Читать книгу Cinderella's Midnight Kiss - Dixie Browning, Dixie Browning - Страница 11

At the groom’s house, the prewedding festivities went on from morning until night, from casual drop-in breakfast guests to late-night beery reminiscences. The friendly, easygoing MacCollums knew everyone in town. Pop MacCollum had been the high school football coach and Mama Mac, as she was called, a retired school teacher, was the woman people came to when they needed help, or sympathy, or simply a nonjudgmental ear.

At first Hitch, still uptight after the visit with his own parents, followed by the near miss with the redhead and the kid, had found ways of avoiding the convivial mob scene. By the second day he had unwound to the point where he was actually beginning to enjoy himself. Or at least to enjoy Mac’s enjoyment. The groom-to-be was having the time of his life, being the envy of all his male friends for having landed the most gorgeous woman in three counties.

At least they claimed to envy him, Hitch thought cynically, and it would never occur to Mac to doubt their sincerity.

At the moment, a leisurely game of croquet was under way. Maura, Hitch observed from his lawn chair in the shade of a giant magnolia, wasn’t above nudging the ball with her foot. Steff, resplendent in white silk slacks, a white silk shirt and white, high-heeled sandals, was better at striking a pose than at actually playing the game.

Mac’s besotted gaze followed her as she moved into the sunlight, which made her pale blond hair glimmer like a halo. “She’s sure something, isn’t she? I still can’t believe she’s gonna be mine.”

“Yeah, she’s something.” Without being specific, Hitch would allow that much. “Where’s Cindy?”

“Who? Oh, is that still buggin’ you? Hey, don’t sweat it, man, Cindy never held a grudge in her life.”

“All the same, I owe her an apology and I always pay my debts.”

“Know what I think?” Mac was on his third beer at half past two on a sweltering August afternoon. “I think you’ve developed a thing for freckle-faced redheads in your old age,” he teased. Mac had always been one to tease, but thanks to his unfailing good nature, no one ever took offense.

“What I’ve developed,” Hitch growled, a reluctant grin taking the edge off, “is a guilty conscience. I came down pretty hard on her, and she was completely blameless. If she hadn’t dived after that kid I could’ve hit him. I really would like to apologize and get it off my chest.”

“Man, don’t take it so serious. Cindy’s used to people yelling at her. Not that Miz S. ever actually yells, but that woman can pack a wallop without even raising her voice.”

Hitch replaced his empty bottle in the wire holder beside his chair. “Like mother, like daughter, they say. It’s not too late to back out.”

Mac sighed. “Yeah, it is. It was too late the day Steff was born. She was made for me, man, only I’ve had the devil of a time convincing her.”

Suddenly, Hitch straightened. “There she is now,” he muttered, easing his six-foot-two frame up from the low lounge chair.

Cindy spotted her target and hurried across the lawn. “Steff, you’re wanted on the phone. It’s Wade, about your hair appointment.”

“Well, where is it?”

“Where is—oh, the portable. I guess someone left it out in the back yard and the batteries ran down. Either that or Charlie got hold of it.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” the elegant blonde exclaimed.

“Problem?” inquired a quiet baritone voice.

Cindy whirled, her hip locked and she stumbled. Hitch reached out to steady her and she yanked her arm free. It was bad enough just seeing him again, so close she could see the squint lines at the corners of his slate-gray eyes, the few silver strands scattered through his thick, dark hair.

Feeling the warmth of his hard palm on her arm, it was as if someone had suddenly flushed a covey of quail where her heart was supposed to be.

She managed to say “No problem,” as she stepped back from the path through the hedge between the two houses and waited for Steff to precede her.

And waited. Phone call evidently forgotten, Steff was gazing up at Hitch through her long eyelashes and touching her hair in that way she had that Cindy, no matter how she practiced before a mirror, had never been able to accomplish.

At least, not with the same results.

“Go back and tell Wade the appointment stands,” she directed.

“I’ll tell him,” Cindy said doubtfully, “but he said if you can possibly put it off until Saturday morning—”

“Tell him I can’t, that I’m getting married Saturday, and my rehearsal ball is Friday night, and if he doesn’t do my hair Friday afternoon he’ll be sorry.”

Hitch heard it all, tried to withhold judgment for Mac’s sake and watched the little redhead’s slender shoulders rise and fall in defeat. He pitied Wade. Whoever the guy was, whatever he’d done, he was going to pay through the nose for it.

Hitch told himself if he was any sort of friend at all, he would kidnap this blond witch and hold her hostage until Mac came to his senses.

“Wait a minute, will you, Cindy?” he said when his red-haired quarry headed back through the hedge.

“Don’t have time, I left the iron on.” She had her own style of haughty, and it made Steff look like a rank amateur.

“I won’t take but a minute of your valuable time,” he said before he could check the sarcasm.

But she was gone, and he refused to chase after any woman.

Maura was strolling over to join them. Steff waved her away, sighed and touched her hair again. “Croquet is such a childish game, isn’t it? I don’t know why I bother.” Her Southern accent took on a finishing-school polish, which was absurd considering the school she’d attended, Salem College, was just over in the next county.

Hitch heard the Stephensons’ side door close quietly. Another opportunity missed. Dammit, he didn’t know why he even bothered. As soon as Mac told him who she was, he should have gone over there, spoken his piece, and by now it would be over and forgotten.

Well…maybe not forgotten. Snatches of the past were beginning to return. A redheaded waif watching wistfully from the sidelines like a kid outside a candy store window. He’d given her no more than a passing thought at the time, but now he wondered why she’d never been included.

Because she’d been just a kid? She wasn’t that much younger than Steff and Maura. Probably just naturally shy.

But it hadn’t been shyness he’d glimpsed in those blazing eyes. There’d been fear, followed swiftly by anger that first time. And pain? Yeah, that, too. He’d mentioned her limp to Mac, afraid her mad dive to escape his wheels had caused it, but Mac told him she’d always had a slight limp, especially when she’d been overdoing.

Evidently, she’d been overdoing.

Forget her, man. You told her you were sorry just after it happened. Let it go.

We’re on the final countdown, Cindy thought gleefully as she dashed up the back stairs carrying an armload of clean towels and a heavy tea tray. She was sorely tempted to tell Charlie’s mother, a second cousin whose husband owned a bank or something, that towels could be used more than once without laundering, and that there was a perfectly good kettle and a supply of tea bags in the kitchen.

Tonight was the rehearsal party. Tomorrow was the wedding, and then, glory hallelujah, it would all be over. The guests would go home, Aunt S. would leave for the mountains to recuperate, Steff and Mac would be off on their honeymoon, Maura would be getting ready to head north and conquer New York.

And as soon as she got her car running again, little Cindy would be free to go back to her regular Monday job. The job that actually paid cash instead of just room and board. Another six months and she should have reached her savings goal, if a new alternator didn’t cost too much, and then it would be goodbye Mocksville, hello world!

A few minutes later, after freeing a snagged zipper, collecting a bundle of lingerie to hand wash, a trayful of dirty dishes and an empty pizza box from the room Steff’s friends shared, she headed down the front stairway—the back one was so steep she avoided it whenever she could, even though Aunt S. always frowned to see her coming down into the front hall with a load of laundry or dirty dishes.

“Hi,” someone called softly when she was halfway down. Her carefully balanced load tilted precariously.

“Steff’s not here, but I think Maura might be around somewhere.” Maura was always around somewhere if there was a chance of seeing Hitch. Cindy had heard them talking about him last night—Steff, Maura and Steff’s girlfriends. The consensus was that he was a real catch, a certified hunk and sexier than what’s-his-name who had starred in that hit movie that Cindy had never got around to seeing.

She could have added her own opinion, but she didn’t think it would be appreciated.

“Watch it—here, let me take that tray.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, and grudgingly added her thanks.

“You need a dumbwaiter.”

It stumped her for a second, but then she blinked and said, “Oh, you mean one of those elevator gadgets. If they come in mahogany with stained glass windows, I might get Aunt S. to have one installed. She doesn’t care for modern conveniences.”

“But then, she’s not the one being inconvenienced, is she?”

Cindy couldn’t help herself. Her eyes sparkled, her lips twitched and she bit back an irreverent retort. Hitch was grinning openly. Had anyone mentioned that he had gorgeous teeth?

And a sense of humor?

Would that crew even recognize, much less appreciate, a sense of humor?

She knew in explicit detail what they thought of his narrow behind and his broad shoulders, and the way his slacks rode low at his waist and sort of bunched up at the fly. Maura said she’d seen him in swim trunks, and he more than lived up to his advertising.

They’d all groaned and then giggled—even Steff, who wasn’t a giggler, and who shouldn’t be thinking that way about her fiancé’s best man.

Cindy, who’d been delivering another round of diet colas at the time, was tempted to mention his nasty disposition and his recklessness behind the wheel, but she’d learned a long time ago to keep her opinions to herself.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened the other day,” he said when she reached the bottom step.

At close range he was even more lethal than he was behind the wheel of a car. Funny how she could remember so much about him after all these years. Such as the way he’d always been so patient with the pesky kids from across the street. Such as the way he’d always risen whenever Mama Mac came into a room.

Such as the way all the girls, herself included, had been in love with him then. Not that he’d ever even noticed her.

And while the intervening years might not have improved his driving skills, they’d done nothing but enhance his dark good looks. Fortunately, Cindy had long ago outgrown her brief infatuation, since the days when she used to gaze at him through the hedge whenever Mac brought him home from college.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time to talk now. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. You’re a rotten driver, and I’m lucky as the dickens, and that’s the end of that, okay?”

“Not okay. I’m usually an exemplary driver, but—”

“No excuses, I told you I don’t have time.” She edged past him and headed for the kitchen.

He was two steps behind her. Where in the world was Maura? she wondered. Where was everyone else? Usually, the house was brimming with people, all with their separate demands. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your role as Mac’s best man?”

“Tonight’s the rehearsal.” The festivities were being held immediately following the rehearsal instead of after the ceremony, as the bride and groom had to leave right after the wedding to make their connections to Bermuda. “Tell you what, save me a dance at the party afterward and we’ll call it even.”

She gave him an exasperated look that in Hitch’s estimation did nothing at all to diminish the effect of those steady blue eyes. “I never—”

“Never say never.” Hitch’s smile, meant to be disarming, faltered as it occurred to him that she might not dance because she was self-conscious about her limp. He started to tell her it was barely noticeable, and thought better of it. “Look, we could just sit and talk, maybe share a glass of champagne and some cake—how about that?”

Cindy always hated it when people were embarrassed by her limp; otherwise, she seldom even thought about it. More often than not when people noticed they assumed she’d hurt her ankle, or had something in her shoe. Sometimes she said she had. It was no big deal. Didn’t even bother her except when she was rushed off her feet, as she had been lately.

“I really do appreciate the offer, and there’s nothing I’d like better, but I’ll be far too busy to join the festivities. You wouldn’t believe how much work is involved in a simple home wedding.” And if that sounded condescending, then it was just too bad. It was a wonder she was able to put two coherent words together, the way he affected her brain.

“It’s being handled by a professional, right?”

“Not even professionals can do everything.” Especially not with Aunt S. second-guessing their every move and Steff constantly changing her mind about details.

“Caterers handling the rehearsal dinner?” he persisted. He happened to know the Macs were footing the bill, although there was no preventing Mrs. S. from running the show.

“We have a houseful of guests. They have to eat three meals a day—more like seven, if you count snacks. And then there’s Charlie….”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember Charlie. How is he?”

“Still into everything, which is one more reason I’ll be too busy to take you up on your kind offer. But thanks.” Looking directly into his cool gray eyes, she smiled, confident she had handled the matter tactfully and efficiently, and that would be the end of that.

Mercy, it had better be! She couldn’t take too many more up-close-and-personal encounters with John Hale Hitchcock.

With the end in sight, Cindy was fervently looking forward to the moment when everyone was busy dining and dancing downstairs and she could have the big old claw-footed tub to herself for more than five minutes. As large as the house was, there were only two and a half baths—none at all, of course, in the attic. She had plans for a long, peaceful, lilac-scented soak followed by an evening spent reading in bed while everyone else was downstairs partying.

Sheer, hedonistic luxury.

Steff poked her head into the laundry room where Cindy was folding sheets. “You put him up to it, didn’t you?”

“Put who up to what?” The last time she’d seen Charlie he’d been pestering the caterer’s helper for samples.

“As if you didn’t know. He wants you to go to the party.”

“Charlie?”

“Not Charlie, Hitch. He told Mama you’d promised him a dance.”

There went her heart again, doing aerobics. “I did no such thing. Besides, I’ve got a date with a good book.”

“Break it. You can put in a brief appearance without dancing. Tell him your feet hurt.” For all her arrogance, Steff could be generous in her own careless way.

“Well, they do, but that’s not the problem. I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t think Aunt S. would be real happy if I turned up in jeans and one of my fancy hats.” She smiled, picturing her aunt’s reaction. Still, it was nice to be invited, even if she had no intention of going.

“Look, I’ll lend you a dress and you can sit on the sidelines. At least you’ll be handy if one of us needs anything.”

Oops. I smiled too quickly.

If Steff had genuinely wanted her there, Cindy might have considered going, but a grudging, last-minute invitation prompted by someone else…

“Thanks, Steff, but I’ll pass if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, the last thing I need is to have Hitch and Mama on my back. Look, I’ll pick out something you can wear and leave it on my bed. Now don’t argue, I don’t have time, and besides, you know how Mama is when things don’t go according to her plans.”

Oh, yes, Cindy knew how Mama was, all right. It was easier to go along than to argue. “Then thanks, I’ll pick up the dress when I go upstairs next time.”

“Great. Is my blue suit back from the cleaners?”

“In your closet. Do you want me to pack it?”

“No, on second thought, I don’t think it’s right for Bermuda. Pack the white linen, instead. It’ll wrinkle, but they’ll have maid service.”

The gown was a sophisticated designer model with matching shoes that Steff had spent a fortune for several years ago. Complaining that the color made her look pasty, she’d worn it only a few times.

Cindy had a feeling the odd shade, somewhere between peach and ecru, wouldn’t do much for her own complexion, either. Instead of basting up the hem, which would have left marks, she shortened the straps, gave up on the waistline and had just slipped the garment over her head when Steff came in to ask which suitcase her jewelry had been packed in. “Speaking of jewelry, I guess you’ll need something. You look sort of drab.”

“A new car?”

Steff actually smiled. “Something smaller. Earrings, I guess. With all those freckles a necklace would be wasted.”

Thank you, ma’am, I really needed that.

“Try to do something with your hair, will you? You should’ve made an appointment with Wade.”

“Twenty-five bucks plus tip for a trim? No thanks.”

Her hair was impossible. She could French braid it and within minutes, curly strands would work loose. Hair spray only made it look like a fright wig. “I could wear a hat,” she said hopefully.

“Don’t you dare.” Cindy’s hats were a joke among the Stephensons, but she no longer took offense. One of these days, she promised herself. One of these fine days…

It was Maura who provided the earrings. “Steff said I had to lend you these. Don’t you dare lose them—they match my favorite ring.” She tossed a pair of sparkling diamond-and-pearl studs on the dresser and left. Evidently she’d heard that Hitch had had something to do with Cindy’s being invited to the party, and resented it.

As if Cindy would be any competition. Maura wasn’t in Steff’s league when it came to looks, but she had her own style of beauty. Compared to either of them, Cindy wasn’t even in the running.

The earrings were for pierced ears. Cindy’s weren’t. Not wanting to make an issue of it, she returned them, leaving them on Maura’s dresser beside her jewelry case, which was always kept locked.

Slipping on her tennis shoes, she hurried down the back stairs and out into the garden, cut two large pink roses and shaved off the thorns. Then, hiking her heavy satin skirt up over her knees, she dashed back upstairs and carefully fastened them to the French braid.

“At least no one can call you drab,” she told her mirror image.

Not that anyone would even spare her a glance, with the likes of Steff and Maura and all their glamorous friends around. The house was already overflowing with men in penguin suits and women in every color of the rainbow, all sparkling and laughing and flirting.

Last of all, she stepped into the shoes that matched her gown. Taking a deep breath, she carefully held up her skirt to keep from tripping, and made her wobbly way down the front stairs, half expecting Aunt S. to confront her and send her back to her room.