A Proposal at the Wedding (Bride Mountain 2)

She squeezed his hand in return before reaching again for her coffee. “It’s going to be terribly hectic for the next few weeks, of course,” she said, her voice steady again. “Getting ready for the wedding, preparations for the move, and the twins will want to attend as many parties and get-togethers with their friends as they can manage.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

He smiled over the rim of his cup at his daughter’s mother. There’d been no romantic feelings between himself and Holly since their youthful infatuation had fizzled away in the stressful reality of teen parenthood, but they’d managed to forge a true friendship during the years. A partnership in a way, dedicated to making sure Cassie had a safe, happy, healthy childhood. It had been quite a successful venture, he mused. But now, as it should, it was coming to an end. Or at the least, it was changing radically. Cassie would always be a bond between them.

“I ran into Michaela Havers at the bank yesterday,” Holly commented after a few moments of silence, a seeming non sequitur that made him blink a couple of times before replying.

“Yeah? I saw her at a party not too long ago. She seemed to be doing well.”

“She was sporting an engagement ring roughly the size of a golf ball yesterday. A recent development, I take it.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” he agreed. “I knew she was seeing someone, but I don’t think they were engaged when I saw her last. It all happened pretty quickly, I guess.”

“Are you okay with it?”

“Absolutely. Michaela and I broke up by mutual agreement. I wish her the best.”

“So…” Holly toyed with the handle of her coffee cup. “Are you seeing anyone special now?”

An image of a pretty, petite blonde popped into his mind. Bonnie wasn’t at all like Holly, he mused, other than both being blondes. Holly’s sleekly styled bob was colored by an expensive stylist, her makeup was always impeccable and her outfits were tasteful but obviously designer labeled. Bonnie’s loose golden curls looked entirely natural, she wore little makeup and her clothes were apparently chosen for comfort and convenience. And while he liked and admired both of them, it was the thought of Bonnie that made his pulse rate pick up even as he shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

He eyed Holly with sudden amusement. “Surely you aren’t worried about leaving me behind all alone and sad when you move?”

Maybe her cheeks went just a bit pink as she lifted her chin in denial. “Of course not. You’ve made a good life for yourself here. I just wondered…”

“Don’t worry about me, Holly. I’ll be fine. Actually, I guess you could say for the first time in twenty-one years, I’ll be free to follow my own whims. I’m pretty much committed to teaching another year here, but after that, maybe I’ll teach in China for a couple of years or on a reservation in North Dakota,” he said, naming random places off the top of his head. “Or maybe I’ll take a sabbatical and spend a year schlepping drinks at some bar in the Florida Keys. I make a mean margarita, you know.”

Holly smiled faintly, making no other effort to respond to his grandiose scenarios. Probably because she didn’t believe he would do any of them, no matter what he said. Had he become so predictable? He was still young, not even forty. He could have plenty of adventures, if he wanted. China, North Dakota, Florida…anywhere the wind blew him.

After all, he no longer had anything, or anyone, to hold him here.

When they’d reopened Bride Mountain Inn, Bonnie and Kinley had learned quickly that they seemed to attract an

early rising clientele, eager to have breakfast and then get on with their planned activities. As a result, Monday through Saturday breakfast service began at seven and formally ended at nine, though Bonnie was well-known to serve the stragglers, anyway.

The daily schedule varied only on Sundays, when a lavish brunch was served from ten until one. Because Bride Mountain Café, an excellent little diner within walking distance of the inn, was closed on Sundays, Bonnie provided a light repast of sandwiches and dessert for her guests that evening.

The 7:00 a.m. breakfast service necessitated an early start for Bonnie and her full-time housekeeping employee, Rhoda Foley, who cheerfully cleaned, served, cooked, did laundry or whatever else was needed of her, aided by part-time maid Sandy Carr.

Free-spirited, mid-fifties Rhoda had been scrupulously on time every morning since an incident in the spring in which she had overslept, rushed to work and hit one of the front portico posts with her truck, resulting in a mad scramble to make repairs before a scheduled wedding.

With her almost compulsive need for perfection and control, Kinley had been particularly anxious about the damage, though her first reaction had been to make sure Rhoda was unharmed. Minutes after the accident occurred, travel writer Dan Phelan had arrived to profile the inn in a popular Southern-themed magazine, to Kinley’s dismay. But since Kinley and Dan had fallen in love almost at first sight and were now a happily committed couple, so Bonnie suspected her sister’s memories of that tumultuous day were pleasant ones.

At just after nine Friday morning, Bonnie and Kinley stood near the doorway from the dining room to the kitchen. The inn was fully occupied, mostly with guests for a wedding to take place in the gazebo tomorrow afternoon. Kinley had just arrived, dressed as always in tailored, professional clothing, in contrast to the loose skirts and cotton tops that better suited Bonnie’s role at the inn.

To an outside observer, Bonnie knew she and her sister didn’t appear to be related. With gold-streaked light brown hair and eyes more gray than blue, Kinley was nearly five inches taller and more athletically built than Bonnie. Both Kinley and Logan resembled their father, while Bonnie had been called the “spitting image” of their mother—perhaps one of the reasons she’d always been great-uncle Leo’s favorite. That, and her lifelong passion for the inn he’d loved so much.

Holding a cup of the herbal tea Bonnie had insisted she drink—Bonnie had recently decided that her overachieving, workaholic sister drank entirely too much coffee—Kinley looked around the well-filled dining room in satisfaction. “Your new summer veggie quiche was certainly a hit. Everyone liked it.”

Bonnie smiled. “They seemed to. I’ll add the recipe to the handouts for my class.”

“I had a taste of the quiche. It was delicious. Rosemary?”

“Yes, fresh from my herb garden.” The little herb bed Logan had helped her plant was her pride and joy. She was beginning to believe she’d inherited her great-aunt Helen’s green thumb along with the inn, even though Helen had been related to her only by marriage to Leo.

Kinley took another taste of her tea before saying, “Speaking of your class, one of your students may be coming by later today.”