Bridesmaid Says, I Do! Page 2

  Bay and raising her little brother, Toby. After

  Toby’s unexpected arrival when Zoe was fourteen, her mum and dad had undergone a dramatic transformation. By the time she’d started work and Toby was ready for school, they’d given up their nomadic existence, travelling round the country in a second-rate rock band.

  But becoming conventional parents hadn’t dimmed their love for one another. They’d remained fixed in a crazy love-struck-teenager groove and, although their relationship had always left Zoe feeling on the outside, she

  couldn’t imagine either of them having to manage alone. Not for ages, at any rate.

  Poor Mr Shaw …

  ‘Earth to Zoe. Are you there?’

  Zoe blinked, and realised Bella had been talking, and by the look of frustration on her face she’d been saying something important. ‘Sorry. I—ah—missed what you said.’

  Bella sighed and gave a little, heaven-help-me eye roll. ‘I said I was hoping you’d be my bridesmaid.’

  Zap!

  Zoe’s heart gave a jolt, like a soldier jumping to attention. She’d been so busy getting her head around Bella’s new status as fiancée, she’d given no thought to her actual wedding. But bridesmaid?

  Wow!

  She had a sudden vision of Bella looking lovely in white, with a misty veil … and herself in a beautiful bridesmaid’s gown.

  There’d be bouquets … and handsome guys in formal suits.

  She’d never been a bridesmaid.

  Warmth flooded her and she felt quite dizzy with excitement. ‘I’d love to be your bridesmaid. I’d be totally honoured.’

  This was no exaggeration. In fact, Zoe was quite sure Bella could never guess how over-the-top excited she was about this.

  She’d heard other girls groan about being bridesmaids. They seemed to look on the honour as a boring chore and they told war stories about having to wear horrible satin gowns in the worst possible colours and styles.

  Talk about ungrateful! For Zoe, being a bridesmaid was a wonderful privilege. She would wear anything Bella chose—puce coloured lace or slime-toned velvet—she wouldn’t care. Being Bella’s bridesmaid was clear, indisputable evidence that she was someone’s really close friend.

  Finally.

  Oh, cringe. Anyone would think she was a total loser.

  Well … truth was … she’d actually felt like a loser for much of her childhood. She’d had so few chances to make close friends, because her parents had dragged her all around the country, living—honest to God—in the back of a bus. There’d never been time for her friendships to get off the ground.

  Her best effort had been in the fifth grade when the band broke up for a bit and her parents had stayed in Shepparton for almost twelve months. Zoe had become really good friends with Melanie Trotter. But then the band had regrouped and her parents had moved on, and the girls’ letter exchange had lasted six months before slowing to a trickle, then, inevitably, dried up.

  It wasn’t until Zoe started work at Bodwin & North and met Bella that she’d finally had the chance to form the kind of ongoing friendship she’d always longed for. And now, here was the proof—an invitation to be Bella’s bridesmaid.

  Zoe beamed at Bella. ‘Will it be a country wedding?’

  ‘Yes—on the Rigbys’ property—Willara Downs.’

  ‘Wow. That sounds utterly perfect.’ Ever since her childhood, travelling through endless country towns, Zoe had known a secret yearning to drive through a farm gateway instead of whizzing past. Now, she wouldn’t merely be driving through the farm gate, she’d be totally involved in the proceedings.

  Wow, again. She could picture Bella’s big day so easily—white-covered trestle tables on a homestead veranda. A ceremony beneath an archway of pale pink roses. Male guests with broad shoulders and suntans. Women in pearls.

  ‘So … how many bridesmaids are you planning’ She tried to sound casual, which wasn’t easy when she was holding her breath. Would she be sharing this honour with six bridesmaids? Hadn’t she read somewhere that a celebrity had eighteen attendants—all of them in purple silk?

  ‘Only one,’ Bella said calmly as she spooned fragrant froth from the inside of her glass. ‘It won’t be a big flashy wedding. Just family and close friends. I’ve never wanted a swarm of bridesmaids.’ She smiled. ‘I just want you, Zoes. You’ll be perfect.’

  Perfect. What a wonderful word.

  ‘I’ll do everything I can to make the day perfect for you,’ Zoe said.

  There was no question—she would try her utmost to be the perfect bridesmaid. She would research her duties and carry them out conscientiously. No bride had ever had a more dedicated wedding attendant. ‘So, do we have a date? Is there a time line?’

  ‘Actually, we were thinking about October twenty-first.’

  ‘Gosh, that’s only a few weeks away.’

  ‘I know, but Kent and I didn’t want to wait.’

  How romantic.

  Zoe supposed she’d hear the phrase Kent and I rather a lot in the next few weeks. She wondered, as she had many times, what it was like to be so deeply in love.

  But then another thought struck. Leaning closer, she whispered, ‘Bell, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Just checking, seeing you’re in such a rush, in case my bridesmaid’s duties involved knitting bootees.’

  Bright red in the face, Bella slapped her wrist. ‘Shut up, idiot.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Zoe smiled. ‘Well, a tight deadline can focus the mind wonderfully.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be too hard to organise. Everything will happen at the homestead, so we won’t need to book a church, or cars or a reception venue, and the local rector is a good friend of the Rigbys.’

  ‘So you only have to buy a wedding dress and order a cake.’

  ‘Yes. Too easy,’ Bella said with a laugh, and then as they started on their sandwiches her face grew more serious. ‘I’ve made an appointment with Eric Bodwin. I’ll have to resign, because I’ll be living at Willara, but I was also hoping we might be able to arrange time off for you as well, so you can come out and help with all the last minute organising. I don’t want to burden Kent with too much of the leg-work. But I know the time off would eat into your holiday allowance—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Zoe said quickly. ‘I’d love a week or so in the country.’ She was feeling a bit down at the thought of Bella resigning, but then she grinned. ‘As a bonus, I might have a chance to wangle a nice country romance of my own.’

  Bella’s eyes danced. ‘Now that’s a thought.’ It wasn’t just an idle thought for Zoe. As a young girl, experiencing constant brief tastes of country towns before moving on, she’d developed something of a penchant for the jeans-clad sons of farmers with their muscular shoulders and rolling, loose-hipped strides.

  ‘Mind you,’ Bella said, ‘I’ve grown away from country life since I moved to Brisbane.’

  ‘But you’re looking forward to going back and settling down as a farmer’s wife, aren’t you?’

  Bella gave her lower lip a slightly troubled chew. ‘It will certainly be an adjustment.’

  ‘I think it sounds idyllic,’ Zoe said honestly. ‘But then I probably have a romanticised idea of life on a farm. I’ve never actually been on one.’

  ‘Why don’t you come home with me next weekend?’ Bella suggested with a sudden beaming smile. ‘We could go together after work on Friday. It only takes a little over an hour. You can meet Kent and I can show you where we’re planning to have the wedding, and you can help me to nut out the details.’

  ‘Wow. That sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Actually, you know how hopeless I am at organising. I’ll probably hand you pen and paper and a list of phone numbers for caterers.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ No doubt it was pathetic, but Zoe loved to feel needed. ‘I’d love to come. Are you sure there’s room for me to stay?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. We won’t stay with my dad. He h
asn’t been well and he’d get in a stew about clean sheets and things. We can stay at Willara Downs. The homestead is huge and Kent’s a wonderful host. His parents live in town these days, but they’ll probably come out and you can meet them, too. They’ll welcome you with open arms.’

  Again Zoe thought of all the times her parents had whizzed in and out of country towns when she’d longed to stay. She’d been constantly looking in from the outside, never really getting to know the locals.

  Now, for a short time, for the first time, she would be an insider.

  ‘I’d love that. We can take my car,’ she offered, eager to help any way she could. ‘It’s so much easier than getting the bus.’

  Already, in her head, she was compiling a list of her bridesmaid’s responsibilities.

  Number one—she would support Bella and help her to stay calm through the next nerve-wrangling weeks. Perhaps she would also help her to address the wedding invitations, and then there would be a hen night to arrange … and a bridal shower …

  It was going to be fabulous. She was determined to carry out every task to the very best of her ability. Her aim was nothing less than perfection.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE next weekend, fifteen kilometres from Willara Downs, Zoe heard an unmistakable flap, flap, flap coming from her car’s rear tyre. Her stomach took a dive. Not now. Please, no!

  But it was useless to hope. She’d heard that flapping sound too many times in her childhood—her dad had always been changing flat tyres on their bus. Now she knew with sickening certainty that she had no choice but to pull over onto the grassy verge and try to remember what to do.

  It wasn’t fun to be alone, though, on the edge of an unknown country road at dusk on a Friday evening. Zoe wished she hadn’t been so convincing when she’d assured Bella she’d be fine to drive on to Willara Downs by herself, while Bella visited her dad.

  Two days ago, Bella’s father had been admitted to hospital. Apparently, Kent Rigby had found Mr Shaw in a very bad state and insisted on rushing him in to Willara.

  Understandably, Bella had been beside herself with anxiety and Zoe had dropped her in town.

  ‘Kent’s not answering his phone, so he’s probably out on the farm, but he’ll understand if you turn up alone,’ Bella had assured her.

  ‘And one of us will come back to pick you up in an hour or so,’ Zoe suggested.

  ‘Yes, that will be great.’

  And so … after expressing the wish that Mr Shaw was much improved, Zoe had set off happily enough—at least she was driving her own car and she felt at ease behind the wheel. And apart from concern about Mr Shaw’s illness, she was dead excited about this weekend away and getting to meet Bella’s fiancé … seeing the wedding venue … being part of the planning.

  The very last thing she needed was a flat tyre.

  Damn.

  Briefly, Zoe toyed with the idea of trying the Willara Downs number to see if Kent Rigby could help. But it was such a bad way to start the weekend, to be seen as a useless city chick who wouldn’t even try to fix a simple problem by herself.

  Resigned, she climbed out. The tyre was as flat as a burst balloon, and she went to her boot to hunt for the jack and the thingamabob that loosened the wheel nuts.

  Mosquitoes buzzed as she hunted. The jack was, of course, buried under all the luggage—two overnight bags, two make-up bags, two sets of hot rollers.

  ‘You never know, there might be a party,’ Bella had said.

  Now, with their belongings scattered haphazardly on the side of the road, Zoe squatted beside the wheel, positioned the jack and got on with turning its handle.

  So far so good … except she didn’t really know how high she was supposed to raise the car. And once that was done … she wasn’t certain she was strong enough to loosen the wheel nuts. They looked mighty tight. And even if she did get them off, would she be able to tighten them up again?

  Zoe’s unhelpfully vivid imagination threw up a picture of her car driving off with the back wheel spinning free and bouncing into the bush, while she struggled with an out-of-control steering wheel.

  Maybe she should try to ring for help.

  Standing again, she reached into the car for her handbag. As usual, because she really needed it, her phone had slipped from its handy side pouch to the very bottom of her bag, so she had to feel around among movie tickets, keys, lipsticks, pens, old shopping lists, tissues …

  She was still fumbling when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Her spirits lifted. This might be nice, friendly country folk only too happy to stop and help her.

  The thought was barely formed, however, before Zoe felt a shaft of hot panic. If only she hadn’t watched all those horror movies. Here she was—totally alone in the silent, empty bush wondering if the driver was an axe murderer, an escaped prisoner, a rapist.

  She made a final, frantic fumble in the bottom of her bag, and her fingers closed around her phone just as a white utility vehicle shot around the curve.

  There was only one person in the ute and all she could see was a black silhouette, distinctly masculine. He was slowing down.

  Zoe’s nervous heart gave a sickening thud as his ute came to a complete stop and he leaned out, one strong, suntanned forearm resting casually on the window’s rim.

  In panic, she depressed the call button on her phone and glanced quickly at the screen.

  No signal. She was out of the network. Oh, terrific. There was no hope of a rescue.

  ‘Need a hand?’ the driver called.

  At least he had a friendly voice—mellow and warm with a hint of good humour.

  Zoe gulped, and forced herself to look at him properly. She saw dark, neatly trimmed hair and dark eyes. Not threatening eyes, but genial, friendly, and framed by a handsome face. Nicely proportioned nose, strong jaw and a generous mouth.

  Already his door was swinging open, and he stepped out.

  He was wearing a crisp blue shirt with long sleeves rolled back from his wrists and pale cream moleskin trousers. His elastic sided riding boots were tan and well polished. Zoe had always fancied that look—clean cut with a hint of cowboy. Surely, an axe murderer wouldn’t go to so much trouble?

  ‘I see you’ve got a flat,’ he said, coming towards her with the easy loose gait of a man of the land. ‘That’s rotten luck.’

  He smiled and his eyes were deep, coffee-brown—friendly eyes, with a spark of fun, and with laughter lines fanning from the corners.

  In spite of her fears, Zoe couldn’t help smiling back at him. ‘I’ve just about got the car jacked up, but I wasn’t sure how far I should take it.’

  ‘I’d say you have it just right. The perfect height.’

  Perfect. It was fast becoming one of her favourite words.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she’d been scared of this fellow. There was something about his smile and about his face that was incredibly, importantly right.

  In fact … Zoe felt as if a gong had been struck deep inside her, and it took a magnificent effort to force her attention away from this stranger to her problem. ‘I was—um—about to tackle the wheel nuts.’

  ‘Would you like a hand with them?’ He was smiling again and her skin tingled deliciously. ‘If that doesn’t offend you.’

  ‘Why would I be offended by an offer of help?’ From a gorgeous man, she added silently.

  He shrugged. ‘Thought you might be like my little sister—the independent type. She hates it when guys assume she needs help when she doesn’t.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The mention of his sister relaxed Zoe even further. Actually, she was so relaxed she was practically floating, and she offered him a radiant smile. ‘I’d love to say I could manage this tyre on my own, but, to be honest, I’m really not sure I can manage. I was just about to phone for help.’

  ‘No need. It won’t take long.’

  ‘That’s awfully kind of you.’ Holding out the wheel thingamajig, she hoped her saviour didn’t get grease on his
clothes.

  Clearly not sharing her concern for his pristine trousers, he hunkered down beside the wheel and began working smoothly and efficiently.

  Nice hands, Zoe noticed. He was nice all over, actually. Tall and muscular. Not too lean, not too beefy. She suppressed a little sigh, and told herself she was a fool to feel fluttery over the first country fellow she met. Before this wedding was over she’d meet tons of cute rural guys.

  But there was something special about this man, something totally entrancing about the warmth in his brown eyes and the quirk of his smile, a subtle something that made her heart dance and her insides shimmy.

  Strange she could feel so much when all his attention was focused on her car’s rear wheel.

  ‘Now for the spare.’ Having loosened the wheel, he was standing up again, and he glanced Zoe’s way.

  Their gazes linked and.

  He went very still. And a new kind of intensity came into his eyes. He stared at Zoe … as if he’d had a shock, a pleasant, yet deeply disturbing shock.

  Trapped in his gaze, she could feel her face glowing hot as a bonfire, and she was struck by the weirdest sense that she and this helpful stranger were both experiencing the same awesome rush. Deep tremors—happy and scary at once—as if they had been connected on an invisible wavelength.

  This can’t be what I think it is.

  Back to earth, Zoe.

  She realised that the stranger was frowning now and looking upset. Or was he angry? It was hard to tell. His brow was deeply furrowed and he dropped his gaze to the ground and his throat worked as he stared at a dried mud puddle.

  Zoe held her breath, unable to speak or even think, and yet incredibly aware that something beyond the ordinary had happened.

  Then her rescuer blinked and shook his head, as if he was ridding himself of an unwanted thought. He cleared his throat. ‘Ah—the spare tyre. I guess it’s in the boot?’

  Turning away from Zoe, he made his way to the back of the car, skilfully stepping between the scattered pieces of luggage.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Zoe spluttered, struggling to shake off the unsettling spell that seemed to have gripped her. ‘I should have fetched the spare tyre and had it ready for you.’