Authors: Alicia Hunter Pace
“Oh.” Sadness washed over him. “Sorry. I felt very bad when I looked at it, so I threw it in the garbage.”
He pretty eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t cry. I’ll get another for you.”
“I don’t care about that. I care that I made you feel bad.”
“I will get you another.” And he would. As soon as possible.
“Look.” She lifted the edge of the quilt where the kitty paw was. “See what I did while you were sleeping?”
It took him a moment because his head was getting really hazy again. But finally, he worked it out.
“You added a puck for me! And little sewing things for you. This is our quilt and our lazy morning?”
“I hope so.” She laced her fingers with his.
“Maybe you lie down beside me a little bit? Under
Lazy Morning
?”
“I don’t think the nurses would like that very much. Mikhail, Sharon, and half the Sound organization are down the hall in the waiting room. They really want a look at you before you drift out again. Can you stay awake another minute for that?”
He yawned. “I can. Yeah.” But fog was drifting in.
“I’ll go get them,” Noel said.
“You’ll come back?”
“I’ll always come back.”
Three Months Later, Mid-June
The wedding grove at Beauford Bend Plantation was all spruced up and ready for company. The bars and buffets were set up, as were the striped tents that housed round tables with silver tablecloths and lush, purple flower arrangements. The music would be provided by Jackson Beauford’s band, the Barroom Brawlers, and Emory had hinted that Jackson was planning a special musical surprise.
The wedding grove had never been more beautiful—even though what was happening today was not a wedding.
“Come!” Nickolai pulled Noel down the hill. “I want to share it with you before everyone arrives.”
It was tradition that each member of a Stanley Cup Championship team got to have the cup for one day, and today was Nickolai’s day. He had chosen to display the cup at Beauford Bend and have a party so that his chosen hometown could come and celebrate.
Noel laughed at his excitement. Though he hadn’t been cleared to play until the Sound was four games into the playoffs, when he’d gone on the ice, he had been, again, a man on fire. He’d presented Noel with a hat trick puck his first game back, and six more before he’d skated around the rink with the coveted cup high over his head.
And today, that coveted cup sat on a pedestal in the middle of the marble wedding gazebo. A photographer had been hired for anyone who wanted a picture with the cup. Nickolai might like to pretend they were alone, but Noel knew the official from the Hockey Hall of Fame who chaperoned the cup when it was on the road was discretely lurking about somewhere.
“What do you think?” Nickolai gestured to the cup.
“It’s nice, but I think I like the cup champion better.” Noel ran her hand over his newly clean-shaven cheek. “Especially now that your playoff beard is gone.”
“Is tradition. No shaving for playoff teams until they are eliminated or they win.”
“Then I hope to see that beard again next year.”
Nickolai’s eyes grew wide. “Do not say that. Is bad luck!”
“Sorry!” Noel stage whispered. “Maybe the cup didn’t hear me.”
Nickolai tilted his head and gave her a sly look. “Why don’t you look inside? I left a present for you there.”
“Oh?” Noel stood on tiptoe and was still not nearly tall enough to see over the top.
Nickolai laughed. “Maybe I lift it down for you.”
“That would be good.” Inside was a familiar brown bag from Cracker Barrel. Even in the chaos of getting ready for the party, he’d thought to bring her Goo-Goo Clusters. “I think I’ll save these to eat in the car on our way to the beach tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should look inside before you make the decision to eat it.”
Puzzled, Noel opened the bag and discovered not candy, but a small red leather box with a gold scroll design surrounding the word
Cartier.
“Oh.” Noel placed her hand over her heart. “This is supposed to be your day.”
“And what would make it better? I bought it when we were in New York to play the Rangers.” He took the box from her. “Mikhail said it was a good place to buy a ring.”
“But that was weeks ago.”
Nickolai nodded. “It was hard to wait. But I hoped. I wanted to see you reach into the cup and take it out.”
And he opened the box and presented the ring for her inspection. “Is nice, no?”
She was stunned—not that he had bought her an engagement ring. Marriage had been a foregone conclusion since they’d reconciled. No, it was the
size
of the ring that astounded her.
“Is nice,
yes
.” She ran her finger over the stone. It was as big as a postage stamp. “But, Nickolai … ”
“I know. It was expensive. But see?” He removed the ring from the box. “They told me all about it. Is platinum and the diamond is blue and very high quality. Rare, like my Noel. I chose well?” He was nearly as proud of himself as he’d been when the Sound won the championship.
“Oh, yes. You chose
very
well. I’m just so surprised.”
“That I wouldn’t think it was foolish to buy a ring such as this? You can’t put a price on things that nurture the spirit.” He slipped the ring on her finger.
“I love it. But
you
nourish my spirit. I don’t need a ring like this—or any ring for that matter.”
“No,
lyubimaya moya.
You misunderstand.
It nourishes
my
spirit for you to have such a ring.” He smiled. “Besides, I thought it would be useful for you to have a diamond big enough for me to skate on.”
And she laughed as he closed in for a kiss. The kiss had to be brief because it was almost time for the party. And that was okay because there would be plenty of time for kisses tonight, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows of their lives.
For now, they stood arm in arm and watched their guests come down the hill.
Jackson Beauford whispered in Emory’s ear and then offered his arm to Noel’s grandmother. Deborah Verden chatted with Emory as they followed, and Noel hoped her mother wasn’t preaching on the evils of altering a historic property.
Nickolai’s favorite Cracker Barrel waitress, Dede, had come and brought her grandson, who looked awed at the sight of Gabe Beauford and Nickolai’s teammates. Constance had immediately bonded with Julie, Gwen and Dirk’s little girl. They started down the hill hand in hand but stopped abruptly, dropped to the ground, and rolled the rest of the way. Paige looked horrified and started to run after them, but Webb caught her arm, shook his head, and, finally, they laughed together.
And there were so many more. Along with Neyland, Abby, Christian, and Sammy, it seemed almost everyone from Beauford had come—Noel’s customers, the shop owners, schoolchildren, and the retired men Nickolai had gotten in the habit of having coffee with at The Café Down On The Corner.
“Doesn’t it give you a good feeling that everyone came to celebrate with you today?” Noel smiled at her fiancé.
“
Da.
” Nickolai said. “Yes. It feels like home.”
Alicia Hunter Pace is the psuedonym for the writing team, Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones. They live in North Alabama and share a love of old houses, football, and writing stories with a happily ever after.
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(From
Forgiving Jackson
by Alicia Hunter Pace)
Summer might float into Seattle, Boston, and Denver on fairy wings kissing the air with promises of happy sunshine and picnics—but in Beauford, Tennessee, it was a different story. It roared in, riding a flame-wheeled chariot, cracking its whip and laughing at heat stroke, ruined crops, and sweat-soaked bras.
Emory Lowell had tried to tell that to the bride, her mother, and eight bridesmaids when they visited Beauford Bend Plantation last winter on their trek through the South looking for a plantation wedding venue. But apparently her warning hadn’t sunk in.
“Kaylee cannot possibly get married outside in this heat!” The mother of the bride waved her hand in the direction of the white marble wedding gazebo where the rows of white chairs were already set up. Emory was pretty sure she saw sweat fly off the woman’s face.
You ain’t seen nothing yet. It’s only ten o’clock. By
I Do
time at four, it’ll be a hundred degrees.
But Emory didn’t say that, of course. She wasn’t even rattled. She had expected it, was prepared for it like she was always prepared for everything.
“Mrs. Wagman—”
“Florence. Please. We aren’t as formal as you Southerners. Every time I hear Mrs. Wagman I look around for my mother-in-law.” She took a long swig from her water bottle. “Though come to think of it, she’s the only one here I would subject to this heat.”
“Yes. Well. Florence. The heat
is
intense. And I won’t lie. It will be worse this afternoon. But we have plenty of time. We can proceed with the inclement weather plan and move the ceremony into the ballroom. It won’t be a problem. My staff has done this a hundred times.”
“But then Kaylee wouldn’t be getting married outside! She has always dreamed of getting married outside just like Scarlett O’Hara!”
Had Scarlett gotten married outside? Emory couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. Apparently Kaylee thought she had.
“Mrs. Wagman. Florence. Have y’all”—she hesitated—“have y’all spent much time in the South during the summer?”
“We have spent
no
time in the South, in the summer or otherwise—last January being the exception, when we were looking for a wedding site. Kaylee was so set on a plantation wedding. And I have to say, Emory, though Beauford Bend is by far the most beautiful venue we considered, I wish we had chosen the one in Louisiana. It’s on the water so it has to be cooler there. Why did this heat wave have to happen now, of all times?” She fanned herself with her hand.
Tact. Don’t say I told you so.
“Actually, this isn’t a heat wave. This is pretty standard. And Louisiana would be hotter and twice as humid.”
Florence’s eyes widened. “You mean you people live like this all the time? It was
cold
when we were here before.”
Emory nodded sympathetically. “We have seasons—even snow. But summer means business. Now, why don’t you let me have this whole thing moved inside? It will be lovely.”
“Kaylee will be devastated!”
No doubt. This wouldn’t be the first devastated bride Emory had dealt with—and she knew how to deal.
“I have an idea,” Emory said like it was a new thought. “It’ll be much cooler tonight. Why don’t we go ahead with the wedding and dinner in the house but have dancing out here after the cake is served?” Florence Wagman looked interested. “The band can set up in the gazebo. I’ll have the portable dance floor and bar set up. We have large fans that can be brought out. They would be far too noisy, not to mention ineffectual, for an afternoon ceremony, but with the music, they would hardly be noticed. I could have the flowers from the ceremony brought out during dinner. We can turn on the little white lights in the trees.”
“I don’t know. Kaylee had pictured an outdoor ceremony with dancing in the ballroom … ”
“And we can certainly go ahead with that.”
Sweat ran down Florence’s neck. She pursed her lips.
“You know what? Kaylee might as well learn right now that she can’t have everything. I, for one, am not sitting out in his heat. Go ahead with that plan!” She turned to walk away.
Emory reached for the button on her headset but Florence Wagman stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Any chance Jack Beauford is here?”
“No.” That was the only word she had. The mention of Jackson tended to shut her down.
“Any chance he might be coming home? I heard he canceled his tour after his drummer and guitar player were killed in that fire. He lives at the plantation when he’s not on the road, right? A song from him at the reception would go a long way in making Kaylee happy.”
No kidding. Who wouldn’t want a song from a Grammy-winning, heart-stopping gorgeous superstar?
“I am afraid that’s not possible,” Emory said. “This is his childhood home and he lives here when he has to be in Nashville, but he isn’t expected.”
And she hoped that was true; she hoped with all her heart that Jackson wasn’t coming here. She’d been holding her breath ever since she’d gotten the email ten days ago informing her that he was coming home and to cancel all remaining events, pay herself a year’s salary, and vacate the property. Except for security, she was to give all the staff six months’ severance pay and let them go. Security was to be left alone.
She had done none of it, nor did she have any plans to. She had gotten away with ignoring his last directive—the one he’d given her eight months ago—and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t get away with this, too.
That last directive had come right after Amelia’s funeral. Emory’s gut turned with grief every time she thought of losing Amelia, and she supposed it always would. Emory had met Jackson’s great-aunt as a teen when her new stepmother had sent her on whirlwind of self-improvement camps that included a trip to Beauford Bend to attend Amelia’s annual charm school: A Fortnight of Refinement and Training for Young Ladies.
She’d met Jackson that summer too. At the dance on the last night of charm school, he’d given her a moonlight kiss in the rose arbor—but that didn’t make her special. She wasn’t the only freshly kissed fifteen-year-old who’d left Beauford Bend with a crush on Jackson Beauford—though she might be the only one who had let that crush morph into fandom. Not that Jackson remembered any of that and not that it mattered.