Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(8)

“Out.”

I stalked across the grounds to the guesthouse where the groom’s family was getting ready for the ceremony. I fought to keep from breaking into a run. As soon as I entered the house, I blotted my sweating face with a handful of tissues. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and clinking glasses floated from the living room of the main floor.

Val was at my side instantly. She was dressed in a pale silver-gray skirt suit, her microbraids pulled back in a controlled low bun. High-pressure situations never seemed to fluster her; in fact, she usually became even calmer in the face of emergency. As I looked into her eyes, however, I saw the signs of panic. The ice in the drink she held was rattling slightly. Whatever was happening with the groom, it was serious.

“Avery,” she whispered, “thank God you’re here. Charlie’s trying to call it off.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’m sure the best man has something to do with it.”

“Wyatt Vandale?”

“Uh-huh. He’s been making comments all afternoon, like how marriage is nothing but a trap, and Sloane’s going to turn into a fat baby machine, and how Charlie better make sure this isn’t a mistake. I can’t get him out of the upstairs parlor. He’s stuck to Charlie like glue.”

I cursed myself for not having anticipated something like this. Charlie’s best friend, Wyatt, was a spoiled brat whose family’s money had afforded him the luxury of delaying adulthood for as long as possible. He was crude and obnoxious and never wasted an opportunity to demean women. Sloane despised Wyatt, but she had told me that because he had been friends with Charlie since first grade, he would have to be tolerated. Whenever she complained about Wyatt’s vileness, Charlie told her that Wyatt was good at heart but tended to express himself badly. The problem was, Wyatt expressed himself perfectly.

Val handed me the glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “This is for Charlie. I know about the no-booze rule, but trust me, it’s time to break it.”

I took the drink from her. “All right. I’ll take it to him. Charlie and I are about to have a come-to-fiery-Jesus moment. Don’t let anyone interrupt.”

“What about Wyatt?”

“I’ll get rid of him.” I gave her my headset. “Keep in touch with Sofia and Steven.”

“Should I tell them we’re going to start late?”

“We are going to start precisely on time,” I said grimly. “If we don’t, we lose the best light for the ceremony, and we also lose the dove release. Those birds have to fly back to Clear Lake, and they can’t do it in the dark.”

Val nodded and put on the headset, adjusting the microphone. I ascended the stairs, went to the parlor, and tapped at the partially open door. “Charlie,” I asked in the calmest tone I could manage, “may I come in? It’s Avery.”

“Look who’s here,” Wyatt exclaimed as I entered the room. His expensive tux was disheveled and his black tie was missing. He was full of swagger, certain that he’d ruined Sloane Kendrick’s big day. “What did I tell you, Charlie? Now she’s gonna try and talk you out of it.” He shot me a triumphant glance. “Too late. His mind’s made up.”

I glanced at the ashen-faced groom, who sat slumped on a love seat. He didn’t look at all like himself.

“Wyatt,” I said, “I need a moment alone with Charlie.”

“He can stay,” Charlie said in a subdued voice. “He’s got my back.”

Yes, I was tempted to say, that knife he stuck in it sure makes a nice handle. But instead I murmured, “Wyatt needs to get ready for the ceremony.”

The best man smiled at me. “Didn’t you hear? Wedding’s been canceled.”

“That’s not your decision,” I said.

“What do you care?” Wyatt asked. “You’ll get paid anyway.”

“I care about Charlie and Sloane. And I care about the people who’ve worked hard to make this a special day for them.”

“Well, I’ve known this guy here since first grade. And I’m not gonna let him be pushed around by you and your flunkies just because Sloane Kendrick decided it was time to put a noose around his neck.”

I went to Charlie and handed him the drink. He took it gratefully.

I pulled out my cell phone. “Wyatt,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone as I scrolled through my contacts list, “your opinions are not relevant. This wedding is not about you. I’d like you to leave, please.”

Wyatt laughed. “Who’s gonna make me?”

Having found Ray Kendrick’s number on my contact list, I autodialed him. As a former rodeo rider, Sloane’s father was a breed of man who, despite cracked ribs and bruised organs, willingly climbed atop an enraged two-thousand-pound animal for a ride that was the equivalent of being whacked repeatedly between the legs with a baseball bat.

Ray answered. “Kendrick.”

“It’s Avery,” I said. “I’m next door with Charlie. We’re having an issue with his friend Wyatt.”

Ray, who had been visibly annoyed with Wyatt’s behavior at the rehearsal dinner, asked, “That little sumbitch trying to stir up trouble?”

“He is,” I said. “And I thought you’d be the one to explain to him how to behave on Sloane’s big day.”