Herschel smiled. “That may be, and I’m glad to hear it because there was a time when the light that made her special, the one that made her different…well that light was snuffed out and I was scared that it would never come back.”
Herschel raised his glass once more and tipped his head. “Beau, you brought her light back to us. You’ve helped her become the woman I always knew she could be. Out of the three girls, she is the most like her mother, Chantal and it’s an absolute joy to see how she lights up when you’re around. Thank you for loving my granddaughter, but more importantly, thank you for believing in her and for bringing her back to us. I appreciate it more than you can know and Trent does as well.” Herschel paused, as if trying for some kind of control. “I have to believe he knows it,” he said fiercely.
“Here, here,” said Logan. “To Betty and Beau.”
“Guys,” Shane said, after setting his tumbler on the bar. “It’s about that time. We should head out.”
Logan helped Herschel back into his wheelchair and the men filed out of the room. His father stopped and gave Beau a bear hug that could have crushed a smaller man and when Noah Simon shook Beau’s hand, he tried to speak, but that damn lump had him mumbling a bunch of crap that didn’t make any sense.
“You’re almost there, son,” Noah said with a chuckle. “You did good.”
Beau watched his father slip out and then turned to his brothers, Tucker and Jack.
“This is it,” Beau said. He was ready. Hell, he was more than ready to make an honest woman out of Betty. Ready for the entire world to know she was his in every way that mattered.
Jack handed each of them a shot glass. “One last drink for a Christmas to remember, another wedding to celebrate, and to Teague, wherever the hell he is.”
The three men stared at each other and then clinked their shot glasses together before downing them whole. Beau savored the sensation as the fire worked its way down his throat. He let Jack straighten his tie, fix his pocket square and then nodded to Tucker, who had a big grin on his face.
“What?” he asked, as they headed for the door that would take them out into the main room of the converted barn where the ceremony was to be held.
“I find it amusing that a guy who’s played in the World Series, a guy who’s been to the Oscars for Christ sake is shitting bricks right now.”
Beau reached for the doorknob. He would have answered his brother with something smart—maybe something sarcastic. (Hell, why would Tucker bring that up at this moment?) But since he was more nervous than he could ever remember being, including the game he’d pitched during the World Series, he kept his mouth shut.
Because his brother was in fact, correct.
Chapter Twelve
Betty Jo Barker stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried like hell not to cry.
Oh God, keep your shit together.
She thought of puppies and rainbows and the most decadent chocolate peanut butter ice cream that there was. She tried to envision Beau in the morning, half asleep with his hair ruffled and that smile that she adored. She even thought of Prince William (okay, so she had a thing for the Royal Ginger), but nothing worked.
She tried everything that she could think of to keep the tears at bay, but it was no use. The damn mascara was going to have to be re-applied.
“Shit,” she muttered, reaching for a tissue. The last twelve hours had been so hard. Anything that could have gone wrong did. The worst being that her custom-made, haute couture wedding dress was nowhere to be found. It’s a wonder she hadn’t lost her mind along with most of the food she tried to eat.
“Are you okay?” her sister Bobbi asked. “Feeling better?”
She nodded, studying herself in the mirror. Her stomach was
finally settled, thank God.
“The flu run its course?” Bobbi asked
“Yep. I’m good.” I hope.
Betty bent closer to the mirror and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “Mother-trucker,” she whispered fiercely, trying her best to clean up the mess.
“Mother-trucker?” her sisters asked at the same time.
Betty shrugged. “Beau bet me a new Louis Vuitton bag that I couldn’t get through the day without swearing. Mother-trucker is my way of getting around that and still being able to collect.”
Billie giggled. “Only you.”
Betty took a step back and exhaled, glad that her stomach had settled a bit.