Читать книгу Missing: One Bride - Alice Sharpe, Alice Sharpe - Страница 9

Thorn made himself obey the speed limits, though every fiber of his body urged him to press the accelerator pedal right through the floor. When he’d checked his pockets for a quarter to give Alex to call a taxi, he’d realized he’d left the house not only without any loose change, but without his wallet. With no driver’s license in his possession, all he needed now was a cop with a quota to fill.

He stole another sidelong look at the woman seated beside him. She was staring straight ahead, her hair still partly piled on top of her head, her profile as distinct as a cameo. He had noticed her in the flower shop, had even wondered about her a little as she seemed so wrapped up in her work, her fingers deft, her concentration complete. But truth of the matter was, he’d been so centered on Natalie that this young woman had been little more than an attractive fixture in among the blossoms. She was as pretty as her flowers, he now noted, her skin as translucent as a petal, her lips full, her lashes black and long, her eyes a startling.shade of dusky blue.

She seemed to sense him staring at her and turned her head slightly, shooting him a quick nervous smile as she attempted to brush windblown strands of glossy dark hair away from her eyes. He guessed she was suffering second thoughts about the wisdom of accompanying him on this fool’s errand.

“There’s a scarf in the glove compartment,” he said.

Alexandra nodded slightly and retrieved the scarf. It was Natalie’s, of course—white and filmy, the stuff wedding gowns were made of. Thorn felt a small knot form in his throat as Natalie’s perfume hit his nostrils and then was gone. In his mind’s eye, he saw the crumpled dress in Natalie’s closet, the one she’d refused to let him see before the ceremony—hell, the one she’d bought with his money!

Maple and alder branches intertwined, forming canopies above the winding road that led from Cottage Grove to the Oregon coast. The river ran beside the road in places, and Thorn caught glimpses of people leading ordinary lives on this clear Saturday afternoon—swimming in the river, fishing, boating, picnicking.

“How could she do this to me?” he asked, not realizing until he heard Alexandra answer that he’d said it aloud.

“You’re assuming she’s done something wrong,” she said.

“Yes, I am. Humor me.”

“I don’t know the answer,” she mumbled.

“I’ve given that woman everything she wanted.”

“Well—”

“And she has wanted a lot, trust, me,” he added. He shook his head and glanced briefly at Alexandra. “You didn’t know about this other guy?”

“No,” she answered. “If there is another guy.”

“There’s another guy.”

“Assuming there is,” she said cautiously, “didn’t you suspect something was wrong?”

He shook his head again and then found himself pondering the question. The truth of the matter was that he and Natalie had never really talked much—it hadn’t seemed necessary. Words were for other people, for family and friends and business associates, not lovers. At least, that’s what he’d always thought, and Natalie had seemed to be in perfect harmony with this ideology.

“I know you were anxious to get married,” his passenger continued, “but maybe you should have given her more time. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. Now you’ll have a chance to really talk to each other about how you feel—Yikes, Thorn, you’re awfully close to that bumper up ahead!”

He eased off the accelerator. “What do you mean, you know I was anxious to get married?”

“Natalie told me.”

“Natalie told you what!”

“That she wanted to wait a few months, but you insisted on a June wedding. She thought it was very romantic. Actually, everyone in the shop thought it was romantic.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. A subconscious thought surfaced like a dead guppy in a fishbowl. Did he really know Natalie Dupree at all?

The closer they got to the ocean, the chillier it became. Determined not to add to Thorn’s concerns, Alex shivered in her flimsy dress and didn’t ask him to put up the top of the car. The scarf helped keep her head moderately warm, and she found that she could half bury her bare arms in the voluptuous folds of her skirt.

At least her feet didn’t hurt anymore. She’d flicked off her shoes as soon as she got in the car and now she wiggled sore toes against the plush carpet, suspecting there was no way on earth she was ever going to get those pointed instruments of torture back on her feet.

It was early evening by the time they broke onto the coastal road and turned north. Alex knew it would take at least another hour of steady driving to reach their destination, and she clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering. Thorn was driving at a much more moderate speed than she would have predicted. In a way, she wished he would speed up and get this drive over with.

For the first time, she began to wonder what exactly would happen when they reached Otter Point. Should she trail behind Thorn as he looked for his wayward bride, or should they separate and cover twice as much ground? No, she’d better stay close to him, at least close enough to act as a buffer so that Natalie didn’t have to face Thorn alone.

Actually, what she really wanted to do was to plant herself in the hotel lobby, preferably near a functioning heater vent. Maybe she should broach this subject now and together they could settle on a plan of action.

One short peek at Thorn quelled that notion. His features were set in a frown that suggested whatever events he was mentally reviewing weren’t happy ones. She decided she had no desire to interrupt his thoughts and looked ahead instead, anxious only to get this over with.

After a long, slow curve, the road straightened out and ran beside the beach. Only a few determined walkers and people throwing sticks for frantic dogs were visible. The promontory on the north end of the beach was called Otter Point, and even from a distance of two miles, Alex could make out the hotel, which appeared to cling to the rocks with the tenacious grip of a limpet. The tiers of decks jutting from the main structure were outlined in twinkling white lights, while the interior of the hotel glowed yellow in the gathering dusk.

“We’re almost there,” she said.

Thorn spared her half a glance but said nothing.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?” Alex persisted.

“No.”

She took the hint—the man did not want to talk, at least not to her.

Thorn stopped the car opposite a pair of wide glass doors etched with seabirds. Within seconds, a young man in a teal green uniform appeared, opening Alex’s door, offering her a hand. Stiff from the long ride and chilled through to the bone, Alex knew her exit from the car was something less than graceful. As she unwound the scarf from her head, she felt half her hair tumble to her shoulders and looked up to find her helper, whose name tag identified him simply as Roger, staring at her with a bemused smile.

She reached back inside and grabbed her shoes. By the time she’d straightened, Thorn had come around the car and was waiting on the curb for her.

“Any luggage, sir?” Roger asked.

“What?” Thorn grumbled as he fished in his pocket.

“Luggage, sir?” Roger repeated.

Thorn, looking distracted, said, “No. I mean, yes. In the trunk.”

Alex looked at Thorn. “You brought luggage?”

“Honeymoon,” he snapped.

“Oh.”

“And I guess I’ll have to catch you later,” Thorn added as he turned back to Roger, his hands empty.

“That’s fine, sir.”

Another uniformed teenager had slid in behind the wheel to whisk the car away to parts unknown. He added, “We understand, sir,” and followed the comment with a broad wink.

“Understand what?” Thorn asked impatiently.

With a pointed look at Alex, the one in the car said, “How it is, you know, on your wedding day and everything.”

Alex opened her mouth to speak but a swift shake of Thorn’s head silenced her.

Roger gestured at the convertible. “You know, sir, this goop on your car can’t be good for the paint.” Nodding at the driver, he added, “Me and Todd would be happy to wash it off for you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” the driver said.

Thorn looked at the two younger men as though they were speaking Greek, and Alex realized these mundane concerns were beyond him at the moment. Taking matters into her own hands, she said, “Great.”

Thorn grabbed her arm and steered her through the doors, into a huge lobby decorated in a dozen shades of blue and green, the colors of the sea. Without saying a word, he strode purposefully toward the reception desk, Alex struggling to keep up with him. She hadn’t yet had a chance to put on her shoes and without the heels to add another two inches to her height, the dress dragged awkwardly on the floor.

The desk clerk was a woman in her twenties with enough blond hair for two people. She swept tousled bangs away from her eyes as she watched Thorn approach, then moistened her lips with a quick flick of her tongue. Her name tag read Candy.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The question was uttered in a voice that suggested the possibilities were endless.

“I want to know if you have a Miss Dupree registered,” he said. “Natalie Dupree.”

As Candy punched a few keys on the computer, Alex snuck a peek up at Thorn’s face. His gaze was directed solely on the clerk, or to be more specific, solely on the clerk’s hands. She wondered if Candy was aware of the tension building in Thorn’s body as he watched her red nails click against the plastic keys, seconds passing so slowly, each seemed to have a separate identity.

At last, Candy chirped, “No, sir. I’m sorry, but no one by that name is registered here.”

Alex, amazed, said, “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Candy said without so much as a glance at Alex.

“Wait a minute,” Thorn said. “Maybe she’s using a different name. She’s about this tall,” he explained, holding his hand below his chin, “with reddish blond hair and green eyes. She’s twenty-six years old.”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

“She may be with someone else,” Thorn said reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” Candy repeated as Roger appeared at Thorn’s elbow, a brown leather suitcase clutched in his hand. “I just came on duty a few minutes ago. I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description.”

“Fitting what description?” Roger asked.

Once again, Thorn described Natalie, this time adding the make and color of her car, but he was met with the same blank stare. “’Course, I’ve only been here since six,” the boy said, “and there’s a billion cars down on the extra lot.”

Thorn swore under his breath.

Candy, staring at the suitcase, said, “Are you staying with us? Do you have a reservation?”

Thorn once again looked baffled by a couple of simple questions. Apparently, he’d been so positive Natalie was registered at the Otter Point Inn that he was temporarily set adrift when he found out she wasn’t. As Alex had no idea what he wanted to do next, she decided to keep her mouth shut.

Roger, however, was not bound by these same concerns. “They’re on their honeymoon,” he told Candy, “in one gorgeous car.”

Immediately breaking eye contact with Thorn and sliding Alex a brief glance, Candy said, “How nice.”

Alex blurted out, “Not really—” but stopped as she noted the two startled expressions that greeted the beginning of this sentence. To heck with them, she thought, vowing once again to stay quiet.

“Well, by chance, the honeymoon suite is open,” Candy said as she scanned the computer screen. “As a matter of fact, it’s our only vacancy. We had a late cancellation.”

Thorn looked down at Alex. For a second, the rest of the world seemed to recede as his eyes probed hers. At last, he said, “Do you want me to drive you back to Cottage Grove or shall we take the room for a night and think this thing through?”

While two gaping strangers looked on, Alex stared at the man standing in front of her and wondered if pride alone was keeping him on his feet. His eyes looked drawn and tired, his square shoulders sagging under the continual blows to his ego. She smiled and said, “Whatever you want, Thorn. You call it.”

He looked back at Candy. “I don’t have my wallet on me. We left in kind of a rush.” Candy looked at him as though waiting for more information so he added, “Hell, just call Peter Hanks. He’ll vouch for me.”

“You want me to call our manager?”

“Please. Tell him Thorn Powell is here. He knows who I am.”

It took a little convincing, but in the end, Candy did call the manager at his home, where he apparently vouched for Thorn.

“I’m sorry to put you through all this, Mr. Powell,” the clerk said after she hung up the receiver. Her manner had moved from flirtatious to respectful, a subtle shift, but noticeable to Alex.

Thorn shrugged as though it was of little concern to him. Alex couldn’t help but notice how the dynamics of the situation changed once Thorn’s last name was known, and she wondered how often he stayed here and with whom—

“We’ll run a tab for you, sir,” Candy said as she handed Thorn a room key and a piece of gold plastic that looked like a credit card. “This is good in any of our restaurants or shops. Please, enjoy your stay.” With an ingratiating smile she added, “And I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, sir. I’ve been here only two weeks—”

“Since I haven’t stayed at the inn for over six months, I don’t suppose you should be required to know me on sight,” Thorn grumbled.

Candy’s answering smile was as sweet as her name and was gone just as quickly as she turned her attention to Alex. “Congratulations on your marriage,” she said.

Alex knew what the clerk was seeing: a disheveled woman in a gaudy, droopy gown, barefoot, with hair going in twelve different directions. She knew that without prior knowledge of the situation, the conversation she and Thorn had held discussing whether they should stay or leave must have sounded very odd coming from a supposedly newlywed couple. But she didn’t like Candy’s challenging stare or the condescending tone of the woman’s voice, so, crinkling her eyes, Alex looped her arm through Thorn’s arm, and said, “Thank you ever so much.”

Thorn’s brow wrinkled as he glanced down at Alex.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” she added.

Shaking his head, Thorn led her to the elevator, one step behind Roger.

The car was the topic of conversation as they rose to the third floor. Roger carried the ball while Thorn grunted now and then and Alex stopped to consider what she’d just agreed to—namely, spending the night in the same room with Thorn. She’d dropped his arm the minute the elevator doors closed, and now she snuck him a clandestine look and bit her lip. She wondered why she was allowing herself to be swept up in this man’s life and what he would expect as far as sleeping arrangements were concerned. After all, he was a stranger.

They followed Roger down a hallway, waiting patiently while the young man opened the oversized door of the honeymoon suite. As he switched on various lights and set the suitcase on the small cherry trunk at the foot of the bed, Alex stood off to the side, looking around the huge room, her shoes clutched against her chest.

Four glass doors opened onto a balcony, which apparently faced the sea. The wallpaper was a collage of cabbage roses; the bed was covered with deep pink satin and a dozen lace pillows, and there were silk flowers on every flat surface. A brocaded sofa and two fragile-looking armchairs cupped a low table in one corner, the wood dark and glossy from repeated waxing. The decor made the room look opulent, romantic and sexy in a warm hazy kind of way.

Roger was again assured that eventually he’d see a tip. Then he left, a small smirk on his lips that Alex caught and Thorn didn’t as he was already standing on the balcony, his back to the room. Muted sounds of breaking surf came through the open doors.

Alex took a step toward him, then stopped. She hated to intrude, but she was suddenly so tired, she ached. She caught sight of herself in a mirror again and shook her head. The last time she’d faced her reflection she’d looked silly. Now she looked like a bride who had been dragged behind a car for a couple of miles. No wonder Candy had been so smug.

Thorn came through the doors, and Alex’s overwhelming feeling was that it wasn’t fair. He’d had an even worse day than she and yet he looked incredible. While it was true the emotions the man had been subjected to during the past twelve hours had sharpened the edges of his face and etched new lines around his eyes and mouth, it was also true that these very things somehow enhanced the sheer masculinity that seeped through his pores. For a few seconds he stared at her with a dark, brooding expression and she felt a quivering in her stomach.

“You look beat,” he said.

Alex tried patting her hair back in place, but she knew that at this stage, it was pointless. “I am,” she admitted.

“I am, too,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Maybe that was what had caused the uneasy feeling. “A little.”

He nodded absently, sighed, and looked around the room. “There’s only one bed,” he said.

Alex smiled. “I noticed.”

“You can have it. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Thorn, what are we going to do next?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”

As it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to make rational decisions until he got his feet back on the ground, Alex once again took charge. “Order us something to eat,” she said, gesturing at the phone.

“I’m not hungry—”

“But you should have something to eat, and I’m suddenly ravenous. I’m going to take a bath.” While he stood rooted to the floor, she closed herself in the bathroom. With some difficulty, she got the dress off, then the bulky truss. She stuffed the whole mess into a corner, which instantly reminded her of Natalie’s wedding gown, abandoned on the closet floor.

Was the woman nuts? How could she walk away from a man like Thorn?

Alex shook her head. This wasn’t any of her concern. This thing was between the two of them; she was just here as a disinterested third party.

She ran a deep bath of steaming water and lowered her body all the way under until only her nose broke the surface. Heaven. After washing her hair, she towel dried and faced herself in yet another mirror. That’s when she realized she didn’t have a comb or a toothbrush or a robe.

She just couldn’t face, the dress again. Maybe the hotel had robes hanging in the closet. She wrapped herself in a huge towel and knocked on the door.

“Thorn? Are you out there?”

No answer came.

She knocked louder and called his name again with the same results. Tentatively, she opened the door and stared into the empty room.

She crossed quickly to the closet and chuckled to herself when she found two thick white terry-cloth robes hanging side by side—his and hers, bride’s and groom’s. She plucked one off a hanger, darted back to the bathroom, replaced the towel with the robe and did her best to finger-comb her shoulder-length hair.

Thorn was still missing. Alex paced the floor and wondered what, if anything, she should do about it. What if he’d found Natalie and the two of them had kissed and made up and completely forgotten about her? How long should she hide out in the room?

A few minutes later, she answered a brisk knock on the door without asking who it was, flinging it wide open to find another man in another teal uniform, this one behind a covered cart.

“Room service,” he said, rolling past her. Within a minute, he’d removed both the covers and himself, leaving Alex alone with a huge platter of cheese, a bowl of fruit, a basket of crackers, a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses.

Did this mean Thorn was eventually coming back?

She nibbled on the food but ignored the wine. She’d never been much of a drinker—in fact, her sister teased her that she was a “cheap date,” because she got giddy on the fumes alone. She wandered out to the balcony. The wind was cold and salty, and smelled like seaweed. The surf sounded distant—it must be low tide. She listened intently, wishing it was closer, louder, so that it would drown out her thoughts, because they kept circling back to her current role as Thorn’s faithful sidekick. Truth of the matter was she suspected she didn’t belong here, that she should put on her frilly dress and find a way home.

But not tonight, she told herself, shifting her gaze to the left. The curve of the building allowed her a view of the front of the inn where they had first arrived. In fact, she could make out Roger standing beneath one of the lights, which probably meant that the shaving cream previously decorating Thorn’s car was now a thing of the past.

She wheeled around as a key rattled in the lock. The door opened and Thorn appeared. He looked defeated as he scanned the room with weary eyes, but Alex doubted the expression he wore had anything to do with concern for her whereabouts.

She closed the glass doors behind her. “You were out looking for Natalie, weren’t you?” she asked as she poured him a glass of wine.

“Yes.”

“Did you find her?”

He swallowed the contents with one long gulp. “No. If she’s here, she’s behind a closed door.”

Alex looked down at the floor. She didn’t need him to explain what he was imagining, what they were both imagining: Natalie wrapped in another man’s arms, Natalie sharing another man’s bed, while her groom stood rejected and alone.

Not alone, Alex amended internally. I’m here.