Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 37

"This is beautiful!" she said, gazing around. We were standing near the lounge, with its grouping of plush chairs and sofas, baby grand piano, and thick Oriental carpet. "Don't you love coming here?"

I decided not to dampen her enthusiasm by admitting I felt about as comfortable there as I imagined a queen would feel dining at a 7-Eleven. Next to my skilled surgeon brothers and their socially adept, fas.h.i.+onably dressed wives, I was always the fish out of water. Tonight was just especially difficult.

I pointed to the left and told her about the enormous banquet rooms, where a wedding reception was in progress. Downstairs were the clubrooms, pro shop, and exercise rooms. The dining room ran along the back of the facility, its long stretch of windows and French doors facing the extensive flower gardens and the golf course beyond. And on the far right side of the dining room was a doorway to a private room, which my brothers had reserved for the dinner.

"We're back there," I said, pointing to the doorway.

"I hope they like me," Chelsea said, giving me a nervous smile. "Rafe tried to prepare me for, um"-she shrugged apologetically-"his mom."

"Don't let Rafe scare you. Mrs. Salvare is a warmhearted lady. She just gets a bit enthusiastic at times. And you've met my dad, right? You know he's a great guy. And the rest of the gang you don't need to worry about. They'll be busy picking me apart."

My mom was watching for us from the doorway, and as soon as she saw us, she hurried out to give us hugs. "Chelsea, I'm so glad you could make it. Abigail, how's your ankle?"

"It's okay," I said, attempting a carefree shrug. I could hear lots of chatter and laughter coming from the room and suddenly didn't feel ready for it. "Why don't you take Chelsea inside and introduce her? I need to use the ladies' room."

Mom hooked her arm through Chelsea's and led her into the lion's den. I turned and steered toward the hallway, wanting to put off my entrance for as long as possible.

Rafe came through the double gla.s.s doors and called, "You're going the wrong way."

"I've decided to crash the wedding reception." At his puzzled frown, I pointed toward the ladies' room. "That's where I'm headed."

"Gotcha."

In the ladies' room I stood at the black granite counter and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Did I really want to go into that back room? But what was my alternative? Sit at home with Simon and watch TV? Maybe I'd try Marco's number again. If I could hear his voice, I might have the courage to face the family.

I dug out my cell phone to see if I could reach him, but I wasn't getting a strong signal, so I left the building and walked to the other side of a brick column, under the wide portico just outside the gla.s.s doors. I hit speed dial number two and listened, but the call went to voice mail. d.a.m.n!

Where are you, Marco?

"Aren't you coming inside?" Rafe called from the door.

"In a minute." With a sigh, I slipped the phone into my purse. "I still can't reach Marco."

"Why do you need to do that?"

"Because, Rafe," I said impatiently, turning, "I-"

It wasn't Rafe. It was Marco.

He was wearing army fatigues and brown boots, and had a brown canvas bag slung over his shoulder, as though he'd come straight from the base. He strode toward me with open arms and hugged me against him, lifting me off my feet. My crutches fell to the sidewalk with a clatter and I squeezed him tight. "You're here! How did you get back? Where have you been? Why didn't you call?"

"Whoa, Suns.h.i.+ne. Take it easy," he said, getting me back onto the crutches. "I wasn't able to call until just a few hours ago, and then I decided to wait and surprise you. I'm sorry, babe. I would have phoned if I could have. But I did get to hear your messages, and Vlad told me what happened with Kyle when he picked me up today."

So that was why Vlad hadn't stuck around.

Marco shook his head. "I don't know what to say except that I'm extremely thankful you weren't hurt."

"Vlad had my back, Marco. I understand now why you've had so much faith in him all along."

"If there was anyone in the world I could trust to keep you safe, it was Vlad."

I glanced around. "Where is he?"

"He said he had to go see Dave Hammond."

"Dave doesn't meet clients at ni-Oh, right. This is Vlad."

"He's a man of his word, Abby. And wait-he gave us a gift." Marco opened his brown bag and pulled out a wine bottle with a homemade label on it. He held it up so I could read the label. It said: VLAD'S DANDELION WINE.

"It's our engagement present," Marco said. "I've got one more in my bag. They're his last two bottles. He'd been saving them for us because the new batch won't be ready for months."

"He wanted all those dandelions to make wine?"

"It's one of his hobbies. We can open one tonight, just the two of us, and celebrate. How does that sound?"

"Like a dream come true. But does that mean you don't have to go back?"

"I can't promise I won't ever be called back, but I'm done for now."

"Oh, Marco-" I couldn't hold back my tears any longer. He put his arms around me and held me while I wept in relief.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, "I told you everything would be okay."

I wiped tears off my cheeks. "I'm just so thankful you're safe. Can you tell me why they needed you?"

"I had to accompany someone on a quick trip to South Korea." He shrugged enigmatically. "A little security matter."

"Just you? Not your Ranger unit?"

"A few of us from the unit."

"Who did you accompany?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." His mouth curved up at one corner. "Does it matter? I'm here, aren't I?"

I smiled at the man I loved with my entire being. "Yes, you're here, and that is what matters."

I'd get the details later.

"What's Vlad going to do after he's cleared?" I asked. "Is he still going to work at Down the Hatch?"

"No. He said he had a lead on a bar for sale in Chicago. I think he's had his fill of New Chapel."

"Are you still planning to sell your bar?"

"I'm thinking about hanging on to it and letting Rafe manage it for me."

The best of both worlds. I knew Marco would never be able to totally let it go. "That's a great idea, Marco. Rafe brought Chelsea tonight, by the way. They hit it off after all. Wait till you see them together. They're such a cute couple."

"Speaking of couples, we have an announcement to make."

"Then let's go inside and make it."

"First, there's something we need to do." Marco unfastened the chain around my neck and removed my engagement ring. "Time to start showing off this baby."

He held me so I could let go of the left crutch; then he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of my hand. I held it up so we could admire it. "It's beautiful, Marco." I smiled at him. "I'm so happy right now, I could burst."

"Don't burst yet. We've got a room full of people inside who are going to want to know when we're getting married."

"Oh, no! We haven't even talked about a date."

"I'm still partial to September."

My head started spinning with all the plans I'd have to make. "I don't know if I can pull a wedding together in five months. I have to find a dress, a caterer, reserve a room-"

"There's always the elopement option." He gave me a mischievous grin.

"September it is."

That earned me one of Marco's rare full smiles. "Ready to share the news?"

"You bet I am, Salvare."

I started to hobble toward the door, but Marco said, "Not that way," and swept me into his arms. "This way."

Abby Knight can already hear wedding bells

ringing in New Chapel, but how long

will her happiness last when a new

murderer shows up in town?

Read on for an excerpt from the next

Flower Shop Mystery,

To Catch a Leaf Available in November 2011 from Obsidian.

Monday Happiness oozed from every cell in my body. No, wait. Ooze sounded bad, and what I was feeling was definitely not bad. Not by a long shot. I was in a zone. I radiated bliss. As my a.s.sistant Lottie pointed out, I had a certain glow about me.

The best part of a glow of this magnitude was that nothing could dim it, not the ding in the paint on my refurbished yellow Corvette, not the snarl of traffic from a stoplight malfunction, not even the knowledge that my mother had completed a new art project and was going to deliver it after school let out for the day.

The reason for my blissful state was that after weeks of having to keep my news under wraps, the secret was out at last. I was officially engaged to the sizzling-hot man of my dreams, my s.e.xy neighbor, former Special Ops Army Ranger- turned-owner of Down the Hatch Bar and Grill, Marco Salvare. Yes, the very male who turned the heads of women all over town: The pragmatic, enigmatic, charismatic, and, yes, sometimes autocratic Marco, my Italian-American hunk, was now engaged to little ol' moi.

Added to all that joy, my flower shop, Bloomers, was operating in the black for the first time since I'd bought the business from its former owner, Lottie Dombowski. Poor Lottie had been drowning in debt from her husband's ginormous medical bills, while I was up to my freckles in failure, having flunked out of law school and been unceremoniously cast off by the man I thought I wanted to marry. Instead of succ.u.mbing to despair, I took action.

Sc.r.a.ping together the remainder of my inheritance from my grandpa, I plunked down enough money to ensure my servitude to the bank forever, hired Lottie to teach me how to be a florist, put in a coffee-and-tea parlor, lured the foremost British authority on tea in Indiana, Grace Bingham, out of retirement, and attempted to make a go of it.

Needless to say, with the economy in the tank, it had been a struggle. But a recent spurt in business had pushed my checking account into positive territory at last, giving me even more reason to ooze-I mean, radiate-happiness.

Horns honked around me. People were getting impatient. In a small town like New Chapel, traffic jams were fairly uncommon. But I merely cranked up the volume on my CD player and sang along until I was able to turn off the main road and escape the congestion.

It was a gorgeous, sunny May morning, business was up, and I was engaged to the most wonderful man in town. Nothing on earth could dim my happiness.

Then I hit a cat.

Jamming on the brakes, I threw the car into PARK and jumped out, horrified at the thought of what I might find. I ran around to the front and saw a ragged yellow tabby cat crouched on the macadam a few feet in front of my car, staring at me in fright. I hadn't run it down after all!

Seeing that I wasn't about to do it harm, the tabby rose unsteadily and attempted to limp to the curb, dragging its right hind leg behind it. The leg was bent at the wrong angle.

"Oh, no! I did hit you," I cried, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. "I'm so sorry. I'll make it all right, I promise. Please don't try to run away from me. I want to help you."

The cat meowed pitifully, gazing at me with fearful golden eyes, ready to attempt to flee. I glanced around for a.s.sistance, but I'd turned off Concord Avenue onto a side street that had no houses and only a few businesses on it, none of which were open yet. Would an ambulance come if I called 911? Probably not.

The cat was in terrible pain, and so was I, the pain of horrendous guilt. I took off my jean jacket and approached the poor animal cautiously, talking to it in a soothing voice. "I'm going to take you to the vet, okay? I'm really, really sorry. You don't know how sorry I am. I'm just going to pick you up gently now, so don't scratch me."

The cat either understood or was too injured to fight. I wrapped my jacket over it and picked it up, careful not to touch the damaged leg. I placed the cat gently on the pa.s.senger seat and prayed it wouldn't try to escape, but it seemed to know that I wasn't a threat.

I buckled my seat belt, put the Vette in DRIVE, and headed for the veterinary clinic where my roommate, Nikki, took her cat, Simon. Fortunately, the clinic was only a five-minute drive, because the injured tabby's plaintive meows were breaking my heart. How could I have been so careless? Why hadn't I noticed the animal in the road?

As I approached the reception counter, babbling wildly, holding the cat in my arms, the receptionist looked up in surprise, then jumped off her chair and ran to get an aide.

Within five minutes, Dr. Christine Kelly had the cat on a stainless-steel table and was administering a painkiller so she could perform an exam, while I sat on an orange plastic chair in the corner, enveloped in remorse.