripped right over her. This led to bloodcurdling screams from the toddler and a look of hatred from my cousin, who'd only seen enough of what had happened to think the man had deliberately hurt her child.

Gilly continued to wail, the older fellow groaned and grabbed his foot, and Lori-Lou carried on like a Mama Bear. Or would that be Drama Mama?

Then Mariela burst into tears. The baby started crying too, probably scared by all the noise.

I started to rush toward them, but Madge took hold of my arm. “Let it be, girl.”

“But—”

“Let it be. That old guy's got it coming to him. A little time on the floor will do him good.”

“Really? What did he do?”

“He won't leave our Brady alone, that's what. Tries to wear him down. Get him back in the game before it's time. He's a barracuda.”

“Leave him alone? Huh?”

I watched as Brady helped the older man to his feet, then went over and comforted the children.

“I really wish that old fart would give our boy some space. Brady doesn't need to be rushing back onto the court, no matter how popular he is with the fans. He needs time to recover, physically and emotionally. The doctors agree, which is why they've placed him on medical leave.”

“Is that . . .”

“Stan is Brady's agent. And he's all business, trust me. Never gives Brady a minute just to . . . be.”

Stan now stood aright, but I could tell from the way he favored his foot that he'd been injured. Madge and Dahlia headed over to Lori-Lou and offered to take the kids in the workroom to have their snacks. With the wailing behind us, I was finally able to focus on Stan and Brady as an agent-player duo. The older man reminded me of a fellow back in Fairfield—Mr. Harkins, who worked at the bank. I couldn't help but stare at Stan's shiny bald head and his somewhat crooked nose. What really got me, though, was his voice. He might look scrawny, but he came across as authoritative and strong.

“See there, boy?” The fellow slung his arm over Brady's shoulder. “You're in fine shape. You came to my rescue, just like you've done a thousand times for the team.”

“You were on the floor, Stan.” Brady chuckled. “Taken down by a three-year-old.”

“Two-year-old,” I added as I took a few steps in their direction.

“Taken down by a two-year-old.”

“Still, you're missing my point.” Stan pulled a hankie out of his pocket and swiped it over his sweaty head. “Point is your knee must be healed or you couldn't have moved so fast. I'd say you're nearly ready to get back in the game.”

“I'm in the game, Stan.” He gestured to the shop.

The older fellow swiped his head again, then shoved the handkerchief in his pocket. “I refuse to believe you've traded in your Mavericks jersey for a wedding gown. Please tell me it ain't so.”

“Well, when you put it like that, no. Of course not. But I'm where I'm supposed to be for now. I've tried to tell you that before.” Brady gave him a pensive look and I suddenly felt like an intruder. I stepped aside and pretended to look at one of the wedding gowns.

“It takes time to heal.” Brady spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“Well, sure, but remember, my boy, men who take their time come in second. You've never come in second. Besides, the fans are clamoring for you. You wouldn't believe the calls I'm getting. And the owner of the team wants to make sure you'll be back next season.” Stan gave Brady an imploring look. “You are coming back, right? I mean, this wedding biz thing is just a temporary assignment while the knee heals. Right?”

“My mother's going to be in Paris for a year, Stan.”

The older man paled. “But you're under contract.”

“I know.” Brady's face contorted. “But I'm also on medical leave.”

I wanted to interfere at this point but knew better. How dare this old coot come in here and start shoving Brady around? Not that anyone could shove a six-foot-four fella around, but still . . .

“Look, Stan, I'd love to stand here and chat all day, but Katie here has an appointment with my mom soon.” Brady nodded toward me, and I took a step in his direction.

“Katie?” Stan's gaze narrowed as he looked me over. “Great. Another distraction.”

I had no idea what he meant by that but didn't comment.

“If you'll forgive me, I need to help a customer,” Brady said.

I watched from a distance as Brady dealt with a bride whose temper had gotten the better of her. Someone had obviously taught the boy some serious negotiation skills on the court, and they transferred over nicely to the bridal shop. Stan muttered something about needing a cup of coffee and disappeared into the back room.

I turned my attention to the wedding veils while watching Brady in action out of the corner of my eye. A few minutes later, the bride left with a smile on her face and a discount on her dress.

Stan reappeared, coffee cup in hand, at the very moment Brady headed my way. “Sorry I can't stay and chat, Stan.” Brady narrowed his gaze as he saw the open coffee cup. “But Mom's waiting and her time is limited. Excuse us.” He pushed past his agent and gestured for me to join him. As we headed to the back of the store, I glanced one last time at the bald-headed man, who'd pulled out his hankie once again.

“What just happened out there?” I asked.

Brady shook his head. “Don't worry about it. It's mine to deal with.”

“Hmm.” The older guy clearly had him rattled, but I'd better not say anything else. For that matter, I'd better not come clean about my issues anytime soon. Looked like Brady James had enough on his plate for one day. Right now I'd be better off just following along behind him and keeping my mouth shut.

The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don't know what you're doing, someone else does.

Immanuel Kant

M
y visit with Nadia went better than expected. I got so drawn into her design, so overwhelmed by her kindness and love toward me, that I totally forgot I wasn't getting married. We talked for nearly an hour and I gave her idea after idea, all of which she took to heart.

We went back and forth by email until Thursday morning, at which time she presented me with a rough draft of my gown,
one that simply took my breath away. I could see myself—really see myself—walking down the aisle in that. Obviously she could see it too. After promising to email me the final design before passing it off to seamstresses, she hopped on a plane for Paris and left me in Dahlia's capable hands.

The following morning I headed home to spend time with the family. My parents' thirtieth anniversary party was scheduled for the next day, and I needed to be there for them.

Mama thought I was coming back for good. Pop likely did too. But I had to return to Dallas so I could figure out how to deal with the guy from
Texas Bride
. With a Monday morning interview scheduled, I had to think quickly.

I couldn't tell my parents that, however, so I prepped myself to tell them that I needed more time with Lori-Lou and the kids. I arrived in Fairfield on Friday evening just in time to have dinner at Sam's. I ate my fill of coconut cream pie and shared funny stories about my time in Dallas, excluding all of the parts about the bridal salon, of course.

I couldn't help but notice Jasper giving me odd looks. He managed to catch me alone at the dessert bar and leaned in close to whisper a very unexpected question. “What's this I hear about you hanging out with Brady James?”

“W-what?” I stared at him, completely stunned. “Who told you that?”

“Josh. Queenie emailed him to check up on you, and he said you and Lori-Lou were all gallivanting with a pro ball player.”

“Oh no.” I dropped my pie plate and Jasper caught it on the way down. “Does Mama know?”

“No way. Queenie only told me because she wanted to know who Brady James was,” Jasper said. “I think she was hoping he was some sort of secret love interest.”

“No way!” I shook my head. “I barely know the guy.”

“Well, maybe you should take a minute to tell her how you came to spend time with him. Josh said it had something to do with wedding gowns? Didn't make a lick of sense to me.” Jasper grabbed an extra slice of pie and headed back to the table.

I couldn't get past what he'd said. So Queenie knew I'd been at a bridal salon, and she knew about Brady? Why oh why had Josh told her all of that?

I made my way back to the table and did my best to make it through the meal. I could feel my grandmother's eyes on me and knew a conversation would follow. Sure enough, it came in the parking lot, after everyone else had left for the night.

“Something you want to tell me, Katie?” she asked. “About a certain fella you've been seen with in Dallas?”

“It's nothing like what you think, Queenie.”

“You've been spending a lot of time in a bridal shop, Josh says. Is there a reason for that?” She gave me a pensive look. “Still holding out hope that Casey will change his mind?”

“No, it's not that at all.” To be honest, I hadn't spent as much time thinking about Casey as she might've thought. All of the hustle and bustle of the past week had pretty much taken precedence. That, and a houseful of unruly toddlers.

My grandmother reached to take hold of my hand, and her eyes moistened. “Can I ask you a question, Katie, and answer me honestly.”

“Sure, Queenie.”
Oh. Help.

She gave me a thoughtful look, her soft skin wrinkling in concern. “Do you think maybe you're not really in love with Casey?”

“W-what?”

She squeezed my hand. “I'm going to venture a guess that you've been so excited thinking about your wedding that you haven't really had adequate time to think about the groom. Is
that why you're still shopping for wedding items, even though he's gone?”

“Queenie! Of course I've thought about the groom. I . . . I love Casey.”

“You hesitated.”

“No, I do. I've loved him since we were kids. Everyone knows it. Mama knows it. His mama knows it. You know it.”

“But do you know it? I mean, do you really think you're in love with Casey, or are you just in love with the idea of a big wedding with all the trimmings? Is that why you won't give up on this idea?”

I clamped my lips shut before saying something I might regret. How dare she suggest such a thing? Sure, I wanted a big church wedding. And yes, I'd collected enough issues of
Texas Bride
to paper our house. But did that mean I didn't love Casey? Of course not.

“I'm just asking you to pray about it, honey.” Queenie attempted to shift her weight, but her arthritis must've gotten the better of her. She almost tumbled right into me.

“I-I have. I've had plenty of time to pray. And to think.”

“And?”

“And . . .” I sighed. “I have to confess, I've always wanted a big church wedding. That part is right. But I was in love with Casey.”

“Was?”

“Am. I am.”

“You hesitated again.” She pulled me into her arms and planted a kiss in my hair. “Remember what I said that day at my house. Be methodical. Don't dive in headfirst. Take your time. God has big things for you, sweetheart. Maybe even bigger than you dreamed for yourself.”

“Yes ma'am.” I returned her hug, then thought about her words as I drove home. I pondered them as I climbed into my
bed—ah, how wonderful to sleep in my own bed! And I even dreamed about weddings that night. Oddly, I didn't see Casey in my dream. He was nowhere to be found.

When I awoke Saturday morning, the whole Fisher clan was in an uproar, preparing for my parents' anniversary party at the church. I'd never seen Mama so frazzled. Or Pop, for that matter. He'd actually closed down the hardware store for the day. This probably wouldn't be a good time to tell them I planned to go back to Dallas for another week. I'd have to do that after the party.

We ran into a situation when we prepared to leave the house. “Katie Sue, there's something you need to know.” Mama stood next to my car with a concerned look on her face. “The party has been moved to the Presbyterian church, which has raised all sorts of problems with Queenie.”

“Wait. Why isn't it at our church?” I asked.

“There was a flood three days ago. Well, not technically a flood. A toilet overflowed in the women's restroom and leaked under the wall into the carpet of the fellowship hall. The whole place smells like a sewer.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah. We tried to get the Methodist church at the last minute, but they're doing a community outreach today and have over a hundred elementary school children on the premises.”

“That might be a problem.”

“Right. So obviously, that left us with the Charismatics and the Presbyterians.” Mama's gaze narrowed. “I weighed my options. I really did. But in the end, I went with the Presbyterians.”

“Mama, are you saying Queenie won't come to her own son's anniversary party just because of where it's located?”

“She'll come, if Bessie May has to drag her kicking and screaming. But she's not happy.”

“But this isn't about her. It's about you and Pop.”

“Right. Your father tried to tell her that, but would she listen?”

“I talked to Queenie last night. She never mentioned any of this.”

“He didn't call her until this morning. If we'd given her time to think about it, she would've left town.”

“I just don't understand her issues with the Presbyterians. It's the strangest thing.”

I pondered this dilemma as we drove to the church. The fellowship hall at Fairfield Presbyterian was a lovely room, even larger than what we boasted at the Baptist church. And with the WOP-pers doing the decorating, the whole place was festive and bright, just perfect for an anniversary celebration. Still, 10:00 a.m. came and went and the guests arrived in droves, but no Queenie.

For whatever reason, the WOP-pers took it upon themselves to spend the first forty-three minutes of the party focused on my love life, or lack thereof. They somehow involved my mother in the conversation, which only made things more awkward.

The women gathered around me like chicks around a mother hen. Bessie May slipped her arm through mine and patted me like a small child. “Have you been enjoying your time in Dallas, sweet girl?”

“I have.”

“Have you had a chance to visit with a certain handsome young man while there?” Bessie May giggled.

My heart lurched as an image of Brady James flitted through my mind. Had Queenie told my mother that I'd met the handsome ball player?

“We've been sending up prayer after prayer that the Lord
would send him a godly wife,” an older woman named Ophelia said with a wink. “And it's occurred to us that perhaps you are it!”

“Wait . . . who?” I asked.

“Why, Levi Nash, of course.” A faint humor lit Bessie May's eyes. “You haven't figured that out yet?”

“Levi Nash?” I shook my head, unable to process her words. “Are you serious?”

“I believe she is serious, Katie,” Mama said. “The WOP-pers have been praying for Levi for quite some time, as you know. He's walking the straight and narrow now.”

“And you all”—I gestured to the group of women—“believe Levi is the perfect fella for me?” When they nodded, I turned to face my mother. “Mama! I can't believe you of all people really think that. Levi and I have nothing in common.”

“You both love the Lord.”

“Well, yes, but if that's grounds for matrimony, then I could marry millions of single men across the continent.”

“Ooh, that reminds me of a show I watched on television where a fella married seventeen wives.” Bessie May fanned herself with her hand. “I can't believe he got away with that. I do believe he went to jail in the end, if that counts for anything.”

“That wasn't my point, Bessie May,” I said. “And I guess I should go ahead and say that I plan to go back to Dallas for the next week or so to spend more time with Lori-Lou.”

“Poor thing.” Ophelia patted me on the arm. “That Casey Lawson really did break your heart, didn't he?”

“That snake.” Mama's eyes narrowed.

“That scoundrel.” Bessie May shook her head.

“A wolf in sheep's clothing,” Ophelia chimed in.

Before I could come to my almost-fiancé's defense, Mama clasped her hands together at her chest. “Well, forget about
him, honey! I happen to know that Levi is back for the summer, serving as an intern at the church. Maybe you can connect with him while you're home. He's heading up the youth department now, you know.”

“Interning?” I asked. Crazy to think that the guy who'd once wreaked havoc in the youth group was now heading up the whole thing, but whatever.

“Yes. And if you're in Dallas too long, you won't get to connect with him. Do you really have to go back?”

I thought about the interview with the reporter and made up my mind in a hurry. I'd have to go back, if for no other reason than to let Brady know the truth. In fact, I should probably call him today just to put him on alert so that the reporter wouldn't show up.

I didn't have time to say anything else, though, because Queenie arrived. Turned out she'd been in the parking lot for a good fifteen minutes, unwilling to come in the door. Go figure. Reverend Bradford, the Presbyterian pastor, greeted her with a smile, but she huffed right past him and went straight to the food table.

After filling her plate, she took a seat at a table on the perimeter of the room. I walked over and sat beside her, ready to get to the bottom of this.

“Okay, Queenie, enough already. What's your beef with the Presbyterians?”

“Hmm? What?” She glanced my way, the soft wrinkles in her brow deepening.

“You know what I mean. Whenever you talk about how the WOP-pers allow all denominations in their group, you always add the words ‘even the Presbyterians,' as if they're somehow different from the rest.”

Her cheeks blazed pink. “Do I? I didn't realize.”

“Mm-hmm. And Mama said that you had every intention of coming to the party today until you found out it was going to be held here, at the Presbyterian church. Why should that make any difference?”

“Well, the Presbyterians are godly folks, just like all the rest. I suppose . . .”

“You have a problem with their doctrine?” I asked.

“Oh my goodness, no. Nothing like that. I don't claim to be a theologian. Denominational doctrines aren't my specialty. To be honest, I always get a little confused where all of that is concerned. If they're Jesus-lovin' people, well then, they're all right with me.”

“Okay, then what is it? Why do you always hesitate when it comes to the Presbyterians?” I glanced up and noticed that Reverend Bradford was waving at us from across the room. I responded with a little wave, but my grandmother ignored him. “Don't you like Reverend Bradford?” I whispered. “Is that it?”

“L-like him?” Her face grew redder still and she reached for a napkin, which she used to fan her face. “Who said anything about liking or disliking Paul Bradford?”

Very. Odd.

“So you don't like him?”
And why did you call him by his
first name?

“I never said that either.” She attempted to stand, but her arthritis kicked in. “I've been told he's a fine pastor. Just fine. I'm sure he's very good at what he does.” She glanced up at him and her cheeks flamed again. “Whatever that is. Now, if you don't mind, I have more important things to do, please and thank you.”