Haven Creek Read Free Page A

two marines in their dress blues escorted Kara’s mother and Jeff’s grandmother to their assigned seats. The best man wore his dress blue uniform, and Kara’s maid of honor was resplendent in a cornflower-blue halter-style A-line gown. She walked with the best man down the white carpet to the place where Reverend Malcolm Crawford stood next to Jeff, who was also wearing dress blues. The music changed again, this time to the familiar strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” The assembly stood, turned, and stared when Kara appeared on the arm of her father.
    Nate’s eyes met Morgan’s when she turned in his direction. A smile played at the corners of her mouth before it grew wider, her dimples deepening until they were the size of thumbprints. Unconsciously, he returned her smile, then shifted his attention to what was touted as the wedding of the season.

Chapter Two
    A s he was driving to the reception, Nate followed the signs pointing the way to valet parking. Within minutes of the exchange of vows and rings, he and Bryce had left the beachfront wedding ceremony to avoid a traffic jam. There were more posted signs, these to indicate the location of comfort stations.
    When Morgan had asked Nate if he was familiar with the layout of the property that had given the town its name, he hadn’t lied to her. Today the historic house was surrounded by yellow tape to keep out intruders and the curious. Nate was ten when he came to the rose-colored Greek Revival–style antebellum limestone mansion with his father for the very first time. It’d been Theodora Patton who’d asked Lucas Shaw to replace the worn rosewood-and-mahogany decorative inlaid border on the living and dining room parquet floors. At that age Nate had been awestruck by the sheer size and furnishings of the largest house on Cavanaugh Island. He’d stood there gawking until his father instructed him to sit and watch what he was about to do.
    He spent that summer and the next eight as an apprentice to the man who had a reputation as the most skilled furniture maker in the Lowcountry. When he’d graduated high school it had been Nate’s intention, like that of so many other young men on the island wishing to escape its mundane, small-town existence, to enlist in the military. However, he’d promised his mother that he would attend college, and her deathbed plea superseded his most fervent yearning. He’d been offered a full scholarship, and despite his father’s adamant protests he left South Carolina for California.
    Coming to a stop, he got out of the Sequoia, leaving his jacket on the second row of seats. Bryce did the same. The valet gave him a ticket, which Nate pocketed. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he gazed out at the expanse of landscaped property, his gaze taking in a carpet of green dotted with trees and well-tended shrubs. More vehicles were maneuvering into the parking area as he and Bryce walked along a stone path leading to a trio of tents.
    They encountered a quartet of elderly men belonging to the local American Legion, each holding handfuls of bright red poppies and asking for donations to assist disabled and hospitalized veterans. “Good afternoon, son. Are you or have you been in the military?”
    “No, sir, but I’ll definitely give you a contribution for me and my brother.” Reaching into his pocket, he gave the man a bill.
    “Damn!” Bryce drawled as he looked around. “This reminds me of your wedding reception.”
    He looked at Bryce and shook his head. He knew it hadn’t been easy for the twenty-two-year-old to find himself alienated from his friends as well as cut off from Charleston’s nightlife. It was the first time in nearly seven months that Bryce had been given permission from his probation officer to attend a social function.
    “Everything does look nice,” Nate said noncommittally.
    He didn’t want to agree with Bryce, because that would conjure up memories of his own wedding, which resembled an epic