Marriage (Red, White &) Blues (Unexpectedly Married #2)

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

A s an FYI for anyone who’d never been to Michigan— visit. You want pretty? We got pretty—especially up north. The McCains owned a small private island in Lake Huron that they vacationed on in the summers or schmoozed other rich people for other rich-people things. I’d been there before. Ant invited Pen, Sierra, and me up there several times when we’d been teens. Gretchen, the killjoy, had always gone with, but bitched about camping the entire time.

Camping? Please . They glamped. As in glamorous camped. The ginormous “cabin” housed forty people, including staff hired on strictly to work the cabin and its upkeep, which meant for most of the year, at least back then, the employees lived like royalty and got paid for it. Ant purchased the home from his parents, and downsized the staff, opting to contract out the landscaping. He and Pen loved to cook together, so no chef but definitely kept a housekeeper contracted to come in once a week from the mainland. His transportation, of course.

Now, my dad and I camped . Every year, we’d drive up to Cut River in the UP, where we’d slept in his grandfather’s old WWII canvas army tent. Sleeping bags on the ground. Not even an air mattress. A campfire kept us warm at night, and the lake or the shade of the trees to cool us during the day. OFF to keep the mosquitoes, horseflies and deer ticks from making the trip miserable. My mother refused to go. Kid Gloria loved camping. Adult Gloria’s idea of “roughing it” was a two-star hotel without a pool.

Happily, the weather cooperated today. Bright-yellow sunshine and blue skies complete with fluffy, white clouds. The one I was tracking reminded me of an elephant with a unicorn horn.

I pointed out our turn and Blake clicked on his blinker to take the exit.

After a couple of miles, the marina came into view. Even as a little girl, boats, marinas, and large bodies of water excited me down to my very soul. Excitement trilled over my skin and up my spine and I turned to say, I didn’t know what, to my husband, only to find him already looking at me thoughtfully.

“You love this,” he said.

“I love that I get to share this with you. Water is my happy place.”

He reached over to take my hand, but he didn’t say anything more. I wished he’d talk to me. I knew all this stuff with Lorelei and Raymond Hill bothered him more than he let on. Who better to unload on than your wife? Wives made for great companions and stress soothers when utilized in the capacity for which we were intended. I mean, I supposed some wives weren’t so good at stress relief, but I remained steadfast in my belief at my ability to be all the wife Blake Parker ever needed.

“Everything okay, Blake?” I asked.

He glanced down at our intertwined fingers and then back at the road before answering, “I just feel like I’m missing something?” Then he dropped my hand to point at the water. “Is that them?”

Pen waved frantically, smiling huge for us, while Sierra in her I’m too cool to wave like a maniac era stood with her arms folded over her chest. And Pete—he stood very close to her with his hands resting on her hips.

Blake pulled into a spot next to Ant’s Jag and didn’t even get my Outback turned off before Pen threw open my door trying to drag me from the car. Blake pressed the buckle on the seatbelt for me, and once free from the car, Pen began dancing in a circle singing, “We’re going to the island… We’re going to the island…”

It was the same dance, the same song we used to sing as teenagers and I had to join in, dancing in a circle with her, shaking my booty. “We’re going to the island…” I singsonged. Then, Sierra, obviously over her too-cool attitude, jumped in to dance and sing with us while the men watched and laughed.

Ask me if I cared. Me and my girls, just like old times.

Finally, Ant asked, “Would you like to continue your dance party on the boat?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods? Sierra asked.

And in case you’re unaware, the answer was a resounding yes .

But seriously, boat? Not even. Ant owned a small yacht. Or—Ant and Pen owned a small yacht. I laced my fingers with Blake’s pulling him next to me. His smile melted my heart.

The men got their man shakes on, those manly handshake, arm pat thing.

Ant boarded first, helping Pen onto the deck. Then he held out his hand for me. Blake climbed on after me without assistance. Ant then gave Sierra’s hand a tug to help her onboard, and he gave Pete a hand up too. Pete was more comfortable on a horse than on a boat.

Consider me shocked to find out my husband had experience on boats. The two of them maneuvered us out of the marina into open water toward what had affectionately been christened Pant Island, after all the papers were signed. Who named an island Pant? Well, as it turned out, Stanton McCain for his fair Penelope. Get it? Pant—as in Pen and Ant Island. Romantically ridiculous.

While Pen and Sierra decided to take the party inside, I stayed on deck because being anywhere else seemed inherently wrong. I loved feeling the wind on my face. My hair didn’t agree with my assessment of the situation and my hairbrush and I were about to go ten rounds in the main ring tonight. I only hoped tomorrow found me still a redhead and not a bald woman.

Two hands squeezed my waist from behind as my husband pressed his body against my back. “This reminds me of the boat ride to Tr?na,” he whispered in my ear. “You stood out on the deck then, too. But I didn’t have the right to hold you then.”

“You had the right… even back then,” I admitted.

He pressed his forehead to the back of my head and let out a long breath as he squeezed my waist again. “I love you so damn much, Glory.”

I reached my hand up to run my fingers through his hair. A good fifteen minutes of fresh water and wind. The rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of us and the view.

Our moment ended when Ant called out, “Blake, we’re coming to dock,” and my husband let my waist go to help lead the boat into dock. Once we’d tied off and anchored, Blake grabbed our bags, dropping them onto the wooden planks before he lifted me off rather than help me walk down the ladder. Having a tall, strong husband had its perks.

“You know,” I said, “thinking about Tr?na, I thought that I wanted to spend the rest of my life traveling with you, never imagining back then that we’d end up married.”

“We should’ve kept traveling. Instead, I bring you back to deal with all my family drama. I hate that a safari turned into such a mess for you.”

“Are you kidding me? If he had an address, I’d send Mingati a thank you card.”

“I’m a shit husband because I would accidentally marry you a hundred times over, despite everything.”

“Your family is whatever. I’d have run to you without the marriage. If you haven’t gotten this yet, I’m fairly certain I met the love of my life while on a picnic in Paris.”

“ Fairly certain?” Blake asked, laughing as he grabs ahold of my blouse, burying his face against my neck to hold me.

“The newlyweds get the bedroom farthest from us,” Ant said as he passed out rooms.

Sierra walks by him, patting his chest as she passed. “You really want to go there, Loverboy?”

“Touché,” he replied but abruptly changed the subject. “Blake and Pete want to help unload the groceries?”

Because the big, strong men did the heavy grunt work of lugging boxes of groceries up to the house, Pen, Sierra, and I graciously got to work preparing a meal.

Pen put me on peppers. I flipped the first one over to rest on the cap and dug my fingernails into the bottom to tear it into sections and get the seeds out. For some reason my grandmother always did it this way, so I did too.

“Oh, my god, what did that pepper do to hurt you?” Sierra asked.

“Gloria smash,” Pen teased.

Laughing, I threw the stem at Sierra and then whipped the bundle of seeds at Pen. They cackled while I defended my choice, “Hey—Grandma Maria’s tried and true pepper technique. Are you going to argue with my old-world grandmother?” They cackled harder, dragging me into their cackling coven with them.

By the time we got the food on the table, the entire house smelled of chicken parm over homemade pasta and garlic toast. Sierra cut up the veg for the salad because my grandma’s pulled apart peppers got overruled.

“That is one of the best meals I’ve had in I can’t tell you how long,” Pete said. “And that includes the dinner at your mom’s wedding,” he said to me in his adorable Oklahoma twang. “Thank you, ladies.”

“Wait until you taste Sierra’s Italian cream cake,” Pen said, the little instigator.

Pete’s gaze roamed over the table to land on Sierra and the corner of his mouth hitched up in that sexy way men had when they weren’t trying to be sexy, while she squirmed in her seat and the tips of her ears turned bright red. He eyed her like the only cream he planned to eat, he’d eat from between her thighs. “I can’t wait to taste anything Sierra has to offer,” Pete said.

“Right.” Sierra shot up out of her seat and practically ran to the kitchen. Pete stood from his seat at a much slower pace, nodded at the men at the table, and followed her in.

I turned to Pen and Ant. “What am I missing? Why is she so against Pete? He’s wonderful. He’s fun and he’s the sexiest ginger I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Then we need to get you a new mirror,” Blake said, “because Pete doesn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart.”

Pen popped out a laugh as I shook my head, smiling at his absurdly humorous comment. I balled up my napkin tossing it at his head.

“What?” Ant asked. “You’d rather your husband think Pete was hotter?”

Just then, Sierra speed-walked out of the kitchen past the table. “Cake is in the kitchen. I’m going upstairs for a while. I think we should make a fire in the fire pit.” And then she took off in a dead run up the stairs.

Pete sauntered out of the kitchen— sauntered —wearing a wicked smirk and a disarming glint in his eye with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Ladies,” he said to Pen and me. “Gents,” he said to the men, then he picked up his plate and flatware, and Sierra’s plate and flatware, and turned to saunter back into the kitchen. When he caught me staring, he lifted both his eyebrows, almost the way one might chin lift, and then he winked.

We all turned to Ant, who broke out laughing and excused himself from the table, gathering up his and Pen’s dinnerware before he left, too.

“She won’t talk about it,” Pen said, holding up her hand to stop the barrage of questions about to spew from my mouth. “I’ve asked. She clams up every single time. Actually, I was hoping you could get her to spill.”

“Me? She’s been so secretive since your wedding. I thought it was just a fling, but now… I don’t know what to think.”

“One thing I know,” Ant said, walking back into the dining room with us, “is that if anyone can get her to spill, it’s you two.”

“But just to be safe, you’re working on Pete, right?” she asked him.

“Hell yeah.” He laughed. “Pete’s my best friend. I deserve the chance to give him shit about her the way he gave me shit about you.”

“ Ant !” Pen shouted, slapping his arm.

“What?” The damn man shrugged so innocently. What , my derriere. The instigator. “But then he muttered, “Turnabout is fair play” under his breath and Pen went to slap him again, but he caught her hand, pulling her onto his lap.

Again, Ant had been with Gretchen, but in love with Pen. None of us knew about his feelings for Pen. It made sense for Pete to think that he needed to just be single for a while.

I looked at Blake. “Children. I swear we’re surrounded by children.”

My husband put his hands up in surrender. “I just married into this. You chose this madhouse.”

“But we’re an entertaining madhouse,” Pen said and I didn’t even try to hold back the snort.

The four of us cleaned up after dinner and then the men went outside to start the campfire while we took care of the adult beverages. If we were getting Sierra to spill, we had one surefire way to make that happen: lemon drops —but why did it take three strong, intelligent, adult men to start a campfire? I’d been building campfires since I was like, ten years old.

While Pen started mixing lemon drops, I walked back into the kitchen to cut the cake and bring out a tray with forks and a server. Then, just for extra incentive to get my friend to open up to me, I rummaged around the cupboard until I found the Hershey’s chocolate bars, graham crackers, and jumbo marshmallows. S’mores worked almost as well as lemon drops. The two of them together? No can defend.

Now we were only missing Sierra. She stayed in her room despite Pen calling for her three times. Okay, time for reinforcements.

I held out my hand. “Pen, lemon drop— stat .” While she poured the drink, I found a stick off of the patio and charred the end of it to sanitize it, then I impaled a fat marshmallow on the tip and heated it to burnt perfection. We didn’t mess around with those lightly browned, slightly melted abominations. Pen, Sierra, and I understood to make the perfect s’more, you had to suffer. I’m talking charcoal on the outside and white molten lava on the inside. Cracker. Chocolate square. Mouth-cauterizing sugar and the top cracker. That was how you made a s’more.

Then Pen and I set off to ambush our best friend. Sierra sat at the end of her bed, staring out the window at the starry night. We knew she wouldn’t open up yet. The lemon drop peace offering was only the first step. Sierra was no lightweight. We had to play the long game. Pen handed her the drink.

“Thanks,” she said, sniffing it first, as if she didn’t know right away what we brought her.

“What?” Pen asked. “Do you think we poisoned it?”

Sierra laughed, shaking her head, and then she took a sip. “But I know what you guys are doing and it won’t work.”

“What we’re doing?” Pen asked innocently. “You mean, trying to get you downstairs to sit with us around the campfire?”

Si raised her eyebrow, puckering in her way of expressing bullshit .

“Look, Si…” I held up the plate of molten goodness and her eyes grew huge. Called it. Sierra Winthrop never could resist a homemade s’more. She reached for it, but I it just out of her reach. “Nuh-uh…” Then I sniffed the treat and made an overexaggerated moaning noise. The classy woman holding a lemon drop in her lap, growled at me. “If you want it, Si, then you have to join the campfire festivities.”

“Is Pete there?” she asked.

“Yes,” Pen answered. “But so is Ant and Blake. They’ll keep him occupied.”

“I don’t know…” she started and no. She didn’t get to I don’t know .

I waved the plate with the s’more under her nose. “Come on, Si. It’s cooling off… you know you want it.”

She tried to grab the plate from my hand, but I was too quick. “If you want it, you know what you have to do.” I waved the plate again. “The power of the s’more compels you!” I shouted and both she and Pen busted a gut laughing. Whatever worked, right?

“Fine,” she reluctantly said as she stood from the bed clutching her drink, then she snatched the plate from my hand. “But I’m not talking.”

“About what?” Pen asked, still laughing. At least this way, we’d get her downstairs to ply her with alcohol. The drunker she got, the more she’d glare at Pete. And the more she glared at Pete, the more she’d spill. It was one of our more brilliantly evil plans, if I do say so myself.

A reluctant Sierra dragged her feet down the stairs and dragged them even slower out to the back yard. To their credit, the men hardly glanced her way and I knew it took everything in them not to. Especially for Pete. He wanted Sierra like a bear yearned for honey.

We offered her the chair farthest away from Pete and she sat, then took a huge bite of s’more in. “It’s cold,” she whined through her mouthful of food.

“Okay, give it here.” I made the mistake of trying to take it away. Sierra snapped her teeth at my hand. “Right, I’ll just make you another. Drink up.”

Penelope lifted the glass to Sierra’s lips by pushing up on the bottom of the glass. While Si sipped, I made her another s’more. Then I made one a piece for me and Pen. But then the men looked like they could use a s’more about now too, so I made one for each of them.

As I handed them out, I got a kiss from Blake, a “Thank you” from Ant, and probably a “Thanks” from Pete, but I couldn’t hear over Sierra saying, “He’s the enemy!”

Uh, the enemy? Since when was sweet, sexy Pete Rutherford the enemy? Pen fixed Si another drink. And then another. And then another. Boy, that woman could be stubborn when she wanted to be. Pen and I needed answers.

“And that’s another thing…” Sierra slurred, as if she’d been having a conversation in her head and just decided to let us join in on it, too. “What gives him the right?” she asked us earnestly, but I had no clue how to answer. And then, just like that, Sierra slumped in her seat and started snoring.

“Uh… I think you went a little heavy-handed with the vodka,” I said.

“It could’ve been the triple sec,” she replied, and when I shook my head, she dropped her face in her hands. “I like the flavor.”

Okay, so Operation Get-Sierra-Drunk-and-Get-Her-to-Spill-All-the-Juicy-Gossip was not only a mouthful, but officially a bust. I was more than ready to try for a Plan B and a Plan C, D, and E if necessary. I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. I wasn’t that creative.

As I watched my friend sleep off her drunken stupor, she just looked so uncomfortable, I decided to walk her to bed. I set her empty glass down on the cement next to her chair then wrapped my good arm around her waist to lift her up into a standing position. I still had to take it easy with the collarbone. Pen, Blake, Ant, and even Pete stood to help me, but I waved them away. I could take care of her. And I thought maybe she wouldn’t like witnesses should she say, puke on the way up or something. Did I relish the thought of cleaning up her puke? Nope. Would I do it for her? Absolutely.

“I got this. Could you make me a drink, though, Pen? I’ll need it when I get back.”

I learned way back in high school that Sierra could walk on command. Whether drunk or asleep, she’d pick up her feet for me. It made helping her out of parties easier on my back and knees. As a scholarship kid, I couldn’t risk getting busted for underage drinking or anything like that, which left me the job of DD. And, you know, the people closest to me in the world got home safe.

Part of me wished I’d taken them up on their offer to help get her up as I struggled, putting strain on my injury. Blake watched for about two seconds before standing to get Sierra out of her chair. He also helped me get her up the stairs, where he transferred custody of my inebriated friend, kissed my cheek, and jogged back down to the others still gathered on the patio.

Once in the room, I started peeling the smelly campfire clothing off of her helping Si into her nightgown and then I pulled back the covers on the bed.

“He said he loved me,” she slurred, hiccupped, and then passed out again.

What? Who? Pete? Someone else? No, no, no… I needed more.

“Who, Si? Who said that?”

She mumbled something that sounded like, “Manfred Robie Wendel logged.” Since I never heard the name Manfred Robie Wendel in my life, I had to assume that I heard her wrong. Well, whatever she said, she said it with conviction.

I sighed. “Oh, Sierra… when are you going to trust me?”

“You and me both,” said a voice coming from the door in an Oklahoma twang.

“Pete?” I asked earnestly and he just shook his head sadly and turned away. I heard the soft footfalls of his cowboy boots hitting the hardwood floor traveling away from Sierra’s room and floating down the stairs.

Oh, boy… it was times like these I was glad to be married.