What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(94)
Once the pictures had been taken and the marriage license signed off on, the party began. The caterer’s crew popped open champagne bottles, lifted the lids off bins of food on the long tables, and set up a serving line. Loosening his bow tie and unbuttoning his jacket, Jase led Laurel into the thick of the crowd.
The first person he introduced her to was his best man, who’d arrived at the house from Austin a scant fifteen minutes before the ceremony. Laurel had seen Doug Shumate on television and knew he was a powerhouse politician, but up close and personal, his charisma was overwhelming.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Laurel,” he announced in a mellifluous baritone as he took her hand. His eyes twinkled, and his teeth gleamed, and his brown hair caught gold highlights from the setting sun. “Known Jase for ages.”
She couldn’t help but back up a little.
A snappy brunette nudged him in the ribs. “You’re scaring her, Doug. Turn it down a notch.”
He laughed and reached over to give the woman a brief hug. “You always know how to bring me back to earth, Connie. If you ever want to leave Jase, there’s always a place in my office.”
Then came the deluge, everyone trying to talk to her at once. Most of their guests—Jase’s politician friends, business associates, and longtime employees—were strangers to her, but she was happy to see that Ray Espinoza, Art Sawyer, Mrs. Bridges, Craig Freiberg, and Rafe McAllister had been able to make it.
Ray reported that he had arranged for a large, splashy wedding announcement in the Retriever, and Art made a big ceremony out of handing over an engraved silver bowl from the city council. Before Marilyn Bridges left, she got Laurel aside and presented her with a subscription to the Dallas Symphony Orchestra and a congratulatory card signed by everyone on the block, even the Carrolls. And Jase opened an envelope from the Bosque Bend Museum committee certifying that Rafe McAllister and Craig Freiberg had contributed a ten-by-ten block of pavers to be inscribed with the names of Jason and Laurel Kinkaid Redlander.
To top it off, Pendleton Swaim, uninvited, had FedExed them a Kinkaid genealogy.
As the evening deepened, the guests wandered around the pool with cake plates and champagne glasses in hand.
Sarah was among the first to leave. “I’ve got to make it back to Austin tonight because Keith has surgery tomorrow morning,” she explained. “I wish I’d been here in time to arrange a bachelorette party—you know, maybe a visit to a male strip club for comparison purposes.” She winked at Laurel, giggled, and saluted Jase with a flute of champagne.
Another hour, and all the guests had gone. Jase and Laurel remained outside even after the caterers had packed up, Maxie and Lolly had left, and the outside spotlights were dimmed. Resting her eyes on the dark woods beyond the yard, Laurel leaned back against her husband and breathed in the silence and the starlit night. His arms embraced her shoulders, warming her in the cool night breeze.
It was full dark now. The smell of honeysuckle was on the heavy summer air, votive candles in silver dishes floated aimlessly in the pool like enchanted lotuses, and the helium balloons glistened in the moonlight. Further back, she could see the silver-bowed hurricane lamps that marked the edge of the turf to warn guests away from the dangers beyond, and above the lamps, thousands of tiny lights strung in the wide-armed oaks extended the horizon into the stars.
She could almost pretend they were lovers from long ago, united at last on some supernatural plane of existence. In a way, that was true. So many years lay between them, years of pain and denial. Years that they had the rest of their lives to make up for.
Jase bent his head to her ear. “I love you, Laurel Elizabeth. I love you and always will.”
The oaks rustled in the distance, and the lights hanging from their branches shimmered like a million fireflies.
“And I love you, Jason Redlander—forever and ever.”
*
Laurel was totally sated and totally exhausted. Her libido was all used up. They’d taken the edge off with a quickie on the family room couch as soon as they’d gotten back to the house, and then there’d been a couple of replays once they reached the bedroom. Good thing they’d packed their bags early for the Disney World honeymoon.
She glanced over Jase’s shoulder at the genealogy chart he’d picked up from his nightstand. “What about that Pen Swaim thing? Do you think you and I really are distant cousins?
“Could be. Swaim lays out a good plot for the book he’s working on now. An outlaw gang attacks your Auntie Barbara and her architect as they’re eloping. Snake-oil salesman Asa Redlander scares the bad guys off before they kill her like they did her lover. Asa’s squaw nurses Barbara back to health—except for the brain damage, of course—and six months later, Barbara gives birth to a full-term baby girl who grows up to marry Asa’s son when she’s old enough—or maybe when she isn’t, judging by the number of generations the Redlanders managed to squeeze into one hundred and thirty years.”
He replaced the chart on the nightstand, and Laurel felt the mattress sink beside her as he leaned over to caress her bare belly. She moved her arm to give him better access, but didn’t have the energy to respond to his gentle touch.
He ran his fingers back and forth across the pearls that looped around her neck and down her body.
Laurel tilted her head in consideration. “The weird thing is that Pen saw some woman on that TV antiques show who had traced her family history back to the jade pendant, but couldn’t go any further. Her got in touch with her and worked everything else out.”