Summer Wedding Bells: Marriage Wanted / Lone Star Lovin'. Debbie Macomber
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Savannah said. “But, Mom—”
“Just look at your dad.” Laughing, Joyce motioned toward the kitchen window that looked out over the freshly mowed backyard. The barbecue was heating on the brick patio and her father was showing Nash his prize fishing flies. He’d been tying his own for years and took real pride in the craft; now that he’d retired, it was his favorite hobby.
After glancing out at them, Savannah sank into a kitchen chair. Her mother had poured her a glass of lemonade. Her father displayed his fishing flies only when the guest was someone important, someone he was hoping to impress. Savannah should have realized when she first mentioned Nash that her father had made completely the wrong assumption about this meeting.
“Mom,” she said, clenching the ice-cold glass. “I think you should know Nash and I are friends. Nothing more.”
“We know that, dear. Do you think he’ll like my pasta salad? I added jumbo shrimp this time. I hope he’s not a fussy eater.”
Jumbo shrimp! So they were rolling out the red carpet. With her dad it was the fishing flies, with her mother it was pasta salad. She sighed. What had she let herself in for now?
“I’m sure he’ll enjoy your salad.” And if his anti-marriage argument—his evidence—was stronger than hers, he’d be eating seven more meals with a member of the Charles family. Her. She could only hope her parents conveyed the success of their relationship to this cynical lawyer.
“Your father’s barbecuing steaks.”
“T-bone,” Savannah guessed.
“Probably. I forget what he told me when he took them out of the freezer.”
Savannah managed a smile.
“I thought we’d eat outside,” her mother went on. “You don’t mind, do you, dear?”
“No, Mom, that’ll be great.” Maybe a little sunshine would lift her spirits.
“Let’s go outside, then, shall we?” her mother said, carrying the large wooden bowl with the shrimp pasta salad.
The early-evening weather was perfect. Warm, with a subtle breeze and slanting sunlight. Her mother’s prize roses bloomed against the fence line. The bright red ones were Savannah’s favorite. The flowering rhododendron tree spread out its pink limbs in opulent welcome. Robins chatted back and forth like long-lost friends.
Nash looked up from the fishing rod he was holding and smiled. At least he was enjoying himself. Or seemed to be, anyway. Perhaps her embarrassment was what entertained him. Somehow, Savannah vowed, she’d find a way to clarify the situation to her parents without complicating things with Nash.
A cold bottle of beer in one hand, Nash joined her, grinning as though he’d just won the lottery.
“Wipe that smug look off your face,” she muttered under her breath, not wanting her parents to hear. It was unlikely they would, busy as they were with the barbecue.
“You should’ve said something earlier.” His smile was wider than ever. “I had no idea you were so taken with me.”
“Nash, please. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“But why?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She was fast losing her patience with him. The misunderstanding delighted him and mortified her. “I’m going to have to tell them,” she said, more for her own benefit than his.
“Don’t. Your father might decide to barbecue hamburgers instead. It isn’t every day his only daughter brings home a potential husband.”
“Stop it,” she whispered forcefully. “We both know how you feel about marriage.”
“I wouldn’t object if you wanted to live with me.”
Savannah glared at him so hard, her eyes ached.
“Just joking.” He took a swig of beer and held the bottle in front of his lips, his look thoughtful. “Then again, maybe I wasn’t.”
Savannah was so furious she had to walk away. To her dismay, Nash followed her to the back of the yard. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of her parents talking.
“You’re making this impossible,” she told him furiously.
“How’s that?” His eyes fairly sparkled.
“Don’t, please don’t.” She didn’t often plead, but she did now, struggling to keep her voice from quavering.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lower lip so hard, she was afraid she’d drawn blood. “My parents would like to see me settled down and married. They…they believe I’m like every other woman and—”
“You aren’t?”
Savannah wondered if his question was sincere. “I’m handicapped,” she said bluntly. “In my experience, men want a woman who’s whole and perfect. Their egos ride on that, and I’m flawed. Defective merchandise doesn’t do much for the ego.”
“Savannah—”
She placed her hand against his chest. “Please don’t say it. Spare me the speech. I’ve accepted what’s wrong with me. I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never run or jump or marry or—”
Nash stepped back from her, his gaze pinning hers. “You’re right, Savannah,” he broke in. “You are handicapped and you will be until you view yourself otherwise.” Having said that, he turned and walked away.
Savannah went in the opposite direction, needing a few moments to compose herself before rejoining the others. She heard her mother’s laughter and turned to see her father with his arms around Joyce’s waist, nuzzling her neck. From a distance they looked twenty years younger. Their love was as alive now as it had been years earlier…and demonstrating that was the purpose of this visit.
She scanned the yard, looking for Nash, wanting him to witness the happy exchange between her parents, but he was busy studying the fishing flies her father had left out for his inspection.
Her father’s shout alerted Savannah that dinner was ready. Reluctantly she joined Nash and her parents at the round picnic table. She wasn’t given any choice but to share the crescent-shaped bench with him.
He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough that she yearned to be closer yet. That was what surprised her, but more profoundly it terrified her. From the first moment she’d met him, Savannah suspected there was something different about him, about her reactions to him. In the beginning she’d attributed it to their disagreement, his heated argument against marriage, the challenge he represented, the promise of satisfaction if she could change his mind.
Dinner was delicious and Nash went out of his way to compliment Joyce until her mother blushed with pleasure.
“So,” her father said, glancing purposefully toward Savannah and Nash, “what are your plans?”
“For what?” Nash asked.
Savannah already knew the question almost as well as she knew the answer. Her father was asking about her future with Nash, and she had none.
“Why don’t you tell Nash how you and Mom met,” Savannah asked, interrupting her father before he could respond to Nash’s question.
“Oh, Savannah,” her mother protested, “that was years and years ago.” She glanced at her husband of thirty-seven years and her clear eyes lit up with a love so strong, it couldn’t be disguised. “But it was terribly romantic.”
“You want to hear this?” Marcus’s question was directed to Nash.
“By all means.”
In that moment, Savannah could have kissed Nash, she was so grateful. “I was