Читать книгу Unexpected Bride - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 7

“So are you my chauffeur for as long as I’m here?” Abby asked as Clayton pulled into his mother’s driveway behind Mrs. McClintock’s minivan. She’d beat them home, with Lara in the back in the built-in car seat. Abby had wanted to ride with them, but Mrs. McClintock had insisted there wasn’t room with Colleen, Molly and Rory, who’d had to come home to pack his bag for Clayton’s.

He lived in town in the apartment above the insurance agency. Abby couldn’t imagine willingly leaving this home. Her heart lifted at the sight of the Dutch colonial where she’d spent so much time in her younger days. Although she suspected Rory had long outgrown it, the tire still swung from the giant oak in the front yard. The house wasn’t as colorful or as big as the Kellys’ Victorian, but Abby preferred its white siding and black roof. To her, it represented all the stability she’d never had in her own family. This house was why she’d packed up her apartment in Chicago. She wanted to raise her daughter in a house just like this.

Too bad it was in Cloverville.

“Mrs. Hild’s roses and Mr. Carpenter’s storefront thank you for not driving.” He turned toward her, his eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, as he added, “Not to mention the colonel.”

“Not to mention, and yet you did. You just can’t let it go. We’re both adults now. Why can’t you put the past behind us?” she asked.

Why was he so determined to think the worst of her?

“I’m just teasing you,” he claimed.

“I’m not one of your sisters, Clayton.”

His gaze clung to hers as he leaned over the console, his face so close that his breath brushed her face when he whispered, “I know.”

Abby shivered, her attention drawn to his lips. But then he pulled back and opened his door. Her breath shuddered out, and when she reached for her door latch, her hand shook. Had he been about to kiss her? Clayton McClintock kiss her? She hated to admit it, even to herself, but growing up she had daydreamed about his kisses, how they’d make her feel…

Wanted. She shook her head, pushing aside the old longing, which she knew would never be fulfilled. Clayton’s kisses or anyone wanting her for keeps.

“I’m sorry you had to drive out of your way for me,” she said, surprised he’d come around to her side of the vehicle, as if he’d been about to open her door.

Clayton McClintock opening her door? Clayton McClintock teasing her? Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

“I have to pick up Rory, anyway,” he said as he headed around the SUV to unlatch the back door.

“But he could have ridden home with you, instead of your coming out here.” Her face flushed as she realized who had maneuvered the passenger lists. “Your mother…”

“She’s not exactly being subtle,” he said, with a short, bitter laugh. “She thinks you’d be good for me. That you’d lighten me up.”

Abby snorted. Mrs. Mick playing matchmaker for her and Clayton?

“Exactly,” he agreed with her snort of derision. Too quickly. Obviously he had no interest in her, despite his teasing. “She doesn’t understand. You’ve always brought out the worst in me.”

If she’d only seen his worst, what was Clayton’s best?

“How long are you staying here?” he asked as he hefted her bags from the back. She’d certainly packed more than a couple days’ worth of clothes. But then she had a daughter, and he had no idea how much stuff one needed with little kids. And he never intended to find out. He was still raising one family, and he had no intention of raising another.

A mocking smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t worry, Clayton. I’m not going to be here long enough for your mother to get us to the altar.”

He refused to take her bait. She was much better at teasing than he was, despite his having three younger siblings. Instead, he carried her bags to the door. “The only wedding I’m worried about is the one that’s taking place tomorrow.”

“That may be taking place tomorrow,” she replied.

He dropped the bags on the cement stoop in front of the door and turned back, trapping her between his body and the side of his mother’s minivan. “You’re not going to talk Molly out of getting married.”

Molly might have been emotional, but she’d seemed so sure that she wanted to marry Dr. Josh Towers. She didn’t need anyone making her doubt her decision.

Abby’s lips lifted in that infuriating smile she kept flashing him. He longed to wipe it off her mouth—with his. Breathing deep, he calmed his rising temper. No one, not even Rory, tested his control the way Abby did.

“What kind of friend would that make me?” she asked him.

“Talking her out of getting married?” He knew that she wouldn’t purposely do anything to hurt her friends. “You might think that makes you a good friend.”

She nodded. “I might.”

“But you wouldn’t be a good friend if you’re actually projecting your aversion to marriage onto her,” he observed. “Just because you think marriage isn’t for you, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t for Molly.”

“If you’re so pro-marriage, why isn’t there a ring on your finger?” she asked, reaching for his hand. Her skin brushed against his as she stroked his bare ring finger.

The hair rose on Clayton’s forearms—her touch was like an electrical charge. He pulled his hand away. “I’ve never been in love.”

And he damn well never intended to fall prey to that dangerous emotion.

“What makes you think Molly is?” she persisted.

He wasn’t certain Molly was in love. Yet. But she respected Josh and she’d chosen to spend her life with him. It wasn’t up to Clayton or Abby to change her mind.

“She’s wearing a ring,” he reminded her. “She accepted his proposal.”

“But I don’t think she loves him.”

He swallowed hard, but he couldn’t control his curiosity about her and about Lara’s father any longer. “Have you ever been in love, Abby?”

She shook her head, tumbling blond curls around her bare shoulders.

“But you have a daughter…”

Her laugh trilled out. “Clayton, you’re so old-fashioned.”

Yeah, maybe he was.

“And judgmental,” she accused him again. “I could have become a nun instead of a single mother, and you still wouldn’t approve of me.”

“Is that why you made everyone promise not to tell me about Lara?” he asked, stepping so close their bodies nearly touched. “You were worried about what I’d think of you?”

She lifted her chin and tossed her head with all the spirit of a champion racehorse. “I don’t care what you think of me, Clayton.”

Anger licked through him, heating his blood. She didn’t care what he thought? It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. “Then why didn’t you want anyone to tell me?” he persisted. “Are you ashamed you made a mistake?”

He stumbled back, nearly tripping over her luggage, as her hands slammed into his chest.

“Never call her that!” Her voice trembled with rage. “Never call my daughter a mistake.”

He caught her by the shoulders, holding her gently but firmly so she’d stop pushing him. “I’m sorry, Abby.” She definitely brought out the worst in him. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

He could never see a child, any child, as a mistake. And even before Abby had reacted so strongly, he’d known she didn’t see her daughter that way, either. She loved Lara.

Instead of defending himself, he conceded, “I was out of line.”

“Yes, you were,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath. Her eyes pooled with unshed tears.

“I better go,” he said, releasing her to open the door to the kitchen of his old house. His hand shook, rattling the handle.

“Clayton?”

He turned back to her.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m leaving Cloverville right after the wedding.”

He nodded, relief easing some of the tension that pressed against his chest. No matter what his mother, the matchmaker, thought, they weren’t good for each other.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, setting her suitcases inside the door. “At the church.”

“Yeah, at the church…”

Unless she talked Molly out of going through with the marriage, which was her intention. She passed through the kitchen doorway, her back nearly grazing his chest. She suppressed another shiver, due no doubt to the cool night air. And not to Clayton’s proximity, nor the memory of the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders had rippled as he’d carried her bags.

“Hey, man,” Rory said from where he leaned against the center island. “What took you so long? They’re having a slumber party.” He rolled his eyes, trying to act macho either to impress his older brother or just because he was a teenage boy.

“Wait for me in the car, then,” Clayton suggested. “I’ll just bring these bags upstairs.”

“That’s not necessary,” Abby protested as she followed him up the back stairs to the second story. Why did he have to act macho, too? Was that a brother thing? “I can carry my own bags. They’ve kicked Rory out. You’re not supposed to be up here, you know.”

“My eyes are closed,” he insisted, in deference to the pajama party. “What room did Mom give you?”

When she said nothing, he opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting hers. “Mine. Of course.” He dumped his bags inside the open door.

“It’s not your room anymore,” she reminded him, but she followed his gaze toward the bed she’d be sleeping in. His bed. A shiver raised bumps on her bare arms. She had to remind herself that she was still mad at him for calling Lara a mistake. Honesty forced her to admit that he really hadn’t called her daughter that; he’d figured that was Abby’s reason for keeping her secret. Shame. But the only shame she felt was over her attraction to a man who would always think the worst of her.

“Abby, I’m really…”

She didn’t want another apology. She just wanted him gone. “Go, get out of here.” She gestured toward the stairs. “Girls only!”

“He probably wanted to hang around to catch a glimpse of you in your pj’s,” Colleen teased, leaning out her bedroom doorway as Clayton tromped down the steps. “He has always stared at you.”

“He was just trying to intimidate me into going home.” Never mind that the McClintocks’ house had always felt more like home than the rented bungalow she’d shared with her mother while her father spent most of his time away, driving a semi. But her mother actually hadn’t spent much of her time at their run-down place, either. She’d mostly been in the bar.

“So where’s Brenna?” she asked as she joined the two sisters in their old bedroom. Even though Clayton’s room was empty, Colleen and Molly still doubled up when Molly came home from school. Abby envied the closeness between them. Growing up, she had wanted a sister desperately, and so she’d made the McClintock girls into hers.

“Brenna stayed behind to help her mother clean up,” Molly explained as she painted her nails on top of some newspapers spread across the comforter. “And she didn’t want to leave her parents alone with T.J. and Buzz.”

Buzz was undoubtedly the twin whose dark hair had been “buzz” cut much shorter than his brother’s. Abby suspected he’d borrowed his father’s electric razor.

“Why? They were managing fine.” Abby recalled Mr. and Mrs. Kelly’s smiling faces and easy laughter as they’d played with the boys. Clayton probably wasn’t the only one under parental pressure to provide grandchildren.

“Maybe too fine,” Colleen agreed. “Mom might have to fight them for rights as a grandparent.”

“That’s just like Brenna to choose responsibility over fun,” Abby observed. “She and Clayton would be a perfect match.” So why wasn’t his mother trying to set up the two of them? Why was she playing matchmaker with Abby, who didn’t even intend to stay in town? To keep her and Lara in Cloverville? Mrs. Mick was the only “grandparent” Lara had ever known.

“Clayton’s never looked at Brenna the way he looks at you,” Colleen teased her. She had to be teasing.

“We’re not going to stay up all night talking about Clayton,” Abby insisted, determined to change the subject.

“So this isn’t going to be like our old slumber parties, then.” Molly laughed.

“We never stayed up all night talking about Clayton.”

“We never did,” Colleen agreed. “But you did.”

Obviously, her two friends had joined forces with their matchmaking mother. And they were making things up. The only reason Abby would have talked about Clayton at all back then would have been to complain about how he spoiled their fun. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at Colleen’s head.

“Mommy! You’re not supposed to throw things in the house,” Lara chastised her as she and Mrs. McClintock stood in the doorway.

The older woman’s face was illuminated with contentment. “It’s so great to have my girls home again,” she mused. “I’ll read Lara a story and tuck her into bed. You go back to gossiping about boys, like you used to.”

Abby kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, thank you for being so good today.” She’d been extremely patient waiting for their flight—more patient, Abby suspected, then Clayton had been.

“I’m always good, Mommy,” Lara reminded her matter-of-factly. She waved at Molly and Colleen as Mrs. McClintock carried her off to bed.

“Are you sure she’s yours?” Molly teased. “She’s so sweet.”

Abby occasionally wondered herself. “You were there when I had her,” she observed. “Well, at least you were there until you passed out.”

Abby’s best friends had come to Detroit for Lara’s birth. Mrs. Mick had come along, too. Without their support, she didn’t know what she would have done. She’d been terrified.

“A doctor who passes out at the sight of blood…” Colleen began.

“Hey, I was exhausted,” Molly said defensively. “I can barely fit sleep into my schedule.”

But she’d always fit her friends into it. Because she’d been there for Abby, Abby had to be here for Molly, coming back to Cloverville and saying what needed to be said.

“Lara’s a good girl,” Abby said, “but kids are a lot of responsibility.”

“Oh, my God. Clayton’s already gotten to her. She’s talking about responsibility.” Colleen shook her head, sending waves of satiny brown hair shimmering around her shoulders.

“Kids deserve responsible parents, that’s all.” Not selfish ones like hers had been. “They deserve stability and love. Mol, you know I love you, but if you’re having any doubts—and I think you are—you shouldn’t get married tomorrow. It’s not fair to the boys or to Josh.”

Before she’d met Josh, Abby had figured her friend had accepted his proposal out of pity because he’d been raising his sons alone since their mother abandoned them when they were babies.

Molly’s husband-to-be seemed like a nice guy—and as gorgeous as Colleen had mentioned. Abby could understand why a woman would accept his proposal. For anything.

“But most of all, honey,” Abby said, settling onto the bed and looping an arm around Molly’s shoulders, “it’s not fair to you.”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” Molly replied, her voice heavy with misery, as she laid her head on Abby’s shoulder.

Abby’s stomach tightened. Her friend was having doubts. “Until you say, ‘I do,’ it’s not too late to back out.”

“Clayton will kill me.”

Abby laughed, knowing exactly on whom he’d lay the blame for a canceled wedding. “No, he won’t. He’ll kill me.”

ABBY CRACKED OPEN THE DOOR and peered across an empty vestibule into the church. Bunches of lilies and carnations adorned each pew. Sunlight shone through stained-glass windows behind the altar, casting the entire church in a rainbow of colors.

“Is anybody here yet?” Brenna asked from the ante-room, where she sat with Lara, Colleen and the bride.

Abby ducked back as she caught sight of several early arrivals. An older lady wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a wildly flowered dress particularly caught her attention. “Mrs. Hild.”

“She’s the organist for the ceremony.”

“Great. Just great.” The older woman would probably be about as happy to see Abby as Clayton had been. Cautiously she eased the door open farther, looking toward the other end of the hall and the groom’s room. As she watched, someone stepped out—Clayton McClintock in a black tux with a pleated shirt, the white fabric crisp and complementary to his tanned skin and brown hair and eyes. A sigh slipped from between her lips. Damn.

When he turned toward her, she shut the door and shakily leaned back against the frame. She didn’t belong here. Not in this church, and most definitely not in Cloverville. Every one of the town’s busybodies would be able to nod her head in confirmation of the old claims that she was, indeed, her mother’s daughter. Sure, Abby’s parents had been married…two months after her birth. And then, in those pre-paternity test days, her father had often claimed she wasn’t really his child. Abby suspected that even her mother hadn’t known for sure.

No, Abby wasn’t her mother’s daughter. Her bad driving hadn’t been the result of drinking, as the townspeople might have thought, but of her ADD. And furthermore, Abby knew who Lara’s father was—she only wished he’d been someone else, someone who’d have wanted both her and their baby.

“You okay, Mommy?” Lara asked, sitting perfectly still while Brenna wove flowers into her hair.

Abby couldn’t sit that quietly even now. If not for the fact that Lara looked so much like her, she might well have thought they’d switched her baby with someone else’s at the hospital. The child deserved more than Abby could give her—a stable home, a loving family. All she had was Abby.

But she worked hard to give her daughter everything she needed, and to be the kind of mother her daughter deserved. She blinked to clear her eyes as she gazed at Lara. “Oh, baby, you’re just so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too, Mommy.”

Brenna whistled. “You really are. What a gorgeous bridesmaid’s dress. Someone with fabulous taste picked out these dresses.”

Abby glanced down at the strapless red satin gown. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they’re kind of tacky.”

Brenna tossed a red carnation at her.

“Hey!” Abby protested, dodging the delicate blossom. “You’re setting a bad example.”

“You’d know about that,” a male voice, deep with amusement, said from beyond the door. Clayton teasing her again?

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

“Who’s that?” Lara asked in a shy whisper. “Is it Rory?” Last night, at the Kellys’, she’d fallen a little in love with the teenager who’d quite sweetly played with her more than Josh’s rambunctious twins had been willing to. Rory, with his curly mop of hair and huge brown eyes, was hard to resist. Abby, herself, had fallen for him years ago, when he was a grinning, toothless baby. She’d helped his sisters babysit him. He had only been a couple of years older than Lara was now when Abby had left Cloverville, but it seemed to her he’d grown up so fast.

“No, it’s not Rory,” Abby told her.

“Clayton,” Colleen said, even though she was actually too far from the door to have heard his voice. She’d simply read Abby’s face instead. She sat at the vanity, touching up her makeup. Molly sat beside her sister, staring blindly into the mirror.

“You okay, Mol?” Abby asked, just as she had earlier, but this time with more than a twinge of guilt. Maybe she’d been too vocal last night, on the subject of Molly marrying a virtual stranger. One who came with two kids. If Molly had any doubts, she and the groom wouldn’t be the only ones hurt—the kids would be, too. And they didn’t deserve that. They deserved someone who would love them completely.

Going by the few dates she’d had since Lara was born, Abby knew that it wasn’t easy finding someone who could love your child as you did. Heck, she’d never been able to find anyone who could even love her. Abby. Except for her friends and Mrs. Mick.

The door rattled behind her, and Clayton spoke. “Everybody decent? Let me in.”

Abby braced her body against it. “Molly?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not even dressed yet,” Brenna said, gesturing toward a confection of white satin and lace that hung from a special hook on the wall. Molly sat at the vanity in faded jeans, a zip-up gray sweatshirt and her headpiece. “Let us help you,” she insisted.

Molly shook her head, setting ringlets atremble against her veil. “I can manage. It’s just one zipper.” She’d always been so independent, so determined. “I really need a minute alone. Can all of you step outside?”

“Molly…” Brenna protested.

“Please,” she implored them, using her expressive eyes to bring home the request to give her a little space.

Abby sighed. She’d spoken her mind, and her friend knew how she felt about this wedding. Maybe Molly needed a minute alone now to figure out how she felt about it. “Okay, gals, let’s give her a little space.” She straightened up and stepped away from the door, opening it to Clayton’s concerned gaze.

“It’s almost time,” he said, tapping a finger on his gold watch. “Molly, you aren’t even dressed.”

Abby pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, but not as she had the night before. Today, she could appreciate the ripple of muscle beneath her palms, the warmth that penetrated his crisp shirt. She swallowed hard, then said calmly but firmly, “Back off. The bride needs a minute.”

“Molly?” He spoke over Abby’s head, ignoring her words and her restraint, his voice full of concern for his sister. “Are you all right?”

While Abby respected the fact that Clayton cared for his siblings, Molly didn’t need any pressure from anyone right now. Her fingers pressed into the pleats of his shirt and she pushed once more. “Give her some space.”

His heart leapt, beating fast against her hand. He stared down at her, his voice a warning as he uttered her name. “Abby…”

She shivered, wishing her dress wasn’t strapless. His gaze skimmed over her shoulders to where the tight bodice pushed up more cleavage than she’d realized she had. His dark eyes flared.

Brenna pushed past them. “Come on, the bride wants some time alone.” She dropped her voice lower as she led Lara out. “I’m not sure what you two want.”

Neither did Clayton. Although she didn’t say anything, Colleen sent her brother an arched stare as she filed out behind Brenna and Lara. When Abby moved to pass him, he caught her by the wrist, wrapping his fingers around the delicate bones. She was so small.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, closing the door to give the bride the privacy she’d requested.

He couldn’t blame Molly. She was about to take on some major responsibilities: a husband and two boisterous young boys. He couldn’t imagine willingly putting himself in her position. But she’d made her decision, and once Molly made up her mind, she stuck to it. Unless someone who’d proven to be a bad influence in the past had managed to sway her. But Molly was at the church, about to put on her dress and about to walk down the aisle. Molly was fine, he assured himself.

Gently he tugged on Abby’s wrist, leading her into an alcove off the vestibule. “I want to apologize for last night.”