Marrying The Wedding Crasher. Melinda Curtis
it again, Vince.
“The place is different now,” Joe said quietly, having stopped beside Vince. “We’ve made changes. It doesn’t feel as if it was ever his.”
His. Their father’s. A man plagued by voices in his head.
“And there’s no trace of her here, either,” Joe said resentfully.
Her. Their mother. A woman who’d spent years trying to make peace with her husband’s many moods to shelter her children from instability, until she became unstable herself.
Vince acknowledged Joe’s comment with a grunt, the only sound he was capable of making.
They moved even with the house. This time it wasn’t a gloomy shadow Vince felt but the icy hand of guilt. His actions had left their family without a reliable parent.
“We’re remodeling the house.” Joe’s words rang with pride. “We tore down interior walls, ripped out all the flooring and removed everything in the bathrooms. You wouldn’t recognize it.”
Oh, Vince bet he would.
He bet he could mark an X on the spot where Dad had his after-work meltdowns. Or stand in the kitchen where Mom would smoke with the window open, hoping Dad didn’t notice the tinge of nicotine in the air.
Vince walked faster.
“Sam and I are living in the apartment above the garage until the house is done.” Joe stopped Vince with a hand on his arm. “I’m saving to buy you out.”
They stood in front of Vince’s old bedroom window. There was a reason nothing had ever grown beneath that sill. After dark, he and Gabe had used it as their own personal entrance.
“You don’t have to pay me.” The three brothers had inherited the property. Vince didn’t want anything from Harmony Valley.
“I can’t give you top dollar.” Joe set his chin the way he had when he was a kid and Vince had told him to go away. “This place was a wreck when we got here. Any value in it is coming directly from my pocket.”
“Keep your money. I don’t need it.”
“Say what you want. There’s a check coming your way.” Joe walked on, back stiff with all his honorable intentions.
If Joe had gone to Texas, he’d have done things differently. He’d have showed up at their mother’s door, introduced himself and told her off.
Vince lingered behind, taking in the property, the small house, the modest business, the cluttered field. Joe might believe things looked different now.
To Vince, things looked exactly the same.
* * *
“HOW ARE YOU holding up?” Vince asked Harley hours after they’d started.
He crossed the trampled paths they’d created to get the cars out, looking attractively scruffy.
Harley’s butterflies threatened to return.
Vince was eye candy. Not checkout-stand eye candy. Nothing that low quality. No. Vince was like the big Easter eggs Harley’s mother bought once a year from the gourmet chocolate shop. When Harley was a kid, she’d thought the fist-size eggs would be filled with more chocolate or thick cream. But, no, they’d been hollow. And so was Vince, carrots aside.
He wanted to project an image that wasn’t real to the people he should have been closest to. That was something she shouldn’t forget.
“Let’s take a break,” he said.
Vince stopped in front of Harley and peered at her face the way a doctor once had after she’d gotten a concussion trying to play basketball. That concussion had her sitting the rest of the season. Not that Harley considered that a failure. Being on the team had made her well-rounded on her college applications. She didn’t need or want playing time. She’d learned her lesson. Playing was dangerous.
Vince, with his thought-stealing kissing talent, supreme good looks and thought-stealing kissing talent—yes, it needed to be said twice—was dangerous. Harley knew about head-spinning danger. She was staying on the bench.
Vince took Harley’s hand and led her toward the garage, dragging her along like a small anchor behind a big boat. “We’ll check in.”
“I’ll go with you.” Gabe fell into step next to Harley, as energetic as an over-sugared fifth-grader.
“Gabe, it’s five. Harley’s tired and she’s a guest of ours.” It was Vince who sounded tired, no doubt worn out by his emotional homecoming.
Harley had seen how Vince’s gaze shadowed sometimes when he looked at his family’s garage. “I’m fine, but we can go if you like.”
“Harley?” Vince quirked an eyebrow. “You just told me you’re tired, didn’t you?”
She’d forgotten their scam, having been too busy thinking about his thought-stealing kissing talent. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m feeling a bit weary, too,” Gabe said, still his happy-go-lucky self.
“I just want to spend some time alone with my girlfriend,” Vince snapped. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Well, now I feel selfish.” Brit stopped inspecting an old car nearby and frowned at them. “I’m a bridezilla without realizing it. There’s just so much to do around here for the wedding and the house.”
“It’s okay,” Harley said. “I don’t mind helping.” That was no lie.
The Messinas were fun to be around. Brad and Sam danced about like puppies who didn’t understand exactly why they liked each other. Gabe wielded verbal volleys, taking shots at everyone, including Harley. The bride and groom snuck sweet kisses when they thought no one was looking. And through it all, they treated Harley as if she was one of their own.
“I think you guys should get going,” Gabe said unexpectedly. “In fact, I’ll make reservations at El Rosal for you. My treat.” He tugged a cell phone out of his pocket. “And while you eat, I can make sure your reservation is ready at the B and B.”
Vince tried to topple Gabe with a suspicious stare, but his brother didn’t fold.
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Harley moved into peace-keeping mode.
“Gabe isn’t thoughtful,” Vince grumbled.
“Maybe I was selfish when I was younger and you outshone me with your huge talent underneath the hood.” An angel would have believed Gabe’s sincerity. He looked that earnest. “But I’m a changed man today.”
Vince scoffed.
“What do you do for a living, Harley?” Again, Gabe’s tone was innocuous. His smile that of an angel.
“She’s an architect,” Vince said before Harley could tell Gabe she was a tile installer. Vince gave Harley a look that telegraphed Let me handle this.
“How did you meet an architect working on an oil rig?” Gone was the angel. Gabe looked and sounded more like a hound dog on the trail of a fox.
“Vince doesn’t work on an oil rig anymore.” Harley pretended she was unable to translate Vince’s Morse code. Stick to the truth. Wasn’t that what they’d agreed? “I met him on a job site.”
They’d reached the parking lot.
“I’m working as a carpenter now,” Vince said through stiff lips.
Harley couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t want his family to know about his job change or why he hadn’t told her his occupation was on a need-to-know basis. This was about his status quo, not hers.
They reached the door to the repair garage’s office.
“Brother, why don’t you use the shop sink to wash up?” Gabe opened the door and pointed