New Year's Wedding. Muriel Jensen
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I live in an A-frame in the woods. They’re a little shy, but they like to eat the salmonberries on the other side of my backyard.”
She, on the other hand, didn’t live anywhere. At least, not tonight. Her hasty departure from Texas had left several details about the next few days unresolved. “When we get to Beggar’s Bay, can you just drop me at a motel, please? I’ll buy you dinner as a thank-you if there’s a restaurant nearby.” She made a face when she heard her own words. “Not that dinner could repay you for helping me.”
He shook his head, dismissing that idea as he turned onto a long, straight stretch of road. “We don’t have a motel. We have a couple of B and Bs, but they’re probably full because of the holidays.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “What about the next town?”
“It’s another ten miles. Why don’t you just stay with me? I have a spare bedroom and a bath. You’ll have privacy until the wedding. You know you’re safe with me because your brother would kill me if I let anything happen to you.” He was quiet for a moment and then he asked, “What are you going to do? I mean, ultimately. You can’t hide from the press forever, and you must have jobs lined up.”
“Workwise, I have a couple of months off, but I promised to do a charity show in early January,” she said. “Maybe I’ll travel around a little after. I’ve worked hard so I could pull together some weeks to relax. Turns out my timing was perfect. Meanwhile, the whole family’s flying home tonight on the red-eye, so it’s possible I can bunk with one of them.” She nodded gratefully. “But I’d appreciate staying at your place tonight if you’re sure it’s all right.”
“I’m sure. Just relax. We’ll be home in half an hour.”
Relaxing didn’t seem to be an option. Used to sitting in the back of a limo or a taxi, she was a little unnerved by the bumpy ride. The in-your-face view from the passenger seat was filled with tall trees and deep darkness, except for the path of his headlights and an occasional light suggesting a house some distance off the highway.
Grady drove with calm competence despite the near accident, and she kept quiet, appreciating his need to concentrate.
The headlights finally picked out a sign that read Welcome to Beggar’s Bay. Population 8,912.
The edge of town was heavily forested, but lights and signs of habitation began to thicken. Finally they drove through three blocks of a brightly lit downtown. He turned up a road and pointed past her to a construction site where a three-story building was going up. “That’s the assisted-living facility your brother Jack’s wife, Sarah, is heading up. I’m just another mile this way.”
Lights became spotty again and trees crowded the road.
He eventually turned up a side road for a short distance, then into the driveway of a tall, brightly lit A-frame house. It was trimmed in Christmas lights. She smiled in surprise. “When you said an A-frame, I imagined something simpler. The lights are beautiful.”
Grady’s home had a rustic façade with a central fieldstone chimney and high, wide, wedge-shaped windows on either side. Stilts supported a wraparound deck and, to the left of the house, terraced bricks held large pots with green plants.
“I got it for a steal when I moved here. It had been vacant for a year and a half, and the owner was anxious to get out from under two mortgages. I didn’t get a tree up before I went to Texas.”
He groaned as he pulled in beside a red-and-white Mini Cooper. “My mother’s here.” He turned off the car and gave Cassie a rueful smile. “I was hoping she’d still be in Reno. She’ll want to know all about you.”
Cassie smiled. “That’s okay. I have nothing to hide.” Mostly. She unbuckled her belt with a philosophical shrug. “While my father is kind and caring, he’s made poor choices in women in the past. I imagine that’s how I was born. It’ll be nice to meet a real mother.”
“Yeah.” His tone was doubtful. “You’re such an innocent, Cassie,” he teased, then frowned at the simple dress she wore. “I don’t suppose you have rain gear in your luggage?”
“I don’t. I was expecting to stay in sunny Texas. But I’ll be fine. It’s not that far to the front door, is it?” She peered through the windshield. “Where is the front door?”
“Halfway back on the left side. Just run for the shelter of the deck overhang. Here.” He yanked off the white cotton sweater he wore and held it over her head. She put her arms into the sleeves and he pulled it down. “It isn’t too much protection, but better than nothing.”
She was surrounded by the scent of male and something dry and spicy with a suggestion of pine. The cotton was warm from his body. “Thank you,” she said. He let himself out of the truck.
The rain was torrential—and cold. It struck her face and bare legs when she hesitated to get her bearings. Grady caught her hand and pulled her with him as he ran for the shelter of the overhang. She blinked against raindrops and followed, slowing as he did halfway up the walkway at the side of the house. A door flew open.
Cassie caught a glimpse of a woman in the doorway who was probably in her late fifties. She was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater and dark blue pants. She held the door open as Grady passed her in a rain-soaked T-shirt.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, pulling Cassie inside.
“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.” Cassie smiled into the woman’s suspicious expression as she tripped in after Grady.
Grady’s mother had permed gray hair without much style, brown eyes and a slightly pointy nose and chin. Her skin was beautiful and only lightly lined around her eyes.
“Hello,” she replied, frowning at the large sweater she must know to be her son’s. Then her eyes went to Cassie’s face—and stopped—and widened. She finally said in a stricken whisper, “Oh! My! God!”
They were in a sort of foyer. Cassie looked worriedly at Grady.
“You’re not, are you?” his mother asked Cassie. She stepped a little closer, staring at her, closed her eyes and then opened them again.
Cassie wasn’t as used to this kind of reaction as someone might think. In most situations, she was surrounded by other celebrities, famous—or notorious. She refused to shrink away.
“You are!” Grady’s mother answered her own question.
Grady kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mom, this is Cassidy Chapman. Her sister, Corie, is marrying Ben on New Year’s Day, so she’s come to the wedding. Cassie, this is my mother, Diane Nelson.” Then he took Cassie’s arm and led her through a doorway into a bright kitchen decorated in blue and white.
Grady’s mother followed. “Thank God you made coffee, Mom,” Grady said as he went to the coffeepot on the counter. Cassie turned to face his mother, guessing by her grim expression that something bad was coming. She braced herself.
“You’ve recovered quickly from your nervous breakdown,” Diane said. As Cassie stared at her in disbelief, she added, “The screaming scene you made at that Irish mansion was on SAN—Stars at Night—just a few hours ago. Somebody took a cell phone video.”
“MOM!” GRADY CAME back to Cassie as she struggled to find a sense of equilibrium.
Come on, she told herself. You do it for the camera all the time. What’s happened to you personally is hidden behind whatever the camera needs from you. And you had to know this was coming. Just not so soon.
“I...I had a bad moment there,” she said, simplifying an explanation. “It’s a long story.”
“The reporter speculated that you were upset because Fabiana Capri got the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and you didn’t. She