Ruth Scofield - The Perfect Groom

“Oh, um,” she said, noticing the serious set of his mouth. He’d bathed and changed clothes, and his hair was still damp. “Noah something or other, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Noah.”

“No, not really lost,” she murmured, swinging about to glance at the second man in the room. Attractive, with deep blue eyes under a sunny swag of hair, he smiled a welcome. He wore light-brown casual trousers with a matching open-neck silk shirt. He wasn’t one of the guests; he must have something to do with the house or catering staff. She smiled in return. “I was looking for a glass of water and thought I’d find the kitchen. Sorry if I’ve intruded.”

“No bother,” he answered, snapping the door firmly closed before strolling to a tea trolley. Ice tinkled in the glass pitcher as he poured water into a tall glass. His smile grew inviting, a slight lifting of his lips giving his cheeks attractive dimples. “Here, have some from our tray. You might be knocked down out there. The service hallway is quite busy just now.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” She accepted the glass and sipped, casting a glance at the two men from beneath lowered lashes. From Noah, a quiet tension hung in the air, a feeling of something left unfinished. His hands, tightly fisted, were stuffed in his pockets.

She took in her surroundings. A library office, she thought, with a huge old library table desk of gleaming oak taking pride of place in front of a wall of books. Nearby a computer and stand looked more out of place than the wooden file cabinets in the corner, but a navy-blue sofa and matching chair brought the room back to a picture perfect library. On the whole the room was charming—but clearly a private one.

She had interrupted them.

Turning, she gazed hopefully at the three large windows that looked out on a terrace, but saw no door. Outside, a number of guests enjoyed the fine October weather. Deciding she needed to excuse herself as quickly as possible, she said, “Is there another way out of here? I’d just as soon avoid the heavy tide out there.”

“Sorry, no,” the blond man murmured. “But there’s no need to hurry off. I’m Gerald Reeves, by the way.” He gestured her toward the overstuffed chair. “Sit here a bit and catch your breath. The hallway should clear out soon. Unless the bride is looking for you?”

Noah remained silent, looking out the bank of windows.

“No, not at the moment,” she answered, wondering what captured the gardener’s attention outside, what caused his jaw to tense hard as granite.

She sat cautiously on the chair edge near the tea trolley, and switched her gaze toward the other man. “Reeves? Then this is your family home? I didn’t realize anyone still maintained a residence here. And I have blundered into your private rooms. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not an earth-shattering mix-up,” Gerald reassured. “Could happen to anyone. It might put your mind more at ease to say we’re friends.” He raised a brow and let a slow smile creep across his face. “But I’d need to know your name.”

“How remiss of me,” she said with a chuckle, offering her hand to shake. “Ivy York, bridesmaid.”

“Yes, so I see.” He folded her hand in his for a proper moment before letting it go. “Friend or family?”

“A close friend.”

Noah turned abruptly, and stalked toward the door. “Gotta get going. Nice to meet you again, Ivy. I’ll have a couple of men clean up the garden tomorrow morning, Gerry.”

Gerald’s tone sharpened. “What about the lower grounds, Noah?”

At the door to the hall, Noah turned, his hand on the knob. “I’ll, uh, be back in a couple of days to clean out the fish pond and winterize it. And I’ll arrange for the tree trimmers to prune that eastern slope. The other matter…”

“Will take care of itself in due time,” Gerald finished for him, leaning back lazily on the sofa. He smiled at Ivy, dismissing Noah.

“No doubt,” Noah agreed with a note of sarcasm as he closed the door behind him.

Feeling even more like an interloper, Ivy sipped her water and allowed her gaze to roam the room again, taking in details she’d overlooked the first time. A sheaf of paperwork lay scattered across the desk and a stack of old wooden picture frames leaned against the desk leg. Even from yards away she knew they needed repair. Rising, she bent to examine them.

“These are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the worn gold leaf along the raised edges on the largest. “Eighteen-nineties to…maybe early twenties, aren’t they?”

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know,” she said, glancing up. His gaze held interested surprise. “I deal with good framers, good suppliers. Um, are you looking for someone to repair these?”

“Actually, I hadn’t yet thought about them much.” He rose to stand nearby and stare at the frames. “I could always sell them, I suppose. Do you know of someone who specializes in repairing old wood?”

“Yes. Here,” she grabbed a ballpoint from a holder and scribbled on a Post-it pad. “I’ll give you his name. I think he can do a good job for you. Can’t think of his phone number off the top of my head, but if you want to call my shop Monday, I can give it to you.”

“You own a shop, eh? What kind?”

“An interior design store, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’, in Brookside.” She set her glass on the tea trolley, and smiled. “Thanks again, Mr. Reeves, for the water. But I really have to go back to the bride now, or they’ll be sending out the bloodhounds in search for me.”

She slipped out into the almost empty service hall and from there into the main foyer, where the bride’s sister caught up with her.

“There you are, Ivy,” Kathy said, annoyed. “Where have you been? We’re wanted in the gazebo for pictures.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

Kathy didn’t wait. She sailed forward through the milling crowd without looking back.

Following Kathy out a side door, Ivy headed across the lawn toward the white-columned structure set among maples, red oaks, dogwoods and redbud trees in autumn splendor. She paused to pull in a deep breath, letting the beauty flow through her; God really was the best decorator ever, she mused. Nothing could compare with the sight before her.

One of the groomsmen waved her to hurry. Hit with sudden exhilaration, Ivy picked up her skirt and sprinted down the gentle slope, her skirt billowing behind. A deep masculine laughter trailed her. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering at its source.

Noah Thornton. He stood in the half-shadowed doorway of a rear porch watching her. She couldn’t imagine what about her amused him so, but she wouldn’t let it bother her. Not a bit. After today, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again.

She ran faster. He laughed harder.

She refused to give him another glance.

“Hello, can I help you?” Ivy asked, approaching the smartly dressed young woman who was examining a wall of original watercolors by a number of local artists Ivy supported. Her classic features and silky shoulder-length fall of blond hair looked familiar; Ivy tried to remember if they’d ever met. “If you’re interested in one of these paintings, I can get it down for you.”

“Those faces done in blues and mauves are interesting. Unusual—but no, I don’t think so today,” the woman replied before turning and studying her a moment. “I’m Barbara Reeves. You were at Reeves House the other day and offered to give my brother the number of a framer who specializes in repairing old picture frames?”

A group of three entered the shop, two women and a child. Saturdays in the old-fashioned Brookside shopping neighborhood were usually Ivy’s busiest days and Tina had called in sick, leaving only Sherri and her to handle the crowd.