14

“I don’t care. I don’t want to go.”

Sam ignored her. “Get up and let’s get you finished.”

“No. I’m tired of the commotion. I don’t want to get married in front of all these people. My hair is five miles high. That hairdresser was an idiot. I look like a meringue. I’d rather elope. And I can’t find my veil.”

Sam bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She didn’t succeed. After a moment of baleful glaring, Taylor joined in her mirth. Petulance was her first sign of stress. Sam glided across the room and whipped the veil out of the plastic casing. “It’s right here, on the hanger that your dress was on. It was just in the back. Your hair has to have something for the combs to anchor in, and it looks lovely. Do you want to get the veil on now or at the church?”

Taylor rolled her eyes and got up off the floor. “I should wait until the church. I don’t want to mess it up in the limo. 14

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I just didn’t want to forget it.” She examined the folded tulle; it looked like a mile of fabric. “Damn, Sam, how long is this sucker?”

Maddy wailed, but Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Cathedral. Like your dress, but a little longer, so it will stretch out behind you and look glorious. Now, quit it, would you? I need to get this girl settled down.”

Another scream came, this one slightly lower pitched, and Sam’s face crumpled. Taylor patted her on the arm.

“Go on and deal with them, Sam, I’ll be fine. I’m just nervous. You go do what you need to.” Sam nodded and disappeared.

So this was it. The moment she’d always dreaded and never thought she’d have. Her emotions were a bit more mixed than she’d expected. Giving herself, the most precious gift she could bestow, to Baldwin was undoubt

edly a smart, sound move. But she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d agreed to this, why she hadn’t insisted on a quiet beach somewhere, which was what she pre

ferred. It was too damn late to worry about that now. A big church wedding wasn’t exactly how she’d wanted to do the deed, but here she was. The twin cores of her psyche were both churning—one with nerves, the other with bliss. Anxiousness wasn’t the only problem weighing on her mind, though.

She drew the folded piece of paper out of her bra. Despite it all, she’d wanted at least some part of her father there with her that day. She couldn’t put her finger on why—but instead of overanalyzing her feelings, she’d decided to accept that she had them and move on. The newspaper clipping was nearly two months old, worn and creased.

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J.T. Ellison

Missing Nashville Capitalist Feared Dead

St. Barthélemy, French West Indies (AP)

The search for a Nashville man who disappeared while sailing off St. Jean turned into a recovery mis

sion after rescue teams found his empty yacht, THE

SHIVER.

Search crews on Monday continued to seek Win

throp Jackson IV, 56, industrialist, entrepreneur, banker and convicted felon. Rescuers said it was unlikely that he was alive after two days missing. His abandoned yacht ran aground just south of Les îlets de la plage Hotel in St. Jean, the two motor die

sel engines still ru

The article went on, the dry, impersonal tones of an anonymous young reporter doing his job. Taylor folded the square and slipped it back into her bra. Win would be with her, whether he was alive or dead. Two months of no word, his body never found…it was easy to believe he was gone. That he’d simply imbibed a few too many Boodles and tonic and fallen overboard. The French authorities made it clear that they felt that was exactly what happened. With a Gallic flair all their own, they had patted her shoulder and left her to wonder. She didn’t buy it. He was much too experienced a sailor to get drunk and fall off his boat. But if he’d had a few and been pushed over…

She glanced at the clock again. Shit. They had to go.

“Sam?” she yelled. “We’ve got to get out of here. Are you ready to hit the limo?” As she spoke, Taylor made her way into the co

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Sam looked up and Taylor saw the flash of panic in her eyes. The twins’ attack couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Simon was stu

“Nice dress, babe. You’re going to be a hit.”

“Thank you, kind sir. But we’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want Baldwin to be waiting on me. Let’s go do this.”

They gathered everything they could, tucked crying babies into car seats and left the suite. They made their way down the hall to the elevator, Simon lagging a few steps behind. Taylor looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. He needed help. She put a hand on Sam’s arm.

“I tell you what. Do you want to ride over with Simon?

Help calm the babies down? I’ll be perfectly fine by myself in the limo.”

Sam shook her head. “No, I couldn’t let you do that.”

Taylor could feel the wave of relief the suggestion offered. “Yes, you could. It would probably do me good to have a few minutes to myself, anyway. Gear up for all this. Get my head in the game. Choose whichever sports analogy suits you. A little alone time would be good. And it’s only a ten-minute ride. Seriously, Sam, you go on with Simon.”

They hit the ground floor and spilled out of the elevator—white satin and silk flowed into the vast open

ness of the hotel lobby like a river of ice. Several heads 250

J.T. Ellison

turned, faces filled with delight. Who wouldn’t smile at the sight of a bride on her wedding day?

By the time they hit the doors, it was settled. Sam gave Taylor a grateful hug and tucked her into the limousine waiting at the front door. As the door slammed behind her, Taylor drew in what she thought had to be the first full breath she’d had all day. The back of the limo was creamy soft and dead quiet. Bliss. She sank back into the seat and shut her eyes, barely noticing the car leave the curb and start toward the church.

Alone at last.

Taylor felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins. This was it, then, the point of no return. She just hoped she wouldn’t pass out at the altar. Good grief, her hands were shaking. Tough girl, falling apart at the mere idea of standing in front of all those people. The begi

She opened her eyes and took in the sights as the limo cruised through downtown Nashville.

They were on Sixth Avenue, and the driver turned west on Church Street. They came to a stop at the light in front of the downtown library. To her right, a group of homeless people caroused the park nestled between the buildings, seeking shelter from the chill day. A jogger passed across the street, glancing fearfully over his shoulder, as if the homeless would take him down like a pack of rabid dogs. They were past Morton’s now. Down to her left on Eighth was the Nashville Sporting Goods store, the scene 14

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of her first armed robbery. The owner had been shot, but lived, thanks to her quick efforts to save his life. The suspect had never been arrested; the case was still open after twelve years. The owner was dead now, of natural causes. New victims ma