The Sometime Bride Read online

  The guy who’d tossed Carrie away just as cavalierly as Alexia had thrown his ring in the pool had been a total imbecile. The sweat dribbled down Mike’s open shirt collar and pooled, damn it, somewhere near his naval. Without even trying, the woman set him virtually on fire. And here she was saying she was about to leave?

  Carrie tapped her toe against the pool deck and considered his disappointingly not-so-indecent proposal. Forgetting the drop-dead gorgeous part, he did appear to be a very nice guy. Maybe even nice enough to be her friend. Which would be a definite first for Carrie St. John, as she’d never befriended any man for longer than thirty-six hours without things between them becoming intimate. But, of course, as her track record only consisted of two serious beaus, maybe she was being a bit hasty in making a sweeping assessment.

  Besides, friendship was good. Perhaps even what she most needed at the moment. And having a friend who looked, and carried himself like the athletically-inclined Mike Davis, could quite possibly come in handy. Maybe even in the very near future.

  “Alright, I’ll stay,” Carrie said, “but under one condition.”

  “Any condition’s fine with me,” Mike said, knowing that at long as whatever it was involved his taking off his boiling clothes, it would be A-Okay with him. Particularly if it involved Carrie St. John stripping down as well.

  “You understand this thing between us is about comradery. Two down-and-outs on the same flip side of the coin. Compadres.”

  Mike gave her a tight smile, damning every inner instinct he had and telling his licentious libido to behave. “Sure thing, Carrie,” he said, reaching out an arm to shake her hand. “We’ll play it any way you want.”

  ****

  Chapter Three

  Carrie sat in the narrow oaken stairwell finally getting a cell signal. The remoteness of the inn made service unpredictable. Carrie hadn't been able to pick up more than two bars anywhere but here.

  She nervously twirled a lock of chestnut hair, rehearsing what she would tell her grandmother. I’m sorry, Grandmother, but things just didn’t work out... No, Carrie had already been there and done that one. Besides, her second strike would make her look like a total washout, not the “together” young woman her adoring Grandma Russell took her to be.

  Grandmother, there’s been a last-minute change in plans...

  Nope, that would only make her look inconsiderate. Horribly inconsiderate, given the wedding shower was scheduled for tomorrow.

  Carrie sighed and hit autodial, trusting something brilliant would come to mind the instant she heard her grandmother’s voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Grandmother, it’s Carrie --”

  “Oh sweetheart,” her Grandma began in her endless prattle, “so lovely to hear your voice. Amelia and I were just discussing china patterns and we really think the one you --”

  “Grandmother...”

  “Oh, lands sakes, child. I know, I know! Really none of my business. But, to tell you the truth, the everyday pattern you picked is ever so much more attractive and could really double for formal ware if push came to shove, and --”

  Carrie blew a hard breath. This was going to be even harder than she’d imagined. “Grandmother!”

  “Well, Okay, Okay, dear. You are absolutely right about that! Who needs to fret over china patterns when you’ve got a perfectly gorgeous man on your arm!”

  “Grandma Russell!” Carrie shouted into the phone.

  “Well, gracious me, child, you don’t need to yell. Ma Bell’s improved quite a bit since the days I courted your Grandpa." She chuckled. “Lands sakes, child. Meant that one the other way around -- quite the other way...”

  Carrie sighed and slumped back against the wall behind her.

  “Now, sweetheart,” her grandmother finally asked, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  Carrie racked her brain for a creative intro. “Well, it’s about seating arrangements actually.”

  “Tomorrow, sweetie? Lands sakes, your great aunties and I’ve got that all worked out. No need for you to fret one bit. Nellie even hand-stitched the place cards.”

  The bottom dropped out of Carrie’s stomach. “Aunt Nellie crocheted those beautiful lace place cards? But, I thought... That was supposed to be part of her wedding gift! I thought she was making those for the...wedding.”

  “Couldn’t wait to see your face, she said. And you’ll have to really butter her up on this one too, sweetness. She did a divine job. Absolutely divine! You would think the Royal Family was coming to tea, and not just your wedding party.”

  Carrie swallowed hard and tried to summon her courage. “Grandma...?”

  “Yes, dearie?”

  “What time is the shower again?”

  “Land sakes, child, you are a nervous bride, aren’t you? Four o’clock, same as it was last time you asked. But don’t worry if you’re not here right on the button. Just don’t make us old gals wait too long. You know how it is with us geriatrics. We tend to nod off after a while when nothing’s happening!”

  “Don’t worry, Grandma,” Carrie said into the receiver, “I promise not to put anybody to sleep.”

  Grandma Russell chuckled. “From what you’ve told me, you and that handsome groom of yours will be sure to wake up any crowd!”

  “Right,” Carrie agreed, feeling the fire of deceit spread from her temples to her collar bone.

  “Can’t wait to see what he looks like, dearie,” Grandma Russell crooned into the phone. “Me and the girls have been speculating all day.”

  “That makes two of us,” Carrie said quietly, hanging up.

  “What’s that?” Mike asked from the landing.

  Carrie looked up, startled. “Oh Mike, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “No?” he asked. “Could have sworn you said something about the two of --”

  “Oh no,” Carrie said, with a blush. “That was my grandmother. Just got off the phone with her about...”

  “Some of those plans that needed canceling?” Mike ventured.

  Carrie gave him a shaky smile. “More or less.”

  “Say, you alright?” he asked, taking the steps two at a time and coming up to where she sat trembling at the bend in the stairs. “Because to tell you the truth, Carrie, you don’t look so hot.”

  “Bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, twisting her lips into the best imitation of a smile she could muster.

  “Actually,” he told her, “it’s just the opposite.”

  “Now I see why you’re not married.”

  Mike crossed his arms over in front of him and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “This has something to do with Wilson, doesn’t it?”

  Carrie vehemently shook her head as moisture brimmed in her eyes.

  Mike cocked his chin and scrutinized.

  “Okay,” she admitted, making an inch wide motion with her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe a little...”

  Mike shook his head and held his ground.

  “Alright already! More than a little bit, Okay? What is it exactly you want me to say?!” she asked, as coal-hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “That my life is a total mess? That everyone in my hometown is expecting me to show up for a bridal shower tomorrow -- with my groom-to-be -- and my groom-to-be has dumped me for a woman with a better financial portfolio?!”

  Mike dropped down on the step beside her and draped a steadying arm around her trembling shoulder.

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” she asserted, trying her damndest to set her jaw but failing miserably.

  “I know,” Mike said, reaching over and raising her chin. “But I want to be."

  “But why?” Carrie asked with a sniff. “What could possibly be in it for you? I’ve already told you I want nothing more than...

  “Carrie, I have a question,” Mike asked, searching her bleary eyes.

  “About what?”

  “The people at this shower. Do they know...? I mean, have any of them actually met Wilson?”

&
nbsp; “Well, only Paulette. But that was over a year ago.”

  “So then, she might not notice if Wilson has changed a bit? Lost some weight? Shaved his beard?”

  “Lost some weight? What in the world are you talking about? Wilson was -- and always will be -- the ultimate bean pole! And he never had a beard!”

  Carrie stared in amazement as Mike’s lips curved into a devilish smile. Though, in truth, the thought had crossed her own mind once or twice -- she’d never envisioned the absurd notion becoming a reality.

  “Wait a minute! You couldn’t possibly be thinking... That you --”

  Mike nodded. “Darling, I’ve waited forever to meet your family.”

  Carrie straightened under the weight of his arm. “Very funny.”

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  Carrie looked him square in the eye. “But you can’t be serious! Why ever on earth would you do that for me?”

  “To buy you some time?” he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “Hey, I know firsthand how disorienting this type of situation can be. The last thing a nice girl like you needs is having to face her family with the abysmal news -- when you alone haven’t even adjusted to it yourself.”

  Carrie wriggled out from under his arm and set aside the telephone. “Who says I haven’t adjusted?”

  Mike raised his brow and trailed a finger down her tear-stained cheek. “Wild guess?”

  Carrie dropped her head. “I would never accept an offer like that from a stranger." Even one who sent her stomach all a-flutter like him, Carrie told herself. “Particularly not knowing you well enough to really know what you expect in return.”

  “No problem. I can tell you that.”

  Carrie looked up and arched both eyebrows.

  “Class of Ninety-two.”

  ****

  Chapter Four

  “The plan is impossible,” Carrie said, stabbing into her salad with her fork.

  “Improbable, maybe,” Mike said, biting into his burger. “Nothing is impossible.”

  “But you’re talking about walking into a big group of my relatives and friends and convincing them we’ve been an item for -- what? -- a year and a half now? They’ll see through it in an instant.”

  “Not if we’re convincing,” Mike said, shaking his head. He set down his burger and picked up his bottle of imported beer. “Besides, how much do these people really know about Wilson Haywood anyway? You said the two of you met in New York.”

  “We did.”

  “That your relationship was mainly on weekends.”

  “It was.”

  “Sometimes there, some times here -- right in quaint little Mill Creek.”

  “What precisely is your point?” Carrie asked, sipping from her iced tea.

  “My point,” Mike said, taking a swig of beer, “is that your relationship with Wilson wasn’t exactly...normal.”

  “Oh, and you’re such an expert on normal relationships,” she pointed out with a broad sweep of her knife.

  Mike bolted backwards in his chair. “Watch it with that thing! Don’t slay the messenger. I’m just telling it like it is. People don’t see you all touchy-feely with your fiancé, they might figure, well, that’s just a product of how things developed.”

  Carrie took exception to what he was suggesting. On the one hand, he might just be trying to save her some trouble by playing things cool like she wanted. On the other, he might very well be insinuating that Carrie was a cold fish. Which she certainly was not. And clearly wouldn’t be with a man like Mike Davis standing beside her.

  “And if things were ‘touchy-feely,’ as you put it, between me and Wilson?”

  “Were they?” Mike asked, little crinkles tugging at the corners of his sea green eyes.

  Carrie put down her knife and thought about that. The truth was, no. Wilson had been very business-like in a number of things, including in his relationship with her. She’d even sworn he’d timed their love-making so as to be less disruptive of the professional calls he’d always placed before -- and afterwards.

  “Well?" Mike pressed, his honey complexion taking on a deeper hue that perfectly complimented his rugged appeal. It was hard to picture him in real estate, when the words outdoors man were written all over his chiseled face. Not to mention his hard-toned body.

  “Well, if you must know,” Carrie began, feeling the slightest bit naughty but not the least bit ashamed of her duplicity. “Wilson was quite an affectionate man.”

  Mike choked on his pickle. “That so?”

  “Oh yes,” Carrie said, putting on her most confidential face. “It was somewhat embarrassing actually. PDA to the max! Sometimes, I practically had to beat him off with a stick!”

  “A stick?" Mike gave up on his pickle and took a long drag of beer. “That doesn’t mean you’ll be hurting me, does it?”

  “Not in the least,” Carrie assured him, feeling a familiar ache wend its way all the way down to her bones. An ache that told her she was going to enjoy this little party a lot more than she’d originally suspected.

  “Ah darn,” Mike said, with a Cheshire grin. “But, no worries. We can work around that.”

  “You just remember your mission,” Carrie cautioned him sternly, again with the knife.

  “Anything you say, oh knife-wielding one.”

  Carrie laughed and looked down at her hand. “No cracking jokes at the shower. Got it? Especially none that would give the two of us away.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Carrie wondered about that. Wondered, especially, if she’d been just a tad bit rash in insisting this thing between her and Mike remain simply “friends.”

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Mike said, cocking one eyebrow. “Thinking up those three wishes?”

  But, honestly, Carrie only found herself thinking of one. About how nice it would have been if Wilson had been a bit more like Mike. More relaxed and easy to get along with.

  “It’s funny, really,” she admitted over the rim of her tickling glass, “but I was thinking about how different you are from Wilson.”

  Mike settled back in his chair. “And that -- at this precise moment in time -- would be a compliment?”

  Carrie smiled and set down her glass. “You’re a nice man, Mike Davis.”

  “Ah ah,” he said, shaking his head. “Please don’t tell me that!”

  “That you’re nice? Why ever on earth not?”

  Mike coughed and picked up his beer. “Let’s just say that the only woman who’s ever called me nice and is still talking to me is my second grade teacher, Mrs. Rich.”

  “Let me guess,” Carrie said, narrowing her eyes. “Alexia said you were too nice for her.”

  “Bingo,” Mike said, setting down his empty beer. “Ditto that, Carol. And Marianne, and Barbara...”

  “My, my,” Carrie said, pursing her lips. “You do have quite reputation, don’t you?”

  “As the perpetual bachelor, yes,” he said, with a frown.

  “But that’s a reputation most men would savor.”

  “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not most men.”

  Oh, she’d noticed alright. Noticed in a heartbeat. “So what exactly is it that you’re after, nice-guy Mike Davis?” she asked with a teasing smile. “If it’s not your personal freedom, like most men.”

  “I’ve had my personal freedom,” he assured her. “So much of it, I’m practically drowning in it. But to answer your question --”

  “Honestly,” she said, laying her napkin on the table, “all kidding aside.”

  “Honestly? Don’t you think it’s a big risky to be asking honesty of a man you met less than a day ago?”

  “No more risky than taking him home to meet my grandmother.”

  Mike gave her a broad sweeping smile that settled into an affectionate grin. “Ah Carrie, you’re really very sweet.”

  “Now, don’t go calling me sweet --”

  Mike chortled. “Let me guess? Something like my Mr. Nice Guy?”
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  Carrie felt the heat envelope her at the thought of being read so easily. But he could read her easily, this man she scarcely knew. Or perhaps it was simply because the two of them were in the same boat that he happened to know exactly what she was feeling, precisely when she was feeling it.

  “Okay,” Mike continued, “to answer your question -- honestly. What I’m after is probably not so different from what you are. A stable relationship, a home. Kids maybe.”

  “A white picket fence?” she asked, feeling the renewed heat in her cheeks.

  “Sure, why not?

  “If you can get one of those in the Caymans,” he added with a grin.

  Carrie’s heart fell a million miles. What on earth had she been thinking? Kidding herself about a potential relationship with someone she’d met in such a haphazard manner? Hoping against hope that taking him home as the man of her dreams would somehow convert him to that before her very eyes? Come on, now, Carrie, wake up -- and join the twenty-first century!

  Besides, the man was already making plans to move to the Caymans. More than a stone’s throw from Virginia. This little charade between them involving her shower and his reunion next weekend was all she had. And Carrie St. John and her woebegone heart would do very well to remember that.

  Mike took a running dive into the crystal clear waters of the pool, thinking that things weren’t going quite as swimmingly with Carrie St. John as he’d planned. He was glad she’d agreed to go to his reunion. More than glad -- ecstatic, actually -- that a stunning woman like her would help him save face with his friends. And he didn’t mind stepping into Wilson’s shoes for her bridal shower one bit. What bothered him was the make-believe element to their whole affair. It was definitely a screwy way to begin a relationship. Non-relationship, he reminded himself, as per Carrie’s instructions.

  For anybody else, it would have been the perfect set-up. He’d make out like a bandit at his high school reunion -- no strings attached. But, for Mike, who felt an inexplicable yearning to stay by Carrie’s side in a much more than fraternal fashion, the whole picture rotted -- big time.