ever again.”
Clearly shocked at the venom in her words, Dillon backed away. “I guess I didn’t realize you could hold such a grudge. But you’re right. And wise to stay away from the likes of me.” Turning to stalk toward the door, he called to the confused clerk waiting to take his measurements, “I’ll be back later, Stacey. It’s a little too confining in here right now.”
With that, he slammed the front door, leaving a stunned silence to follow him, and all eyes clearly on Isabel.
Chapter Three
She refused to feel guilty about what she’d said to Dillon. The man needed to know right off the bat that she wasn’t interested.
But, she reluctantly told herself, Dillon had looked so dejected, so hurt when she’d accused him of taunting her. She’d seen it in his stormy eyes just before he’d shut down on her. Then, he’d warned her away, as surely as he’d tried to draw her near. Now the whole town would probably be talking about the little scene in the bridal shop.
When Isabel went into the back with Stacey to tell Susan that Dillon had left, the bride-to-be was clearly flustered.
“What do you mean, he left?” a frazzled Susan asked poor embarrassed Stacey. “We have to fit him for that tuxedo!”
Stacey shuffled her loafered feet and looked over to Isabel for support. “He…he was talking to Isabel and he—”
“Dillon couldn’t wait,” Isabel explained, shooing Stacey away with the wave of her hand. Turning Susan back around to view herself in the three-way mirror, she commented on the exquisite bridal dress. “This is incredible, Susi.”
Looking over her silk-and-lace reflection, Susan soon forgot all about Dillon’s leaving. “Do you like it?”
“I do,” Isabel said, although she herself would have chosen a more understated wedding gown. All that pearl beading and lace seemed a bit overwhelming. But then, she reminded herself, she wasn’t the one getting married. “I knew you’d make a lovely bride. Now, let me just get a few candid shots of you here, and then we can talk about the formal portrait for the newspaper. You know, I thought about the wildflowers. How would you feel about setting up a shoot there?”
Susan’s excitement changed to worry in the blink of her blue eyes. Looking over at her mother for support, she said, “Oh, I don’t know—Eli hates those flowers. He calls them weeds.”
Mrs. Webster fussed with Susan’s veil, then nodded. “It’s true, Isabel. Eli doesn’t like the wildflower patch. It’s been a bone of contention between him and his mother for some time now.”
Susan lowered her voice to a whisper. “Something about it being Dillon’s favorite spot—”
“What?” Isabel raked a hand through her long hair to keep from saying something she’d regret.
“Couldn’t we do it somewhere else?” Susan questioned, her blue eyes big and round. “How about in the garden behind Eli’s house? He had it especially landscaped—that big nursery from Albany did it. They did such a good job, too.”
The image Isabel had of Susan in her wedding gown amid the wildflowers died on the vine. Eli certainly wouldn’t want his bride centered in a field that only reminded him of his unwelcome brother. Remembering how lonely Dillon had looked the night before, she couldn’t help the little tug of regret in her heart. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so nasty to Dillon earlier.
Reminding herself she was being paid to please the bride and the groom, and that she had to stand firm regarding Dillon Murdock, she nodded. “If that’s what you want, of course, we can do the shoot there. But Eli can’t see you in your dress, remember?”
“Oh, no.” Susan’s big eyes widened. “That’d be bad luck and we don’t need any more of that.”
Curious, Isabel asked, “Have you had some problems?”
Beatrice Webster pursed her lips, then started to speak.
Susan hastily shook her head to stop her mother, then gazed at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes glistening. “No, everything’s fine. It’s just that Eli has this cotton crop to worry about, and well, he works so hard. And now, Dillon’s already started showing himself. I won’t have him ruining my wedding, Isabel, I just won’t. We only invited him back because his poor mama wanted him here for his brother’s wedding, and he doesn’t even have the common decency to try on his tuxedo.”
Isabel stopped snapping pictures to stare up at her friend. “Susan, Dillon left the shop because of me. We…we kind of got into a little argument and I’m afraid I was rude to him. I’ll try to smooth things over with him, I promise.”
Clearly relieved, Susan clapped her hands together, her number one concern right now her wedding. “Would you please try to get him back in here, tomorrow morning if possible? We’ve only got a few days left before the rehearsal supper, then the wedding.”
“I promise,” Isabel said, dreading the whole affair all over again. She must have been crazy to even accept this assignment.
An hour later, she found herself in the wildflower field, amid the honeybees and the butterflies, dreading having to see Dillon again. But she had to apologize and persuade him to do his duty. A promise was a promise, and she had caused him to leave the shop.
Only she didn’t run into Dillon in the field. Instead, she saw his petite mother hurrying across the path, a huge plate covered with a white linen napkin balanced on her wrinkled hands.
“Miss Cynthia,” Isabel called, rushing to help the woman with the heavily laden plate. “My goodness, you’ve got enough food here to feed an army!”
“Isabel! I heard you made it in. Susan’s mother—that woman calls me at least three times a day.” Cynthia stopped to take a long, much needed breath. “How are you, dear?”
Isabel dutifully leaned down to kiss the woman’s rosy powdered cheek, noting that Miss Cynthia was dressed impeccably just to cross the road and tramp through a field. She wore a pink cotton shell, pearls, and dressy gray slacks with matching pumps.
“I’m all right, Miss Cynthia. Do you want me to carry that for you?”
Cynthia shifted the platter, then laughed nervously. “Heavens, no. I’m just in a hurry. Eli will be home soon, and I’ll have to answer to him. He doesn’t want me carting food over here to his brother.”
Isabel hurried along with Miss Cynthia. “Just like you used to do—sneaking Dillon food after he got sent to bed with no supper.”
“I’m just an old softy, aren’t I?” Cynthia said, her sharp eyes moving over Isabel. “My, you’ve changed. You’ve turned out to be quite a lovely young lady, Isabel.”
“Still a little tomboy left, though,” Isabel said, remembering how Cynthia Murdock used to encourage her to wash her face and put on some makeup. Isabel had resented the woman’s heavy-handed suggestions at the time, but now she only smiled. Apparently, Beatrice Webster hadn’t wasted any time updating the whole town on Isabel’s improved grooming habits. Straightening the flowing skirt of her soft linen dress, she told Miss Cynthia, “I did remember some of your fashion tips.”
“I
