Jeanne Allan - One Mother Wanted

He’d been an idiot to come. If only the bride would cut the damned cake. Not that he’d be able to choke any down. Just cut it, so Hannah could have her piece. Then he could leave.

She was so damned beautiful. More beautiful than five years ago. He could almost taste her mouth. His own went dry. Cut the damned cake.

Allie wanted to scream. They’d cut the cake, and everyone had toasted the newlyweds. Brides were supposed to be anxious to leave on their honeymoons. Thomas ought to be chomping at the bit to get Cheyenne to himself. If Cheyenne would throw the darned bouquet, Allie could escape. She had to get out of here.

Out of this clinging blue floral silk dress that had seemed so elegantly simple and classic when she’d put it on earlier. Now the dress felt wrong. Too tight. If he didn’t quit watching her... She couldn’t stand being in the same room with him.

“I assume you know Zane’s here. I just saw him. You okay?” Greeley asked quietly at her side.

Allie turned to her younger sister. “Of course I’m okay,” she said brightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How would I know? I’m just your half sister.”

“Greeley Lassiter, you are as much my sister as Cheyenne is. You make me furious when you say such stupid things.”

“That’s better than you standing there looking like the sole, dazed survivor of some disaster.”

“I don’t look like that,” Allie said in a low, fierce voice. At Greeley’s skeptical look, she added, “It was a shock, that’s all. I didn’t know Cheyenne had invited him.”

“I thought I detected the hand of our resident meddler. Want me to tell him to take a hike?”

“Worth talked to him.”

“And told him to leave?”

“Obviously not. They seemed to be just talking. They didn’t shake hands or anything.”

“I should hope not.”

Allie gave her sister a quick squeeze of appreciation for her loyalty. “No, Cheyenne is right. If he no longer matters to me, he and Worth should be able to resume their friendship. If Worth wants such a shallow friend.”

“If,” Greeley emphasized the word, “he no longer matters?”

“He doesn’t matter,” Allie said firmly. He couldn’t matter. Their love had died. Not died, been trampled in the dirt. Nothing remained. Nothing. She forced a smile to her face. “Cheyenne’s finally ready to throw the bouquet. You know she’ll aim it over here. You catch it, because I’m not going to.”

Sent on its way with teasing comments, the bridal bouquet arced through the air. Directly toward Allie and Greeley. Allie stepped to her right at the exact second Greeley stepped to her left. The bouquet sailed between them.

“Look, Daddy! The lady threw flowers to me.”

One look at Cheyenne’s dismayed face confirmed Allie’s suspicions about her older sister’s intent.

“I’m not getting involved in this.” Greeley strolled away before Allie could ask what she meant.

“Are mine,” came a determined voice from behind Allie.

She turned.

Zane crouched inches away, speaking to his daughter. The little girl clutched the bridal bouquet to her chest and shook her head. “Mine.”

He held out his hand. “No, they’re not. The flowers are for a big girl.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“They’re for a lady,” Zane amended. “Give these back to the bride, and we’ll go to a flower shop and buy you some flowers.”

“I caught ’em.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

The little girl’s mouth wobbled. “I want ’em.”

Allie wanted to smile indulgently like everyone else watching the scene. The high color on Zane’s face told her he knew he and his daughter were the focus of attention. Not that that would stop him from doing what he thought was right. Zane Peters prided himself on doing what he thought was right.

He wrested the flowers from his daughter’s grasp and awkwardly wiped a tear from her cheek. “We can buy yellow flowers. You like yellow flowers.” Desperation edged his voice.

Red curls bounced as the little girl shook her head. “Don’t want yellow flowers. Want these.”

Without stopping to think, Allie leaned over and jerked the bouquet from Zane. Turning her back to him, she offered the flowers to the little girl. “Here. You caught them.”

The little girl put her hands behind her back. “Daddy said I can’t have ’em.”

Allie wanted nothing to do with Zane’s daughter, but the girl had caught the bouquet and should be allowed to keep it. Allie knelt on the floor. “Your daddy is a man, and men know nothing about weddings. Whoever catches the bouquet keeps it. It’s a rule, and I know your daddy doesn’t believe in breaking rules.” Allie coated the last sentence with deliberate mockery.

The little girl looked at the floor and shook her head. Her hands stayed behind her. “Daddy said flowers for a big lady.”

“I’m a big lady. May I have the flowers?”

The little girl hesitated, then nodded sadly.

“All right, if they are my flowers, I may give them to someone else, and I’m giving them to you.” Allie held out the bouquet, proving she could act with dignity and fairness, no matter the circumstances.

The little girl started to bring her hands forward, stopped and looked past Allie in her father’s direction. Then, smiling shyly, she accepted the bouquet and buried her face in a large lily. “Pretty.” She held the bouquet to Allie’s face. “Smell.”

Hoping compliance would make the child and her father go away, Allie sniffed.

“What do you say, Hannah?” Zane prompted.

“Thank you.”

Hannah. Unbelievable pain slashed through Allie. The child had been named after his grandmother. They’d planned to name their first daughter Hannah. This little girl could be, should be, Allie’s daughter. Allie’s throat ached with the effort not to cry, then hot, burning anger replaced the pain. He’d taken “their name” and used it for that woman’s daughter. Not that it mattered anymore. He didn’t matter anymore.

“Allie, aren’t you ready yet?”

Davy’s impatient voice rescued her. She smiled gratefully at him. “Ready and raring to go.”

The child’s hand tugging on her arm kept Allie from rising. “You his mommy?”

Allie shook her head as Davy pointed to Cheyenne and said proudly, “She’s my mom now. That makes Allie my aunt.”

“Whose mommy?” Zane’s daughter asked.

“I don’t have any children,” Allie said stiffly.

“How come? They playing with angels?”

“Let’s go, Hannah,” Zane said in a rough voice.

“But Daddy, maybe her kids know Mommy.”

Zane snatched up his daughter and walked away.

A hand gripped Allie’s shoulder. “You okay?” Worth asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Davy said you looked funny.”

“Davy thinks I look funny every time he sees me in a dress,” Allie said to her brother, trying to make a joke of it. “He says I look like a girl.” She mimicked the disgusted tone of Davy’s voice. “He wants me in jeans because I promised him we’d ride horses after the wedding. Where’d Davy go? He was in such a hurry to leave.”

“Last minute hugs and kisses from the bride and groom.”

Loud voices caught Allie’s attention. “They must be leav...” Her voice died as she spotted the cause of the commotion.

Zane’s daughter was throwing a grade-A tantrum in her father’s arms. Hanging on to her bouquet with one hand, she used her other hand to cling to one of the stylized metal Art Nouveau pillars. Zane’s face turned the shade of cooked beets as onlookers tittered with laughter. The child drummed his side with her feet. “I want down,” she howled.

Setting his daughter on the floor, Zane grabbed in vain for her hand as she darted across the ballroom. The little girl skidded to a stop in front of Allie, still kneeling on the floor. Throwing her arms around Allie’s neck, Zane’s daughter pressed an enthusiastic kiss on Allie’s cheek. “Bye.” The little girl spun around and dashed back to her father, her childish voice floating across the ballroom. “I had to tell Allie bye.”