My Man Pendleton(84)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Her man. Pendleton.

A quick knock at the door alerted her that the time was nigh. “Kit?” Holt called out from the other side. “The minister’s here. You all ready?”

She’d never been more ready for anything in her life. “You bet,” she called back.

When she opened the door, Holt’s expression softened. “You look beautiful,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back. “Yes, I do, don’t I?” Then, with a quick perusal of her brother in his dove-gray morning wear, she added, “You don’t look so bad yourself. If it weren’t for the fact that Pendleton is such a spectacular specimen of manhood, I’d say there’s a chance the best man was going to outshine the groom today.”

Holt thought about that for a moment before saying, “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Where’s your bouquet?”

“My maid of honor has it.”

His expression clouded with confusion. “You have a maid of honor? This is the first I’ve heard about it. She wasn’t at the rehearsal last night.”

“No, she wasn’t able to make it,” Kit said easily as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “She had another appointment last night.”

“Well, who is she?”

With a delicate tug on her gloves, Kit pushed past her older brother. “She’s downstairs. Come on.”

Still gazing at his sister suspiciously, Holt crooked his elbow, and Kit graciously linked her arm with his. Then, together, they descended the stairs. Clearing the kitchen was something of a challenge, seeing as a bevy of caterers was in there putting the finishing touches on a wedding feast to serve the fifty-odd guests seated outside. But without so much as a misstep, Kit and Holt survived the press, and made their way through the back door.

Beneath a cloudless sky of perfect azure, the back yard glittered like an emerald. And there, in the farthest corner, amid Lena Hensley McClellan’s celebrated rose garden, was a wedding party that awaited the appearance of the bride. Sister and brother strode forward, and Holt nodded at the chamber ensemble as they neared. Immediately, the delicate chords of Pachelbel’s Canon lifted into the air.

“Oh, there’s my maid of honor now,” Kit said, lifting a hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting at the woman who approached.

She saw Holt follow her gaze, noticed how his mouth dropped open in surprise, and watched as his lips slowly curled into a smile. Faith Ivory did look stunning, Kit had to admit. Her lavender tea-length dress, otherwise identical to Kit’s gown, suited her well.

“Hi,” she said softly when she drew alongside Holt. She dropped and lifted her gaze a few dozen times, then smiled shyly.

“Hello,” Holt greeted her back.

Being the goofy older brother that he was, he said nothing more. Funny, Kit thought, how she’d never noticed Holt was so prone to blushing.

“You’re Kit’s maid of honor?” he finally asked, dispelling the awkward silence.

Faith nodded coyly.

His gaze ricocheted from her to Kit and back again. “You’ll forgive me if I find this development a little surprising. I didn’t realize the two of you were even acquainted, let alone friendly.”

This time Faith was the one whose glance flitted from face to face. Ultimately, however, her attention lingered on Holt. “Yes, well, your sister can be very persuasive. About a lot of things.”

Sparing a brief glance toward Kit, Holt replied, “Yeah, she sure can be.” Then he returned his attention to Faith. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too. It sounds crazy, but I’ve really missed you. Funny, isn’t it? We hardly spent much time together. But I still missed you.”

He shook his head, lifting his hand to skim his fingers lightly over her cheek. “That’s not crazy. I missed you, too. Will you stick around for a while this time? Find out how things are going to develop?” He smiled. “Even if it is a conflict of interest for us?”

“It’s not a conflict of interest anymore,” she said. “I quit my job with the Temperance League. I’d like to start practicing law again.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

She smiled. “I will. In fact, I think we have a lot to talk about.”

He smiled back. “Good thing we have a lot of time to do it.”

Kit cleared her throat as unobtrusively as she could. “Yes, well, as enchanting as I find this little reunion—after all, I am the one who’s responsible for it, something I hope the two of you will remember when it comes time to name your firstborn daughter—you’ll have that lot of time you want later. After my wedding. Right now, I’d like to get married if the two of you don’t mind.”

With obvious reluctance, Holt released his sister’s arm and dismissed himself from the two women. Then he strode easily up the white satin aisle that spilled over the grass, and took his place beside the groom.

The groom, Kit marveled for perhaps the hundredth time since waking that morning. Now there was a word she’d never planned on using personally in her lifetime. But there he was all the same. Her groom. Pendleton.

The music swelled and segued to “Pictures at an Exhibition,” Faith’s cue to make her own way down the aisle. With a brief smile for Kit, she handed over the modest bouquet of gardenias meant for the bride, then clasped her own smaller version to her abdomen and made her way slowly toward the rest of the wedding party.

Then it was Kit’s turn. Once again the music changed, As the tune blossomed into “That Man of Mine,” she inhaled a deep breath and took a slow step forward. Then another. And another. And another. She didn’t stop moving forward until she stood beside Pendleton, who, she had to admit, looked good enough to eat. Like Holt, he was dressed in formal morning coat and trousers. Unlike Holt, however, he stirred a need deep inside her she wasn’t sure would ever be satisfied. He lifted his hand toward her, and, without hesitation, Kit curled her fingers over his.

The minister inclined his head toward both of them, and then, in a voice full of warmth and promise, he recited the words that would bring Kit and Pendleton together for all eternity. When he came to the part about speak now or forever hold your peace, only one person spoke up.

Kit.

“Hold on a sec,” she said, lifting one gloved hand, index finger extended for emphasis. She turned gracefully to face her father. “Although you know how much I adore the cheese dome you got us, Daddy, I think there’s one more wedding present you promised me. Do you have it?”