Chapter 15
15
Cara caught sight of the stranger just as she was finishing the last details of the elaborate arch she’d constructed out of fallen tree branches, Spanish moss, deer antlers, grouse feathers, ivy, and dried hydrangeas. Since it was where Laurie-Beth and Payton would stand to say their vows she wanted to make sure an errant antler wouldn’t fall off and bonk the couple on the head. Concussions were never fun at a wedding.
She’d arrived at the cotton warehouse late Saturday afternoon, already behind schedule.
He was standing just inside the propped-open door of the warehouse, his arms crossed over his chest, and a late-afternoon ray of sunlight seemed to catch and illuminate his blond tresses, almost like a halo. He wasn’t a guest; the wedding wasn’t for another two hours, and anyway, he was dressed casually, in designer jeans—7 For All Mankind, she was sure, a silky black T-shirt, and black motorcycle boots. He had deliberate beard stubble, piercing green eyes, and he was tall enough and slender enough to be a runway model.
But she knew he wasn’t. The hair was the giveaway. She’d seen it on his website.
He was watching her, spying on the competition, and he didn’t care if she knew. Should she confront him, ask him to leave? But that would make him think she had something to hide. She decided to ignore him, for now anyway.
Cara stood on the top rung of her stepladder, and steadied herself with both hands on the side supports of the arch. She made another pass with the picture wire, looping it around and around Payton Jelks’s prized ten-point antlers, which she’d secured to the top of the arch, then tying it off on the backside of the arch, where it wouldn’t be seen.
She reached into the bag of extra feathers and dried flowers she’d slung over her left shoulder, pulled her glue gun from the holster she’d rigged on her belt, and went to add another cluster of dried hydrangea blooms, leaning ever-so-slightly to the right. Which was a mistake. It was like a slow-motion cartoon. She tried to counteract the wobble, inching to the left, but she overcorrected, and it was too late. She grabbed for the right tree branch. Also a mistake. It came away in her hand, and she tumbled to the concrete floor.
And her arch, her gorgeous, forest-fantasy arch, came tumbling right down around her.
She fell flat on her ass, but instinctively shielded her head with her arms, as antlers and branches and feathers rained down around her. She felt a sear on her calf, felt the hot glue gun ricocheting onto the floor.
“Shit!”
He was at her side in a moment, kneeling down beside her, pulling her to a sitting position.
“Hey! Are you okay?” He brushed feathers and moss and dried hydrangea petals from her hair and shoulders.
“Shit!” she repeated, looking around at the ruins. “Shit. Damn. Hell. Piss.”
He laughed, throwing his head back, displaying a set of perfect white teeth in contrast to his perfect golden tan. Actually, he was prettier than a runway model. He looked like something off the cover of a paperback romance novel. Biker boots and all.
“At least you didn’t get impaled in the throat with an antler.”
“At least,” she said sourly.
“Can you stand?” he asked, extending a hand to help her up.
“Guess I’d better, if I’m gonna get this thing rebuilt before seven.” She took his hand and managed to stand. Her tailbone was already starting to throb, her right shin was bleeding, and she could see a bruise blooming on her right elbow, where she’d tried to break her fall.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’m sorry about your arch,” he said. “It was really looking pretty kick-ass.”
“I know,” Cara said. “Was.”
He hesitated for a moment. “I could help you put it back together. You know, if you want.”
Did she? Did she want his help?
“I’m Cullen Kane,” he said. “The new kid in town.”
“I know,” she said.
“And you’re Cara Kryzik,” he said. “Bloom. I’m a big fan of your work.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling her face redden. Was he being facetious? How would he know what her work looked like? Unlike him, she’d never had a wedding published.
“I was a guest at that wedding you did last weekend. Lillian Fanning’s sister-in-law used to be married to my cousin.”
“Really?” She hadn’t noticed him at the Fanning wedding, but then, she’d been so distracted, what with Poppy and the creep who’d dognapped her, that that shouldn’t have been a big surprise. Cara arched an eyebrow. “I’m surprised Lillian didn’t ask you to do Torie’s flowers.”
“Gawd forbid,” he drawled. “I’ve known Torie since she was in diapers, and she was hell on wheels even back then.”
Cara wasn’t sure whether to agree or take the high road. “Torie was a… challenge,” she allowed.
He smiled. “Tactful and talented. Anyway, I really did love what you did at their wedding. I’m sure Torie and Lillian were insisting on some blown-out Versailles-style designs. You did a nice job of reining them in, but still giving them what they thought they wanted.”
“Well… thanks. Thanks very much. I appreciate the compliment, coming from somebody in the field.”
“Not at all.” He gestured at the pile of branches. “I really would be happy to help you resurrect your arch. I’m pretty handy with a cordless drill and a glue gun.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she tried to demur. But the minutes were ticking away. It had taken both her and Bert an entire day to build the damn thing back at the shop.
“Professional courtesy,” he said, bowing from the waist. “I insist.”
***
True to his word, Cullen Kane was a whiz with power tools. With the extra set of hands, they were able to get the branch structure rebuilt in only thirty minutes. This time, though, at his suggestion, they added bracing with some extra branches she’d brought along. He tugged hard on both sides, and then at the top of the arch, and this time around, there wasn’t the slightest wobble.
He was so tall he didn’t even really need the stepladder to wire the antlers to the top of the arch. So Cara worked on the side supports, attaching the antlers and feathers and flowers, while he positioned the ten-point antlers precisely at the top of the arch, adding sprays of dried flowers and feathers in a carefully contrived medallion shape, even fashioning a rough bow with a long strand of ivy, before applying more festoons of Spanish moss.
“Dammit,” Cara muttered under her breath, looking up at his composition.
“Too much?” He stood back.
“No. Much better. Dammit.”
“It was your vision,” he said. “All I did was follow directions.”
He was really insufferable. She should hate him. And she kind of did hate him, making her grateful for his help.
She glanced at her watch. “Oh! I’ve gotta get out of here. Gotta get home and shower and change before the wedding party starts arriving.” She held out her hand. “Thanks for helping out. You were a lifesaver.”
He shrugged. “It was the least I could do, after you caught me spying .”
She took a half step backward. “I suppose Patricia Trapnell told you they’d interviewed me for Brooke’s wedding.”
“She did. That’s Patricia. She loves intrigue. Loves to pit one person against the other.”
“I’m really not your competition,” Cara told him. “I think they only interviewed me as a courtesy to Brooke’s mother. Our styles seem… very different.”
“Not so different,” Cullen said, flashing those beautiful teeth again. “We’re both perfectionists.”
“There is that,” Cara admitted. She grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the stray bits of moss and flower petals.
“Good luck with the wedding,” Cullen said, realizing he’d been dismissed.
“Thanks,” Cara said. “And good luck with yours.”
He arched one eyebrow in an implied challenge. “We’ll see, won’t we?”