Wedding Survivor (37 page)

"When you're
ready
? Is he nuts? We're fucking stuck!" Vince blustered.

"Shut up, Vince," Olivia snapped, and waved at Ari.

"Hey," Vince said, "is that Rebecca Strand he's with?"

Olivia jerked toward Vince, her eyes narrowed. "You blindass fool! Of course it's not her. Why would it be
her? "

He shrugged. "It looks like her. If it's not Rebecca Strand, then who is it?" he asked, apparently the only one oblivious to Olivia's ire—although it was hard to understand how he could possibly miss it, the rest of them were blown back ten or fifteen feet by the fire that was blowing out of her ears and nose at that very moment.

"It's Caroline Devereaux," Marnie said helpfully, and got such a scathing look from Olivia that Eli was surprised she didn't melt on the spot. Poor Marnie could have no way of knowing that Vince had once diddled Caroline on the studio back lot during the production of a feature film. He didn't think Olivia knew it, but judging by her ferocious look now, she certainly did.

"Huh," Vince said, nodding thoughtfully. "I haven't seen her since we filmed
Backwards
."

"Who the fuck cares?' Olivia seethed.

Yep. She knew, all right

And she might have actually obliterated Vince with that hardass gaze of hers had Rhys not stepped between the bridal couple and pointed.

"He's aiming that thing at
us
," he announced. They all jerked their gazes across the ravine.

Olivia's mother was making out with the cinematographer, and a group of about five were gathered around one four-wheeler, passing a flask. Jack and another guy who Eli thought was a lodge employee had pulled the trailer toward the edge of the ravine, and the snowblower pipe that would blow feathers over the guests at the reception was pointed directly at them.

Jack had always been an inventor of sorts, even when they were kids. He was the one who'd rigged the mother of all cherry bombs and blown the fur off Cooper's cat. With a wide grin, Eli went down on his haunches. This was going to be
good
.

"What precisely does he intend to do with that thing?" Rhys demanded.

"I think he intends to shoot some sandwiches our way," Eli responded, and Rhys looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. But then Jack called out to someone, and a woman in the group of five passing the flask shrieked, jumped off her seat on the four-wheeler, and fished a box from the four-wheeler's basket. Clutching it tightly to her chest, she hurried forward to Jack and smiled a little too adoringly as she handed it to him.

The old boy had obviously been working on more than the snowblower, Eli figured.

The rest of that motley crew gathered around behind Jack, crowding him and the snowblower. The thing was six to eight feet tall, and when Jack proclaimed it loaded, the two professional dancers, or whatever they were, lined everyone up on either side of the thing. Both of them appeared to be explaining something to their respective groups.

"What the hell?" Eli muttered, just as the first apple came flying across the ravine.

It just missed hitting Marnie in the head. "Hey!" she shouted across the ravine as she ducked another apple. A cheer went up from the left side of the snowblower, and Eli turned around, saw that the second apple had hit a tree. They were betting, he surmised, one half getting points for everything an apple did hit, and the other side getting points for a clean drop. More apples came, and as one rolled down to Eli's foot, he picked it up, noticed it had what looked like bite marks in it. The snowblower had a serrated blade, he gathered, to help grind up snow and ice. Or apples, depending on its use.

Jack shot about fifteen apples at them, and once Marnie and Olivia had gotten over their shock at being fired on, they scrambled to pick them up, losing only two to the ravine.

When Jack paused the snowblower, the two professional guests quickly compared notes; a wail was heard from the team on the left as they all reached for their pockets and pulled out a handful of bills. A few minutes later, Jack started the thing up again: The guests quickly resumed their positions and watched as the first sandwich was hurled across the ravine, landing squarely on Rhys's foot.

Rhys bent down and picked it up as the sandwiches continued to fly. "Mmm. Peanut butter and jam," he informed them, and proceeded to open the plastic wrap and eat it.

"Hey!" Vince said. "That's not fair!"

Rhys shrugged and continued munching as another sandwich hit him in the shoulder, much to the delight of the team on the left. "If you will only look about, you will notice they've an entire box. I think there is more than enough to see us through."

He was right—they ended up shooting about thirty mangled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in all. The bridal party did not seem to care—they were starved and had each gathered up armfuls of apples and sandwiches.

When the last PB&J was shot across, Jack turned the snowblower off, flipped open his radio, and gestured for Eli to do the same. "That ought to get you through the next day," he said.

"Peanut butter? That's all they've got down there?" Eli asked.

"That, and a lot of lobster," Jack said. "Okay, gotta book." He clicked off.

Eli and the rest of his castaways watched as the guests settled up their bets with a lot of laughter and high fives, then got on their four-wheelers and drove off with Olivia's mother waving over the top of her head to her daughter.

When the four-wheelers had disappeared, Olivia looked down at her pile of sandwiches. "They're all messed up," she said tearfully.

"For chrissakes, Olivia," Vince sighed wearily. "It's food!" And with that, he started the grim hike back to the meadow, munching on an apple.

At the cabin, they sat in silence, each of them eating a couple of sandwiches and an apple and drinking bottled water. No one was in the mood for talking—Olivia kept glaring at Vince, and when Eli tried to make eye contact with Marnie, she refused to look at him.

It was Rhys who finally broke the silence. "What shall we do today?" he asked cheerfully. The man acted like he was on a little camping vacation.

"Oh I dunno, Rhys," Vince sighed. "Nap? What else is there to do?"

"I had in mind something a little more engaging than that," he said primly. "We're all rather desperate for a bath."

"There's no water, genius," Olivia said.

"There certainly
is
water. Mr. McCain here managed to put out enough receptacles for rainwater to wash with."

The group collectively snapped their gaze to Eli, startling him.

"There's
some
water," he said instantly. "But not enough for baths."

"How much?" Olivia demanded.

"Enough to wash up. For at least a couple of people."

"Dibs!" Olivia shouted, jumping to her feet.

"No, no—hey!" Marnie stammered, coming to her feet, too. "You can't have dibs! I want a bath, too!"

"Sorry, Marn. It's not your wedding."

"There isn't
any
wedding at the moment," Vince reminded her. "And I want to shave. I can't stand hair on my face."

"Whatever, Vince. It's not like you have enough facial hair that anyone can actually notice," Olivia shot back. "And I am
so
not washing after you!"

"I've quite a bit of facial hair," Rhys said. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to tidy up a bit."

"Then use the lake!" Olivia cried. "That's the only place with enough water for you!"

Marnie gasped at her insult, but Rhys was quite unaffected by it. "I will not bathe in that water. It is stagnant and there is a peculiar smell."

"Marmots," Eli said.

The four of them looked at him questioningly. "Giant gophers," he clarified. "They live just above the lake, a colony of them. Their waste is what you smell. It washes into the lake."

"Ohmigod," Olivia swooned.

"But the real problem we've got is parasites and the paint from the arch, which is washing off and casting a film on the lake."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Olivia demanded. "We'll have to share the water you've collected. And I'm the bride, so I should get to go first!"

"I suggest we draw straws," Eli said calmly. "It's the only fair thing to do."

"I'm not drawing straws," Olivia huffed.

"Then perhaps we might compete for it," Rhys said. "You know, like they do on
Survivor
."

"Are you kidding?" Marnie asked. "How would we compete for it?"

Rhys looked at Eli. So did Marnie, her big maple-brown eyes blinking up at him and making him feel even worse for having been such a jerk to her last night. Olivia snorted, but Vince was smiling and nodding. "Great idea, Doughman. A contest. So think of something, Eli."

Eli frowned. But then he looked at Olivia, pouting because she was not getting her way, and said, "Sure. A contest. How about this—you guys will work in teams of two. Each team will have thirty minutes to drag that altar out of the lake. The first one to get it out gets the first shot at the rainwater. The losers get sloppy seconds."

"That is so lame!" Olivia exclaimed.

"Why?" Eli asked. "We've got to get it out of the lake."

"Why do we have to get it out of the lake? Why can't we just leave it there? It's ruined and I don't want it anymore!"

"Because," Eli said calmly, even though he was quickly losing patience with the diva, "we are responsible adults, and responsible adults don't leave trash to pollute the lakes the wildlife use. That's why."

"Get off your soapbox, will you?" Olivia snapped. "You act like a fucking game warden."

Okay, the chick was really riding his last nerve. He bit his tongue to keep from saying what he
really
wanted to say, then said quietly, "You want the rainwater, Olivia? I am the only one who knows where the buckets are."

"I'll do it. I'll do anything to wash my hair," Marnie said, putting her hand to her enormous furball of hair. "But… but what if neither of us can get it out?" she asked. "And how will we choose teams?"

"That's for you to decide," Eli said, and stood up, gathering the remaining sandwiches and apples. "In the meantime, I'll just put these somewhere safe."

The other four eyed him and each other suspiciously.

"I'm not entering some fucking contest to take a bath!" Olivia haughtily informed them, and marched for the cabin door. "I'm going to get a nap," she said curtly, and disappeared inside.

"Bitch," Vince muttered.

That left Rhys and Marnie to eye each other, and judging by the looks on their faces, neither of them seemed too terribly happy with the prospect of hooking up for the contest.

"I think I should like another look at the lake," Rhys said after a moment. "Perhaps it is not too terribly bad for washing."

Marnie watched him walk down the steps and toward the lake, then glanced at Eli from the comer of her eye. She sighed wearily, put her hand to her hair again, then followed Rhys away from the cabin, heading to the tent, her hair bouncing in a tangled ball behind her.

Eli shrugged and went in search of one of Rhys's coolers.

IN the tent, Marnie sat cross-legged and tried to pull her hands through the mess of her hair. One thing was certain, if she had to partner with Rhys, she'd never get to wash her hair, because she knew
he
wouldn't get in mat water. She'd have to do it, because she had to wash her hair. It was the top item on her agenda. She couldn't stand the feel of it another moment

She couldn't stand being around Eli and not being with him, either. All day she'd waffled—one moment she was furious with him for being such an ass, but then he'd look at her with that expression of amusement and affection and it would just seep into her and make her ache for him.

Marnie was miserable, and with a moan, she threw herself down on the sleeping bag that smelled like Eli, and that only reminded her that she was falling in love with a stupid cowboy with stupid hangups. Yes, yes, she was falling in love, it was so clear! Not a moment passed that she didn't think of him, and she was watching his every move. She had all the maturity of a sixth-grader. But she couldn't help it! He was handsome and strong and smelled so damn good, like a real man, like a sexy man, and she loved the way his body felt in hers and around hers, and she loved the fact that he was wounded and not a womanizer, and she loved how he managed to keep so calm when everyone else was panicking and how he knew just the right thing to do in every situation—

"
Psst
! Marnie!"

Marnie pushed herself up and turned her head to see Olivia poking her head through the tent. She smiled and climbed through, zipping the tent flap behind her.

Marnie was definitely not in the mood. "What are you doing?" she asked as Olivia crawled to sit next to Marnie's head.

"
I have to talk to you
," Olivia whispered, peering intently at the tent flap, as if she expected someone to come through it at any moment.

Marnie looked at the tent flap, then at Olivia. "
Why are you whispering
?"

"
Sssh
! I don't want anyone to hear us!" She turned from the tent flap and scooched around so that she was facing Marnier "Listen, Vince is an asshole. I am so thankful for this disaster, because if I had actually married him, I would have killed myself in a week."

"Oh Olivia," Marnie said, and put a comforting hand on her knee. "You're just feeling very stressed right now. You're going to marry him."

"I am not!" Olivia spat and slapped Marnie's hand off her knee. "I've learned way too much about him, and believe me, it's not good!"

This from a woman who was calling out for his sweet meat only last night
, Marnie thought.

"So Marnie, we have to stick together."

"Stick together?"

"If we're not careful, Vince will take all the water and leave us to die! He is that fucking selfish! And God only knows how long we can eat peanut butter and jelly before we turn on each other!"

Marnie snorted. "Aren't you being just a smidge over-dramatic, Olivia? We're not going to be here much longer. No one is going to die. And if they can shoot peanut butter and jelly, then surely then can shoot something else over here. Lobsters, maybe."