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ARKANSAS WEDDINGS: THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION
ARKANSAS WEDDINGS: THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION Read online
© 2010 White Roses by Shannon Taylor Vannatter
© 2011 White Doves by Shannon Taylor Vannatter
© 2011 White Pearls by Shannon Taylor Vannatter
Print ISBN 978-1-62416-212-1
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62416-463-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62416-462-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dear Reader Letter
White Roses
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
White Doves
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
White Pearls
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoy getting a glimpse of my home state of Arkansas. I enjoyed sharing the local flavor of Romance, Arkansas, where romantics go to get married and send their wedding invitations and Valentine cards to be re-mailed with the Love Station postmark. I don’t live there, but it is about twenty-five miles from my rural home. The waterfall is real and best found by going to the Romance Post Office for directions. Rose Bud, Arkansas, is seven miles away, and the stately Darden-Gifford house stands watch over the small town.
The towns seemed like the perfect place to weave tales of couples who must turn their hearts over to God before they can find their true loves. While Adrea and Grayson fought to overcome guilt and fear, Laken and Hayden struggled with bitterness and trust, and Shell and Ryler wrestled with low self-esteem and forgiveness—my prayer is that my fictional characters’ trials might strike a cord with a reader.
As a writer, my dreams come true through readers, and I’d love to hear from you.
May God richly bless you,
Shannon Taylor Vannatter
www.shannonvannatter.com
WHITE ROSES
Dedication
To my very own Pastor in Shining Armor for all your love and support.
I’d like to thank my mother, Veta Taylor; my critique partner, Lorna Seilstad; and longtime friends Ruby and Stephanie Garner for sharing their knowledge of flowers and florists.
Chapter 1
Whoa!” Adrea Welch teetered on top of the rickety three-step utility ladder. With both arms flung out, surfing style, she regained her balance and pressed a hand to her pounding heart.
“Let me hold that for you,” a deep voice echoed from the back of the sanctuary.
The man hurried toward her. Emerald green eyes, windswept sable hair, and an irresistible cleft in his chin. Late-twenties, maybe thirty. Probably the groom. All the impossibly handsome men, especially the nice, mannerly ones who hung out in church, were taken.
Especially in tiny Romance, Arkansas.
But looks weren’t everything and he might never have been in a church before, just here for the wedding. Underneath that heart-tilting smile, he might be a jerk.
“Thanks.” She glanced down, making sure he wasn’t helping as an excuse to check her out. He wasn’t. Instead, he studied her work.
“I’m almost done.” Adrea looped yellow roses through the white latticework archway.
“The church should invest in a better ladder.”
“Actually, it’s mine.” She weaved ivy through the roses and climbed down. He was tall, at least six foot three. The top of her head came just about nose level on him.
“Are you in the wedding party?” He slung his jacket over one shoulder. Shirtsleeves, rolled up almost to the elbow, revealed muscled forearms.
“I’m the florist.” Always the florist; never the bride. “Adrea Welch.”
“A-dree-uh.”
She nodded at the correct pronunciation. “Very good, but I’ve been known to answer to Adrian and Andrea.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Adrea.” He offered his hand. “I’m the pastor at Palisade over in Rose Bud. Grayson Sterling. Most folks call me Pastor Grayson.”
She suppressed a gasp and shook his hand. Warmth spread over her at his firm, yet gentle grip.
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Um, I usually do the white roses.”
The light in his eyes snuffed out.
Six years of standing orders for his wife’s birthday, their son’s birthday, and their anniversary. For the last two, he hand-delivered the flowers to the cemetery. And added Valentine’s Day to mark the date of her death.
“Sara always treasured them and thought it so romantic to get flowers from Romance.” His voice sounded forced. “Even though mine is always the same order, you make each one unique.”
“I actually enjoy the challenge of making each array distinctive.” How lame. Might as well tell him I take pleasure in arranging flowers for his dead wife. “She must have been a very special lady.”
“Yes.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “How long have you been at Floral Designs?”
“Seven years.”
“I’ve been a patron and pastored the church almost that long.” He frowned. “Odd that we’ve never met before.”
“I hardly ever go out to the showroom, and only started decorating wedding sites in the last few months.” She fluffed the swirl of tulle at the base of each brass candelabra to catch the rainbow of light reflecting through the lone stained-glass window.
“This is the first wedding I’ve agreed to officiate since Sara…So, you attend here at Mountain Grove?”
“From the time I can remember, and my sister’s husband is the preacher.” She cocked her head to the side, surveying the archway. Yellow roses were her favorite. Once upon a time, she’d planned to use them for her own special day.
She checked her watch. Almost time for the round of afternoon weddings to start. “I better get out of your way.”
“Nice meeting you. I’ll pick up Sara’s arrangement later.”
“It’ll be ready.” She hurried out of the church, slipping on her jacket. Preachers really shouldn’t look so good. How could any self-respecting Christian female concentrate on the sermon? He definitely lived up to the romantic hero her employees mooned over every time he came to pi
ck up the roses. No wonder the salesclerks called him Prince Sterling.
Adrea stashed empty boxes and transport forms in the back of the van. Three down, three to go. And none of the nuptials were hers.
Her hometown thrived on weddings. Half her livelihood came from weddings. She was so sick of weddings.
A Valentine balloon bouquet tried to escape from the van. She punched a heart-shaped, pink foil number bobbing beside her head.
“Roses are red, my love,” a tinny tune played. “Violets are blue-ooh. Sugar is sweet my love, but not as sweet as you.”
She slammed the door shut.
Okay, time to count blessings. She started the engine.
Number one: She and her older sister had recently bought the floral shop. Number two: Since couples came year-round to get married in if-youblinked-you-missed-it Romance, the town’s notoriety made for a busy floral shop. Number three: It was Valentine’s Day, their biggest day for weddings and roses.
Twenty-five and the co-owner of a successful business. Yet a sigh welled within her.
Just two years ago, she’d been the soon-to-be bride blissfully planning her own ceremony. Until three weeks before the big event, when Wade crushed her illusions with his curvy blond floozy, clad only in a towel.
She shook the thoughts away as she rounded the curve and turned into the lot at the post office. Adrea managed to get Mom’s roses out of the van without any trouble from the balloons.
Samantha—just Sam—Welch stood at the counter with piles of wedding invitations threatening to topple.
“Hi, Mom.” Adrea set a crystal vase on the counter.
“Hey, baby.” Mom’s smile brightened and she stopped stamping long enough to inhale the fragrance of the dozen long-stemmed roses. “Your father.”
“Is a very sweet man.”
“Are you okay?” Mom’s brow furrowed.
“I’m fine.”
“Haylee thought you might need her to spend the night and said something about eating Yarnell’s Death-By-Chocolate ice cream straight out of the carton.”
Adrea’s eyes misted at the thoughtfulness of her seven-year-old niece. “I’ll have her over soon, but we won’t need sinful treats. I’m fine. Really.”
Mom chewed on the inside of her jaw and surveyed Adrea with her intense sapphire gaze. Unconvinced, she went back to hand-stamping the invitations with a practiced, speedy precision. The rhythm of clunk, clunk, clunk echoed through the small office, toiling out the results of Romance’s other claim to fame. The remailing program.
Valentine’s cards arrived in droves for the unique Love Station postmark only in use each February 1–15. Year-round, brides from all over the country mailed their invitations in overstuffed manila envelopes, just to have them remailed from Romance, Arkansas.
Mom had stamped Adrea’s invitations and taken care of them when the plans deflated like a balloon detached from the air hose. She didn’t know how Mom had handled it. Sent don’t-come-to-my-wedding-it’s-not-going-tohappen cards? Somehow, Mom had let everyone know the engagement was off and no one asked questions.
“I met the pastor at Palisade just now.” Adrea grabbed a stack of finished invitations as they began a slow landslide and scooped them into two piles.
“That poor man. It doesn’t seem possible two years have passed since his wife died.”
Adrea nodded. “I heard he’s thinking of resigning. Maybe Mark could apply for that church. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”
“To us.” Mom raised an eyebrow. “Your brother feels very strongly called to be an associate pastor.”
“I’m so afraid he’ll end up somewhere else.” Adrea hugged herself. “I mean, he just came home, and there aren’t any churches around here that have associates.”
“Searcy has several.” Mom’s stamping never lost rhythm. “Don’t worry, God will work it out and put Mark right where He wants him.”
“You’re right. I better scoot; it’s our busiest day.”
“Tell me about it.” Mom stopped stamping long enough to massage her wrist.
Adrea wiped away a tear, then turned to sweep the smattering of fallen leaves and trimmed stems from the workroom floor.
As always, the pale flowers made her grieve for a woman she’d never met. Especially since she’d met the man left behind. She buried her nose in the cool satin of a fragrant blossom then added a few more fern fronds to the plastic container.
From births to proms and graduations, running the floral shop thrust her into the middle of the lives of countless strangers. She delighted in her work. Except for Valentine’s Day, funerals, and white rose days.
What must it feel like to be the object of such devotion? It was hard to fathom how a man could love a woman so much he placed a standing order to mark each special occasion then continued the tradition even after her death. She swiped at another tear.
Maybe she felt a kinship with Sara because she’d arranged the white roses for so long. Or because Sara died on what should have been my wedding day. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Their happily-ever-afters had vanished like vividly colored Valentine’s balloons caught in a vicious wind and swallowed up by angry clouds.
She filled the holes between the roses with snapdragons and Queen Anne’s lace. Turning the arrangement slowly around, she checked each side for balance.
The showroom door opened and her sister, Rachel, entered jostling two large balloon bouquets, looking as if she might float away like Mary Poppins. “These are for Mrs. Carlisle. Maybe I can get them delivered before she gets the chance to add something else to her order.”
“Actually, she already called.”
“Let me guess.” Rachel tapped her chin with a forefinger. “She’s invited four more people and needs us to whip up another centerpiece for her Valentine’s dinner.”
“Six more guests.”
Rachel smoothed a hand over her hairdresser-enhanced auburn hair. “Guess I better get busy with the extra flowers.”
“Already did it, before she ever called.” Adrea picked up the fluted crystal vase filled with red roses and pink carnations from behind the counter and set it on the worktable.
The sisters high-fived.
Rachel tied a heart-shaped weight on both clusters of balloon ribbons. “Mom said you stopped by.”
Adrea propped both hands on her hips. “Do y’all call each other as soon as I leave?”
“We’re just worried about you. How many almost brides spend their time fulfilling the dreams of other brides?”
“I’m fine.” How many times have I said that today?
Rachel handed her a tissue and picked up Mrs. Carlisle’s centerpiece. “You’re entirely too empathetic for this place.”
Adrea glanced at the clock. The lavender butterfly on the second hand made slow progress visiting each silk blossom–surrounded number. Almost two o’clock. Anywhere else the gaudy business-warming gift from their brother would be too busy. Especially set against pastel wallpaper bursting with an astounding assortment of flowers. But for the workroom, perfect.
“Before you go, can you take the white roses out front?”
“Sorry, I’m fixing to make deliveries. Besides, the customers love it when the hermit comes out to visit.” Rachel threaded the balloons through her fingers. “Can you give me a hand?”
Adrea helped load the van, then waved her sister off. Alone in the back parking lot, the hair along the nape of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching. She scurried back inside and locked the door.
Just my imagination.
Silly. Rachel only had two nearby deliveries and would be back soon.
Adrea undid the bolt, and with jittery insides, picked up the white roses. She hated working with customers in the bustle of the showroom. It never failed, whenever she went out front, a client always cornered her with compliments. Nice, just not her style. She much preferred a thank-you card.
The back door flew open behind her. She spun around to see a man. His shag
gy, dishwater blond hair hung almost to his shoulders in greasy clumps, hiding his eyes. She sucked in a breath to scream, but his hand clamped over her mouth.
“I didn’t think I’d quite get that reaction.” Wade’s words slurred together.
If he hadn’t spoken, she wouldn’t have recognized him. Her gut twisted at a whiff of alcohol. She pushed his hand away, put some distance between them, and gulped deep breaths of blossom-perfumed air.
He’d lost weight. Gone was the handsome, well-groomed, charming man she’d once fallen in love with. Gone was the layered hairstyle, casually gelled back from his face. Gone was the self-confident golf instructor who’d put an engagement ring on her finger and promised to love only her. Wasted.
“What are you doing here? You’re not driving like this?”
“I hitched a ride and waited until Rachel left, so we could talk.”
“You were watching the shop?” She shivered. Someone spying on her, even someone she thought she knew, gave her the creeps.
“I knew she’d never let us talk in peace. Do you remember what day it is?”
How could I forget? Adrea closed her eyes, clutching the roses. “I’d like you to go now.”
He steepled his hands, as if in prayer. “Please, Adrea. Our second anniversary. Or it should have been anyway.”
“Wade, just go. We’re over. You’re engaged to—someone else.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name. “I have to take these roses out front.”
“They can wait.” He grabbed the white roses, and they crashed to the floor, flinging water and twisted flowers.
“Look what you’ve done!” Fresh tears stung her eyes.
“Hey, don’t cry.” He moved toward her, ready to provide comfort.
She sidestepped him.
He tried to pull her into his arms.
“Don’t.” She jerked away and slapped him so hard her fingers stung.
The connecting door to the showroom opened.
Grayson hesitated, his gaze taking in the pretty florist he’d met at the church, the red handprint appearing on the man’s cheek, and finally the ruins of a flower arrangement on the floor.