Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

provide for you,
and to do that, I need to work in a large urban area.”
    Leo worked as a
private meteorologist for the Dallas airport. Before that, he had spent some time
working for the local television station, mostly as scientific support.
Occasionally he still appeared as one of the many people TV news loved to plop
in front of a rising storm. On one level I understood that we couldn’t mess
with his job and that my job was portable. But on another level, I felt the
need to cling to the people I had always loved the most.
    “What about my
dad and Aunt Maggie? How do you think Danny would take it?”
    Leo continued to
hold my hand. “Not well, I suppose. But they could come and visit us any time,
and it’s only a few hours from Pecan Bayou to Dallas. Believe me, I know,
because I’ve been burning up the road for the past few years. I love you so
much, Betsy, and I need you to understand I’m doing the best I can to make our
lives work.”
    “And that dream
didn’t include a slightly quirky small town on the edge of the Hill Country?”
    Leo tapped at
the picture of the house. “Just take a look at this, Betsy, and try to consider
it. We can’t say “I do” and then not know where to go after the honeymoon.”
    He was right. I
knew he was right, but I just couldn’t find myself compromising. I knew I had
compromised way too much in my first marriage. One thing I had learned was that
I needed to make sure we had an equal share in the decision-making.
    This, though,
felt like a done deal.

     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    A week later, I
carefully placed each and every wedding invitation in the mailbox outside the
supermarket. We were at six weeks before the big day, which was a little under
the deadline for sending them out, but Mr. Andre pushed the printer to do a
rush job. I had struggled with the idea of inviting my mother even after my
discussion with Leo.
    She had missed
so much in my life. Maybe my invitation would be a way of showing her I’d grown
into someone who understands family and the connections that need to be
respected and reinforced. Her invitation was on the bottom of the stack, and I
wasn’t even sure why I had brought it with me to the mailbox.
    “Mom? Are you
praying to the mailbox?”
    Zach had been waiting
in the backseat of the car but had scrambled out of his seatbelt. He stuck his
head out the window, reminding me of Butch, our ever-excited Weimaraner.
    “Nope,” I
responded. “Well, maybe.”
    “Pretty strange.
Is this a bridezilla thing?” Zach had overheard Leo calling me his new pet
name. So far, I had been a pretty reasonable bride. At least I thought so.
    “No, this isn’t
a bridezilla thing,” I insisted. I found myself holding my breath as I dumped
the stack into the blue metal mailbox. It wasn’t until after I released the
invitations from my grip that I realized what I had done. I had mailed my
mother’s invitation. I opened the slot and tried to see if maybe it was resting
on the top. No such luck. It was done.
    Thirty minutes
later I was checking out the tomatoes in the produce section of the grocery
store when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see a woman
holding a home-sewn grocery bag. Her gray hair was piled up on her head in a
bun.
    “Excuse me,
aren’t you Betsy Livingston?” she asked. This was probably someone who read my
helpful hints column.
    Rocky Whitson,
the editor of the Pecan Bayou Gazette, had insisted we put my picture at the
top of my weekly sharing of household wisdom. He said it made it more
personable for the reader. I found it a little embarrassing, and I was pretty
sure it hadn’t done anything to raise the subscription rates at the paper.
Sometimes people would recognize me and want to talk about things like stains
and better ways to clean their garbage disposals. I remembered talking about
wood rot at a funeral once – truly awkward.
    “Yes, ma’am,” I
answered.
    “I thought so.”
She clasped her