Clancy began to walk along the fence line. “Sadly for Lucille, her choice ended up leaving her heartbroken and alone. On the day they were set to marry, Phillip Comfort left her at the altar and eloped with a chambermaid who worked for the Abernathys. Devastated and abandoned, Lucille attempted to return to her family home but was shunned and forced to leave the property.
“The story does not end there. The following day, the family awoke to a window broken in the parlor. While searching the estate they discovered Lucille lying dead in her childhood bed. She’d left a note explaining that she’d poisoned herself and with her dying breath she’d placed a curse on Phillip Bruce Comfort and all of his male heirs, dooming them to a lifetime of the same heartache that she had endured. Each of them would fall madly in love, only to have it end in tragedy.
“That curse has followed the Comfort men for three generations. Each man has either died prematurely or lost the love of their lives in tragic deaths. But today a Comfort man is defying that curse. Or is he? Billy Comfort’s wedding to attorney Reagan York was scheduled to begin close to four hours ago, and my sources say that it still hasn’t happened.”
“Sources?” Isabella asked the television set. “What sources?”
“I’m guessing Facebook or Instagram.” Nadia looked down at her phone. “Harlan Mitchell and Anna May Birch are live streaming while they wait.”
“We told everyone no social media.” Reagan sighed as she grabbed her phone, probably to check the damage.
I glanced back at the television and saw Hank’s truck pulled up to the fence in the back of Clancy’s shot.
“Look!” I pointed to the screen.
“It’s Hank!” One of the reporter gathered outside yelled when Hank got out and opened the gate.
By the time they’d all rushed over to him, he was back inside his truck and driving onto the property.
The camera swept back to Clancy. “It looks like Hank Comfort has just arrived. Does this mean the nuptials are going to—”
Then the screen went black, and Reagan set the remote down.
“That’s enough of that. I need to get ready.”
Nadia, who was still holding the dress, crossed the room to Reagan who started to slip off her robe to step into her wedding dress when she paused. “Wait, I think… shouldn’t my mom be here for this?”
My hand flew up in the air. “I’ll go get her!”
I was out the door and halfway down the hall before anyone could respond. I needed to get out of that room. For some reason, since making the decision that I was going to tell Cash I wanted to sleep with him, it had been feeling claustrophobic in there.
When I walked out on the back porch, I saw a sea of people mingling, but didn’t immediately spot Mrs. York. From what I knew about Reagan and her mom, they hadn’t always been close. But they’d been working on their relationship lately. I was happy that they were. My mom died when I was five, so she wouldn’t be able to be at my wedding. I was glad that Reagan wasn’t allowing the strain in their relationship to steal the experience of this day from them.
After a few moments, I located Reagan’s mom holding court, surrounded by a group of men several decades her senior who were all fawning over her. Clyde, Jed, and Earl were regulars at my family’s bar Southern Comfort and were all in their eighties. They called themselves the three wise men, but everyone else referred to them as The Three Stooges.
Mrs. York seemed to be in her comfort zone being the center of attention of an adoring crowd. I wasn’t surprised. She was a stunning woman. It was clear to see where Reagan got her beauty from.
People said that I looked exactly like my mother. I had to take their word for it because I barely remembered her.
“Mrs. York.” I tapped her on her shoulder.
She turned her head. “Yes, dear?”
“Reagan is asking for you.”
“Oh, duty calls boys.” She pivoted on her heels, turning around with dramatic flair sending her scarf billowing out and trailing behind her.
The Three Stooges all waved goodbye looking sad to see her leave.
She hooked her arm through mine as we headed inside. She patted my forearm as she asked, “Now, remind me who you are again, sweetie.”
“I’m Cheyenne. Billy’s sister.”
“Right, Billy’s sister. And there’s how many of you?”
“Just three. Isabella, Reagan and me.” I explained.
“No, not the bridesmaids. The Comforts.”