Page 15 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

Mary had lost track of how many times she’d reminded her brothers the customer was always right. Though in this case, Rafe was right. They didn’t own a pink Cadillac.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Mary asked the customer.

“I called last Saturday afternoon and talked to this guy to reserve a Cadillac. Pink! I know I said pink. And today I show up, and it’s boring black.”

“She didn’t talk to me,” Rafe grumbled.

“It doesn’t matter, sweetie,” Mary said through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go back to the shop while I take care of this?”

Rafe grunted and shuffled through the door. Mary turned her brightest smile on the customer. “I’m so sorry about the inconvenience. We do have a vintage white Cadillac, or if you want something a little flashier, I’ve got a red Ferrari.”

“A Ferrari, huh?”

“At the same price we quoted you for the Cadillac.” They’d rent it at a loss, but she hoped this way, the woman wouldn’t squawk about Forza’s bad service all over town.

“No discount for my trouble?”

Mary forced a grin. “Ten percent off.”

“Done. Where do I sign?”

“One moment.” Mary stuck her head through the shop door. “Michael, could you please do the paperwork on Christie Brinkley?”

He poked his head around the hood of his freshly painted blue Mustang. “Rafe’s supposed to be handling the desk.”

She hated pulling him off his passion project. But the rental business was the priority for all of them. She used her firmest voice. “I need you, Michael.”

“Fine.” Wiping his hands on a rag, he sauntered toward the door.

She smiled at the customer. “Michael will take care of you. Thank you so much for your understanding.” She scrawled10% off Presidential rateonto a sticky note, slapped it onto the computer monitor, and scurried back to her office.

“Sorry about that,” she said, closing the door.

Teagan looked up from her phone. “My wedding will be your first priority, right? No splitting your attention with”—she waved at the closed door—“that? I know I’ve left it pretty late, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

What was it with everyone wanting to be her first priority? Last weekend, it was Alex, now Teagan. Too bad, her family was always first. But until she could get her business revved up, weddings would be a close second. She could handle it.

She flattened her trembling palms on the desk. It would be a race to get it all done this summer. Teagan and Twyla’s wedding was only a month away, the weekend before the Richardson reception. But Teagan was planning an intimate ceremony for their closest family and friends, and she loved the outdoor venue Mary had proposed. A good thing since all the air-conditioned options were booked. It was a small party she could organize in her sleep, a blip compared to the Richardson event the following weekend.

“Of course. Nothing will distract me from your big day.” Mary smiled as the lobby door tinkled again. Ms. Grumpy Pink Cadillac must have left at last.

After she made copies of the contract and scheduled their next meeting, Mary escorted Teagan out of the office. But the lobby was full of men. And tension thick as incense at a bishop’s Mass.

She sucked in a cooling breath through her nose and rushed to open the door for Teagan. “See you Monday!” She hoped her expression looked like a smile and not a grimace.

“Bye.” The tiny line between Teagan’s eyebrows told her it was a grimace.

Mary tugged the lobby door closed. Alex, whom she hadn’t seen at Forza Elite Motors since they were in high school, gripped a box protectively. Both of her brothers stood in front of the counter, clenching their fists. She could smell the testosterone. Or maybe that was the scent of motor oil on her brothers’ coveralls battling Alex’s cologne.

“What’s going on?”

Not breaking eye contact with her brothers, Alex said, “I came to give you this.”

“She doesn’t want anything from you,” Michael growled. “Not your stinking roses, and not whatever’s in that box.”

“Your sister and I are working together,” Alex said. “This is business.” His white knuckles contrasted with the lightness of his tone.

“Don’t you have people to run your errands?” Rafe’s voice rumbled like the V8 engine on his pickup.

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