Jean Barrett - White Wedding

“No more playing matchmaker. Because what you want isn’t going to happen.”

“Promise,” she agreed reluctantly. “But it really was your happiness I was thinking of. I guess I just figured that someone might as well...”

She didn’t finish. She shook her head resolutely.

Chris Beaver, Lane realized. Allison was thinking again of Chris Beaver and her. Lane thought about them, too. And Hale, as well. She didn’t know who to feel sorriest for in this regrettable triangle. Or why it even existed. Only one thing was clear. Allison didn’t want to talk about it, and she respected that.

They returned to the house by way of the Viking hall and found Nils’s wife arranging place cards and wedding favors on tomorrow’s luncheon table. Dorothy Asker, like her brother, was a full-blooded Menominee. But she shared none of Chris’s dark good looks. Tall and sturdy, she had a face as round as a moon and a nature that was placid.

Allison warmly complimented the woman on her efforts and then asked her about the flowers missing from the chapel.

Dorothy shook her head. “Well, that’s sure funny. I haven’t been out there yet so I didn’t know. There are no extra arrangements in that big cooler in the kitchen, either, only your bridal bouquet and a lot of loose flowers I thought were leftovers. But I guess those were what didn’t get made up for the chapel.”

“Did Nils say anything when he got back home yesterday?”

“Just that by the time he’d turned on the heat and the water over here Teddy had arrived. He was already unpacking his flowers when Nils left again. Said he expected to work right through the day and into the evening. Nils asked him if he minded staying alone on the island, and he said he’d be too busy to notice. Well, you know what a loner he is, anyway.”

“I’d call him,” Allison said, “but he was closing his shop right after this job and going off somewhere for the holiday.”

There was an expression of pure exasperation on her face. Lane didn’t blame her. A weekend that was meant to be memorable was turning out to be complicated and difficult. And looking no easier, she thought as she remembered she had a severe challenge of her own. She’d have to spend this entire weekend somehow resisting the man who had once meant everything to her.

* * *

THEY GATHERED in the lounge for drinks before dinner. There was an enormous stone fireplace with an inviting blaze, deep leather chairs and a fragrance of pine in the air. Nothing could have been more appropriate for a festive Christmas Eve. There was even a tall tree in one corner waiting to be decorated by everyone after dinner.

And yet, Lane realized, toying with a glass of white wine she’d accepted from Dan, none of the party was really relaxed. Allison and Hale certainly weren’t, she thought, observing them on the sofa they shared. She was telling him about the missing flowers and how they had no choice now but to decorate the chapel themselves. Hale was dutifully sympathetic, but the strain between them was obvious.

And Jack...well, Jack was fighting for patience and fast losing the battle. Ronnie Bauer had trapped him again. Something about her having heard that powdered dinosaur bones made excellent aphrodisiacs, and could this be true? Jack, wearing a Nordic sweater that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, looked positively dangerous. He kept glaring in Lane’s direction, as though Ronnie might be her fault.

She wasn’t, but Lane wasn’t ungrateful for Ronnie. The woman had intercepted Jack as he was heading obstinately in her direction. Besides, Veronica Bauer was an entertainment in herself. The rest of them were casually dressed. She wore an alluring black number that revealed a pair of impressive breasts, which she managed to thrust in Jack’s direction at every opportunity. Her jewelry was also very much in evidence. Allison had confided to her that the divorced Ronnie had money from her second husband and that she was recklessly spending every dime of it.

“It’s the wind,” Dan said, joining Lane where she stood by the tall windows that overlooked the bay.

“Pardon?”

“That’s making all of us a little tense.”

He had an uncanny ability for reading her thoughts. But he was right. The wind had risen since sundown and was blowing in strong gusts around the lodge. There was an unsettling quality about it.

“Look,” he said, indicating the view.

She turned, gazing out at the frozen expanse lit by a strangely hazy moon. What appeared to be dust clouds were moving erratically over the ice. It was an eerie scene.

“The wind is whipping up the ground snow. If it blows any harder, there will be whiteout conditions on the bay by morning. Won’t allow the ice fishers to go out, but it shouldn’t bother us up here.”

No, Lane thought, it shouldn’t matter. It was the night before Christmas and an idyllic wedding, but the weather shouldn’t matter. Nothing was supposed to matter, or interfere, but too much did.

The conversations around the room were lagging, with some of the party casting impatient glances in the direction of the dining room, when a rasping voice exploded into the lull. “You’re all dead!”

Startled faces swung in the direction of the doorway to the adjoining library. A figure was lurking there in the shadows, clutching what looked to Lane like a medieval crossbow. The wicked weapon was trained on the occupants of the lounge.

There were gasps and a shrill little yip of alarm from Ronnie. Their reactions brought a shout of pleased laughter from the intruder as he moved forward into the light, revealing himself.

“Gotcha!”

“Stuie!” his mother shrieked. “You fiend!”

The teenager chuckled, waving the crossbow at them. “Relax. It isn’t loaded.”

Lane realized that Jack had managed to suddenly appear at her side. He was still trying to play her guardian angel and, damn it, she didn’t need a guardian angel.

“That kid has a sick sense of humor,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t just a joke,” Lane murmured. “He’s looking for attention. Haven’t you noticed how Hale and his mother manage to ignore him?”

Ronnie, however, wasn’t ignoring Stuart at the moment. “Put it down,” she demanded. “Where did you get that thing?”

“In there.” He jerked his head toward the library.

“There aren’t any bolts for the crossbow,” Allison interjected. “None of the collection is dangerous.” She moved behind Stuart, folding back the other wing of the double door to the library and flipping on all the lights.

The others crowded into the opening behind her to gaze at the wall-mounted antique weapons. The assortment represented every early age, ranging from maces to muzzle loaders.

“It was my father’s collection,” Allison explained. “But he made certain they were all neutralized. Even the sword points have been blunted.”

Ronnie shuddered. “Harmless or not, they’re still nasty things.”

Stuart certainly didn’t share his mother’s distaste, Lane noticed. There was a gleam of fascination in his eyes as he reverently stroked the edge of a halberd.

“Dinner, everyone.”

Dorothy’s welcome announcement summoned them to the dining room off the other end of the lounge. As they gathered around the table, Ronnie cast out another seductive net.

“I feel absolutely defenseless after Stuie’s little performance. I need a bodyguard next to me. Jack,” she implored, “you will sit beside me, won’t you?”

But Jack had no intention of being outmaneuvered again. “Good for you, Ronnie,” he agreed heartily. “There’s nothing wrong with a little old-fashioned male protectiveness when the situation calls for it. But whenever possible, I think it ought to come from family, don’t you? That makes you lucky tonight. You’ve got two strapping sons here, one for either side of you.”