Читать книгу With This Ring - Lee Mckenzie - Страница 6

“Why would you ask that?” As soon as he said it, he knew his evasiveness sounded like a yes.

And his mother’s eagle eye never missed a trick. “I stopped by Donaldson’s Deli to pick up the day-old bread that Mr. Donaldson donates to the shelter. The place was buzzing. Apparently she bolted and left Gerald whatshis-name at the altar.”

“Man, what is it with this town and gossip?”

“You haven’t answered my question, and that usually means—”

“Okay, fine. She’s at my place,” he confessed. Yes, at that very moment Leslie Durrance was in his bathtub. Naked and single. “And she has nothing to wear but a soaking-wet wedding dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes.”

“Do I even dare ask how she ended up with you?”

“I was driving by the church—”

“Oh, Brent. You can’t be serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might be able to fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. I thought you were over her years ago but even if you’re not, why torture yourself by driving by the church on her wedding day?”

He hated it when she looked at him like he was one of her homeless people. He didn’t want her to be concerned about him. He should be taking care of her for a change. “Under the circumstances it’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”

“Because?”

“She needed help.”

His mother let out a long sigh. “She’s a millionaire, Brent. She can buy anything she wants, when she wants it, without asking how much it costs. Why would she need your help?”

The sparkle of that enormous diamond ring flashed in his memory. “Well, she didn’t have her purse with her.”

His mother burst out laughing. “You dear, sweet boy. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my Prince Charming would race to her rescue.”

“It’s not like that, Mom. She hasn’t told me what happened, but I know Leslie. She wouldn’t run out on her wedding unless something really bad had happened. I get the feeling she wants to lie low for a couple of days and there’s no way she can do that in Collingwood Station, money or no money, without a little help from someone.”

She rested her hand against the side of his face. “And that someone had to be you. At the very least, I hope she appreciates this. And who knows, maybe she’ll come to her senses and realize she couldn’t possibly do any better.”

Yeah, that should happen right around the time money started to grow on trees. He covered her hand with his. “I wouldn’t count on that. Besides, like I said, that’s not what this is about. She’s in a tight spot and I was there to help.”

“Still, I can’t help wondering if your timing was good or bad.”

When he didn’t respond, she sighed again. “There’s always a first time for everything and this is definitely the first time I’ve had to provide clothing for a homeless millionaire, but you’re in luck. I just finished cleaning and mending all the clothes that were donated this month. I was going to take them into the shelter on Monday.”

“She said she’ll have everything cleaned and return it.”

“How generous.”

“Come on, Mom. It’s not her fault that people are homeless.”

“Whose fault is it?”

Here we go, he thought. Once she climbed on her soapbox, he knew better than to argue. “If I ask, I’m sure she’ll make a donation, too.”

“Too bad you have to ask.”

All righty then. “She’s not a bad person, Mom.”

“She is if she breaks your heart again.” She turned back to her food preparation. “The clothes are on the bed in your old room. I sorted them into piles by size, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding something that’ll fit her.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate this. So does Leslie.”

He didn’t get a response, so he headed up the stairs.

This old house held a lot of memories. Good ones. The door to his old room creaked when he opened it. He’d been on his own for a lot of years so it surprised him that his mother had never reclaimed this space. His baseball trophies were still lined up on the dresser and an old Reggie Jackson poster was tacked to the closet door.

The clothing for the homeless shelter had been carefully arranged in piles on the bed. He picked through the small-sized women’s clothing and chose a pair of jeans that looked as though they should fit her, a pair of faded yellow shorts and a couple of T-shirts. The pink one looked great, actually. In high school she’d had an undetermined number of sweaters in every shade of pink imaginable, and every single one of them had suited her perfectly. He hadn’t thought of it in years but if anyone had a signature color, Leslie did. And it was pink.

He’d never forgotten how beautiful she’d looked the night of his senior prom. Had she been wearing pink that night? Probably. Technically it hadn’t been her prom, since she’d been in her junior year, but she was on the student council, which apparently meant she was on the prom committee, too. He’d asked her to be his date and of course she’d said no, so he’d gone solo in a futile attempt to prove a point. Undaunted, he’d waited and watched until finally, near the end of the night, she’d been sitting alone at her table and the band was playing a slow song. He’d asked her to dance and in a moment of apparent weakness, she’d accepted.

Aside from that stolen adolescent kiss in her friend’s closet, that dance had been the only other time he’d ever touched her, and he’d never forgotten it. That time their kiss had lasted significantly longer and had been a whole lot sweeter. The instant the song ended she’d pulled herself away and marched off the dance floor, but at least that time she hadn’t slugged him.

He gave his head a shake in an attempt to dispel the memories and surveyed the rest of the clothing piled on the bed. There was an assortment of undergarments, which he quickly ruled out as being way too personal, but he added a nightgown to the things he’d already chosen. He unfolded a sleeveless red dress that looked like something a hooker might wear and quickly put it back.

After bundling the clothes under his arm, he took one last look around. A pile of stuffed animals on the desk caught his eye. They must be for the shelter, too, because he didn’t recognize any of them. He picked up a toy dog and put it down, then examined a small brown teddy bear.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The clothes he’d chosen were the best he could find, but they weren’t good enough for Leslie. Not because she was a millionaire, but because she was special. She deserved the best. Like his mother did.

He closed the door and clattered down the narrow staircase.

“Find what you need?” his mother asked, apparently back to her usual good-natured self.

The mouthwatering aroma of his favorite dinner filled the room. “Yeah, thanks. This should be fine.” He hoped.

His mother gave the pot a stir, then set her wooden spoon on a spoon rest next to the stove. “Let me find a bag for those things.”

She returned from the back porch with a canvas shopping bag and held it open for him. Her eyebrows arched into a silent question when she spied the bear.

He responded with a silent challenge of his own.

“Those toys are for the shelter, too. We do get children from time to time.”

“I thought it might make her feel better.” No, that wasn’t true. He had no idea how she would react to it, but he’d feel better if it distracted her attention from the shabby clothing he’d found for her. He handed the toy to his mother. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

She set the bear on the kitchen table. “Does she need shoes?”

He dumped the clothes into the bag and tucked it under his arm. Geez, he hadn’t thought about shoes, but of course she needed some. Those crazy high heels she’d been carrying were completely impractical. “What have you got?”

“Not much. Do you know what size?”

He shook his head.

“I bought myself some new sandals the other day and haven’t worn them yet. Take those and see if they fit.”

“Mom, you don’t have to—”

“I have other shoes, and I’m sure she’ll replace them.”

“I’m sure she will. Thanks.”

“What about toiletries?”

“What?”

“Toothbrush, deodorant, moisturizer, makeup.” Mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Feminine hygiene.”

He felt his face go red. “Geez, I don’t know. She never said anything about that kind of stuff.”

She laughed. “If you really want to be a hero, you should make a stop at the drugstore on your way home.”

He stared at her. Was she serious?

“At least buy her a toothbrush.”

FREDERICK’S PHARMACY seemed unusually busy. He wandered up one aisle and down the next, trying to figure out what Leslie might need. In the end he settled on a toothbrush—a bright pink one that would not get confused with his blue one—and headed for the checkout.

The guy in line ahead of him glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

John Fontaine. Allison Fontaine’s husband. Allison would have been a maid of honor today, if there had been a wedding. Judging by John’s boutonniered tuxedo, he’d been in the wedding party, too.

Brent nodded back. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Is that right?” It sounded lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You can probably tell I’m supposed to be at a wedding reception right now,” he said, as if trying to explain the monkey suit.

“I kind of figured. Who’s getting married?”

“A friend of mine. Gerald Bedford. Maybe you know him?”

Brent had always known Leslie would never settle for a guy like him, but when he’d heard that she planned to marry Gerald Bedford III, it had been like a knife in the gut. “I know who he is. Who’s he marrying?”

John looked confused. “Leslie Durrance. I assumed you’d know. You still work for her brother, Nick, don’t you?”

“Oh, right,” he said. “I think he mentioned something about a wedding.”

“I might as well tell you, since you’ll hear about it from Nick anyway. There was no wedding because Leslie took off. Literally left the groom standing at the altar.”

“You’re kidding.” Brent opened his eyes wide and hoped that passed for surprise. “You don’t hear about that happening very often, except maybe in the movies.”

“It was quite a scene.”

“I can imagine. What happened? She get cold feet or something?”

John gave an expansive shrug. “She just took off. No one seems to know why, and no one knows where she went.”

“Humph. Go figure.” Did anyone think to ask the groom what he’d done to her? Brent wished he could think of a way to fish for more information without raising suspicion. On the other hand, much as he’d like to know what the hell Gerald Bedford had done to hurt Leslie, he’d rather hear her side of the story first.

“Nick’s out looking for her, and her mother’s not handling it very well.”

The cashier started ringing up John’s purchases—an assortment of things that could only be described as toiletries, right down to the dreaded box of “feminine hygiene.” John folded his list and stuck it in his pocket. “Picking up a few things for my wife. She’s pretty upset, not knowing where Leslie is.”

“Understandable.” He should have had the sense to ask Leslie if she needed anything besides clothes. Still, he was just as happy to not be standing here with a basketful of women’s toiletries. He tossed the pink toothbrush on the counter, then met John’s questioning gaze. “I have to clean the grout in the bathroom,” he said.

“That’ll be eighteen dollars and ninety-seven cents,” the cashier said.

John opened his wallet and handed her a hundred-dollar bill.

“Yep,” Brent said. “Toothbrushes are great on grout.”

“I’ll remember that.” John pocketed his wallet and picked up the bag. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“You bet.”

John started to walk away, then stopped. “You know, most guys wouldn’t be telling people they were buying a spare toothbrush to clean grout.”

Brent pulled a couple of loose bills out of his pocket and smiled. Guess I’m not your average guy, he thought to himself as he watched John cross the parking lot.

“Will that be everything?” the cashier asked.

“No, I’ll take one of these, too.” From a bin near the checkout he chose a small brown teddy bear with a pink ribbon tied around its neck and placed it on the counter beside the toothbrush.

LESLIE STEPPED out of the bath, feeling a little calmer and a lot warmer, and toweled herself dry. She picked up her bra and panties and dropped them again. After that wonderful warm bath, there was no way she could wear cold, wet underwear. She pulled Brent’s T-shirt over her head, breathing in the clean, fresh-but-still-masculine scent, and reached for his sweat pants.

She’d never worn a man’s clothing before and the whisper of the fleecy fabric was unexpectedly intimate, especially against the part of her that should have been wearing underwear. After she adjusted the drawstring and tied it, the pants settled comfortably onto her hips. The legs were way too long so she rolled them up, then slipped her feet into the socks.

Her beautiful wedding gown was a crumpled heap on the floor. She set the jewelry on the edge of the vanity and shook out the dress over the tub. It was an absolute dream of a dress. Or at least it had been until she’d run through the rain in it. It had been the first and only dress she’d tried on and even Allison, who never bought anything until she’d tried on half the things in the store, had agreed it was perfect.

Everything about this day was supposed to be perfect. But she had been so preoccupied with planning the perfect wedding that she’d missed seeing that the perfect groom was cheating on her.

She hung the dress on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, next to Brent’s jacket. After she’d neatly draped her wet towels over the towel bar, she gathered up her bra and panties. “Brent, I really hope you have a clothes dryer here.”

She opened the bathroom door and Max, who must have been sprawled on the floor outside, leaped to his feet.

“Were you guarding the door?”

His tail wagged in response.

“Good boy. Is Brent home yet?”

The dog cocked his head to one side.

“I take it that means no.” Besides, the house was small enough that she would have heard him come in. “Is it okay if I have a look around?”

The tiny hallway was lined with doors. Aside from the bathroom, there were two closets and two bedrooms. Both bedroom doors were open. The one with the huge four-poster bed and chest of drawers must be Brent’s. The other had a desk, a small bookcase crammed with books and magazines, and a neatly made single bed. Until now she hadn’t given any thought to where she might spend the night, but found herself hoping it would be here. Too bad there was no way to let Gerald know she’d be spending the night with another man.

Except Brent hadn’t offered to keep her overnight.

And even if he did, she wouldn’t technically be spending the night with him. But then Gerald wouldn’t need to know that.

Max disappeared into Brent’s bedroom, but she decided not to follow. Instead she went through to the living room.

Max loped into the room behind her, carrying a gray teddy bear in his mouth.

“How adorable are you? Is that your favorite toy?”

He set the bear on the floor between them.

“Are you giving it to me?”

He wagged his back end.

She reached for the bear but he grabbed it and dashed out of reach.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” She clapped her hands and Max trotted ahead of her into the kitchen. Leslie followed. No doubt he expected her to chase him, but first she had to dry her underwear and there was no laundry equipment in here.

Surely he had a washer and dryer? She returned to the hallway by the bathroom and opened a pair of folding doors. Sure enough, there was a washer and dryer. She took a quick look at the care tag sewn into her bra. It wasn’t supposed to go in the dryer but desperate times…

“As if ruined lingerie is the worst thing that could happen today.” She tossed both garments into the dryer and closed the door. Five minutes on low should do it, she decided. With any luck she’d be wearing them by the time Brent returned.

She went back to the kitchen. She loved well-equipped kitchens, and Brent had done an amazing job of fixing up this one. It even had an old wood-burning cookstove that appeared to have been converted to gas. She was impressed.

Max dropped his bear on the floor next to an empty bowl and gazed up at her. As if she wasn’t already falling for the silly mutt, his pleading look was completely irresistible.

“Your dish is empty. Would you like something to eat?”

His tongue rolled out the side of his mouth.

“Poor Max. Where does Brent keep your food?”

She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s one thing to talk to a dog. Waiting for an answer is a good indication that you’re losing your mind.”

She opened the fridge. Three bottles of beer, an empty pizza box and an assortment of individual-sized condiments. In spite of the impressive kitchen, it appeared that Brent ate out a lot. And there was no dog food. She opened the cupboard nearest the dog’s empty dish.

Max leaped to his feet, nearly knocking her over in the process, and raced back and forth across the kitchen.

Inside the cupboard was an enormous bag of doggie kibble. She peered into the bag and saw a red plastic scoop. “How much am I supposed to give you?”

For heaven’s sake, Leslie, stop asking him questions. She hauled the bag out of the cupboard and read the daily portions, which were broken down by weight.

How much did Max weigh?

At least this time she hadn’t asked him. She dumped a scoopful of food into the bowl and Max dove into it eagerly. “That should do for now. If you’re supposed to get more, Brent can give it to you when he gets home.”

But now that Max had something to eat, he couldn’t be less interested in her.

The dryer buzzed. Dry underwear! She hurried back to the hallway, pulled the two items out of the dryer, took them into the bathroom and locked the door. She shed Brent’s clothes as quickly as she could and put on her bra and panties. Who knew warm underwear felt this good? She’d have to do this more often. She pulled the shirt and sweat pants back on and tightened the drawstring on her way back to the kitchen.

The ring of the telephone startled her. She had no intention of answering but instinctively she glanced at the call display.

C. Girling.

Cappuccino Girl?

No. They’d gone to high school with someone named Cathy Girling, but she was not the woman who’d been with Brent that day at the deli. However, Cathy had been one of the glamour girls in the gaggle of admirers that had followed him around the school. Was Brent seeing her? She’d never seemed like his type.

Not that it’s any of your business.

A red light on the phone started to blink. Whoever she was, she’d left a message.

Leslie hefted the dog food bag back into the cupboard and glanced again at the phone. She should call someone and let them know where she was, or at least that she was all right, and she should definitely check her own messages.

She picked up the phone and called Nick. Luckily she reached his answering machine and not him. She left a longer-than-necessary message, telling him she was okay but not where she was or what had happened. They’d drifted apart since they were teenagers and she regretted that. Great as it was that they’d reconnected in the past few weeks, she wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say about this disaster.

After she hung up, she called her voice mail to check her messages. There was one from Nick. “Call me,” was all he said. Three were from a frantic-sounding Allison, who had already sent her husband to check Leslie’s town house and the law office where she worked. There was one from her mother, sternly demanding that she return her call immediately, and two of the calls had been hang-ups. Gerald? He wouldn’t call, would he? But trust him not to have the guts to leave a message if he did.

She hung up and looked around the kitchen again. It was neat and tidy, except for a few dishes in the sink. There was no dishwasher and without giving much thought to what she was doing, she filled the sink with hot, soapy water.

The tag on Max’s collar jangled loudly against the metal bowl as he wolfed down his lunch. “Must be good stuff, Max,” she said.

“You didn’t have to wash those.”

She dropped the pot she was scrubbing, splashing herself with soapy water as she whirled around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Brent had a wide smile but his eyebrows suggested he was a little puzzled. He pointed to Max. “He swindled you into feeding him, did he?”

“His bowl was empty and he seemed hungry, so I thought I’d feed him for you.”

The dog looked up from his once-again-empty bowl and licked his chops.

Brent ruffled the fur on the top of his head. “Max, you old rascal.”

Leslie dried her hands on a dish towel. “I wasn’t supposed to feed him?”

“He only gets fed once a day. I put his food out in the evening.”

“I’m so sorry. Will he be all right?”

Brent laughed. “He’ll be fine, except now he likes you better than me.”

Max was clearly devoted to Brent, but she still liked the idea. “He’s a great dog. How old is he?”

“The vet thinks he’s about three.”

“You haven’t had him since he was a puppy?”

He gave the dog an affectionate scruff on the neck. “I found Max at the SPCA. I did some work there last summer, repairing their kennels, and there he was. He had been badly neglected by his previous owner. He needed a home and he seemed to think I needed a dog.”

“Poor fellow.” She knelt beside him and put an arm around his neck. He licked her ear, making her laugh. “How could anyone not love you?”

“I hear that a lot,” Brent said.

“Very funny. I was talking about Max.” She stood up and hung the dish towel on a rack near the sink.

Brent looked at her and for a moment he seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. Now that they’d exhausted Max’s history, he didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“You have a message,” she said. “Someone called while you were out.”

He picked up the phone and checked the number of the last caller, then gave her a quick, questioning glance.

“I didn’t answer it.”

“I see that.” But he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to check it. Instead he handed her the bag he was carrying. “Here’s the stuff I found at my mother’s place. I’m sorry they’re not nicer or…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m sure these things will be fine.”

“I bought you a toothbrush.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“It was my mother’s idea.”

Panic grabbed her heart and held on. Brent’s mother didn’t like her, although she’d never understood why. “You told her I’m here?”

“Didn’t have to. She guessed it was you.”

“How…?” But she knew how. Collingwood Station had an efficient gossip mill, to which she herself had contributed on more than one occasion. “The news really spread that fast?”

“Afraid so. She went to Donaldson’s earlier today and people were talking about it. I ran into John at the drugstore and…”

Oh, no. “Was Allison with him?” When it came to sniffing out gossip and dragging it out of people, Allison had a nose like a bloodhound and a mean streak like a pit bull.

“Apparently she was already at home nursing a headache,” he said. “John didn’t seem to know why you were gone, but he did mention that Nick was looking for you.”

“While you were out I called my brother and left a message on his machine. I didn’t tell him where I am, so thank you for covering for me.”

“No problem.”

She tightened her grip on the bag of clothes as if it was a security blanket, which in a way it was. The things Brent had brought for her meant she wouldn’t have to go home for a few days. If he didn’t want her to stay here, maybe he’d lend her some money so she could stay at a hotel. “Did your mother know what happened? Why I—”

Brent shook his head. “And my mother’s not one to gossip. She won’t tell anyone where you’re staying.”

Leslie supposed she should be relieved to hear that, but she knew Brent’s mother. They had served on Collingwood Station’s redevelopment committee and from the start, Colleen Borden had treated her like an adversary. Still, she hoped Brent was right and that his mother wouldn’t tell anyone she was here.

She wasn’t ready to face her family and friends, and she definitely wasn’t ready to tell them what had happened. But what about Brent? Did she owe him an explanation?

“Gerald is having an affair,” she said, even before she’d made a conscious decision to tell him.

He looked as though he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe—”

“I saw them together.” The flash of memory was accompanied by a wave of nausea.

“Why didn’t you dump him when you found out?” He sounded incredulous.

“I found out this morning.”

She watched as he processed that piece of information, and then the understanding of what she’d just told him spread across his face.

“You mean he…? They…? At the church? No.”

She glanced down at her feet and wriggled her toes inside Brent’s socks. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, Leslie. I’m so sorry.” He pulled her into his arms then, and she let him. He felt safe and dependable and surprisingly nonjudgmental, and she pressed her face against his shoulder and let the tears flow. Oddly enough, she wasn’t sure what was making her cry—Gerald’s infidelity, or having to tell Brent about it.