Saved by the Bride

chapter Twelve

Kissing Annika was up there with the buzz of nailing a multimillion-dollar contract, and Finn slowly kissed away every drop of cold water on her cheek before turning his attention to her ear.

“Finn?”

“Hmmm.” His tongue dawdled on her lobe because he knew she loved it and she usually responded by seeking his mouth with a moan of wonder.

“What happened this morning?”

His tongue stalled and he slowly lifted his head to find determined sky-blue eyes fixed on his face. He stared down at her. “Nothing.”

Her eyes widened with skepticism. “You rowed to Whitetail to find me.”

He trailed his finger down her cheek and gave her a long, lazy smile, hoping he could distract her. “Sleeping with Logan’s elbow in my head reminded me of how much I missed sleeping with you.”

Her eyelids drifted down for a moment and then snapped open. “I don’t believe you.”

“Suit yourself.” He tried to return his attentions to her ear but her hands pressed against his upper arms.

“I am.” She shifted slightly and a zip of air darted between them, cooling the heat. “Something upset you.”

He hated the way she could read him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nibbled her plump bottom lip the way she always did whenever she was thinking. “In that case I know it’s nothing to do with AKP.”

His chest tightened at the truth of her words. “You don’t know enough about me or the business to know any such thing.”

She didn’t deny it but the tilt of her head and the look of sympathy in her eyes made his stomach churn.

She rested her forehead against his. “I think whatever it was that upset you is connected to your family.”

This time he was the one to break contact. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re way off course.”

“I’m betting it’s to do with your father.”

“Good for you.” He so wasn’t going down this road or having this conversation with Annika. He’d found a way to deal with his father which had worked for him for years—right up until today’s lapse and that was all today was. A lapse. He stood up, vaulted into the front section of the boat and brought up the anchor. “We need to get back. You need a hot shower.”

She stayed seated. “It must be exhausting for you.”

He stowed the anchor. “It doesn’t weigh much.”

Her voice sounded behind him. “Not the anchor. I meant your constant running away.”

His hand stilled on the ignition as her words tore into him—their target the barely sealed lid he’d forced shut over the meltdown he’d had at the beach with Sean. Forced tightly shut over feelings he’d only just got back into their holding bay where he thought they’d not only been safely stored for years, but that they’d lost their potency. No way was he allowing any of them back out again to see the light of day. His life was exactly as he liked it. It had taken him years but he’d found a way of dealing with Sean and he wouldn’t allow anything to change that, least of all talking.

“We’re all running from something, Annika. Care to share?”

Her sharp intake of breath sounded loud against the silence of the cove.

He started the engine. “Didn’t think so.”

* * *

Annika slopped a base coat of paint over the warehouse door, preparing it for the mural she’d promised Nicole she’d paint. Using broad brush strokes, she quickly covered the surface. She wanted to find her Zen and get into the spirit of the painting but Finn’s inference that her living in Whitetail was running away kept eating into her like acid on paper. She wasn’t running away. She was the acting mayor and her job was to find the town an industry that offered full employment.

She flicked her brush over the edges of the door. She would have told him all of that out on the boat except he’d deliberately cut her off with the noise of the engine. By the time they’d got back to the cabin she was shivering so much she’d raced straight to the shower and when she’d finished drying her hair, she’d walked out to find the cabin empty and a note on the table.

At the office. Nothing for you to do so enjoy the afternoon. She wasn’t at all surprised that Finn had run to the safety of the office. He’d gone to the one place he felt most comfortable and she could picture him surrounded by the protective force field of work.

As she waited for the base to dry, she stared at the wedding photo of Jennifer and Carl sitting in Al’s carriage. Both of them were smiling and waving and Main Street, with its colorful profusion of flowering hanging baskets and fluttering flags, formed the backdrop behind them. They looked happy and so very much in love. A blurry image of a man in a tuxedo with dark, dark eyes wafted through her mind and, with a start, she realized she was biting her lip.

She tasted blood. This is crazy.

With a zealous push she pinned the photo to the door frame so she could see it while she painted. She didn’t want to get married. The last time she’d toyed with that idea she’d been so badly betrayed it had taken her a long time to recover. Now she was well and truly over Ryan and content with her life—almost content. When Whitetail got a new industry, then she could relax and enjoy her life living where she truly belonged.

Two years ago, she’d packed up one very different life and an unworn wedding dress, and she was never going to do something that painful again. Ever. She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. This affair with Finn was exactly what she needed to keep unwanted sentimental thoughts at bay. She blew out a breath and picked up her pallet. It was time to bring Main Street to the warehouse door.

* * *

Finn stood watching Annika paint. Given that he could barely sketch out a stick figure, he’d been enjoying watching her for the past five minutes, and he marveled at how she made it look effortlessly easy. Under her talented hand what had looked to be brown blobs of paint one minute were suddenly hanging baskets with flowers tumbling out of them.

He’d spent the last couple of hours in the office and as he’d checked figures and cross-referenced projections, he’d finally found the calm that had eluded him all day. Once it had arrived, seeped in and soothed, he’d wanted to see Annika. Not sure of his reception, he hadn’t called but had arrived unannounced. He was shifting his weight so he could see around her shoulder, when a stick cracked under his foot. She turned around, surprise clear in the depths of her eyes. Her cheek had a streak of cerise, the hair on her left temple looked faintly blue and her misshapen T-shirt looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she sagged against him all soft and warm.

She put down her pallet and wiped her hands on an old rag. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

He shrugged. “I walked.”

Her chestnut brows rose. “You are getting a lot of exercise today.”

He stepped in close and brushed stray strands of her hair behind her ear. “I guess that means I’ll sleep well tonight.”

Disappointment raced across her expressive face. “I suppose you will.”

He laughed, loving the way she enjoyed sex as much as he did. “I’ll need an early night which means you and I have to eat at the cabin, and we’re not inviting anyone to sleep over.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me.” She slid her arms around his waist, rose up on her toes and kissed him.

As her lips touched his, relief slid in. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.

A couple of minutes later Annika used every grain of her self-control and pulled back from the kiss before she ruined the painting by pushing the door open and dragging him inside to one of the couches. “I’ll finish this tomorrow. Just give me five minutes to clean my brushes and then we can go.”

Finn kissed her gently on the cheek and spun her out of his arms. “It’s looking good.”

“Hmmm.” She wasn’t so sure, which was mostly because her heart wasn’t in it, although she’d enjoyed the process. “I saw it differently.”

He tilted his head. “It looks exactly like Main Street.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s supposed to.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I had a different painting in mind but Nicole and Melissa want to promote the idea of the town being the bride’s for the day.”

“That sounds like a good business plan.”

She swished her paint brushes briskly in the turpentine. “What if a bride is scared of horses or doesn’t want to get married in summer? She’s hardly going to relate to this scene then, is she?”

“So what would you have painted?” he asked mildly.

If she was truthful with herself she would probably have said “nothing” because soon the warehouses would be filled with a business that employed a lot of people. Soon, please, soon. When that happened, Nicole would have to find another space for Weddings That WOW—that’s if it lasted beyond the two bookings they had. But right now Finn was looking at her as if he expected an answer. “I would have painted something that creates atmosphere. Something that announces to the brides-to-be that they’re entering an enchanted world.”

He shrugged. “But that isn’t specific to the town. I think Nicole and Melissa are on to something with their branding.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. First the town was running wild with the idea weddings would save them and now Finn was saying it wasn’t totally off the mark. Her worries about the whole endeavor spilled over. “There’s no business or branding plan. This all came from an off-the-cuff comment on a post-wedding high. Sure, they have two weddings booked but that happened only because of a tiny TV news story linked with the Callahan name.”

“Successful businesses have started with less.” He raised a knowing brow. “And you’ve got work from it.”

She sighed at the dilemma that put her in. “I know, and I appreciate it but I just can’t see Weddings That WOW as a viable business that will provide employment for more than a few. I sometimes feel like I’m the only person who really understands how serious things will be if we don’t replace Reggies. Everyone’s energies should be focused on a sustainable industry rather than running off on a tangent.”

“A wedding business can be sustainable because people will always be getting married. Don’t ask me why they keep getting married, but they do.” He shook his head, sending curls bouncing, and sarcasm leeched out of him. “And more than once as my father has so admirably demonstrated.”

She saw the tic of a muscle in his cheek and it reinforced all her beliefs about Finn and Sean’s relationship and again she wished she could help. “Twice?”

He shook his head. “Dana is wife number three. Between creating an empire, getting married and getting divorced, it didn’t leave Sean with a lot of time for much else, especially parenting. I was fourteen years old at wedding number two, which lasted a solid twenty-four months. Given all that, I have no clue why Bridey wants to even try. I sure as hell won’t be.”

“She’s in love.”

His bark of laughter whipped her. “Love destroys more than it ever builds.”

And there is was—another reminder that what they had was very temporary. She stacked it up as part of the wall she was building to protect her heart.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So why are you painting the mural if you’re not happy about it?”

She folded up her drop sheet. “Because I paint and they don’t.”

“I thought your painting was a passing phase?” He picked up her paint box and gave her a look that said, “I think you’re hiding something.” “But that’s not strictly true, is it?”

Her heart rate kicked up and she wondered what he knew. The town had always been very protective of her, which was another reason she loved living here. “I dabbled but I’m busy being acting mayor. You know how much time that takes up seeing as you’re sponsoring my correspondence with most of America’s manufacturing sector.”

“You did more than just dabble, Annika.”

His quietly spoken words made her fingers fumble as she searched for the truck’s keys in her backpack. “I think I know how much I did or didn’t paint.”

“I did an internet search on you.”

A chill shot through her and her voice squeaked. “You’ve been spying on me?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I just typed your name into the browser in the exact same way you did with mine.”

Guilt pricked her indignation. He was right, she’d done that many times, trying to learn more about him other than Finn Callahan the businessman. She hadn’t found out much at all except one article that mentioned him rescuing baby birds when he was a kid. She took a deep breath and decided it was easier to face this head-on. “So what did you find out?”

“That you majored in fine arts and you had a promising career.” He smiled and his eyes filled with encouragement. “I saw the photographs of your series of lighthouses on the Great Lakes. They’re an interesting fusion of the past and the present.”

She bit her lip, instantly recalling Ryan’s bitter words about those paintings. “That’s not how the critics described them.”

He shrugged. “Art’s subjective. What’s one person’s pleasure is another’s poison.”

But she knew what she knew and she crossed her arms over her chest to stop herself from shaking. “So you would have read about how my show brought about the financial collapse of the Raybould Gallery?”

His shot of laughter echoed around the park and then stopped abruptly. The lines on his face deepened to serious and he slowly put down her paint box. “That’s what you believe?”

Memories pummeled her. The nightmare of her art being slaughtered by the very critic Ryan had most wanted to impress, and then immediately followed by Ryan’s utter betrayal of her. “It’s not a case of believing, Finn. I know. My exhibition was an unmitigated disaster and it brought the gallery to its knees.”

She hated how the past she’d fought so hard to get over still had the ability to swoop back in like it was yesterday. She’d gotten over Ryan, but she hadn’t managed to purge the vitriol of the reviews. Every part of her screamed for her to start moving before she fell down. Blinking furiously, she walked toward the truck on rubbery legs. She would not cry. She’d cried enough two years ago and she was done with all that now. She sucked in a breath to steady herself and one minute she was upright and the next her feet were stumbling and she was pitching forward.

Finn’s arms shot around her waist, steadying her. “Annika, stop.” His mouth caressed her ear. “Breathe.”

She didn’t want to be so needy but she was. She let him hold her and she leaned in against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. She breathed in his strength and calm.

His hand stroked her hair and then he pulled back slightly, and tilted her chin with his finger. “Did the Raybould Gallery blame you for the demise of the business?”

She swallowed. “That and a few other things.”

Flint flared briefly in his eyes and she felt him suck in a deep breath. “Kathleen knows a lot about the Chicago art world, Annika, although her involvement is on the financial and administration side. I know that isn’t anything like the world of the artist, but from her I do know that Ryan Raybould ran through his family’s trust money like water and he took a Chicago art institution down with him. I’d bet my last dollar your exhibition coincided with the creditors catching up with him, and he used you as handy scapegoat.”

She wanted to believe him but she knew better. “If that were true, I’d have known.”

“Believe me, struggling businesses don’t declare their hand unless they’re forced.”

She made herself say the words that would declare her a fool in his eyes. “I was living with him.”

Surprise crossed his face. “The internet didn’t tell me that.”

“So I can be thankful for small mercies, then.” She tried to lighten the mood. “I, on the other hand, know you dated one of the Hilton sisters.”

“If sitting next to her at a charity function is dating, then yes.” He gave her a wry smile. “Ryan Raybould hid his financial woes from everyone until the mess he was in brought everything down on him like a house of cards. I vaguely remember Mom telling me he’d applied for an arts grant and even then there were rumors things weren’t good.”

She struggled to take in Finn’s words but they slowly sank in. That bastard. Ryan had let her take the blame for his mess. “I think I feel even more foolish than I did two years ago.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Promise me you’ll talk to Kathleen. She knows all about it.”

She wondered at his insistence but agreed. “Okay.”

He stroked her cheek. “Good. Now tell me one thing?”

“Maybe.” She braced herself for the question about how she could have possibly had a relationship with a man like Ryan but when he spoke it was nothing to do with that.

“Did you enjoy painting the door today even though it wasn’t what you wanted to be doing?”

She had to admit that she’d got a tiny buzz from it. “Little bit.”

“Then create time to paint again.”

Finish the Dawn, Day and Dusk triplet.

The idea scared her rigid. Ryan’s betrayal of her work and herself in an attempt to hide his own situation was one thing. The critics’ damning reviews were another beast entirely.

“Annika, paint for yourself.”

It was as if he could read her mind but if that was possible he’d know that art wasn’t private—it was excruciatingly public and no matter how much her fingers tingled to pick up a brush, she wasn’t putting herself out there to be humiliated ever again. “I don’t have time.”

His free hand curled around the back of her neck. “You might find yourself with a bit of spare time over the next couple of days.”

She ran through her to-do list and couldn’t think how that would be possible even if she’d been able to block out the critical voices in her head. “Why?”

He sighed as his fingers stroked her skin. “I’m leaving for Chicago in the morning with Hank. Production for one of our biggest clients goes online first thing Monday and I have to be there.”

She hated the sink of disappointment that weighed her down but she wasn’t going to show him that. “Good. That means I get the bed to myself and can spread out diagonally.”

He laughed. “You do that anyway.”

She leaned in. “And you hog the top sheet.”

“We obviously need more practice in sharing a bed.”

His eyes darkened to a delicious cocoa and she let the past and the future slide away. Nothing existed except the fact she was in his arms and she lost herself in the warmth of his eyes and the seductive tone of his voices.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Lots and lots of practice.”

* * *

“Thanks so much, Officer Gunderson.” Bridey opened the door of the squad car and stepped out onto Kylemore’s circular driveway, giving the policeman a wave as he headed back toward the gate. It had been a crazy couple of hours. After buying some pastries for her mother, she’d arrived at the dock to find no Annika and no motorboat, just Finn’s rowboat. She’d called everyone but none of her family was answering their phones and she’d been wondering what to do when the Whitetail police officer had offered her a ride home.

In the squad car she’d received the message, So sorry! Finn commandeered boat. On my way now. Anni.

Bridey, knowing exactly how Finn could be sometimes, had silently forgiven Annika. She’d texted back, Am almost home now. No hard feelings. Tell big bro he’s bad. B.

And tell Hank too. It was well into the afternoon and she hadn’t heard from him despite sending two texts and leaving three messages. Their weekend was flying past fast and she’d hardly seen him. Added to that they were no closer to deciding on a wedding venue and that decision was the keystone to the entire wedding. They had to get it right—their future depended on it.

She walked into the kitchen hoping that Esther was there just as she’d always been when Bridey was growing up and had a case of “the sads.” Esther would always set aside what she was doing, give her a hug and then sit her down. She’d pour freshly squeezed lemonade, serve up some cool and juicy watermelon, chocolate chip cookies and sage advice. The world had always seemed a better place after that and the problem diminished. But today the kitchen was clean and tidy and—apart from the quiet buzz of the refrigerator—silently empty.

Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. She poured herself a glass of water, sat down and gave herself a good shake. She was being ridiculous. Hank was probably upstairs taking a nap after his campout. She’d go up and snuggle in next to him and when he woke up they could decide on the wedding venue.

“Baby-girl. There you are.” Sean strode across the kitchen, kissed Bridey on the cheek and grabbed two beers from the fridge. “Hank and I have been in the library drawing the plans for the zip line.”

“Hank’s in the library?” Happiness rushed through her and she started walking.

Her father caught up with her. “No, we’ve finished and Hank just left. I’m not sure where he was headed.” He opened the library door for her. “Come and look at the plans and if it’s what you want we might just get the order into the hardware store before it closes.”

Bridey headed straight to the table and she ran her fingers over the plan—the closest she’d been to Hank all day. This wasn’t just a “back of a coaster” sketch. Hank had drawn up the path of the zip line over the deep finger of lake that formed a cove on the west side of the property near the tree house. He’d worked out the stress and weight loads for the wire and the support posts, and his neat script crawled down the side listing everything that was required for the build.

A warm feeling washed through her. One day their children would ride on this zip line. “It looks great, Daddy. Logan will love it.”

Sean brought up a browser on the computer and typed in yellow pages. “He’s pretty excited about the idea that’s for sure. He talked nonstop about it as we packed up this morning.”

“So how was the great campout?”

Sean’s head didn’t rise from the screen and two beats of silence passed. When he finally looked up he said, “Logan caught a huge musky.”

Bridey understood the significance of the first big catch. “Fantastic. Do you have photo?”

“Finn took one.”

Being very familiar with the contents of her phone’s inbox today due to constant checking, she said, “He hasn’t sent it, or at least not to me.”

Sean’s mouth formed a wry and weary smile. “He knows the importance of the first big fish. I’m sure he’ll get around to it and if not, Logan will remind him.”

He reached for the phone and started dialing and Bridey was about to text Hank again when she noticed a black cell phone on the desk. Hank’s phone. She sighed. He was forever getting distracted with projects and leaving his phone behind. Scooping it up, she put it in her pocket, wondering how much of the Callahan estate she was going to have to traverse before she found him.

It only took as far as the cottage.

“Bridey. Darling, over here.”

She turned to see her mother waving at her. She lay on an Adirondack lounge chair stacked with cushions and it was positioned under the shade of one of the huge maple trees. With a sunhat on her head, Jackie Onassis-style sunglasses on her face, linen pants and a pastel cotton blouse, she looked the picture of 1960s refined elegance—right down to the Collins glass. Next to her was a table which held a glass pitcher and next to that sat Hank, holding a glass and looking slightly stunned. He rose to his feet and then sat down again.

With a sinking feeling, she crossed the grass. “Hi, Mom. It’s great to see you out of the cottage.”

“Mint julep, darling?” Her mother wafted her hand toward the pitcher. “Pour yourself one.”

Her mother was famous for her mint juleps which invariably packed a punch and left people feeling smashed. “Are you sure you should be drinking when you’re taking pain medication?”

“Bridey, I’m not a fool. This is today’s pain medication.” Kathleen patted Hank on the arm. “Are you sure about marrying her, Hank? She can be very contrary.”

Hank smiled at Kathleen. “She does like things to be a particular way.”

His unexpected words barreled into her, socking her hard. Hank always supported her. The fact he was agreeing with her mother added to her general unease which had been growing from the moment she’d proposed to him. Did he really want to marry her?

You’re being ridiculous. He’s teasing you with mint julep talk. Of course he wants to marry you. This is the twenty-first century. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with a woman proposing to the man she loves. But the reassurance sounded faint and wobbly and did nothing to relieve her anxiety. She looped her hands around Hank’s neck and pressed a kiss into his hair. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

He tilted his head back and his honey-brown eyes struggled to focus. “You found me.”

Hank had the occasional beer at social gatherings but he didn’t drink much. Even so, his height and breadth meant he could usually handle more than one drink but this cocktail was Kathleen’s specialty and she was always liberal with the bourbon. “Did you have lunch?”

He grinned up at her. “No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

“For heaven’s sake, Bridey, you’re not his mother.” Kathleen patted the end of the lounge. “You need to relax. All this wedding planning is making you cross. Sit down, have a julep and start enjoying your vacation.”

Hank patted her hand as if she was six and poured her a drink. “They’re surprisingly good, Brides.”

She stared at her mother and fiancé who were both buzzed and she felt as out of place as the only sober person at a party can. She knew right then she wasn’t going to get any sense out of either of them. With a rising sense of panic she realized that the decision on the wedding venue was going to be put off yet again.