Love and Other Trials

Chapter 1

ONE

The trials had begun—her family had forgotten her at the airport.

At least Ariel Holmes’ battered black luggage didn’t make for an uncomfortable seat. Other than a handyman fixing a broken baggage turnstile, she and her bloodhound were alone in the abandoned Charleston airport. Not a surprise, given it was one thirty in the morning. Hers had been the last flight in, arriving over an hour late.

Enjoy the peace and quiet, Ariel, because it’s about to get freaky. And not in a hip-hop music kind of way.

Then she remembered the trials had already started five months ago, when her oldest half sister had blackmailed her into being her wedding planner. She laughed harshly under her breath in the quiet airport. Right. How could she have forgotten that little two-by-four in the face display of family love?

Ariel gave her bloodhound a good rubdown when he leaned his tired caramel head against her side and straightened his service vest. “Well, Sherlock, we’ve missed the last of the cabs. And with that storm kicking up, I’m not sure they’ll be coming back anytime soon. I wouldn’t say we’re screwed, but it’s no luck of the Irish either.”

She unzipped her suitcase enough to pull out the silver flask she’d brought, filled to the brim with her favorite plus-one for family weddings: Jack Daniel’s. But her phone pinged before she could take a healthy sip. She rummaged through her purse for it, relieved to see an incoming text from the one person in her family who would be outraged on her behalf—Jeffrey, her half brother.

Best Brother Ever

The Three Tornadoes FORGOT you? $*#&# You’d think with Tiffany threatening you to make her wedding the best Charleston has ever seen—on a piddly budget no less—she’d have arrived in a magical winged horse carriage to pick you up.

Are you drunk? This is Tif-fa-ny we’re talking about, and don’t get me started on the gang up from Terry and Tricia. Aren’t you lucky you don’t share any blood with them?

Best Brother Ever

I say a little prayer of gratitude every morning. You though… Their brilliant idea to spend a week at the beach before the wedding is going to kill you if you’re not careful. It’s Saturday. Barely. The wedding is next Saturday. You do the math. Girl, you’d better have brought your flask.

I brought two. Regular and garter. Sending you the Three Tornadoes’ texts now so you can stomp around for me in indignation.

Best Brother Ever

The only thing that looks better on me is my honey. Have I told you how much I love Antonio? I think he might be my one and only. Which is why he’s NOT coming to this wedding.

Good plan. He might run for the hills. Keep sending up good thoughts for me.

Best Brother Ever

Always. I wish I could say I’d love to come earlier, but Friday is plenty early. My hair is already standing on end. Also, you should have rented a car besides the golf cart.

I was assured Captain Hotpants could haul anything I need.

Best Brother Ever

Snicker. With those prime muscles, I’ll bet. Ariel, I say this with love. You’d better check him out because I have a feeling about him for you…

And we always trust your feelings. LOL. All right, texts incoming.

Best Brother Ever

I’m starting my Zen breathing. Also—DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR CUTTING YOUR HAIR.

Her hand went to her newly shorn hair before she sighed heavily. “Right. No apologizing. It’s not like I had a choice.”

Not that her sisters would care. Exhibit A. Their texts. She opened them and forwarded them to Jeffrey. Moral support rocked. In her phone, their numbers were saved under their nicknames, the Three Tornadoes, and their birth order number, with Tiffany being the oldest, and Terry being older than Tricia by two minutes. But Jeffrey knew all about that.

Tornado #1

Are you finally here??? I needed you like yesterday. There’s oodles of things to do. You remember our deal, right? You’d better make my wedding the best one Charleston has ever seen. Grandma’s house won’t be yours if it’s just average.

Tornado #2

Wasn’t Jeffrey picking you up?

Tornado #3

They let you land in this weather? I thought your flight would be canceled. It’s ghastly outside.

Tornado #1

Good thing you didn’t crash in the storm. I need you so bad this week.

Tornado #3

God, we’ve been drinking. We’ll have to figure out who can come get you.

She tossed her phone back in her purse and imagined Jeffrey swearing a blue streak. Made her feel a little happier on the inside. Because she wasn’t relieved by her sister’s assurance that someone would come. God, she should probably call an Uber, but she had no guarantee she’d find one at this hour, especially since there was a storm on the way and not all car services accepted dogs. Might as well enjoy the quiet and a little more Jack.

She stroked behind Sherlock’s floppy ears as he gave a sympathetic ruff. “Maybe if they forget us, we can hop on the first flight out of here in a few hours.”

His rueful gaze had her laughing. God, he was such a trooper at family events.

“Yeah. I’m delusional. Don’t mind me.”

If it weren’t for her desire to have her grandma’s house, Ariel would have arrived at Tiffany’s wedding right before the rehearsal this coming Friday. But no…

Her mother had teamed up with her sister to blackmail her. Blackmail her! Ariel’s organizational skills were legendary, sure, as were her contacts in Charleston. They thought she could hit this wedding out of the park and stop the Deverell wedding curse. While she was known as a miracle worker of sorts, working in disaster recovery as she did, this was totally different.

Sure, she and Sherlock had pulled off some amazing search and rescue operations, but she wasn’t confident even they could do anything to combat the wedding curse—if it were real.

Ariel’s grandmother had married her (former) friend’s ex-husband, and the woman had cursed her and her offspring on the steps of St. Michael’s Church the day of the wedding.

More startling, there was plenty of evidence it had worked.

Case One: Her grandmother, who’d been married three times. Her first wedding had been the talk of Charleston, but her former friend’s curse had immediately set in—the lights had flickered in the church and the seven-tiered cake had broken in half and crumbled to the ground as she and her friend’s ex were about to cut it.

And then there was Grandma’s third wedding…

Well, a tropical storm blew in and canceled the darn thing on the day of, only to be held days later in city hall under muted circumstances to say the least.

Case Two: Her mother’s three weddings had only added more proof to the pudding, and don’t get her started on her aunts’. The carriage horse carrying her mom and the Three Tornadoes’ dad off into the sunset reared and took off at a gallop before the driver got him under control. And when she’d married Ariel’s dad, a nest of mice had run through the reception hall, causing a massive exodus, and her father still shuddered when he saw one. But that was not to be upstaged by what happened during the reception for wedding number three—the porch steps to the mansion had given way from wood rot when the women were gathered to catch the bouquet, causing a few turned ankles and bumps and bruises.

And then there were her sisters’ previous weddings. Oh Lord. The chandelier taking the tent down during Tricia’s wedding dance was still talked about at family reunions over mint juleps. Six people had been rushed to the ER.

The oyster bar at Terry’s rehearsal dinner had made everyone hang over the porcelain throne all night.

And Tiffany’s first wedding…

Well, not only had she set a new record for bad taste with nude Adam and Eve ice sculptures, courtesy of her artist ex-hubby, but one of the Sterno cans under a nearby chafing pan had somehow melted their genitals, causing Adam’s giant junk to drip and shrivel in size, making every guest there totally uncomfortable or wheeze with laughter until they were wiping tears.

She and Jeffrey had laughed themselves silly. They’d bandied back who knew Adam had been so hung? remarks with them concluding he had to be, to father all humans according to the biblical account.

And that wasn’t counting the others’ woes at that wedding… There’d been a poison ivy outbreak after the wedding rehearsal, held at an idyllic farm, and the next day the top of the holy water had popped off violently during the blessing, knocking out one of the bridesmaids. Cold. For two minutes. Tiffany had wisely not asked her to be in the wedding party this round.

Who had rushed in to help with every disaster at her sisters’ weddings? Ariel. She’d bought and distributed the calamine lotion and Pepto. She’d found event staff to shore up the tent and remove the broken chandelier. Heck, she’d even called the paramedics when necessary.

Despite her being dubbed the family fixer, Ariel didn’t know if she could stop a curse. The research on that was fairly hair-raising, involving crazy incantations under a full moon and one-eight-hundred numbers to voodoo priestesses named Madame Renfro on Bourbon Street. So not going there.

But she would do everything in her power to make this wedding into the fairy tale her sister had in mind—somebody in the family needed a wedding win—and she had readily agreed to help from afar. With a skilled wedding planner at the helm.

Of course, that hadn’t been enough…

She did love her sisters. And her mother. But God, they were hard to please and even harder to feel connected to. They were the exciting and fun ones, and she was the wallflower. Some might say she had an exciting job, but she considered herself a no-nonsense professional who trucked through mud and debris to find people. She was a mere daisy. Not a bold dahlia or bird of paradise like her sisters. Maybe it was because they all had the same father, while she’d gotten her father’s practical, grounded side, like Jeffrey, who’d been a toddler when their father had married her mother.

It sucked not fitting in.

A part of her—which clearly needed therapy—was still chasing family approval. Love even. Like that silly mouse with the wheel that never stopped. She’d tell herself to not let them push her around, but then she’d see them all huddled together or smell her mother’s familiar perfume and want to be wrapped up in them. To have them praise her and tell her she’d done a good job, accepting her, for a brief moment, as one of them.

This wedding was her chance. Tiffany had even made her the maid of honor to give her the proper authority. For a moment, it was like they’d handed her all her dreams, wrapped in poofy pale pink tulle, the fabric for her bridesmaid’s dress.

Or so she’d thought. Then the threats had kicked in.

Tiffany had wanted her to lead the whole shindig. Even knowing she had a demanding full-time job. It hadn’t taken her long to realize why they’d been so inviting: she wasn’t one of the Deverell women. Her mother had reverted to her maiden name after her first divorce—and she’d changed her three daughters’ names too, out of spite. Ariel had balked at giving up her father and Jeffrey’s last name of Holmes after the divorce. Her mother hadn’t cared enough to fight her, saying it was probably less confusing anyway since she didn’t embody the Deverell women characteristics.

Which her sisters had taken to mean the curse didn’t apply to her. Surely if she planned everything, the bad luck would stay away. Logic had never been their strong suit, God love them. She’d pretty much told them Madame Renfro, the voodoo priestess, would have said there was no way the spirit world worked like that. Or so she figured…

They hadn’t liked her response or her insistence they needed a dedicated wedding planner. That’s when her sister and mother had brought out the familiar big guns of family manipulation. Because a Deverell woman would do anything to get what she wanted…

Which was why Ariel really wasn’t one of them. She couldn’t go that low.

God. Families. You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.

She took a sip from her flask to stave off the bitter taste in her mouth. The blackmail was like tea left too long in her grandmother’s Royal Doulton rose teapot. What would her grandmother think of their deviousness? Maybe she would have understood. She’d wanted the wedding curse broken long ago. She’d consulted multiple psychics on the subject to no good end, obviously.

Ariel had been close to her. Her grandma hadn’t been able to do much with the Three Tornadoes. They were a unit and tight as a sailing knot, and oddly, Grandma had said maybe they were too much like her for the four to get along. Ariel hadn’t had anyone to really play with, and since she’d always been wise beyond her years, she and her grandma had bonded. She’d also loved Ariel taking good care of her.

Her cute little white house on Folly Beach with the green shutters was supposed to go to Ariel because she’d been the one to call her grandma at least three times a week and look out for her in her later years. Grandma had known how much Ariel loved that house—and also that her own daughter wouldn’t hesitate to sell it to a developer. But being old-fashioned and trusting in family to abide by her wishes, Grandma hadn’t imagined hiring a lawyer to create a will. She was old-school Charleston that way and frugal with her money.

But after she’d passed five months ago, her mother had given the deed to Tiffany with the understanding she could give it to Ariel after she made her wedding come off. Was she a little bitter at the blackmail?

Yes. But she was focused.

Grandma’s house was going to be hers, and she was going to do everything her sister wanted to make this wedding the event of Charleston.

If they ever picked her up...

She turned to her faithful hound. “You’ve got my back, right, boy?”

Sherlock gave a muted ruff and looked up at her with his sad, expressive brown eyes, the wrinkles on his angular face lending him the kind of wise visage people trusted, her most of all. Whenever they visited her family, he stayed glued to her side. He knew what they were up against.

“Well, buddy, we knew how it was going to be. Back in Tornado Alley, family style. No pity parties.” She took another drink from her flask. The whiskey was a welcome streak of fire down her throat as she stared at the empty baggage carousel making lazy circles around the airport.

Sherlock suddenly gave a low ruff, his droopy head lifting as a light blue vintage Bronco pulled up along the curb outside baggage claim—noticeable because up until now it had been as empty as the rest of the airport. A tall man with broad shoulders wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans headed around the hood after letting himself out and jogged toward the entrance. The sliding doors slicked open. He paused, putting his hands on his trim hips as he scanned the area before sighting her. The frown on his handsome face changed into a killer smile. Her heart gave a lurch, like she’d just hit her bicycle’s brakes because she’d seen something amazing and wanted to stop.

Wowza.

She’d seen photos of Naval Captain Dax Cross on social media after he’d first texted to introduce himself as best man. She’d already been told his nickname was Captain Hotpants, and wasn’t that cute as hell? That he was H-O-T hot wasn’t in question. He was absolutely gorgeous, whether in his dress whites or in faded jeans and a ripped T-shirt on the beach.

The beach pics were especially yummy, and she might have looked at them a few times. Not in a stalker like way. But in a I want to make sure I’ll recognize him when I meet him way. Okay, and maybe she’d drooled a little.

Like she was now. His sandy hair was windblown from the storm. His square jaw carried a day’s stubble from not shaving. But it was his piercing moss green eyes that had her breath freezing in her chest.

She’d been attracted by his good-humored texts as much as his photos and posts online, but he was even better-looking in person. Attraction confirmed. Body temperature rising. Jeffrey would be thrilled. She certainly wanted to give a little cheer. If he was her consolation prize this week, she could get through anything.

Suddenly being the maid of honor to his best man didn’t seem like a chore. No, this task was going to go down like red velvet cake and extra dry champagne.

She lifted her hand and waved. “Captain Hotpants!”

“Ariel Holmes!” He walked over in determined strides, a mouthwatering picture of pure, all-American male in action. “I heard your family forgot to get you, so I headed out while they were arguing about who would brave the storm. You’d think with your mother being named Stormy and your sisters being called the Three Tornadoes they wouldn’t make such a fuss over a little rain.”

There was an edge to his voice already, one that had Sherlock’s head lifting as he gazed up at the captain. “You brought the garlic, right?”

His mouth flattened and a forced exhale was audible beyond the baggage claim turnstile noise. “I thought you were joking when you texted that. Now I know better…”

The ominous tone was clear. Something had happened. Poor guy. He was only a good-natured best man trying to do his best by his fellow pilot and former college roommate from the Naval Academy. Rob Abrams was clearly the fiery one in their brotherhood. When she’d met him at Thanksgiving, she’d found him to be exactly the sort of magnetic, rugged male Tiffany usually went for. They’d gotten along fine, sticking to work talk, but Ariel could tell Rob had some baggage from childhood. Tiffany had plenty of her own baggage, so Ariel was hoping the discipline Rob had learned in the military would help them create a more stable foundation for their lives. Because Tiffany needed it—and so did her son, Marshall, from her first marriage.

Suddenly she wondered if Dax was upset because he’d seen a few other sides of her sister and was worried about his friend. That was only natural. Except it seemed like something bigger had happened, she decided.

A flash of lightning had him looking off toward the windows as the first plops of rain sounded on the roof. “But how are you? You must be pissed they forgot you.”

She stood up, feeling like a shrimp compared to his tall frame as a crack of thunder boomed outside. “I’m used to it. Two weddings ago, I started bringing my own flask.”

When she waggled it, he rolled those gorgeous green eyes dramatically. “That’s both sad and ingenious. I’ve been here a day, and I’m already feeling like I’m in a parallel universe. I’m only saying that since you suggested the garlic. Here, let me get your bag. Also, what are my rules of engagement with Sherlock? I know search and rescue dogs don’t like people getting up in their business.”

Impressed, she straightened Sherlock’s drool bib hanging over his vest. “That’s correct. Put your hand out and let him get your scent. After that, it’s up to him. Oh, and I can get my own bag.”

“Please. I have to keep up my reputation as Captain Hotpants.” His flirtatious wink had her wanting to do a cartwheel as he held out his hand to her dog. “Besides, I need to lift things. You’re doing me a favor.”

Okay, that had her mouth twitching. Especially since her luggage had wheels. “My sisters tell me you’re known for having the best buns this side of Biloxi.” That had not been on his social media account.

The winning smile he shot her as he cocked his very taut butt playfully to the side was as welcome to her eyes as summer sun on a windy beach. “The other side of Biloxi was already taken.”

Goodness, he was too good-looking for words. And that cute little tush...

Seeing that every day would be no hardship. Captain Hotpants was going to be her one pleasure this week, helping her make this wedding come off.

“I find that hard to believe, seeing it in real life,” she flirted back.

He flashed another take your breath away smile. “No, really, it’s a longstanding joke between me and Rob. You can’t take us too seriously sometimes. Working as a pilot, you get a sick sense of humor because of the risks you navigate. But you know what I mean, going into disaster sites, looking for people.”

“I do.”

She knew Rob had grown up as a single child, not really knowing his father, and he’d chosen the Navy as much for its adventure as to make something of his life. He must be an adrenaline junkie, the kind of person who chased storms. Her job had its share of adrenaline, but she didn’t feed on it. Not like Rob seemed to as a fighter pilot. He’d loved telling her how fast he’d gone and some of the dangerous maneuvers he’d pulled. Now his personal life was going to be filled with the same kind of turbulence. That was Tiffany—and her other two sisters.

Mesmerizing. Chaotic. Destructive.

Most of the men who’d hooked up with her mother’s side were like that, but none of the marriages had lasted.

“Whatever the reason for the joke, Captain Hotpants, it sounds like a good story.”

He gave a heartfelt wince. “You could say that. We came down this way for spring break back in college, and I got to talking up a girl, which led to her coining the phrase one night over Jack and Coke. My call sign—Hercules—didn’t stick in the Navy because Rob is an asshole.”

Ariel laughed, knowing he said it like guys do. She hung out with guys so much for her job she was used to being treated like one of them. “Let’s hope he’s an endearing asshole, if he’s marrying my sister.”

Something hard flashed in his eyes. She noted it as Sherlock nudged her hand. Yeah, her dog had sensed there was a problem too.

“Something like that.” He inclined his head to the exit. “We should head out before it really starts to pour. I’m glad I left the hard top on coming down here.”

The rain was falling in giant plops, but so far it wasn’t a raging thunderstorm despite the ominous lightning and thunder. She followed Dax out to the curb, feeling the large drops hit her hair. She was touched when he opened her door first and then the back passenger side for Sherlock. After seeing them to safety, he ran around the front of the car and climbed inside himself as a white flash lit the sky. Raindrops had wet his face, highlighting his strong brows and rock-hard jaw. My, oh my, was he one tall drink of water, as Grandma had liked to say.

“Everybody good?” he asked as he buckled up.

A boomer shook the car, making Sherlock bark in response. “You’re all right, buddy,” she reassured him. “We’re good, Dax. But I’m starving. Do you mind if we hit the Waffle House nearby for burgers or something?”

He turned the engine on. “You bet. I can always eat. Just show me the way. I’d heard you love it here. But I didn’t know you were moving here from Charlotte until Rob mentioned it.”

She’d made those plans on the contingency of getting Grandma’s house, but she wasn’t going to say anything about the blackmail. She grabbed her phone and brought up the directions for the Waffle House she had in mind, planting it on the console where he could see it.

“Charlotte isn’t a place I’ve ever felt I could plant roots. My grandma lived here, so we used to come as kids for the summer. Later I came when I wasn’t working. She recently passed.”

“I heard,” he said gravely, “and I’m sorry.”

Ariel felt her throat tighten. “Thank you. It’s still weird, having her gone. But she has a beautiful house on Folly Beach I’m hoping to move into. I know it might sound like a funny place to move, coming from someone who’s done disaster recovery after a hurricane, but every place has its dangers, I personally think. And this place is special. The kind where you can put all your troubles aside, dig your toes into the sand, and just be.”

Her job was so stressful Ariel had few places where she could let go. Her grandmother’s place had always been a refuge. First, from a broken, chaotic home when her mother had divorced her father, and then later, when she’d needed a place to heal after all the disasters she’d seen.

Searching for people in wreckages with Sherlock and pulling them out alive was powerfully fulfilling. But not finding them in time—break-you-in-two heartbreaking.

“Sounds like a nice place,” Dax commented, cranking the windshield wipers up to high as the rain fell harder as they left the airport.

“It’s the best. If I can swing it, I plan to take Sherlock out that way for some exercise. He doesn’t like being caged up. You’re welcome to come along.”

He glanced her way, a sexy smile touching the corners of his tantalizing mouth. Pure temptation, like the rest of him. “I’d like that. You seem like good company. I thought you would be. Ariel Holmes, I’m really glad you’re here.”

So was she—and that was a downright miracle. “I’m happy you’re here too, Dax. I won’t need to bring my garlic necklace out when I’m around you.”

He laughed before falling silent.

The quiet in the car was the easy kind after that, and she savored it. She’d liked Dax from his first text, and everything she’d seen on social media and heard from her family had backed that up. He seemed to be a decent kind of guy. A loyal friend. A dedicated military officer. She sometimes worked with active and retired military personnel in her job, and she enjoyed their company a lot. She knew Rob had conscripted Dax as much as Tiffany had enlisted Ariel for the wedding, though blackmail had likely not been involved in Dax’s case. Lucky guy.

The sound of Dax drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove made her look over. His mouth was tense again, and he seemed troubled. They were on the same team. She might as well get it out of him.

“I know we’ve only just met, but I have a good sense of people from my work. I also know my family. You seem upset. Did something happen already?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, and because I like and respect you, I’m going to be completely honest with you.”

She turned in her seat to give him her complete attention. “Great. Honesty is my jam. Lay it on me.”

He swung his head her way, his cool green gaze locking on to her. “Tiffany hit on me.”

“Oh no!” She wanted to sink into her seat and howl like Sherlock chose to just then.

“Yeah.” He drummed the steering wheel louder this time. “Ariel… I’m going to have to stop the wedding.”

Shit . Stopping the wedding meant she couldn’t earn her grandma’s house.

The Deverell wedding curse had just sent her a curveball.