Читать книгу There Goes the Bride - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 9

I t should have been the perfect wedding.

Through the misty haze of sentimental, goodbye-single-life tears, Daisy Cox clutched her $300.00 bouquet of orchids, the bodice of her Vera Wang original gown siphoning air from her lungs. Surrounded by thousands of dollars worth of lilies and roses, serenaded by the most expensive string quartet money could buy, she should have been walking on air.

Instead, she was choking on it. Especially when her gaze skimmed over her fiancé, Peter Tarkin.

She shut her eyes, listening to the drone of the preacher’s voice. When she blinked open again, her husband-to-be was still there, as Dracula-dapper as ever, his midnight-black tuxedo and silver-templed coif at odds with the late-September sunlight dappling through the church’s stained glass.

Silently, she willed him to step into the light. Maybe he’d turn to dust, liberating her from the worst decision she’d ever made in her entire, misspent life.

Daisy glanced at Coral, her maid of honor. Her big sister. Tears glistened down Coral’s ruddy cheeks, and Daisy couldn’t help thinking that they were tears of relief.

The preacher was on a throbbing-veined, ecstatic roll. “Love is a precious thing, a fragile blossom braving the cold of winter and the heat of summer….”

Daisy breathed deeply, calming herself, feeling the ten extra pounds she’d gained during the past two months straining against the satin of her dress. Do something, she told herself. This is the first moment of the rest of your life.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice a thin whisper.

The preacher stopped mideffusion, his mouth agape.

For a blind moment, Daisy considered pretending like she’d merely hiccuped. Then the ceremony could continue, everything hunky-dory, just as smooth and unruffled as a cup of cream. Just like Peter’s life. But when her fiancé narrowed his eyes, reminding her that he’d pressed his fingers against her throat only this morning when she’d expressed doubt about marrying him, Daisy’s spirit kicked her body into gear.

Today had been the first time he’d laid a harsh hand on her. And it would be the last, too.

She stepped up to the dais, facing the good citizens of Kane’s Crossing. Daisy didn’t know them very well, but from what she remembered of this town, they wouldn’t mind if she did something stupid. Something that would stoke their gossip fires for the coming autumn.

Well, she was about to oblige them.

She cleared her throat and smiled, drawing on all her years of beauty-pageant experience. Walk a straight line—posture, posture—flash those pearly whites, swivel, pose… Once upon a time, she’d been crowned Miss Spencer County, and it hadn’t been for nothing.

Coral was watching her, that you’re-up-to-something-no-good-young-lady purse to her lips.

Daisy kicked up her smile a notch; it went from maudlin-sweet to Vaseline-bright. “I want to take a moment to thank so many people. Like the caterers. You all are going to love the shrimp salad and prime rib. And thank you to the wedding planner. Beautiful work, Adele.”

As the planner waved and wiped her eyes, Daisy went on to thank every one from the photographer to the limousine driver, noting how Peter’s brows were knitted. She’d seen that expression before, and she hadn’t appreciated the threat that had accompanied it, hadn’t appreciated how yesterday’s verbal intimidation had become this morning’s choke hold.

I wouldn’t call off this marriage, he’d said one day when she’d confessed her cold feet to him. You’ll be very sorry if you do.

Now Peter started to interrupt her, but Daisy cut him off, plunging into her final acknowledgments. “Thank you to my sister, Coral, for loving me all these years, for raising me and making so many sacrifices. I love you, sis.”

Coral smiled, deepening the crow’s feet around her wary, faded bluebonnet-colored eyes.

“And, finally, thank you to Liza Cochrane, my bridesmaid.” Daisy paused, her heart racing with nerves and anger, as she locked eyes with the woman Peter had insisted be in the wedding party. The woman her future husband had…

Just the thought of it made her want to cry with helpless embarrassment.

“Liza,” she said, “thank you for sleeping with the biggest mistake I never made.” Amidst a general gasp from the congregation, Daisy dropped the bouquet at her bridemaid’s feet, as if it were a used tissue and Liza was the missed garbage container. The arrangement landed with a thump, hammering home the silence.

Daisy didn’t look back, not even when Peter called to her in his low, controlled tone. Not even when she heard Coral reassuring him that she’d return. Daisy merely strolled out the front door and down the stairs, skirt bunched in both hands.

When she heard the growing mumble of voices inside the church, followed by the cacophony of bodies rising to their feet, she quickened her steps. Then she ran.

Past Pioneer Square with its stoic Kane Spencer statue watching her skirts fly. Past Darla’s Beauty Shop, where this morning she’d gotten her curls tamed into a style that flattered her tiara headdress and veil. Past Meg Cassidy’s bakery, where her wedding cake had been fashioned by the town “witch’s” talented hands.

A Chubby Checker tune blared from the building, and Daisy skidded to a halt, backtracking. Through the window, she could see a crowd of people decked out in party hats and smiles, hugging and dancing amidst streamers and light.

Daisy peered down Main Street, recognizing Peter as he marched out of the church, followed by a throng of Kane’s Crossing curious.

Without another thought, she ducked into Meg’s bakery.

Rick Shane thought he was losing his mind. Again.

He’d been standing in a dark corner for about a half hour now, doing his best to distance himself from the revelry of his niece’s seventh birthday party. The last thing he expected to find as he stared out the bakery window was a buxom, blond bride sprinting down Main Street, Cinderella dress hiked over her knees to reveal shapely white-stockinged calves. The part he liked best was when she’d skidded to a halt, her ample breasts all but spilling out of her neckline. Rick liked that part a whole lot.

Then he realized who this bride was.

The satin dream burst through the door, welcome bells jingling over the obnoxiously joyful music. She seemed out of place among his jeans-and-leather clad relatives and friends.

Behind the service counter, Nick Cassidy snapped off the stereo system as everyone else stared at the bride.

She straightened, and Rick grinned as he recognized the stance from high school. He’d always gotten a good rise out of Daisy Cox’s feistiness.

“Excuse me,” she said, breathlessly. “May I hide behind your counter?”

Meg Cassidy guided her wobbly-legged twin son and daughter to her husband, Nick. Unfazed, she nodded. “Certainly.”

“Thank you.” Daisy Cox rushed behind the Formica structure, leaving the party in stunned, statue stillness.

Rick shook his head and laughed to himself. “Only in Kane’s Crossing,” he muttered.

His brother, Matthew, slumped in a nearby booth and kicked a cowboy-booted foot over a knee. Their friend, Sheriff Sam Reno, sat across from him. Both of them were biting back their own smiles.

As the rest of the partygoers watched, Daisy Cox disappeared behind the counter, leaving a trail of white satin as she tucked herself away. The material peeked around the corner, a dead giveaway to her location.

Rick shook his head. This was definitely the topper to his day. Not only was he surrounded by pregnant women—both Meg Cassidy’s and Ashlyn Reno’s waistlines were starting to pooch, and his own sister-in-law, Rachel Shane, was expecting, too—but now he had to add a bride to the list of love-is-in-the-air reminders. All these hearts and flowers were making him downright discomfited.

His younger stepsister, Lacey, pursed her lip-glossed mouth, darting a glance from Daisy’s satin to Rick. Nice. He knew the look. It meant that she was about to tell him to get off his lackadaisical rear end and do something.

As she approached, Rick couldn’t help prefacing her baby-sister bossiness with a zing of sarcasm. “Yes, your Flashdance-ness?”

Lacey adjusted her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and frowned at him. Hell, he couldn’t help it. It was too much of a temptation to poke fun at her ever-changing wardrobe.

“Rick, you were in the same high-school class as Daisy Cox was.”

He pretended to turn the matter over in his mind. After a sufficiently maddening pause, he said, “I guess I was.”

“Then go talk to her.”

Rick could feel his sibling, Matthew, as well as the brood brothers, Nick and Sheriff Sam, staring at him. No help there.

He said, “We weren’t bosom buddies, Lacey.” Though the thought of getting to know the bosom part of Daisy Cox didn’t seem all that bad of an idea.

Lacey shot him the look of instant death, the kind only a sister could get away with. “Rick Shane, you go make her feel welcome.”

Meg Cassidy and Ashlyn Reno had taken on expectant expressions, too. Even Rachel, the sister-in-law who’d always treated him like an important part of the family—which he knew wasn’t the case—started getting a disappointed tilt to her lips. That did it. That, and the curious glances of his niece, Tamela, and little Taggert Reno, the adopted son of Ashlyn and Sheriff Sam.

Jeez, he couldn’t look like a jerk in front of the kids.

He aimed a lethargic shrug at Lacey, emerged from his dark corner and ambled toward the bridal satin peeking out from behind the counter. Someone had the presence of mind to turn on the music again so Fats Domino could softly croon over Rick’s attempts at friendliness.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, peering down at the bride beneath the Formica. She’d drawn her knees to her chest, resting a chin on the gleaming material of her gown. Her tiara and veil had gone lopsided, almost lost in a swirl of blond ringlets.

A protective urge tugged at his heart, and he wondered why she’d been running down the tiny streets of Kane’s Crossing in a wedding dress. This was a quirky town but, come on.

He thought back to high school, to a girl who’d rarely attended classes because she’d been traveling the state for her beauty pageants. He’d always kind of had the hots for her, had always wondered if a beautiful goody-goody girl like Daisy Cox would even give him the time of day.

But he’d never found out. After graduation he’d run off to a faraway land and lost himself, leaving no room for idiotic fancies.

Daisy’s voice brought him back to the moment. “I remember you. Rick Shane, right?”

The fact that she recalled who he was sent a jolt of nostalgia, of lonely hunger through his veins. He ignored the emotion, half-nodding to acknowledge her words.

“Daisy Cox.” He drawled out her name, stretching it between them with the slow ease of a man slipping satin from a woman’s shoulders. He liked the sound of it, the impossibility of it.

Her blue eyes widened for the slightest second, then narrowed a bit. There. That was a little more familiar. She’d worn the same expression every time he’d leaned against the Spencer High lockers and ushered her down the hall with a suggestive grin. She’d been hard to get, the girl voted most likely to be too good for a guy like Rick Shane. It had fed his fantasies all the more.

But that was before his life had changed. Before he’d been forced into manhood in a little country on the other side of the world.

“Hey, Rick,” said his brother, Matthew. “We’re gonna have company in a few seconds. Maybe you could pretend that you’re having a conversation with something other than the counter.”

The hard edges of a comeback curse lined Rick’s mouth, but he held it back. Leave it to Matthew to act superior.

Rachel, his sister-in-law, smiled at him, cushioning his temper. He stood away from the wall and bent to whip Daisy’s dress out of sight. Then, as Daisy scooted over, he hunkered beneath the counter just as the doorbells tinkled.

Daisy gasped, probably from nerves. She shifted next to him, gathering her gown around her body as his arm pressed into hers. The contact felt nice, warm, soft, just like her spring-meadow perfume. Rick’s body heated just by breathing her in.

Mrs. Spindlebund’s voice creaked over the music. Rick could picture the elderly toothpick woman with her salt-and-pepper bunned hair and permanent sneer as she said, “Good afternoon,” to the party.

Everyone murmured a return greeting. Daisy tilted her head, and a ringlet brushed Rick’s cheek. He couldn’t help thinking of the last time he’d felt a woman this close, breathing next to him, her hair tickling his skin. A twinge of longing shook him to the core, awakening a sleeping agony.

Mrs. Spindlebund continued. “I know you people are busy with important events—” there went that sneer during the word important “—but have you seen Daisy Cox?”

Rick could imagine his friends and relatives shrugging and tightening their smiles.

“Well—” Mrs. Spindlebund was, by now, probably fixing a glare on all present “—she couldn’t have disappeared.”

Rachel, who’d endured run-ins with the elderly gossip goddess in the past, had evidently come to the end of her rope. “Mrs. Spindlebund, we’ve been celebrating my daughter’s birthday. Daisy Cox would have no interest in this party.”

“Very well,” Rick heard Mrs. Spindlebund say. He could almost see the suspicion in her slitted eyes. “And, Rachel Shane, don’t think for one minute that Mr. Tarkin didn’t notice your absence from his wedding today. He’s your horse-farm partner, after all.”

Nick Cassidy didn’t think much of nosy news hens, either. He asked, “Can you blame a family for choosing their own kin over business, Mrs. Spindlebund?”

The bells on the door sang out. The elderly woman must’ve opened it, preparing to leave. Daisy relaxed against Rick, and he fought the urge to slip an arm around her, reassuring her with his touch.

Cut it out, he told himself. You promised you’d never get close to anyone again.

You can’t afford to let down another woman.

As usual, Mrs. Spindlebund had the last word. “You people think you’re above the rest of us. What you did to the Spencers was unconscionable. You won’t treat Mr. Tarkin the same way.”

Ashlyn Reno, a Spencer daughter who’d been disowned when her lawbreaking parents had left town, raised her own frosty voice. “Don’t let the door hit your bony bustle on the way out, Mrs. Spindlebund.”

After an emphatic “hmph,” the door clanged shut, leaving the faint aftermath of bells and the silence of an ended song.

Sheriff Reno’s voice filled the emptiness. “From my window view, it looks like the wedding guests are searching every building.” He paused. “Ms. Cox, you’re a wanted woman.”

Rick glanced at her, watching as her face took on a sundown-hued blush. Long ago, he had loved to get her flustered, loved to see her flush and tilt up her chin after snubbing him.

But now, her reddened skin was more than a sign of agitation. It was the prelude to tears.

As one rolled down her cheek, Rick forgot himself. He thumbed away a wet globule from her skin and asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Daisy pulled back from his touch, burned by it, stunned by it. “I’m not going to marry Peter.”

He must have sensed her discomfort, because he stood, casting a long shadow over her body, making her feel insignificant and petty.

When she’d first rushed into the bakery, she hadn’t gotten a good look at him. She’d merely felt a presence in the corner—a tall, black shape that had lingered in her mind even while she hid from her problems. Now, as Rick Shane held out his hand for her to stand, she couldn’t help remembering the high-school version of him: cocky, stand-offish, interesting in a cool, mysterious way.

For most of Daisy’s life, she’d been a good girl. For most of it. But when Rick Shane used to lean against the hallway walls, a mischievous invitation in his eyes and a slow grin on his lips as he watched her walk by, she couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to be a bad girl, just once. Or maybe twice.

But Coral would’ve killed her. Her sister needed Daisy to remain a pristine beauty queen, competing in her contests and bringing home enough money to support them. Their parents had died in a train accident when Daisy was three years old, leaving her, the “surprise, late-in-life baby,” without any close relatives to raise her. Twenty-year-old Coral had stepped in, working hard to keep their little family afloat. She’d even sacrificed her law-school scholarship to provide her younger sister with a home. Daisy couldn’t forget that.

Even if it meant marrying Peter Tarkin to pay off the money Coral had borrowed from him. The loan that had helped them survive for years.

Daisy glanced at Rick once more. He was a man now, his sable hair brushing the collar of his long-sleeved shirt, his dark jeans traveling the length of his legs down to his boots. He was a walking shadow, a black cloud hiding thunder and a more explosive brand of mystery. Even his near-midnight eyes held shades of a wounded soul.

In high school, those eyes had been quick to laugh—at least, with everyone else but her. He’d always seemed to have a wink and a grin for the other kids back in those days.

The memory saddened Daisy, made her wonder why his smile wasn’t as flippant, why the lines around his mouth seemed more like lost highways than rays of sunshine.

Obviously, he’d sensed her perusal. His jaw clenched, his mouth firmed out, his open palm dropped. It was as if an invisible wall had fallen around him.

On a whim, Daisy stretched out her hand, just to see if he’d respond. And he did, helping her up.

The force of his pull caused her to bump into him, her breasts rubbing against his chest. Goose bumps shivered her skin, every inch of it. She backed away—even if she could’ve used another breath of his spicy tobacco-laden scent—and adjusted her tiara.

With effort, she turned away, sighing, angling toward the partygoers, knowing she’d have to explain herself to everyone. “You’re all very kind, helping me like this.”

Behind her, Daisy felt Rick recede, probably melting into the shadows once again.

Aside from Rick, she didn’t really know these people. A couple of them had gone to the same high school, but she really hadn’t made many friends back then. She’d been working in pageants since the age of four and hadn’t concentrated on her studies as much as answers to “How would you bring about world peace?” and “If you had a million dollars, how would you spend it?”

But she did know two of these people: Rachel and Matthew Shane, Peter Tarkin’s horse-farm business partners. She’d met with them on occasion, when she was masquerading as the perfect hostess during Peter’s dinners.

She sent a tentative smile their way, and they responded in turn. Phew. At least these people weren’t angry about this wedding-day stunt she’d pulled.

She gathered her composure. “I guess I’m a runaway bride.”

Ashlyn Reno broke into an appreciative grin, while everyone else plopped into the nearest chair. She asked, “Wasn’t this supposed to be the wedding of the century?”

Daisy heard Rick’s chuckle, and she darted an irritated glance over her shoulder at him. He was giving her one of those appreciative high-school glances, and she couldn’t help the flutter of attraction that flew over her heart.

Ridiculous, she thought. The last time Rick Shane saw you, you were thirty pounds leaner. He can’t possibly think you’re anything but an overweight bride stuffed into a satin casing.

When she intensified her stare, he merely held up his hands, warding off her rancor.

She faced the others again. “I can’t marry him. I don’t know what else to say.”

Rick’s voice floated from the corner. “Maybe you could give us a reason?”

Everyone else’s faces reflected his curiosity. And why shouldn’t they?

She said, “I haven’t even told my own sister why I’m not marrying Peter.”

Meg Cassidy, the one who’d baked her wedding cake, took the children outside as the other women nodded in sympathy, encouraging Daisy to continue.

“Well, to make a long story short, my sister, Coral, gave up everything to keep us together as a family after my parents died. She was so young when she started raising me, and we struggled financially for a long time. I was a teenager when Peter befriended Coral. He loaned her a lot of money, especially when she got it into her head that I could be Miss America and we couldn’t find adequate sponsors. It was expensive, but Peter helped us out.”

Here, Daisy could feel her blush intensifying, her tears returning to well up in her throat, choking her. She couldn’t tell them about failing as a beauty queen.

Couldn’t tell them about gaining so much weight that she would’ve been a laughingstock if she’d set a foot onstage. She’d lost the pounds, but never regained the confidence. Then she’d put on more padding, then shed it. Up and down, a roller coaster of diets.

Rachel Shane stepped forward. “Tarkin can’t force you to marry him, Daisy. The man treats you like a trophy.”

Rachel’s blunt statement robbed Daisy of breath, of dignity, especially knowing that Rick had heard it. She didn’t want to look at him, to see the loser image in the reflection of his dark eyes.

Daisy rested her gaze on the tiled floor. “It’s complicated. I have a duty to my sister. She gave up a lot for me, and Peter wants a wife more than our money, I suppose.”

No, she knew it was true; she just didn’t want to admit too much in front of these strangers. Peter enjoyed the prestige of owning a former Miss Spencer County. He liked that she knew how to behave in front of guests, liked her ability to charm his company. She was a valuable business asset to an ambitious man. On more than one occasion, he’d referred to her as “a piece of art.” In spite of the imagery, she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment to be compared to a lifeless painting decorating his walls.

Rachel came behind the counter to place an arm around Daisy’s shoulders. She met her gaze. “I believe you. However, Tarkin’s not going to be happy about his intended wife leaving him at the altar.”

“He’s earned it with his infidelity.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “But I’m afraid of what he’ll do if we don’t get married.”

Rick’s boots thumped as he stepped forward. His low voice brushed down her back. “What do you mean by that?”

A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t believe she’d been reduced to asking for help from people she barely knew. “He threatened me when I tried to call this whole thing off. Said I’d regret it if I did. And…” This was mortifying. “…I didn’t think it would ever come to this, but he tried to hurt me before the wedding.”

The moment slammed back to her. Peering in the church dressing room’s mirror. Crying. Tugging the tiara from her head in an explosive second of rebellion. Feeling Peter’s hand around her neck before she’d ruined her perfect hairdo.

Knowing that he’d been watching the entire time, lingering in the back of the room.

Daisy shivered, then stared at the floor again.

She peeked up when she heard the men rise to their feet. Sheriff Reno stepped forward. “He won’t touch you, Ms. Cox. Believe me.”

Daisy heard Rick take a step or two toward her as well.

The petite woman in the ripped sweatshirt—it might have been Rick’s sister—spoke up. “He can’t get away with this. Daisy, what can we do for you?”

Relief welled over her. Coral would never believe that Peter had threatened Daisy; her sister thought the man was close to a saint for saving them with the loan. And she truly believed that Peter loved Daisy, not her status.

“I haven’t actually planned this through,” she said.

What could she do? Going back to Coral right now was out of the question. Daisy had no other relatives to turn to; that’s the reason Coral had cared for her when their parents had died.

Wait. Maybe there was something she could do. A couple of years ago, when she’d visited St. Louis, a man named Harry Redd had offered her a high-class hostessing job at his prestigious corporate headquarters. She’d had bigger accomplishments in mind, maybe attending college to become more than a beauty queen, for instance. Her dreams had never materialized though, and she’d gained too much weight to even think of approaching Mr. Redd again. But if she could get in touch with him, promise to get in shape, secure a new life in a new city and send money to Coral to pay off Peter, Daisy might be able to live with herself.

She perked up. She could also contact a past-pageant friend who lived in the city, maybe even live with her until she could make her own way. Yes. This could certainly work.

“I want to go to St. Louis,” she said.

She heard Rick’s disbelieving chuckle. “St. Louis,” he said.

Rachel asked, “Why there?”

Before Daisy could answer, the sheriff’s wife popped out of her seat. “I have an idea!”

“Oh, no, Ashlyn,” said her husband.

But she wasn’t listening. “Rick’s our resident pilot. He can fly you there, and fast.”

Any optimism Daisy felt at this news was quickly squelched by the near growl from behind her.

“I don’t think so,” Rick said, causing Daisy to finally turn around to face him.

What she saw made her heart sink.