Sarah peeked through the drapes. “Jase is walking through the crowd, chatting everyone up,” she reported. “God, Laurel, he should wear a tux every day of the week. That man is gor-gee-ous!”
Lolly joined her at the window, pressing her nose against the glass. “They’re all sitting down at the tables now, and Dad’s finally stopped glad-handing. He’s making for the pavilion. I think I see Pastor Richter and Uncle Doug too.”
The opening chords of the wedding march sounded, and Maxie picked up her bouquet, slid the glass door open, and stepped outside. Lolly and Sarah followed her at ten-second intervals.
Laurel stepped out onto the patio, her heart beating so loudly that it set up a jarring counterrhythm to Wagner’s wedding march. Blood sang in her ears. This was it. She moved down the path between the pool and the flotilla of tables set out on the lawn. Thank goodness Maxie had arranged to board Hugo and her elderly dachshund for a couple of nights. Sir Frederick was more of a sedentary kind, but Hugo would have had a field day with all those helium-filled silver balloons bobbing from the backs of the chairs.
Sarah took her bouquet, and Jase walked forward to join her in front of the pastor. Bless Jase for arranging for Maxie’s minister to perform the ceremony. Laurel knew she’d never have felt truly married in a civil ceremony. And Jase knew that too.
Once the pictures had been taken and the marriage license signed off on, the party began. The caterer’s crew popped open champagne bottles, lifted the lids off bins of food on the long tables, and set up a serving line. Loosening his bow tie and unbuttoning his jacket, Jase led Laurel into the thick of the crowd.
The first person he introduced her to was his best man, who’d arrived at the house from Austin a scant fifteen minutes before the ceremony. Laurel had seen Doug Shumate on television and knew he was a powerhouse politician, but up close and personal, his charisma was overwhelming.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Laurel,” he announced in a mellifluous baritone as he took her hand. His eyes twinkled, and his teeth gleamed, and his brown hair caught gold highlights from the setting sun. “Known Jase for ages.”
She couldn’t help but back up a little.
A snappy brunette nudged him in the ribs. “You’re scaring her, Doug. Turn it down a notch.”
He laughed and reached over to give the woman a brief hug. “You always know how to bring me back to earth, Connie. If you ever want to leave Jase, there’s always a place in my office.”
Then came the deluge, everyone trying to talk to her at once. Most of their guests—Jase’s politician friends, business associates, and longtime employees—were strangers to her, but she was happy to see that Ray Espinoza, Art Sawyer, Mrs. Bridges, Craig Freiberg, and Rafe McAllister had been able to make it.
Ray reported that he had arranged for a large, splashy wedding announcement in the Retriever, and Art made a big ceremony out of handing over an engraved silver bowl from the city council. Before Marilyn Bridges left, she got Laurel aside and presented her with a subscription to the Dallas Symphony Orchestra and a congratulatory card signed by everyone on the block, even the Carrolls. And Jase opened an envelope from the Bosque Bend Museum committee certifying that Rafe McAllister and Craig Freiberg had contributed a ten-by-ten block of pavers to be inscribed with the names of Jason and Laurel Kinkaid Redlander.
To top it off, Pendleton Swaim, uninvited, had FedExed them a Kinkaid genealogy.
As the evening deepened, the guests wandered around the pool with cake plates and champagne glasses in hand.
Sarah was among the first to leave. “I’ve got to make it back to Austin tonight because Keith has surgery tomorrow morning,” she explained. “I wish I’d been here in time to arrange a bachelorette party—you know, maybe a visit to a male strip club for comparison purposes.” She winked at Laurel, giggled, and saluted Jase with a flute of champagne.
Another hour, and all the guests had gone. Jase and Laurel remained outside even after the caterers had packed up, Maxie and Lolly had left, and the outside spotlights were dimmed. Resting her eyes on the dark woods beyond the yard, Laurel leaned back against her husband and breathed in the silence and the starlit night. His arms embraced her shoulders, warming her in the cool night breeze.
It was full dark now. The smell of honeysuckle was on the heavy summer air, votive candles in silver dishes floated aimlessly in the pool like enchanted lotuses, and the helium balloons glistened in the moonlight. Further back, she could see the silver-bowed hurricane lamps that marked the edge of the turf to warn guests away from the dangers beyond, and above the lamps, thousands of tiny lights strung in the wide-armed oaks extended the horizon into the stars.