The Bridesmaid Wore Sneakers

“Aren’t you worried about your dress?”

“I am worried—about the next person who’ll have to wear it once I drop it off at Goodwill.”

He jumped up beside her. “I take it you’re not a, what do they call it these days? A fashionista?”

“I suppose I’m not. I buy most of my clothes at Winnie’s Western Wear, and I get my son’s school uniforms at Target. Everything else I buy online. I don’t have time to traipse through malls.”

She clutched her hands in her lap and lifted her face to catch the breeze coming through the fall maples and oak trees. There was no place more beautiful than northern Ohio in autumn. When a strand of hair whipped across her face, she tucked it behind her ear. The elaborate French something-or-other the hairstylist had perfected for her this morning was probably hanging on by a few last-gasp pins.

She and Liam sat on the railing without speaking for a moment. They both looked into the country club where wedding guests were still dancing and lining up for cake. Wesley, who was probably as uncomfortable in a tux as she was in her pink fluffy dress, was dancing with his aunt Carrie. His head only came to her chest, but they were keeping perfect time to the music. The photographer was busy snapping everyone in the throes of Alexis’s marital bliss.

“The kid in the tux who was ring bearer,” Liam said. “That’s the son you mentioned?”

“It is.”

“Cute kid.”

This guy seemed to say all the right things. Jude sighed with unexpected contentment. She felt more like herself outside, away from the festivities. And she was happy for Alexis. She deserved this wedding and this fairy-tale beginning of a new life. She and Daniel, the state’s newest young senator, were perfect for each other, and despite many problems, they’d found their way back together to share a life and a daughter.

Amazing, Jude thought. Two of the three Foster daughters had been widowed at a young age. Alexis had lost her beloved Teddy almost a year ago, and Jude had lost her Paul. Well, life had turned around for her Allie-belle today, and sitting next to this dark blond, good-looking guy, Jude had the first warm flickering of hope for a happy ending for herself one day. But the feeling was just a flicker, nothing upon which to base a future. Paul was gone. He was never coming back. Part of her would never forgive him for that. Part of her knew she would never experience the same love again.

“So, what do you do?” The voice that came from beside her and interrupted her thoughts was low and just slightly scratchy as if this dressed-up man put hot sauce on everything he ate, just like she did. No way. He had to be a hollandaise kind of guy. She didn’t answer right away because explaining what she did was difficult for some people to understand, so he added, “I mean, you don’t like walking malls...”

“I said I don’t have time for shopping,” she repeated. “But you’re right. I don’t like it, either.” She turned her head to be able to read his reaction when she said, “Actually I run a small farm. In addition, I’m the CEO of a charitable foundation.”

“No kidding?” Liam said. “That’s interesting. Is it a national or a local foundation?”

“Local. Really local. We benefit mostly people from this area. I started the foundation five years ago and named it after my late husband, Paul O’Leary. He was killed in Afghanistan.”

His eyes widened as he drew in a quick breath. “The foundation is named after your late husband?”

“That’s right.”

“So you’re continuing work that Paul started when he was alive?”

“Not exactly. I...that is, we support many causes, but I always take into consideration whether I believe Paul would approve.”

“So your day is basically spent in an office while you decide which projects are worthy of foundation support.”

She laughed. “Do I look like a person who would be glued to a desk?” He couldn’t be more wrong. Jude’s day started at 6:00 a.m. By eight o’clock, it was time to rush Wesley to school, she’d fed one hungry boy and dozens of animals, checked fences, gathered eggs and milked a very large but thankfully docile cow. And that was if something didn’t happen to interrupt her.

“You’ve oversimplified what I do,” she said. “I try to be careful with the money that comes in. I analyze each proposal for its merit. And I have to answer to a board of directors, as well. So if you’re thinking that I’m a wealthy embezzler...”

“No, of course I don’t think that. But you did say you were the chief administrator, so the buck must stop...or leave the foundation’s checking account at your desk.”

Jude did make all the decisions about spending so she answered honestly, “I suppose that’s true.”

“Who is on your board of directors?” Liam asked. “Anyone I might know?”

“You know my father. Maybe you know my sister Carrie. My son, Wesley, is on the board, as well. I realize he’s just a child, but his insights are often spot-on. He has definite opinions about children’s issues. And I hope he’ll want to carry on after I’m gone.”

“And your father and Carrie aren’t active in helping with decisions?”

“Not so much. My sister works for the US Forest Service, and she’s sent all over the country. My father is a doctor, as you know. Neither one of them is a hands-on adviser.”

“I’m something of an economist, and I know a bit about how foundations work,” Liam said. “I might be interested in donating to one of your funds. It would be a needed tax break for me.”

“We’d be happy to have your money.”

“I’m cautious with it,” he added, “so I’d have to know more about the charities you contribute to.” He paused a moment before adding, “Maybe I can come out one day this week and take a look at the charities you fund.”

Suddenly suspicious, Jude wondered if Liam had an angle. Was he an IRS investigator? They weren’t usually so underhanded about their searches. And anyway, she had nothing to hide. Her father’s accountant had made certain she’d filed all the proper papers with the government. Maybe he was just interested in what she did, although that didn’t seem logical. The only people who paid attention to the Paul O’Leary Foundation were the ones who stood to benefit from it, or the handful of small philanthropists she counted on to keep going. Maybe Liam was hitting on her? No, impossible.

But if this educated, subtly charming “economist” wanted to see the foundation at work, why should she stop him? His money was as needed as anyone else’s. “I suppose that would be okay.”

She smiled to herself, thinking how Carrie would interpret this exchange. She would choose to believe that her hermit of a sister was finally encouraging a man. Nothing could be further from the truth. Other than the persistent clerk at the feed store and one of the construction workers over at Aurora Spindell’s bed-and-breakfast, no fella had shown an interest in Jude for a long time. Or, as Carrie suggested, she didn’t notice if one did. Jude didn’t date, and she’d all but forgotten the rules and wiles of flirting.

“When should I come?” Liam asked.

She bounced down from the railing. “You’re welcome to come anytime, as long as I know so I can be certain to be there. But if you come in the day, you’d best ditch the suit for a pair of jeans and some boots. And it won’t hurt if you can swing a hammer and walk fast to keep up with me.”

“I never knew running a foundation required such physical work.”

“Did you forget? I happen to run a farm, too. Nothing happens with the foundation until all the animals are fed.”

“Okay. I’ll be by on Monday a bit after noon. How’s that?”

“Works for me. Do you know where my dad’s property, Dancing Falls, is located?”

He indicated he did.

“Just come there and drive around until you see the barn.” She cupped her hand around her ear. “Did you hear that? Someone just called for Jude O’Leary’s toast to the bride and groom. Guess that’s my cue.” She crossed the portico but stopped in the doorway. “Thanks for the dance, Liam Manning. You’re very good at it, and I’m actually not as bad as I thought I’d be.”

He gave her another winning smile. “My pleasure, Jude O’Leary.”

There had to be a flaw somewhere in this man’s character, and on Monday, if he showed up, Jude would certainly look for it. But for the rest of the weekend, she might enjoy imagining a head-to-toe appraisal of Mr. Perfect. And if he didn’t show, which was more likely, no harm done.

* * *

LIAM IMMEDIATELY SOUGHT out Martin Foster. While he was trying to convince Liam to help, how could the good doctor have forgotten one vital piece of information?

“Well, how did it go?” Martin actually found Liam on the patio and put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “I saw you two out here getting close.”

Liam flinched. “Not half as close as your daughter is to the foundation she runs,” Liam snapped.

“What are you talking about?”

“You could have told me that her charities are all under the umbrella of her dead husband’s name! It’s almost as if she’s built a shrine to Paul O’Leary.”