The Sometime Bride Read online

  And that, probably, was why the romance had never lasted. No man had ever truly been attracted to who she was inside. No matter what her bank account said now, on the inside, Carrie was still the same simple girl who had sewn her dress from scratch in order to afford the prom.

  But understanding her humble roots was not something even a nice man like Mike Davis could likely relate to. He, after all, had grown up in the lap of privilege himself. Ashton Academy cost more per year than Carrie’s full university scholarship had provided per annum.

  Carrie snapped off the light and sunk back into the mattress, wondering just who she thought she was fooling. Mike was simply a nice man who had taken pity on her present circumstances. And no matter how badly her heart ached to be near him, it was high time Carrie started listening to her head. They were far too different from one another -- she and Mike -- to ever form anything long-lasting. She might as well just lie back and enjoy the temporary ride of having him in her life as her finance. From the looks of her life, it was as close to the real thing as Carrie would ever get.

  “Ready to go?” Mike asked, standing in her open doorway. After a quick cordial breakfast together they’d each headed to their separate rooms to pack up.

  He looked even better this morning than Carrie’d remembered, his well tailored slacks and sports coat over open-collared shirt accentuating his exceptionally fit form. Carrie heaved a sigh, grateful, at least, for the dynamite impression he was going to make. But in some ways having him wow her family was going to make it that much harder to disillusion them in the end. Somehow, she’d never considered that angle. Although, it was definitely far too late to go having second thoughts now.

  “Having second thoughts?” Mike asked, leaning forward and picking up her suitcase.

  “Not at all,” Carrie reported, deflecting the branding flare in her cheeks. “Let’s get started.”

  Mike took a cursory scan around the gravel parking area. “Your car or mine?”

  Carrie cast a sideways glance at her shiny teal blue BMW convertible. “Yours would be better, I think. Mine -- needs work...”

  “Oh?” Mike asked. “Maybe I can take a look at it. I’m pretty handy with cars, you know.”

  As far as Carrie was concerned, Mike seemed pretty hand with just about everything. “Uh, no. Thanks, I’ll just take it to the shop when I get back.”

  “Seriously,” Mike said, dropping the bags dangling at his sides to the ground. “Might be something really simple. I’d hate to think of you spending the --”

  “Maybe when we get back,” Carrie said, tugging at his elbow. “We really can’t be late. My Grandma Russell would have a fit.”

  “Okay. Let me just put your suitcase in your car, then.”

  Carrie blew a hard breath and nervously latched onto a lose strand of hair. In all her boardroom negotiations, she’d never come across anything like this. Still, a very large part of her success had come from thinking on her feet.

  “Actually,” she said, motioning to her bag, “I’ve got some gifts in there for my aunts and grandmother. Too cumbersome to get it all out now.”

  Mike shrugged, seeming to buy that easily. “Oh, alright. I’ll just toss it in my trunk then.”

  Mike strode over to a late-model Mustang. Ancient, but meticulously restored. Candy apple red.

  “Love the car,” Carrie said, appreciatively patting the hood, as Mike laid the bags in the trunk. “She’s a real..." Carrie stopped short of saying “investment goldmine." “...beaut.

  You’ve done a great job with her.”

  “Thanks,” Mike said, smiling as he came around to unlock Carrie’s door. “I guess I do pretty well at taking care of the things that are important to me.”

  Carrie swallowed hard and stepped into the car without uttering a word. Did his words really carry the weight she thought he’d intended them to? No Carrie, she admonished herself, don’t be stupid. Get through this day, that’s all. One day at a time. She’d think about the coming weekend, and Mike’s reunion, and her miserable life afterwards -- tomorrow.

  ****

  Chapter Eight

  Paulette Pierce held out her narrow grip. “My, my, how time improves,” she said, unabashedly looking Mike up and down. The moment they’d arrived, Carrie had been lost to a swirl of old ladies in pastel brocade, and Mike hadn’t seen her since.

  “Why thanks, Paulette,” Mike said, shifting on his feet and taking her hand. The woman was bird-like and gaunt, probably Carrie’s age, though her thinness made her appear much older. “I take that as a compliment.”

  Paulette enclosed his hand in her vise-like flesh and leaned forward. “A compliment meant for you, not Wilson Haywood,” she said in a hushed tone.

  Mike fought the urge to wince in her talons, and forced a tight smile.

  Paulette kept hold of his hand and took a step forward, straight honey-colored hair swinging over her shoulders. “That stuffy old suit, Wilson,” she continued in a whisper. “I can barely remember. But you, sweetheart, a gal’s not likely to forget.”

  She leaned in and brought her mouth very close to his ear. “Is it serious?” she asked, just as Mike felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Paulette,” Carrie said, stepping in between the two of them. “How nice to see you getting reacquainted with Wilson." Carrie slipped an arm through one of Mike’s and linked him in tight. “Isn’t he even better than you remembered?”

  “Quite,” Paulette said, eyes narrowing. “In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d say --”

  “Of course, the plastic surgery helped a lot.”

  Paulette’s jaw dropped open. “Wait a minute. You’re not saying --”

  Mike raised his free hand and massaged his rugged jaw. “A little here, little there. Filling in the face, that is. Worked wonders. Maybe you ought to try it.”

  Paulette huffed, but Carrie just bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.

  “And the gym helped too, of course,” Mike continued, finding himself getting more and more carried away. “But I said to myself, I said. Nothing’s too good for my Carrie. She wants a certain type of man, she’s going to get it...”

  Carrie held her breath and watched Paulette’s eyes widened.

  “I mean, why not?” Mike asked. “You women do it all the time; reinvent yourselves for your men. Breast augmentation --”

  Paulette went positively white and glanced down at her own flat chest.

  “Come on, Wilson,” Carrie said, nudging him soundly with her elbow. Time you talked to a few more of our guests....”

  “And not,” she whispered sternly in his ear, when they’d left the mortified Paulette behind them, “about breast implants." In spite of her admonition, Carrie found herself fighting the urge to giggle. From the time she’d been fourteen, Carrie’s first cousin Paulette had made it her personal goal to steal every man in Carrie’s life right out from under her. Well, not this time, Carrie thought, glowing brightly, as the man on her arm looked down and into her with a naughty grin.

  “She deserved it,” he whispered back. “Not only did she suspect the truth, she was coming on to me besides.”

  Carrie looked back over her shoulder at Paulette who was downing a fast cup from the punch bowl, then broke into a chuckle. “Oh Mike,” she said, patting his arm. “You’re absolutely right. Busy body Paulette got just what she deserved. But, do you think she’ll tell?”

  Mike looked straight over the top of Carrie’s head. “I think she’s leaving. Hope she wasn’t your maid of honor, or anything important like that.”

  Carrie spun around to see the back porch door swinging shut at Paulette’s back. “Holy cow!” Carrie exclaimed, stretching up on her toes and giving Mike’s cheek a firm peck. “How on earth did you do that? I’ve been trying to get Paulette to keep her nose completely out of my business for nearly twenty years, and never even came close to succeeding until now.”

  Mike’s cheek tingled where Carrie’s warm lips left their mark, reminding him
ever-so-pleasantly of the type of fiancé he was expected to be. Touchy-feely. Amen, Mike thought, winding his arm around Carrie’s shoulders like a prayer. She was truly radiant today. Looking very bride-like in her white linen dress, its clean lines unintentionally outlining every curve. Even its scooped neckline which professed its innocence by camouflaging itself with a hint of lace, looked positively villainous in its enviable position right next to Carrie’s bosom.

  “What? What is it?” Carrie asked, bringing a hand to shield her briefest hint of cleavage. “There something wrong with my dress?”

  Mike gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and planted a light nibble on her tantalizing neck. “Nope, nothing at all. I was just thinking about how great you look in white.”

  Carrie slapped a palm into the side of Mike’s head. “Behave yourself! Grandma Russell’s coming!”

  “Just playing the part,” Mike said, drawing her into an affectionate hug and kissing her lightly at her temple. “Of the loving fiancé.”

  Carrie blinked as her world went cold and hot. Hot and cold. No, wait! Her palms were sweating, but her belly was a pit of ice.

  “Carrie, darling!" An elderly lady with more salt than pepper in her short curly hair scuttled over and wrapped frail arms around the two of them.

  “Wilson,” she proclaimed, beaming up at Mike and whacking him soundly on the shoulder. “I do declare, you ARE a hunk!”

  Somewhere in the heat of the moment, Carrie found her tongue. Which was, dammit, stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “Grandmother!” Mike exclaimed, lifting the 110 pound woman into the air with his bear-hug embrace. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  Well now, Carrie thought, Mike was carrying things a little far. Paulette was one thing, but...

  Mike set Grandma Russell down, as she reached up and pinched his cheek. “He is a doll, Carrie! An absolute doll! Just somehow I never pictured him as a blonde. You should have told me he looked like Robert Redford but green-eyed, young and sexy.”

  Mike laughed out loud, but felt his ears tinge hot just the same. Though he was clearly used to compliments from women, up until now, most of those offering their rabid appreciation had been under fifty.

  “Come on, darling,” Grandma Russell said to Mike. “Let me show you off..." She gave a little chuckle. “Show you around, that is. Carrie’s aunties are all dying to meet you.”

  Carrie swirled the ladle nervously around the near-empty punch bowl. The shower had gone off without a hitch. She and Mike -- uh, Wilson -- had even gotten some lovely gifts. A blender, cooking utensils. Towels. All the nice little odds and ends that help make a newlywed house a home. This wasn’t such a good idea, after all. In fact, it was terrible. So many people had gone to so much time, trouble and expense. Even Nellie’s place cards were beautiful. A keepsake for the happy couple. Carrie frowned at her murky reflection centered in the twirling ice ring.

  And to make matters worse, Mike had been an absolute champ. Everybody adored him implicitly. He’d been warm, witty and charming the whole afternoon through. His act as her fiancé had almost even seemed real, at least his hugs and affectionate glances had seemed authentic enough. And those few unexpected kisses, though innocent enough in their placement: one at her temple, one on the back of her hand, the one at her neckline... Well alight, maybe the one at her neck hadn’t seemed quite so innocent in intent as the others. But still, no matter where his kisses had landed, each time Mike had surprised her with the warm contact of his lips, her world had caved in and her heart had let go. Let go of any notion that this thing between them was little more than make-believe. Because, though words could deceive, feelings seldom lied, and when Mike brought his flesh to hers... Carrie dropped the ladle into the punch bowl as goose bumps tore down her spine.

  Carrie felt the hair swept from her nape. “Ready to leave?” Mike whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

  Carrie turned in surprise and found herself directly in his arms, her backside pinned against the table that held the punch bowl. “Never,” she said, bringing her arms up and around his neck and pulling him in close as their lips melded in the final consummation of what they’d both been desiring all afternoon.

  “Why don’t you kids run on home?” Grandma Russell asked, blinking the dining room chandelier on and off above them.

  Mike pulled back in a damp sweat. “Let’s!” he said, giving Carrie a firm, virgin peck on the lips.

  Carrie sat in Mike’s car, anxiously fiddling with his radio and waiting for his return from the grocery store. Though he’d said he’d only be a minute, she could only guess at what he’d buy. Champagne? Wine and roses? Were things between them really moving that fast?

  And, where on earth would they go? She wasn’t sure she was ready for Mike to see her place. Besides, she was totally unprepared for company and her cottage was a total wreck. Though the setting, at the western edge of the county, was gorgeous, the inside of her home looked like it had been hit by a black tornado. If there was one thing Carrie didn’t do well, it was clean. Well, in truth, her laundry skills weren’t so hot either. All the whites always seemed to come out a weird shade of neon pink. Even after all this time, Carrie couldn’t figure out which of her red sweater tops had been doing all that running.

  The driver’s door popped open, startling Carrie from her reverie.

  “Miss me?” Mike asked with an earnest grin.

  “Absolutely,” Carrie said, hoping her face didn’t look nearly as hot as it felt. “What you got there in the bag?”

  “Uh, uh,” Mike said, scrunching the paper roll at the top of the bad a bit tighter and slipping it into the back seat. “It’s a surprise.”

  The only problem was, Mike still hadn’t settled on the perfect place to share it. Not at his place, for sure. His apartment was a pig sty. Not that it was usually that bad... Mike slumped back against his bucket seat at the half inner truth. The fact was, compared to its usual state, his apartment looked good. Which wasn’t saying a whole heck of a lot.

  Mike could tell from meeting her family and seeing the tidy home she’d grown up that, though she hadn’t been raised rich, she’d definitely inherited class and style. A style that would be severely undone by the sight of his dirty boxers strewn all across the backs of his chairs. And those beers cans... Mike scratched the back of his head trying to remember if he’d put that last batch of trash out to recycle. Better not to chance it, he decided, heading the car west of the city.

  “Where to?” Carrie asked, a fine sweep of color caressing her cheeks, but only half as tenderly as Mike wanted to at this moment.

  “Someplace special,” he said, lowering his window just a crack to let in a refreshing breath of cool evening air.

  But, deep inside, Carrie knew that it scarcely mattered. Someplace special seemed to be right here with him.

  ****

  Chapter Nine

  Mike hoisted Carrie down from the top of the split rail fence and led her into the vineyard.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked, clutching his mystery paper bag to his chest.

  Carrie inhaled deeply, absorbing the scent of summer hills and lilac. For acres before them, rows upon rows of trellised vines bloomed in lush cornucopias splendor, their endless trail spilling toward the tumbling Blue Ridge. Mountain upon haze-tipped mountain fell backwards in smoky array, blending infinitely with the settling twilight.

  “It’s gorgeous, just gorgeous,” Carrie said, talking not only of the scenery around them. For in this afternoon alone, she’d seen something altogether different in Mike. Not the tempting bachelor, nor the friend with a penchant for making her smile. But a regular family man. Carrie was certain now he hadn’t been fabricating his desires for that white picket fence. Mike was good in a crowd, great with people -- young and old alike. And playful to boot. Carrie was sure he’d make an excellent father.

  “Care to sit?”

  Carrie looked down, realizing Mike had removed his jacket and lai
d it as a cushion on the ground for her to protect her clothing.

  “You know,” she said, taking a seat and arranging her dress on the jacket to defend it from the spreading clay-dotted grass around them. “Alexia was really a very stupid woman.”

  Mike grinned in surprise and scooted in beside her on the splotchy earth. “Kind of you to say so.”

  “I mean it,” Carrie assured him. “But she was smart in one regard.”

  Mike raised his brow in expectation.

  “Picking you out in the first place.”

  Mike sputtered a laugh. “Alexia always was a good shopper.”

  Carrie tried to keep her eyes focused ahead of her, but it was impossible not to be drawn to the man beside her. Never in her life -- nowhere in the world -- had Carrie St. John come across the likes of Mike Davis. He was handsome and charming, absolutely. But much more importantly, he was genuine.

  “You know the thing about Alexia --”

  Carrie reached out and latched onto his rugged chin. “Mike.”

  He stopped mid sentence and questioned with his eyes. Beautiful, earth-moving, sea green eyes.

  Carrie settled her other hand at the side of his face. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he hummed, closing in.

  After they’d necked like teenagers for nearly twenty minutes, Carrie felt something moist and clammy seeping onto her outer thigh.

  “Oh my God!” Mike said looking down in horror at the leaking paper bag pressed up against Carrie’s leg. “Your beautiful dress!”

  Carrie puzzled at the mysterious green stain on her leg. She wiped a hand against the sticky mess, then brought a palm to her nose. “Mint?”

  “Mint Chocolate Chip,” Mike said, sheepishly unrolling the bag. “Ice cream sandwiches.”

  Carrie threw back her head with a belly laugh. “Ice cream sandwiches! And there I thought you’d gotten us another elegant vintage of wine.”