Kiss the Bride (20 page)

What guys?
Skye pressed the receiver tighter against her ear. “What's he doing in Boise?”

“Today's the day they all get fitted for their morning suits.”

“Grant too? I thought he worked on Saturdays.”

“Mmm. I guess Chet gave him the day off. I'm glad, 'cause it will be good to mark this off the wedding to-do list.”

Skye's entire body seemed to lighten. Grant was with Buck and the other groomsmen. He couldn't or wouldn't call her when he was down in Boise. Of course, that didn't explain away the silence of the phone on Thursday and Friday, but Grant worked two jobs. Perhaps he'd tried to call her when she wasn't in. Some people didn't like to leave messages. Maybe he was one of them.

“Skye? Are you still there?”

“What? Yes. Yes, I'm still here. Something was . . . about to boil over on the stove.” She winced as the lie slipped off her tongue. “Sorry.”

“Sounds like you're busy. I won't keep you any longer. See you Tuesday.”

“See you Tuesday. Bye.”

Skye returned the handset to the phone cradle but didn't move away from the kitchen counter. There wasn't much point hanging around the house, waiting for the phone to ring again. Not with Grant in Boise for what sounded like at least several hours.

The grout could wait. She needed some fresh air.

Grant wasn't a tuxedo or morning suit kind of guy. But he had to admit the party of men looked handsome in gray tailcoats and trousers with accents of lavender.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered if this was the type of wedding Skye Foster would want. Not him. If he ever got married, he would want it to be by a cowboy preacher with the wedding party and guests all on horseback. Maybe have a big barbecue for the reception.

He gave his head a shake, uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts. He and Skye hadn't even had an official date yet. They were a long ways from romance, and even if romance happened between them, they were still a long ways from talk of a wedding—
if
that time ever came.

“I've got everything I need, Mr. Nichols,” the tailor
said, holding out his hands toward Grant's shoulders to help remove the jacket.

“Thanks.” He shrugged out of the tailcoat, then went into a nearby dressing room. It didn't take long to shed the rest of the wedding finery and get back into jeans, boots, and cotton shirt. Funny, how much more himself he felt with the right clothes on.

When he came out of the dressing room, he found the other men waiting for him.

“Lunch is on Charity,” Buck said with a grin. “Where do you want to eat?”

Ken suggested a popular pizza parlor on State Street.

As they headed for the car, Tom said, “Buck, now that it's getting closer, how do you think you'll like living down here?”

“I've gotten used to the idea,” Buck answered. “I'm no fan of the traffic, but since both Charity and I will be working out of the home, I guess we can avoid the worst of it. And we'll be back in Kings Meadow from spring until after hunting season.”

“Sounds like a good compromise.”

“It was an easy one to make, once I realized how much I loved her.”

Up to that moment, Grant had only listened with half an ear. But now Buck's remark reminded him of something his brother Vince had said to him some years ago.
“I'd do anything for Segunda. You know, climb the highest mountain. Swim the deepest sea. Just so long as she agrees to marry me.”

He pictured Skye once again. Would he want to climb the highest mountain and swim the deepest sea for her?
He'd been on his own for a long time. He hadn't needed to make any compromises. He'd only had himself to think about. Was he ready to put someone else's needs ahead of his own?

He didn't know the answers, but he intended to figure them out. The sooner, the better.

Skye glanced at her watch and quickened her pace. She was
late for church. Again. The congregation would be singing the opening hymn by now. She would have to slip into the back and hope nobody noticed her tardiness.

Rounding the corner, she looked toward the front doors of the church. Her heart flip-flopped. Grant Nichols stood on the steps. His jeans looked new, his black hat obviously one he kept nice for dress occasions. When he saw her, he came down the steps to await her.

“I thought maybe you weren't coming,” he said as she drew near.

“I'm late.” As if he didn't know that already.

Voices raised in song drifted through the closed doors.

He grinned, his eyes saying,
You're right. I already knew you were late
.

“What are you doing here?” That sounded rude. “I mean, don't you go to Meadow Fellowship?”

Grant shrugged. “I thought it was about time I heard Tom preach. Mind if I sit with you?”

Oh, the hammering of her heart. Could he hear it above the singing from inside?

“No,” she answered in a breathless voice. “I don't mind. But we'd better hurry.”

He cupped her elbow with his hand and guided her up the steps, opening the door with his free hand. She slipped into the shadowy narthex, and he followed right behind. Just as they were about to move into the sanctuary, the strains of the amen filled the air.

Skye hurried toward the back pew, hoping to reach it before the congregation sat down, hoping no one would notice how late she was.
How late
we
are
. The thought made her tingle from head to toe.

She stepped into the pew and turned, her gaze sliding to Grant as he moved in at her side. He removed his hat, and when they sat, he placed it on his left knee.

How long had it been, she wondered, since a man had come to church to be with her? Never. Not really. When she was younger, she'd sat with the boys from youth group. Later, she'd often sat with rodeo friends who came to church as a group. But coming to church to be with her? That hadn't happened until now. Of course, Grant had said it was to hear Tom preach, but instinct told her that she was the real reason—and it felt good.

Grant saw her looking at him and smiled. There was that tingling sensation again. She looked toward the pulpit, lest he see what she felt.

Skye had dreamed of marriage, a husband, and lots of
children since she was a girl in pigtails. But she'd longed for all of that under God's covering and blessing. Was it beginning to come true at last?

The service passed in a blur. Skye had a difficult time concentrating on the words spoken and the songs sung. She tried to focus, but it seemed an impossible task.

The congregation rose for Tom Butler's closing prayer, and when he said “Amen,” the sanctuary buzzed with voices as people began to depart. Friendly invitations to Sunday dinner were spoken. Hugs were given. Laughter erupted from small groups.

“So,” Skye said to Grant, “what did you think?”

“I liked it. Tom's a good preacher. Figured he would be.” He stepped backward out of the pew, then waited for her to exit and walk with him.

Skye felt warmth color her cheeks. So strange. She didn't blush easily. Why now? Why this? Before she could answer her own questions, her mom's voice intruded.

“Skye, you
are
here.”

As her parents approached, Skye answered, “Yes, I was running late, so we sat in the back.”

The word
we
drew her mom's gaze to Grant.

“Mom. Dad. This is Grant Nichols. Grant, my parents, Midge and Rand Foster.”

The two men shook hands and exchanged a greeting while her mom turned questioning eyes upon Skye. She returned the look with a small shake of the head. A shake that said,
Don't pry.

“So,” her mom said, as if she hadn't understood the
silent warning, “what are you two doing for Sunday dinner?” Her gaze took in both Skye and Grant.

Skye wanted to sink into the floor.

Grant didn't look bothered. He answered, “Mrs. Foster, I was planning to ask your daughter to go for a drive. It's a fine summer day. I thought we'd get something to eat up in McCall.” He glanced over at Skye. “Interested?”

The embarrassment over her mom's question vanished as she nodded to Grant.

“Well, you two have fun,” her mom said. Then she leaned in to kiss Skye's cheek before whispering, “Call me later.”

Grant once again cupped Skye's elbow, and they followed her parents out of the church, all of them pausing long enough to speak to Tom Butler before passing through the open doors. On the sidewalk, her mom and dad said good-bye to them and walked toward the church parking lot.

Grant tipped his head in the opposite direction. “I'm parked down thataway. You ready? Do you need to go home first?”

“No. I'm ready.”

“Great.”

He stepped around to her left side so that he walked closest to the street. Skye wondered if he treated all women with this much care and respect. But as soon as the thought came to her, she knew the answer was a yes. He was that kind of man. It was obvious that was how he'd been raised.

She glanced at him, curious to know more about that. “Have your parents come for a visit since you moved to Kings Meadow?”

“Nope. Not yet. You know how hard it is for a rancher to get away for any length of time. Dad takes care of most of the ranch work himself. I've got brothers who pitch in, of course, but they've got other jobs, and all but one have families of their own.” He gave a slight shrug. “So I go home for visits when I can.”

They arrived at his Jeep, and he held the door for her as she got in. What was it about his polite actions that made her feel pretty and feminine? And so very eager to know what would come next.

Northbound traffic was light on this summer Sunday afternoon, and Grant was content to drive in silence with Skye at his side. The windows were down, and the wind tugged at their hair. The air smelled fresh and sweet. He glanced to his right and saw a smile curve the corners of her mouth.

That's a good sign.

When he had to slow down for a series of curves in the winding road, he said, “I've got a friend who recently opened a restaurant in McCall. I thought we'd eat there. Unless you're too hungry to wait that long.”

“I can wait,” she answered. “There're not a lot of choices between here and there anyway.”

He sensed her gaze upon him. It was insane, the way it made him feel. The way
she
made him feel. And it surprised him how eager he was to dive headlong into the insanity.

“Okay to have some music?” she asked, already reaching for the audio control.

His Jeep was over twenty years old, but he'd had a new stereo system put in the previous year. Even with the windows down, the speakers put forth a great sound. The playlist was a mixture of classic country and hits by current recording artists, and he knew he'd chosen well when Skye began to sing along. Soon Grant's voice joined hers.

The miles seemed to melt away beneath the spinning tires as they sang their way toward their destination. When they tired of singing, they chatted about this and that. Grant always enjoyed learning something new about Skye. And even when they fell silent, it was comfortable instead of awkward. Before Grant knew it, they had reached the outskirts of McCall. He eased off the gas as the speed limit dropped, ten miles per hour at a time. Skye reached over and turned off the stereo.