Rory stuck her camera back in her tote and ran over to wrap her arms around her favorite cousin, who smelled of a light, flowery perfume—with just a hint of coffee and pancakes. Clara must have been at her restaurant, the Library Café, already that morning. “God,” Rory said. “It’s so good to see you.” They grinned at each other.
Clara kissed her on the cheek and jumped back up on the platform. “This is Millie. She owns the place. Millie, my cousin Rory.”
“Hey,” said Rory. “We’ve met. Sort of.” She’d talked to Millie on the phone a couple of times, giving the shopkeeper her size and measurements so her dress could be made up and ready for today.
The woman dipped a knee in a fair approximation of a curtsy. “Your Highness. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person. It’s an honor.”
Clara laughed. “Just call her Rory. She gets cranky when people treat her like a princess.”
Millie gave Rory a questioning look.
And Rory said, “That’s right. Just Rory.”
“Fair enough. Rory.” The shop owner straightened her pincushion bracelet and knelt again at Clara’s hem.
Clara was watching Walker, who remained by the door. “I hate to break it to you, Walker. But this is a no-groomsmen-allowed kind of thing we’re doing here.”
He shrugged—and didn’t budge. “You look beautiful, Clara. My brother’s a lucky man.”
“Thanks. You can go.”
“Sorry. Can’t do that. Pretend I’m not here.” He stared out the window—on the lookout for kidnappers, no doubt.
Clara muttered to Rory, “What is going on with him?”
Rory grumbled, “My mother hired him to be my bodyguard for this trip.”
Clara blinked. “No kidding.”
Rory shook her head. “And as you can see, so far, he’s taking his new job very seriously.”
“I guess I should have noticed that you’re minus security.”
“Oh, but I’m not. I’ve got security. And his name is Walker. I’m staying out at the Bar-N, so he can protect me even when I’m sleeping.” She gestured grandly toward the man in question. “Wherever I go, Walker goes.”
“Hmm.” Clara’s green eyes gleamed and she pitched her voice even lower. “This could get interesting...”
“Don’t even go there,” Rory threatened. Clara knew too much. She was Rory’s favorite cousin, after all. And a couple of times over the years Rory had just happened to mention that she had a sort of a thing for Walker. She really wished she’d kept her mouth shut—but both times there had been wine involved, and girls will be girls.
Clara flashed her a way-too-innocent smile. “Don’t go where, exactly?”
Right then, the little bell over the door chimed, distracting Clara, so that Rory didn’t have to answer any more of her annoying Walker-related questions. Elise Bravo and Tracy Winham breezed in.
Elise was Clara’s sister and Tracy might as well have been. When Tracy’s parents died fifteen years ago, Elise and Clara’s mother, Sondra, took Tracy into the family and raised her as a daughter. Together, Tracy and Elise owned Bravo Catering. The two were not only in the wedding party, they were handling the reception and providing all the food. They waved at Walker and hurried over to grab Rory in hugs of welcome.
The first thing out of Elise’s mouth after “How are you?” was “Is there some reason Walker’s lurking by the door?”
And Rory got to explain all over again about the bodyguard situation.
Then Joanna Bravo, Clara and Elise’s half sister, arrived. Things started getting a little frosty about then.
Joanna hugged Rory, kissed Clara on the cheek and then said crisply, “Elise. Tracy.” She gave them each a quick nod that seemed more a dismissal than a greeting.
And Elise said, “Clara, we really need to revisit the issue of the reception centerpieces.”
Joanna, whom they all called Jody, spoke right up. “No, we don’t.”
Tracy popped in with, “Yes, we do.”
Clara said softly, “Come on. We’ve been through this. Let’s not go there again.”
That shut the argument down momentarily.
But Rory knew they would definitely be going there again. If it hadn’t been about the flowers, it would have been something else, because the Justice Creek Bravos shared a convoluted history.
Clara’s father, Franklin Bravo, had raised two families at the same time: one with his heiress wife, Sondra Oldfield Bravo, and a second with his mistress, Willow Mooney. All nine of his children—four by Sondra, five by Willow—had the last name Bravo.
When Sondra died, ten years ago, Frank Bravo had mourned at her funeral. And then, the next day, he’d married Willow and moved her and her two youngest children, Jody and Nell, into the family mansion, where Elise and Tracy still lived. Three years ago, Frank had died of a stroke. By then, there was only Willow, living alone in the big house that Frank had built with Oldfield money when he first made Sondra his bride.
Frank’s five sons and four daughters by two different mothers were all adults now, all out on their own. Clara had told Rory more than once that they’d given up their childhood jealousies and resentments. Clara always saw the best in people and tried to think positive.
But maybe she should have thought twice before hiring Jody to do the flowers for the wedding—and Tracy and Elise to cater it.
As the caterers, Tracy and Elise thought they should be in charge of the reception flowers and should be answerable only to the bride. “We just want to be free to coordinate the look of your reception without having to check with Jody every minute and a half,” groused Elise.
“We’ve already settled this.” Jody pinched up her mouth and aimed her chin high. “I’m doing the flowers. All the flowers. It’s as simple as that. And I will make sure that you get exactly what you want, Clara.”
Rory moved around the edges of the room, snapping a bunch of pictures of them as they argued, feeling grateful for her camera, which gave her something to do so she could pretend to ignore the building animosity.
Tracy started in, “But the reception needs a consistent design. Elise and I really should be freed up to give that to you.”
Clara pleaded, “Come on, guys. You all need to work together. Jody’s doing the flowers. We’ve talked about this before and we’ve all discussed what I’m after.” She glanced from a frowning Tracy to an unhappy Elise to a smug Joanna. “Jody will come up with something that works with your table design. I know it’s all going to be just what I’ve hoped for.”
Elise opened her mouth to give Clara more grief. But before she could get rolling, Nell Bravo, Willow’s youngest, arrived.
Nell was one of those women who cause accidents just by walking down the street. She looked like a cross between the sultry singer Lana Del Rey and a Victoria’s Secret model. Her long auburn hair was wonderfully windblown, her full lips painted fire-engine red and her enormous dark green eyes low and lazy. She wore a hot-pink angora sweater. Black leggings hugged her endless, shapely legs. The leggings ended in a pair of Carvela Scorpion biker boots.
Instead of harping at Clara again, Elise turned to the newcomer. “Nell. How nice that you finally decided to join us.”
Nell’s pillowy red upper lip twitched in a lazy sneer. “Don’t start, Elise. I’m not putting up with your