Lilith Carmichael should have invested in GPS equipment or at least owned a compass or a sextant - anything with a directional guide to steer her home. Because on April twenty-seventh a tempest shook her entire universe.
Rocking east. West. Backward. Forward. Her world spun and catapulted like an earthquake combined with black magic. Maybe guidance equipment wouldn’t have helped.
But on that Friday, afternoon Lily floundered. By the time her control returned, it was August. Her life had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.
And the day had started out so ordinary.
Lily inhaled the brisk scent of spring. No place on earth appreciated a cloudless sunny day in the midst of a rainy season more than the Pacific Northwest. And no one on earth appreciated a rainless day more than a caterer in charge of an outdoor wedding. If not for the wind, the day would have been perfect, but even sunshine couldn’t make up for the blustery weather.
Lily stepped into the white canvas tent housing the buffet tables, still hearing the bride’s screeching words in her ears.
“No sides,” referring to the tent walls. “Let the beauty of the Gorge come through.” The bride had thrown back her hand in gesture worthy of a Broadway show and spun on spiky heel.
Lily smiled. Brides should be happy on their wedding day, but a decision needed to be made and every decision had a consequence. “The food will be cold because the Sternos won’t hold a flame in this wind.”
The bride stopped in mid-swing and pondered that statement for a brief moment. “Bruce, what do you think?”
Nuts. Lily could predict his answer without a crystal ball. “Will it cost less if we don’t use the sides?” Bruce didn’t even glance up from his IPad.
A dentist wrestling with a stubborn tooth didn’t work any harder than Lily as she extracted a compromise from the couple. Two clear plastic walls, strictly to block the wind could be set on the riverside. The rest of the tent would remain open.
Now two hours later the walls snapped and the nylon cords tugged at the metal poles. The wind, angry at being thwarted, set up a pitiful mourning wail.
“Light the Sternos,” she directed two of the women on her catering staff. “The ceremony’s almost finished. Guests will arrive in fifteen to twenty minutes once they have made their way through the receiving line.”
The women flicked their wands, clicked the stubborn triggers four or five times until the flames appeared, then lit the double burners under five silver-plated food chaffers. Ten minutes would be plenty of time for the shallow liquid to reach a boil.
Across the cement patio guest tables surrounded the stage strewn in a haphazard manner with band instruments still in their cases. The musicians had dropped their equipment and disappeared either to watch the ceremony or find a quiet place to smoke. Lily sighed and hoped the groom would be happy with his cost-cutting methods.
Lily’s business partner, Dori crawled on hands and knees stapling the flapping linens to the tables. Following on her heels and crouched even lower was Dori’s niece and sometime employee, Allyn, taping tablecloths to the ground.
Lily laughed. Yeah, she’d pay for talking Dori into catering this wedding. Dori had legitimate reasons for wanting to refuse. Nobody scheduled an outdoor wedding in April unless they were inviting disaster and that went double for any event held in the wind-swept Columbia Gorge.
“When you’re finished, light the centerpiece candles,” Lily said, returning her attention to the staff. “If they don’t stay lit, it’s not our problem, we told the bride candles wouldn’t work.”
The women headed across the patio to complete the task. Lily laughed again. She loved being outdoors even in this weather. She loved catering.
Granted, the finicky bride created more challenge than pleasure. After fourteen years together, the two partners had a pretty good sense of how long a marriage would last based upon how well the bride and groom worked together planning an elaborate event.
This couple had no chance of making it. Three years tops, according to Dori. Lily snorted. Like that generous timeline didn’t give them the benefit of the doubt.
Wheeling the hot boxes closer to the buffet table, she elevated the salads, tilting the bowls and cascading the fruits and vegetables. People ate with their eyes. Beautiful food tasted better.
Pristine yellow roses sparkled against black linens like gemstones in a jeweler’s showcase. The stunning effect set in a garden of blooming pink and purple azaleas was photo-op perfect. Only the intermittent blasts of wind roaring through the tent interfered.
Dori’s chin-length blonde hair was secured in a short ponytail, maintaining a professional look in her crisp uniform. Lily admired her partner’s resilience. The wind whipped her own short, dark curly hair into a wild frenzy as if the Bride-of-Frankenstein was undergoing electric shock therapy. Despite the matching chef jacket smartly trimmed in white and tailored black pants, Lily’s professional appearance sucked.
The water in the chaffers bubbled. Opening a hot box, the smell of succulent chicken edged with the tangy bite of citrus rose to greet her. She bent to hoist the scalding insert pan into the nearest chaffer.
Her flying hair snapped against her cheeks and blocked her vision, but not her hearing. A series of out-of-place metallic pings had her looking up. Further down the buffet line the wind had upended not one can of Sterno, but two. Pink goo oozed across the table. Flames followed the accelerant’s path igniting the linens.
With her hands full, Lily stared in horror. The scream caught in her throat. In seconds the entire table was ablaze. Hungry snakes of fire reached for her. The pan of chicken tilted when she jumped, slopping lemon caper sauce onto her hands. Burning pain opened her coiled fingers. The pan dropped, catching two chaffers in its plummet to the table’s edge before it tumbled to the ground.
Boiling water and hot chicken sauce splashed against her pants, scalding her leg. Lily yelped, stumbled backward against the corner tent pole, and scraped the tender skin off her arm as she slid down and crashed backward onto the raised brick edge of the flowerbed. Pain cut like a knife across her back.
As she scrambled to her feet as another gust lifted the lightweight Sternos. Like a flaming Frisbee game, wind tossed the gelatinous incendiary fuel and ignited areas previously untouched.
Lily ripped off her jacket. Buttons flew. She beat at the flames, leaping out of control. Somewhere in the disaster she found her voice, but the stress from the impending doom had her swearing like a sailor in a sinking boat.
Marshall Caudill arrived at the wedding a few minutes after the bride reached the altar. Heavy traffic on the long drive from the coast had slowed him down and soured his attitude. Rather than entering late and causing a scene, he lounged against the stone pillar of the rickety lodge porch and watched from a distance.
Why would anyone want to be married here? Not only was it off the beaten path, Hood River, Oregon, only a few miles up the road, was renown for wind surfing. Small wonder this place felt like a wind tunnel. The bride’s veil was plastered to her. Despite the fact the minister used a microphone, his words disappeared in the gusts.
The grounds were nice, a touch overly floral for his taste, but this sorry excuse for a lodge looked like an abandoned miner’s shaft. The oversized padlock on the door probably was designed to protect the owner from lawsuits.
Since these were Muffy’s friends he bet it cost a bundle to use the grounds. Marshall shifted against the pillar and glanced at his watch. “C’mon. Say ‘I do.’ Let’s get on with this.”
Work piled up on his desk. He’d brought the most pressing files with him. Had he not had a weekend of activities scheduled he wouldn’t have come at all. His sister, Caroline had persuaded him to participate in the Cancer Fund Raiser, so he was committed to tomorrow night.
Tonight was devoted to Muffy and not in a good way. She was a one-woman train wreck. After three, maybe four dates she acted like their names had been etched in concrete forever and all time. No way in hell was he going there. Not just with Muffy, but with any woman.
With some women, a man could walk away. Others require finesse. He’d tried both of those with her. Nothing worked.
The couple beamed at each other as the music faded. Marshall pushed himself off the pole and took two steps closer to see if he could spot Muffy before he became entrenched in an entire evening.
In that tranquil moment, the distinct sound of a female swearing ripped away the silence.
Marshall turned. Farther down the hill, under a pristine white canopy, flames boogied with a passion that threatened to take the tent and most of the wedding reception with it. A dark-haired woman wearing black pants and white bra emptied pans of water onto the table before throwing them to the ground. Catering staff ran toward the tent.
Great balls of fire. Literally.
Marshall’s heart leapt up his throat. With this remote location, the place would burn to the ground before a volunteer fire department could get anywhere near the property. And judging by the locked lodge, a fire extinguisher was going to be out of the picture.
A large rusted bucket resting against a wagon wheel and butter churn was part of the rustic décor. With a sharp tug, he snatched the bucket out of the display. Somewhere there had to be a water spigot. And maybe if he was lucky a hose.
The spigot was an easy find. No hose.
Moving quickly, he shoved the pail under the too-short faucet and spun the dial to full blast. Finally when the tub was almost full, he maneuvered it from under the hardware and ran down the incline. Water sloshed to the rim slowing his movements. He shifted the bucket from the left to right hand and angled his body to prevent soaking himself in lieu of the fire.
The caterers danced in a stomping frenzy across burning fabric on the grass. Some pushed over tables, scattering their burdens across the debris, adding fuel to the fire. The topless brunette's jacket was half-burned, but she still beat at the flames furiously. Among the panicked caterers’ cries, her cursing was a curious note of sanity.
By the time Marshall reached the tent, the blaze still sputtered and crackled, but was now contained on a grassy knoll.
“Stand back.”
Five pairs of eyes looked at him. No one said a word but ten feet scrambled out of the way. Marshall poured the water carefully over the charred mess dousing the final flames.
Burned linens and empty pieces of equipment were scattered about. Overturned tables, a smoke blackened canopy, discarded food and a half naked woman made it the most interesting wedding reception Marshall had ever attended.
Then as though a silent bell rang, four of the woman sprang into action. Two righted the tables, another reassembled the metal pans, and a fourth gathered the ruined tablecloths. The brunette, whose fast action had saved the tent, now stood transfixed with an expression of utter dismay. Her look of loss appeared personal.
Idle among a group of busy woman she was impossible not to notice.
He almost laughed. Talk about an inaccurate understatement. He'd already noticed her--a woman in singed pants and a lacy bra smudged with soot that almost covered a pair of the nicest breasts he'd seen in a long time. A woman, whose command of gutter language impressed him, amused him and perhaps even shocked him a bit.
The rounded curves represented a lushness he seldom saw in a woman. Not the bountiful abundance of a fertility goddess, but sensual curves that made his fingers curl.
He studied her face. Not as young as he usually liked. Pretty skin. Pale with rosy cheeks. A milk maid? No, something more exotic. A seductive nymph.
Marshall growled. A nymph? Man, it was time to get laid, if this was how he was thinking. Her sweat-soaked curls sent his mind straight to the afterglow of a rousing afternoon between his sheets.
Interesting. Since it was tall, blonde Nordic types that usually drew his interest like Muffy, the model for the statuesque ice princesses, he’d selected in the past. Funny, she wasn’t nearly as arousing as this little topless wood sprite.
“Shit!” Lily said, unable to repress one last cussword. The man whose presence of mind had finished off the blaze stalked toward her. Rugged face, spellbinding blue eyes, laugh lines bracketing a full-lipped mouth. Oh lord, he was gorgeous.
The laugh lines gave him away. He might not have been wearing a ring, but he was married. Married or gay. Single men did not look like this. A weakness in her knees threatened her ability to stand. The man was better looking than George Clooney. If he had a Scottish accent, like Sean Connery, she’d go down like a soggy graham cracker.
The wind, which took time out to have a good laugh, picked back up, chilling her skin. She was half- naked. Lily glanced down quickly and back up again. At least it was a fairly new, pretty bra. His gaze had followed hers and a definite look of interest lit his blue eyes. Well, that answered that. He wasn’t gay.
A blush burned down her arms and her fingers tingled. She held up her hands and saw blisters forming on her fingers. “I need—“
“Get those hands in ice water.”
Good thinking. She hurried to the beverage table on the far side of the bandstand and plunged her hands into the icy beer tub. A low cry escaped her as the pain intensified and then receded. She squeezed her eyes closed. What a mess this day turned out to be.
The sound of glass clinking against glass forced her to look. Mr. Gorgeous pulled beers out of the tub to give her arms more room.
He stood close enough he could smell his cologne. Would it look bad if she leaned over and sniffed him? His tailored suit with a monogram shirtsleeve that peeked out from under the cuff, an alluring scent, and an expensive haircut screamed Mr. G had some bucks. It was truly a shame he was married because she bet women would have stood in line for him.
Not her, of course. She wasn’t that type.
In the background Dori snapped out orders, “Get fresh linens out of the van. Someone grab this bucket and get more water for the chaffers. Hurry.”
As staff scurried to follow her commands, Dori moved to her side. “You okay?”
Lily pulled her attention away from the stranger and did her best to ignore the stinging in her hands. “I need burn spray and another jacket from the van. Can you handle things here?”
“We’re fine. Take care of yourself.” Dori straightened the beverage table. “Allyn,” she yelled, “Go head off the wedding guests. Give us at least fifteen minutes.”
“Great job.” Dori said, as Lily lifted her hands out of the ice bath. “Your quick action saved the tent. We’ll be fine here. Take a few minutes and catch your breath. You look like you’ve been run over by a Mack Truck.”
Lily grimaced, hating the words she knew were true. With a nod, she pivoted and sprinted across the patio toward the parking lot.
Marshall started after her to make sure she was okay. Before he could escape, the blonde caught his arm. “We appreciate your help. Not many would have jumped in like that.”
He fought the impulse to shake her off and continue on his mission. But to what end? The brunette attracted him, but it wasn’t like he had time to pursue her.
“No problem.” He forced his attention away from the woman darting between tables, heading for the parking lot. “With this wind it could’ve happened to anybody.”
“Still,” the blonde said. “Thank you.”
Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He had no choice, but to be impressed. These women handled calamity with an ease that others could only envy. Most people when faced with similar problems would have given up.
“The guests--” she groaned, pointing to a hoard of people thundering down the hill as though they were scurrying to avoid the bulls of Pamplona. Before he could get a word out, the caterer was in full-action mode, dashing toward the damaged tent to help her staff.
Another staff member, this one a young woman with short spiky red hair positioned herself between the reception area and the wedding guests. Like she was directing a 747 to a docking gate, she systematically waved her arms to direct the stampeding crowd off to the right into an orderly reception line.
Marshall remained where he was. Confident in his knowledge of Muffy, he waited for her perfectly timed entrance.
The crowds paused. Heads swiveled. Marshall restrained a smile when Muffy stepped onto grassy knoll, looking like a model on the runway. Two young men flanked her in case she needed help negotiating the grass. In another century she might have been carried on their shoulders, her delicate feet not allowed to touch the ground.
True to form, she was perfect. He expected nothing less. Her hair, too blonde to be a gift of nature, was pulled back into a tight chignon, highlighting her deceptively angelic face. The full-length lynx fur was draped artistically across one shoulder drawing attention to her designer dress. She strode, head held high, just the proper amount of distain in her eyes.
Yep, she was a head-turner all right. It was what had attracted Marshall in the first place, but after a few dates, Marshall discovered an ugly little secret about her.
Muffy was without a doubt the most mind-numbingly boring person he’d ever met.
