Until You're Mine. Jessica BirdЧитать онлайн книгу.

      “Hold still or I’m going to stick you,” Joy Moorehouse said to her sister.

      “I am holding still.”

      “Then why is this hem a moving target?” She shifted back onto her heels and looked up at her work.

      The wedding gown hung from her sister Frankie’s shoulders in a graceful fall of white satin. Joy had been careful with the design. Too many frills and excess fabric wouldn’t pass muster. Frankie thought blue jeans were formal as long as you wore them with your hair up.

      “Do I look like I’m in someone else’s dress?” Frankie asked.

      “You look beautiful.”

      Frankie laughed without bitterness. “That’s your department, not mine. I’m the plain, practical sister, remember?”

      “Ah, but you’re the one getting married.”

      “And ain’t it a miracle?”

      Joy smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”

      Everyone was. The whole town of Saranac Lake was thrilled and they were all coming to festivities that were taking place in about six weeks.

      Frankie lifted the skirting up gingerly, as if she might hurt it. “I have to admit, this thing feels good.”

      “It’ll fit even better when I finish the alterations. You can take it off now.”

      “We’re done?”

      Joy nodded and got up from the floor. “I’ve basted all around the bottom. I’ll stitch it up this evening and we’ll do another fitting tomorrow.”

      “But I thought you were going to help out tonight. We’re catering Mr. Bennett’s birthday party, remember?”

      Joy almost laughed. She’d have better luck losing track of her own head than forgetting where she was supposed to be in another couple of hours. And who she would see.

      “Remember?” Frankie prompted. “We’re going to need you.”

      Joy made busywork putting her sewing kit back together. She had a feeling her excitement was showing on her face and she didn’t want her sister to see it. “I know.”

      “The party could go late.”

      “It doesn’t matter.” Because it wasn’t as if she’d be able to sleep when they got back home.

      “I don’t want you slaving over this dress.”

      “And you’re getting married in a month and a half, so I have to get the thing done. Well, unless you fancy yourself heading down the aisle in your underwear, a sight I’m pretty sure Nate would prefer to keep for his eyes only. Besides, you know I love doing this, especially for you.” She turned around. Her sister was staring out the window, absently stroking the gown. “Frankie? What’s wrong?”

      “Last night, I asked Alex to walk me to the altar.”

      “What did he say?” Joy whispered, even though she knew getting their brother to the ceremony at all was going to be tough.

      “He won’t do it. I don’t think he wants the attention to be on him.” Frankie shook her head. “I can’t force him to be by my side. But I really wish…hell, I wish Dad were going to be with me. Mom, as well. I wish they were both still here.”

      Joy took her sister’s hand. “Me, too.”

      Frankie looked down at herself, her brown hair falling forward. She gave a short, awkward laugh that Joy knew meant she was changing the subject. “I can’t believe this.”

      “What?”

      “I don’t want to take this thing off. It’s so gorgeous.”

      Joy smiled sadly, thinking that with each stitch she put into the gown, she was trying to make up for everything her sister had done for her. God, all those sacrifices Frankie had made to become a parent too soon. The work on the dress seemed like a pitiful exchange.

      “Here, let me undo the buttons in the back for you.”

      When Frankie stepped out of the pool of satin, Joy swept the dress into her arms and carried it over to her worktable. Her bedroom was small, so between her sewing machine, her mannequin and the bolts of fabric against the wall, space was at a premium. Thank God she only had a twin bed.

      Over the years she’d patched and repaired countless ball gowns for their grandmother at her little makeshift sewing station. Emma Moorehouse, better known as Grand-Em, suffered from dementia so she was prone to irrational obsessions. And given that she’d once been a wealthy young lady of fine breeding and reputation, she felt uncomfortable if she didn’t look her best for the parties she was certain were just about to start every moment of the day.

      Except there were no parties. There hadn’t been for decades.

      With the declining fortunes of the Moorehouse family, there was no money to replace either the lifestyle or the luxury their grandmother had once known. But Joy was able to keep the Golden Era illusion alive by maintaining the forty- and fifty-year-old ball gowns. In doing so, she helped Grand-Em to find a measure of calm.

      And discovered a passion for clothing design in herself.

      “We’ve got three rooms filled this weekend,” Frankie said as she pulled on khakis. “Which means the leaf peepers are showing up on schedule.”

      The White Caps mansion had been built by their ancestors at the turn of the nineteenth century and back then, it had been one of many Moorehouse real estate holdings. Now the ten-bedroom house was all that was left of a once mighty fortune.

      In the eighties, their mother and father had turned the place into a bed-and-breakfast. Following their deaths a decade ago, Frankie had struggled to keep the business going, and it appeared that they’d finally turned a corner. The B&B was on the upswing, thanks in large part to Frankie’s fiancé, Nate Walker. Nate’s fine French cooking had made White Caps a destination and his timely investment in the business had pulled them out of a debt spiral.

      “So, about tonight.” Frankie shoved her feet into a pair of beat-up sneakers. “Spike’s going to mind the store here with George on backup. Nate, Tom and I are going to head over to the Bennett kitchen in another hour or so. Can you get there about five?”

      “No problem.”

      “Thank God, Alex is willing to watch Grand-Em. Have you told him what to expect?”

      Joy nodded. “I think he’ll be okay and Spike’s here if she gets really agitated. Fortunately she’s been quieter now during evenings.”

      Stewarding Grand-Em through her delusions was usually Joy’s job, but they needed all the hands they could get for the party.

      “I’m so glad Gray gave us this chance,” Frankie said, drawing her hair back. “He’s a good man. For a politician.”

      He’s not a politician, Joy wanted to say. He’s a political consultant who specializes in elections.

      But the correction might get her sister’s attention and Joy was careful about keeping her obsession with Gray to herself. Sharing pipe dreams was almost as futile as having them in the first place.

      “You’re awful quiet, Joy. Are you sure you want to come tonight?”

      “I’m just distracted.” By the fact that she was going to get to watch