Chapter Twenty-Nine
Madison
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in George’s bedroom, I turn from side to side, surveying my wedding outfit. My cream-colored suit was the only choice I could think of in my haste to get married. There wasn’t time to go shopping, the nearest bridal store more than an hour away.
My formal wear and corporate suits I’d invested in over the last decade are all in a professional, corporate color palette.
Who am I kidding? Most of my gowns and power outfits are black, the exact opposite shade I need for today.
I bought this particular suit to wear at a white-themed party on a yacht owned by one of my clients.
It worked for the party. Now? Not so much.
“This is all wrong,” I mumble, running my hands down the pearl-encrusted lapels.
The fitted jacket flares slightly at my hips in a peplum style. I look like Mrs. Wiggins from The Carol Burnett Show, one of my dad’s favorite classic television shows. Give me a nail file and a mouthful of gum, and I’ve aced this beloved character.
“What do you mean?” Beverly asks. “You look gorgeous.”
I frown and eye my reflection staring back at me. “No, I don’t. I look like a secretary or a speaker about to bore an audience at a conference.”
My hair is pulled back into a tidy bun at the nape of my neck, and my red, corporate lipstick reminds me of a circus clown. My heart sinks. I quit that part of my life not even forty-eight hours ago, and here I am dressing the part again.
“No, this is all wrong. What am I doing?” I unpin my hair and shake it loose around my shoulders. Grabbing a tissue, I aggressively wipe off the lipstick.
“Maddy?”
Beverly sits pin-straight on the corner of the bed while watching me, her worried expression taking over her pretty face. She’s wearing a floral dress and knee-high leather boots looking prettier than ever. Giving her the once over, I seriously consider changing outfits with her.
Tossing the lipstick-stained tissue on the dresser, I head for the door. Beverly stands in a rush.
“Where are you going?”
I stop and turn, willing myself to calm down. “I’m going to find George. Maybe he’s still in the barn?”
“But why?” She looks at her watch. “It’s almost time for the ceremony. Besides, the barn is dirty and dusty, and you’re wearing white.” She points at me.
“Cream.” I correct her.
“Well, you won’t get very far in those fancy shoes.”
I look at my feet. Bev is right. These nude Jimmy Choo heels will only slow me down.
I hold onto the doorjamb and slip off the pricey shoes. My eyes land on my cowboy boots near a chair. I sit and hurriedly slide them on.
“Madison, what has gotten into you? Those boots don’t go with your outfit.” She walks over to me and palms my shoulder. “Are you okay? Are you having second thoughts?”
I shake my head. “No. I just… I just want to look and feel like a bride on my wedding day, that’s all. I can’t walk in there looking like a corporate snob.” I chew my lower lip, anxious for a solution.
“Okay. Settle down. I’m sure we can make this work. What if you… take off the jacket, huh?” Beverly slides the jacket over my shoulders and tosses it on the bed. She smirks and says, “That doesn’t look half bad now with those cowboy boots.”
I turn and survey myself in the mirror again.
Once again, she’s right. It does look a little better.
And with my hair down and my lips more natural, I’m not so formal and bureaucratic.
My ivory shell is tucked into the skirt, my silhouette soft and feminine.
Thank goodness Beverly always has my back.
Still, I have an overwhelming desire to see George and get his take. I’m only getting married once in my lifetime, and I want it to be perfect. Not wearing a true wedding gown has thrown me for a loop. We shouldn’t have rushed. We should have built in more time to prepare.
“I still think you should wear your hair up to show off your gorgeous diamond earrings. Or maybe a high pony?”
“No. I’m wearing my hair down. And I’ll be right back. Meet me at the main house in ten minutes,” I yell over my shoulder.
I don’t give her time to answer as I rush out of the bedroom. It takes me a minute to jog to the barn, my boots quickly navigating the uneven terrain. The sliding door is ajar, and I notice a few interior lights on.
“George?”
I peer inside, the musty scent of old wood and dust mixed with the undeniable aroma of dried lavender hitting my senses.
Taking a few tentative steps into the cool confines of the historic structure, I look up into the loft space and marvel at the explosion of upside-down lavender hanging from the rafters.
The stems are tied with twine close to the purple flower heads and hang in the dark above a huge table a few feet from a built-in ladder.
As I come closer to inspect the workstation of twine, ribbon, and cutting utensils, the tip of my boot strikes something on the floor, halfway sticking out from under the table.
I look down and gasp at the beautiful flowers abandoned in the dirt.
I realize it’s a bouquet. White daylilies and dried lavender are tied together with a perfect purple bow. I lean over and pick it up.
Bringing the flowers to my face, I breathe in the deep, sensual smell and smile. This is one of George’s creations. It’s the “secret” he was working on. The sweet man crafted me a wedding bouquet. And it’s perfect.
“George?” I call again. I keep my voice low in case he’s deeply engrossed in another project. I don’t want to startle him.
I’m anxious to see him. I want to tell him thank you for such a thoughtful gift. I want his sturdy arms around me and feel his lips kiss my cheek. I want him to remind me why we’re getting married in such a rush, even though I know it’s for Ralph’s sake.
I hear a man’s voice curse from outside. I frown, knowing George is not the kind of man who swears.
Quietly, I exit and walk parallel to the side of the barn. Peeking around the corner, I see Kip standing next to the water trough. He’s dipping a bandanna into the water and gently dabbing the fabric against his face.
His bloody, swollen face.
I gasp, causing him to stand at full attention. He looks right at me, and I cower from behind the wooden corner with uncertainty. I have no idea what happened to him.
“There will be payback,” he mumbles before spitting on the ground.
My body twitches with nerves, and my eyes scan his mangled face and posture. His flannel shirt is ripped at the shoulder, and his jeans are covered in dirt.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
“George Jamison is what happened. He sucker punched me when I was only trying to help.”
Confused, I leave my safe place and dare to come closer to Kip, desperate for answers. “George hit you?”
I notice Kip’s right eye is swelling shut, and the blood vessels under his skin are ruptured, discoloring his skin. His mouth is bloody, and his lower lip is split open. I’m concerned by the sight of him while trying to come to terms with George causing someone bodily harm.
Sweet, gentle, caring George.
Something horrible must have happened for him to lose control and erupt into a violent fistfight with his nemesis.
“I told him the truth. I told him you don’t really love him.”
My cheeks immediately flare with heat, and I see red. My words come out in a rush of anger through gritted teeth. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s the truth.” He wrings out the bandana and takes a step toward me. I step back. Kip’s beaten face is unreal.
He points a crooked finger at me. "I’m on to you, Miss High and Mighty.” I hold my breath, my eyes wide with trepidation.
“You didn’t quit your job. You have an automatic email letting your clients know you’re on vacation.”
My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
I did quit my job. I gave Kevin my two-week notice as a professional courtesy.
He needs sufficient time to transition my enormous responsibilities to someone else on the team.
I would never leave him high and dry. A two-week notice is a standard practice, and I’m not burning any bridges, even knowing I’m never returning to that stressful lifestyle.
I would, however, like to keep my professional reputation intact.
“Have you been… spying on me?” I ask. I grip the bouquet tighter so I don’t come completely unglued and lunge at Kip, ready to finish him off.
He drags the bandana across his forehead and winces. “Yeah. I’ve done some digging and figured out where you live in Atlanta. You better believe I showed George that too. You should’ve seen his face when he realized his fiancé is a high-maintenance gold-digger.”
I inhale a quick gasp when I realize Kip is the one who scared George away. Not my job or my address. It all makes sense now. It’s always been Kip, with his confusing words and angry tone. Kip, with his bullying and jealousy aimed at George all these years.
And now, because of me, this man is fearful he’ll lose the only opportunity he’s had to own a piece of this farm. Filling George’s mind with suspicion and insecurity to get me out of the picture is his last ditch effort to get what he wants. It’s the lowest of lows.
And I won’t give him the satisfaction of a rebuttal.
“Where is he now?”
He scowls. “I ain’t telling you. It’d be best if you took your scrawny butt back to Atlanta and let him be.
I can’t believe you tried to pull a fast one on him like this, tricking him into marriage, especially with his grandfather so close to death.
I gotta hand it to you, though; you must be pretty great at your job stealing other farms, wheelin’ and… ”
I don’t hear the rest of Kip’s sentence as I take off with the bouquet in my hand, running as if my life depended on it.
And doesn’t it?
My life finally started to fall into place when I met George.
And I won’t let some scorned, inadequate farmhand take that away from me.