Page 187 of Secondhand Smoke

“Aw, save it.”

Here it comes, Sam thought.He’s done it yet again.

“Detention!”

~*~

Sam opened her eyes and blinked as white January sun streamed into the window and into her face. Of all the memories she had of her fiancé, that was the one her mind had chosen to conjure just now, as she sat in front of a mirror and let Mina expertly apply her makeup. She smiled as she recalled Ms. Beardsley’s fury, and Aidan’s nonchalant shrugging-off of the punishment. She’d loved him with a schoolgirl stupidity then, knowing what a fool he was, not even sure she could change him, just wanting the chance to get close.

Now, she knew the man who dwelled beneath the brat. The man who’d come to the surface. She never could have imagined this day…Well, that wasn’t true. She just hadn’t thought she could actuallylive it.

It was her wedding day.

“What?” Mina asked, smiling back, as she withdrew the brush she’d been using.

“Just remembering something,” Sam said. She took in a deep, trembling breath as she slid back into the present. “How are we doing on time?”

“Right on time,” Mina assured. “Now close your eyes so I can do the shadow.”

~*~

“Those go over there,” Emmie directed, using her walkie-talkie to signal the hangaround who was lugging a big stainless steel tub of white roses into the arena. Walsh smiled as he watched her being the competent, in-control queen of her equine domain, her long down instructing jacket worn over her bridesmaid dress, her hair already done up in fancy pins and bobbies he knew he’d spend whole minutes disentangling from her blonde curls later.

“Yes, ma’am,” the hangaround – Walsh thought his name was Jim – said and hurried to follow orders. Walsh approved; the smart hangarounds realized that the women were just as important when it came to sucking up and jumping to.

Emmie spoke into her walkie-talkie: “Are the drinks here yet?”

Walsh walked up behind her, steps silent over the sand, and framed her narrow waist with his hands. Through the thick layer of her jacket, he felt her relax immediately into his grip. She knew it was him, even through a padding of goose down.

She twisted her head around to look at him. “What do you think?” She gestured to the arena.

The sand footing had been scraped free of hoofprints and smoothed flat with a tractor attachment. A white carpet had been rolled down to serve as aisle, flanked by white wooden chairs, all of it leading up to the plywood dais he and Shane had made. The structure had been covered over with more of the white carpeting, and a small arbor situated as backdrop, decorated with white roses and thick fir branch swags.

“Lovely.”

She pursed her lips, a wry smile. “You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”

“No. Itislovely.” He shrugged. “If you care about that sort of thing.”

She laughed.

A thought occurred to him, an unpleasant one. “You don’t wish you’d had something like this, do you?” he asked, studying her face for hidden longings. There wasn’t much he could do to rectify what had already happened. And she seemed too practical to insist on a ceremony just for the pomp and finery. But he had to ask; he was her husband, after all, and he couldn’t take her happiness for granted.

Emotion moved in her eyes, but not sadness or regret. “No,” she said, “I don’t wish I’d had a big wedding.”

“Maybe one you actually liked, though?”

She smiled, softly. “It started out rough. But by the wedding night, I think it was going pretty well.”

“Yeah.” He returned her smile.

“Besides.” She made a face and tugged at the strapless bodice of her red dress. “I might get fancied up for someone else, but I never would have done it for myself.”

Then, seeming to remember how busy she was, she consulted the crumpled paper list in her hand. “Oh shit. The bouquets.” Her eyes snapped up to his, now filled with determination. “And you’re supposed to be getting ready.”

And she thought there was a chance she wouldn’t be a good mother. Unthinkable.

~*~

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