Chapter 1 #5
“No. No, ‘Marge’ this weekend. And the same for ‘Ana.’ They have beautiful names. We use them.” Lorraine crossed her arms and gave me a hard look. Next to her was a mountain of luggage topped off with the oversized blush pink garment bag barely containing Marguerite’s fluffy meringue of a dress.
“Of course.” The old battle lines were still in place. Lorraine was with her girls on one side, and I was on the other. Alone. Damn, I missed Dad.
It was going to be a long wedding week.
“Do we need to get a rental car?” I asked.
“No, the ranch sent a driver. They have been so helpful.” Marguerite started babbling about wedding plans—plans I’d been getting texts, photos, and emails about for months.
Judging by her bubbly mood so far, everything must be going smoothly.
That would change at the first hiccup. She was obsessed with wedding perfection, and somehow I’d been roped into helping bring her vision to life.
“Great.” I retrieved my roller bag and started walking toward the sign for ground transportation. No way in hell I offered to help carry their… stuff. I had my limits, and acting as my stepmother's Sherpa was one.
The car they’d sent was a large black SUV with a magnetic placard on the door that said ‘Rivers Ridge Guest Ranch and Winery.’ A woman about my stepmother’s age, with cat-eye rhinestone glasses and shocking purple cowboy boots, stood next to the open passenger door, one hand resting on a cocked hip.
“Welcome to Texas, y’all. I’m Wanda.” She bowed and doffed her chauffeur’s cap with an irreverent smile.
“Hi, Wanda. I’m Cindy.” I held out my hand to shake.
She plopped her cap back on her head and took my hand in a firm grip.
This lady looked like fun. The boots and glasses screamed I’m more hilarious than a barrel full of monkeys. I was sitting up front next to her.
Getting all the bags and the huge dress into the vehicle took some doing.
The pink dress bag had a mind of its own.
Wanda was sweating and swearing by the time we finished.
But we triumphed over the miles of silk and lace.
Girl power for the win. Marguerite squeezed into the back of the SUV, engulfed by the voluminous folds of the dress bag.
“Next time Atley wants me to pick up a bride. I’m telling him to find out how big the dress is.” Wanda plopped in the driver's seat and used a Kleenex to blot her forehead. She put the SUV in gear, burning rubber as we zoomed away from the airport.
“Atley owns the ranch, right?” I reached forward and turned up the air conditioning, pointing the vents all toward Wanda’s flushed face.
“Yes, ma'am. Atley Rivers. Best-looking cowboy in Elmer, if you asked me. It’s a shame he’s married; he’d be just the right age for you.”
I barked out a shout of unexpected laughter. Me and a cowboy? “I’m a city girl. Cowboys aren’t my thing.” I was more of a suit wearing, accountant with silver streaks in his hair kind of woman. Or had been since that heart-stopping whisper of a kiss from Henry the other night.
“Oh, honey, I was thinking for fun. Before I met my Melvin, whoo-hoo! I sowed my wild oats. And the strong, silent types you never forget.” She turned and waggled her left hand in front of my face so I could see her wedding ring.
“Recent?”
“Last Thanksgiving. Melvin is my soulmate. Owns the Worn Boot in Elmer. If you want a pair of genuine cowboy boots, he’s the man to talk to.”
“Congratulations on the wedding. I think I’ll pass on the boots and the cowboy.” I’d already blown my shoe budget on the sparkly flats.
“Well, that’s for the best, 'cause I’m fresh outta cowboys. Atley married his city girl in December. And the good Lord only made one man like him.” Wanda sighed as if she were remembering a favorite heartthrob from her teen years.
My cell chirped with a text. I knew it would be Henry. We’d been texting less than frequently but more than sporadically the last few days.
Henry: Did you make it to Texas?
Cindy: We’re in the car on the way to Elmer. The driver is a hoot. I’m going to ditch my mom and sisters and hang with Wanda.
Henry: Solid plan.
It was so odd. We’d shared that incendiary moment in the lobby, yet we texted like we were old buddies and not new potential lovers. I hadn’t decided whether I liked it or hated it. No woman asks for an unsolicited dick pic, but a little flirting would be nice.
Cindy: I wish. Wanda is dropping us at a spa. There’s no escape.
Henry: How bad can it be?
I sighed and cast a quick glance back over my shoulder at Lorraine.
Even after decades, the woman confused the hell out of me.
When my dad married her, I got a new mom and two little sisters only a handful of years after my mother’s death.
I still wasn’t sure how to handle it. My father had been the buffer between all of us women until he wasn’t.
Cindy: I love a massage and pedicure. But my stepmother isn’t someone I want to drink champagne with while wearing nothing but a bathrobe. We have a very intense relationship.
Henry: Sounds like a conversation that will need to happen in real life with a cold beer or two.
Cindy: I will not subject you to that.
Henry: I’m a good listener. But right now, I have to go. The final hours of tax season are like Armageddon.
Cindy: Good luck.
The three blinking dots appeared on the screen as if he was replying but disappeared. I tried not to be sad about it. Henry would be here in a few days, and then we could see what happened.
“Oh! Christ on a cracker. I forgot the champagne. This whole chauffeur thing is a favor to Atley and Rae. I’m really just an Uber driver. Can you tell the ladies there is bubbly in the cooler between the seats?”
“Sure. I got this.” I steeled myself. The first bottle of champagne would herald the proper start of the wedding festivities. I twisted in my seat and leaned over the armrest. “Anastasia, there is a bottle for us to share in the cooler. If you will do the honors.”
“Yes! Wedding week begins.” Anastasia popped the bottle of Rivers Ridge sparkling wine and filled flutes for all four of us in record time.
After half a dozen toasts to Marguerite and Chad, we finished the bottle as Wanda parked the SUV in an adorable downtown square under a gnarled live oak tree.
I got out and looked up at the white stone courthouse building in the middle.
It reminded me of something from an old village in Europe.
A banner across the front of the building advertised an art exhibit opening next week.
The square had wide sidewalks, cobbled streets, and the cutest stores.
I could see why Elmer was on every best destination for a Texas wedding list. It was adorable.
“Oh, I can’t wait to come take pictures here with Chad.” Marguerite spun around, arms wide, almost colliding with a woman pushing a baby carriage. One bottle of champagne had gone a long way.
I caught her shoulders and steered her out of the mother and child’s path.
“Alright, ladies, follow me. The spa is this way.” Wanda gave me a look of commiseration and herded us down the sidewalk like a gaggle of unruly cats.
And so it began…
Henry
I pulled through the gates with a grateful sigh. I’d made it. On the left, under a softly glowing spotlight, a sign read: Rivers Ridge Guest Ranch & Winery.
A mechanical issue had delayed my flight. It was well past ten by the time I arrived. Better late than falling out of the sky in a malfunctioning plane, I always say. But the problems made for a hellishly long day.
The drive from the airport had been harrowing.
For the last two decades, I’d lived in Chicago’s downtown.
Night in the city and night in the Texas Hill Country were two very different things.
The sky in Chicago, even at two or three in the morning, glowed with ambient light.
The only time I needed headlights to see was driving on Chicago’s subterranean lower-level streets.
Over the years, I’d apparently lost all my night driving ability.
When I’d left the main highway and turned onto a Texas country road, the light pollution had quickly faded to nothing.
The inky black night was lit by an array of stars like I’d not seen in years.
If the speed at which Texas drivers took the twisting back roads hadn’t been utterly terrifying, I might have enjoyed the drive under the glittering sky.
As it was, I white-knuckled the steering wheel and tried not to get run off into a ditch.
I parked in front of the main office of the guest ranch. There wasn’t even a porch light on. In fact, other than a few pale pathway lights, the whole place was almost as black as the roads I’d traveled getting out here.
My goal: get a room key, drink one beer, and go to bed.
The drain of tax season weighed heavy, and so did the impending family bullshit.
A weekend chock-full of awkward pauses when my divorce would be alluded to but never mentioned.
I was the only Phipps to fail at marriage.
Our family blessing—or curse—was true love.
The only thing I was looking forward to was finally meeting the bride’s sister in real life.
She and I could gang up and survive the weekend together.
I’d get Mom or Chad to tell me her name so I didn’t look like an idiot.
We’d texted enough that my chance to ask her name and not look like an ass had long since passed.
I got out of the car to investigate the office using my cellphone’s flashlight. I searched for a number to call to arrange a late check-in. But an empty building and a locked door were all I found.
The night air was crisp and carried the scent of wood smoke. In the distance, music played and an orange glow beckoned. I followed a gravel path around the side of the office. The wavering light silhouetted a row of small stone cottages with peaked roofs and deep porches.