Читать книгу Never Too Late for Love - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

Chapter One

Like a hot summer wind rolling across the desert in August, Margo McCloud burst through the doors of St. Michael’s Church in Bedford. The sound of the cab pulling away from the entrance faded into the background as she struggled to juggle a suitcase in one hand, a garment bag with her newly purchased gown in the other.

“Damn traffic,” she muttered under her breath, swallowing the more vehement sentiments occurring to her in deference to where she was. She hated arriving anywhere late, even if it wasn’t her fault. A big rig, suffering a blowout, had overturned on the freeway, transforming a forty-mile trip from the LA airport into a three-hour ordeal. On top of that, she was still suffering from jet lag. Her point of departure had been Athens, Greece.

This definitely wasn’t her finest moment, or her steadiest, especially when she collided with the six-foot-four-inch frame of a man who’d chosen that exact moment to stand on the other side of the door. The resulting impact would have sent her sprawling to the floor if, at the last moment, two very large, very capable arms hadn’t closed around Margo, catching her.

Focusing, Margo drew back some of the air that had just been knocked out of her.

The stranger raised his dark brown brows in amused surprise and smiled.

“Margo?”

It didn’t really surprise Margo that the man who had just collided with her knew her name, even though she didn’t have a clue who he was. She’d met a world of people in her time. She was bound to forget a few now and then.

Though, she amended as she straightened, slowly leaving the protective hold of the man’s arms, it wasn’t likely that she would have forgotten him very easily. The man was nothing short of gorgeous, in a warrior-hunter sort of way. If warrior-hunters were given to wearing tuxedos.

Where had he ever found one to accommodate such broad shoulders?

“Yes, I’m Margo.” And then a sliver of concern slipped through. Had she gotten her time confused on top of everything else? Distress crept into her voice. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”

Bruce Reed was immediately struck by the energy that swirled around the woman. Must run in the family. Looks certainly did. He could easily see the resemblance to her daughter. It was there, around the eyes and the mouth. And, of course, there was the hair color. Both women had hair the color of wheat in the bright morning sun. Melanie wore hers long, while this woman’s hair was done up, showing off a very delicate neck that contrasted quite nicely with her very strong chin.

The sign of a fighter, Bruce thought.

Mother and daughter, eh? He wondered if this was what his son was going to be up against in another fifteen years or so. At least the view was nice.

“No, you didn’t miss it,” he assured her.

With a nod of his head, Bruce indicated the double wooden doors leading to the inside of the church. The last time he’d looked, it was crammed full of people, including his very nervous son, all of whom were waiting on Margo’s arrival.

“Melanie insisted that they delay the wedding. She refuses to get married without you. I’m the lookout.” Aptly named, he decided, because the line, “Look out, here she comes,” occurred to him as soon as he set eyes on Melanie’s mother.

His eyes slid down the slender, athletic frame. There, too, the women resembled each other. Small-boned, well proportioned. He couldn’t help wondering if he was being out of step with the times, noticing that. Probably. He’d lost track of what was acceptable behavior and terminology between men and women these past fourteen years.

“This way, please.” He took her arm, relieving her of her suitcase. “Melanie’s quite a girl, um, I mean woman,” he corrected himself.

“She’s both,” Margo said, laughing softly. “Most of our species are.”

Since he didn’t know her, Bruce thought it safer not to comment. Instead, he led her to a side room where Melanie was waiting. Knocking once, he tried the doorknob. It gave easily.

The tiny room required the occupancy of only two people to be crowded, and it already had that. Three almost stretched it beyond the legal limit. To keep from being smothered by a combination of satin, lace and the press of three female bodies, Bruce Reed chose to stand outside the threshold.

He smiled broadly at the young woman he’d known for a very short time and had come to love like the daughter he’d never been blessed with.

“Melanie, I think I have something that belongs to you.”

“Mama!” Whirling around from the mirror, Melanie McCloud exhaled as dramatically as any of the overtrained actresses she’d watched while growing up on various movie soundstages. “I knew you’d make it.”

Though it wasn’t easy, she managed to throw her arms around her mother. The garment bag fell, landing on the edge of Melanie’s gown. Melanie wasn’t given to worrying, but as the last few hours had ticked away, she had begun to fear that her mother wouldn’t arrive in time for the wedding.

Margo blinked back what felt like a tear. Now? She hadn’t cried in years. Years. Now was a ridiculous time to begin. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Knowing there was little time, Margo still allowed herself a moment to absorb the embrace.

“Of course I made it. It’s not every day that my girl gets married.” Releasing Melanie, she stepped back to get a good look at her. When had she turned into this beautiful young woman, this little girl who had looked up at her with worshipful eyes? “I’d’ve come a lot sooner if someone had thought to either stop pumping people into Orange County or build enough roads to accommodate them.”

The rest of the diatribe on her lips evaporated as the sun suddenly shone full force through the bit of colored beveled glass that served as a tiny window. The rays of light seemed to form a spotlight, with Melanie as its target.

Margo’s breath was stolen away. “Oh, God, let me look at you.”

Her mother was finally here. Everything was perfect now, Melanie thought.

Pleased, she tried to hold out the wedding gown’s skirt for her mother’s perusal. It wasn’t easy. Joyce Freeman, her maid of honor, attempted to make her five-seven frame as small as possible as she pressed against the wall to give Melanie more room.

“It’s a beautiful dress, isn’t it?” The moment she’d seen it, Melanie had known she had to have it, had to wear it as she pledged her heart and her eternal love to Lance. That it fit like a dream was merely a bonus.

“The dress is pretty, you are beautiful,” the deep voice behind Margo corrected.

She’d almost forgotten about him, Margo thought, looking over her shoulder at her escort. “I think I’m going to like this man.” She drew her brows together as she realized that she hadn’t asked his name. She was slipping. “Who are you?”

Extending his hand to her, he shook it. Margo’s hand was swallowed up in his. For just the tiniest second, she had the overwhelming feeling of well-being. Had to be the occasion, she thought.

“I’m Bruce Reed,” he told her. When no immediate recognition surfaced in the flawless face before him, he added, “The groom’s father.”

“Oh.” Figured, the best ones were always taken. Nonetheless, she radiated a smile at him. “Nice to meet you.”

When Joyce caught Melanie’s eye and tapped her watch, butterflies were instantly back on the runway in takeoff position. “I hate to break this up,” Melanie said, drawing her mother around to face her, “but I’ve got a wedding waiting to start.” She glanced at the garment bag that was still on the floor. “Mama, are you going to change into something else, or are you just planning to take that garment bag with you to the pew?”

Margo laughed, brushing her lips against Melanie’s cheek. “Always had a smart mouth, didn’t you, pet?”

Melanie’s eyes crinkled in response. “Matches the rest of me.”

Lips pursed thoughtfully, Bruce shook his head. “I’d say it’s a little too crowded in here to change. Maybe you’d like to use the rest room?”

Margo waved away his suggestion, narrowly avoiding hitting Joyce. “Don’t worry about me. I can manage just fine anywhere.”

The limited space presented no challenge to her. There had been a time—a very short time, mercifully—right after Melanie had been born, when she’d shared a tiny Las Vegas dressing room with thirty other women. She’d learned how to change quickly, with a minimum of movement.

With a smile, Margo shut the door in his face and then turned around.

“If the groom looks anything like his father,” she said to Melanie, quickly stripping off her jacket and shirt, “you have found yourself one devil of a good-looking man, sweetheart. I compliment you on your taste.”

Melanie found it impossible to think of Lance without a wave of happiness rippling through her. “There’s a resemblance.”

Shedding her skirt in one fluid motion, Margo wiggled into her dress of soft, shimmering blue, chosen to bring out her eyes as well as the figure she was proud of. “How old is he, anyway?”

Glancing one last time in the mirror, Melanie adjusted the braided gold chain around her neck. A wedding present from Lance. “Lance is thirty.”

Margo deftly slipped into the pumps she’d packed in the bottom of the garment bag. “Not him, his father.” She turned her back to Joyce. “Joy, do the honors, will you?”

From her cramped position behind the full-length mirror, Joyce reached out and managed to zip Margo’s dress up for her. The whole incident, so typically Margo, made her smile. Joyce had grown up living next door to Melanie, her mother and her great-aunt, Elaine. There wasn’t a day during that time that she hadn’t envied her best friend. Bohemian, unorthodox Margo McCloud had seemed so vital, so dynamic, a box of endless surprises, while her own parents had seemed so mundane and humdrum in comparison.

The fondness had never abated, even after she had become a grown woman.

“Bruce?” Melanie asked in surprise. She paused, thinking. “I don’t know.”

Glancing in the mirror to make certain everything was in place, Margo retreated, satisfied with her appearance. “He looks more like an older brother than the father of a thirty-year-old man.”

Was that a glimmer of interest she saw in her mother’s eye? Probably, Melanie decided. There wasn’t a man alive Margo McCloud didn’t like for one reason or another. The feeling was always returned. Margo made it clear that she enjoyed men’s company, enjoyed getting to know them. Not a one of them ever left a relationship with her without becoming a lifelong friend.

She wondered if her mother was just being curious or if there was more to it. “His father was married at a very young age. He and Lance’s mother were very much in love. Nature took its course, and Lance’s imminent appearance kind of hurried along marriage plans.”

She could relate to that, Margo thought. Except that in her case, the result had most definitely not been marriage. Melanie’s father had performed his first and last magic trick by making himself disappear out of her life when he learned about her pending appearance.

His loss, Margo thought, looking at her daughter.

“Very romantic. A pity.” She stepped out of the room. “There, I’m ready.” She turned around quickly for Melanie’s inspection. “Fast enough for you?”

“Yes, thank you.” Melanie took her mother’s arm and started to walk toward the entrance. She saw Joyce signal someone inside. Music began being played in earnest. “What do you mean, it’s a pity?”

Margo shrugged carelessly. “That Bruce is married.”

Melanie stopped just shy of the double doors. “Oh, but he’s not. He’s a widower. His wife died in a plane crash years ago.”

That put a completely different light on the matter. So good-looking, and free, too. “Hmm.”

Melanie didn’t know whether to be pleased or ever so slightly concerned. “I know that look.” A well-timed warning might be in order. “I think Dad’s a wee bit too conservative for you.”

The word stopped Margo in her tracks. She stared at Melanie. “Dad?”

It was Melanie’s turn to shrug. She’d felt a little awkward about it in the beginning, although secretly it had pleased her.

“Bruce wants me to call him that. I’m trying it on for size.” She couldn’t help the smile that came. “I have to admit it’s nice having someone to call Dad.” She’d never had the opportunity to before. There was a time that had bothered her. Perhaps, in a small way, it still did, just a little.

A pang squeezed Margo’s heart. “I know it is, baby.” It hadn’t been easy for her daughter, Margo thought in sympathy, never having had a father to turn to. That had been her fault, though no one had been more surprised than she when Jack had walked out on her. Still she should have known that someone like Jack would never have wanted to be tied down, never have wanted to have a wife, much less a family.

She’d tried her best to make up for it. Maybe she hadn’t succeeded as well as she’d thought.

“Hey,” Melanie chided. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d been able to read her mother the way no one else could. “Don’t look like that. I’m just saying that it’s nice, after all these years, to have a father, even if I am sharing him” She gave her mother a quick hug. “But I never had to share you with anyone for long, and you were the very best part of my life.”

Carefully, because she suddenly needed something to do with her hands, Margo adjusted Melanie’s veil about her face. “And you were the best part of mine, baby. The best part of me.” The music took on a louder tempo.

Joyce popped her head out into the hall, wondering what was keeping them. “I think the natives are getting restless.”

“One second.” Without looking in Joyce’s direction, Margo held up a single finger. “I would have had more time if the cabdriver had driven the way they do in the movies.” A sense of urgency struck Margo, and she took Melanie’s hands in hers. A kaleidoscope of memories suddenly flipped over in her mind forming a collage of colors and events, sounds and smells. She loved Melanie more than anyone or anything in this world. Her daughter’s happiness was of supreme importance to her. “Do you love him, honey?”

Was that all she wanted to know? The answer was easy. “So much, it hurts.”

Margo’s eyes held Melanie’s. “And does he love you?” Before her daughter could answer, Margo upbraided herself for letting her career get in the way of what was the most important part of her world. “Oh, I wish I’d had time to come sooner, look him over...” Her voice trailed off.

Melanie shook her head, negating the small surge of guilt. She knew her mother couldn’t just pick up and leave for a weekend visit. For the last year, she’d been in Greece, hardly a hop, skip and a jump from California. “There’s nothing to look over, Mother. He’s terrific. And yes, he loves me.”

“Then that’s all that counts.” She kissed Melanie’s cheek. “Because if he gives you one bad moment, I’m going to have to kill him, you know.”

A smile twitched Melanie’s lips. “That should keep him in line nicely.” The Wedding March had already begun. Melanie took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Surprisingly, it worked. “Well, they’re playing our song.”

“No, only yours, baby. They’ll never play that song for me.”

Margo had resigned herself to that a very long time ago. Marriage had no place in her world. It was better to just go through life expecting little, enjoying whatever there was for however long it lasted. And when some relationship continued, in her estimation, for too long a time, she was the one who tactfully ended it. Before someone ended it for her.

The doors were pushed opened. Music swelled all around them. Holding tightly to the arm wrapped around hers, Margo began to slowly walk down the aisle with her daughter. As with most of her life, this was a break with tradition. Margo was infinitely pleased that Melanie had asked her to give her away; rather than choosing to walk down the aisle alone or having some older man she knew accompany her.

If Melanie had ever belonged to anyone, she’d belonged to her. And now she was going to belong to someone else. And he to her.

Margo could feel her heart swelling with each step she took. She had raised Melanie as best she could, loving every moment of that time. But it had been too short, she thought. Much too short.

“You all right, Mama?” Melanie whispered, inclining her head toward Margo.

Margo nodded. “Fine,” she whispered back, “just fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even herself, she thought, annoyed at her own lack of control. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and here I am, being so hopelessly traditional I could just scream.”

Taking a deep breath, Margo tried to stem the flow that was trickling from the corners of her eyes. After a few seconds, she succeeded. With all her heart she wished she had someone to share this moment with. But for all the friends she had garnered, all the men she felt affection for and who returned the feeling, there was no one for this special moment. No one who had been there from the beginning, to watch a frightened young girl become a mother and somehow manage not to mess up the life of the tiny miracle she’d been entrusted with.

The only person who’d been there, whom she could have shared this with, was gone. Margo thought of Elaine, the woman who had come to her aid, who’d taken her out of a tiny, one-room apartment and a dead-end job as a chorus girl in Las Vegas and brought her into her home and her heart. It was because of Elaine that she had been able to blossom, to be who and what she was today.

“Your aunt Elaine would have loved seeing you like this.”

Melanie smiled fondly. Aunt Elaine had been gone almost three years now. The void she left behind would never be filled. But loving Lance had helped a great deal. “I know, Mama, I know.”

She didn’t want to be maudlin at a time like this. Margo’s eyes fixed on the young man standing on the priest’s left. “So that’s him, eh?”

Melanie’s smile lit up her whole body. “Yes, that’s him.”

“Very nice.” Almost there, Margo’s eyes strayed to the groom’s side of the church. Bruce was in the front row, on the aisle. “The early edition is every bit as handsome as the later one.” She gave Melanie’s arm a little squeeze. “You two’ll make beautiful music and equally beautiful children.”

They had come to the front of the church. With a tinge of reluctance that caught her completely off guard, Margo handed her daughter over to a man with kind eyes, then stepped back.

“I see you’re not dancing.”

Bruce caught the scent of sexy perfume that accompanied the voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. For the second time that day, Bruce was surprised by the same woman.

He looked up to see Margo standing just to his left The remark was based on the fact that he was sitting alone at a table for eight. Everyone else was on the floor, dancing to the orchestra music.

He shrugged as he felt the hand slide from his shoulder. “I don’t really like to dance.”

She knew there were men who truly loathed to dance, but there was something in his voice that had Margo not quite buying Bruce’s excuse.

She moved to stand in front of him to get a clearer view of his face. “Don’t like to dance or don’t know how to dance?”

One quick glance told her what she wanted to know. She took his hand in hers, struck by the understated power she felt. She’d always had a fondness for strong men.

“Just as I thought. Come on, let me show you.” She was already urging him to his feet. “It’s all in the hips, really.” To prove it, she placed one of his hands on her hip and moved slowly.

Bruce felt something tighten in his gut even as he found himself being charmed. “What is?” he asked belatedly.

“Rhythm,” Margo said, still demonstrating. Gently, as if she were coaxing a fawn out on the ice, she got him to the dance floor. “Let it take you over. Don’t think of it as dancing, think of it as moving with the rhythm.” Locking her hand with his, she was ready with the first lesson.

When he looked down he saw that her dress seemed to cling to her body like a second skin. The smile on her lips was inviting as her body sealed itself to his. Then she said, “You look like the kind of man who knows just how to move with rhythm.” Before he could protest again, Bruce found himself on the floor with Margo, surrounded by other couples. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he hated feeling like a fool.

She read the reluctance in his eyes, and felt it in his body. He was afraid of being embarrassed. She’d lost the fear of being embarrassed herself years ago. “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend you’re leading.”

Her assurance struck him as particularly baseless. “How can I pretend that I’m leading when I don’t know what I’m doing?”

The same smile he’d seen on Melanie lit up Margo’s eyes. “Simple. Presidents do it all the time.”

She winked at him, a lightning-fast flutter of dark brown lashes that had a far greater effect on him than he thought it should. In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he issued her a warning he thought was only fair. “I’m going to step all over your feet.”

Oh no, she thought, he wasn’t going to get out of having fun that easily.

“My feet can look out for themselves.” She jiggled his arm slightly. “Loosen up, Bruce. Just let yourself have a good time.”

He thought he was having a good time. “Loosen up?” he echoed. “I wasn’t aware that I was ‘tight.”’

She looked up into his eyes, wondering if she was making him tense, or if he was just that way in general.

“Oh yes, there’s tension all through your shoulders.” She brushed her hand lightly across one to make her point. “And judging from the distance from one end to the other, that’s a lot of tension.”

He took her hand into his, more to immobilize it than to conform to any proper dance position. “I’m out of practice on more than one score.” He saw the merriment in her eyes and cocked his head, forgetting to feel like a fish out of water. “Are you flirting with me?”

Amusement danced along cheekbones that a sculptor would have wept over with joy. “If you have to ask, I’m the one out of practice.” She relaxed, finding something utterly comforting about being with this man. For the moment she allowed herself to sink into the sensation. “But yes, I’m flirting with you.”

They hardly knew each other, he thought. “Why?”

She raised and lowered her slim shoulders. “Why does a woman usually flirt?” He underestimated himself about the dancing, she thought. He was dancing very nicely.

The smile on his lips was self-deprecating. “I said I was out of practice.”

Margo enumerated the reasons for him. “A woman flirts with a man to be complimented. Or because she’s with a good-looking man and would like his attention. She flirts because it feels good. Or to be friendly because that’s her way.”

They danced by Lance and Melanie. Margo felt a slight tug on her heart. She’d encouraged Melanie to be independent since she’d taken her first step, but she’d never seen how well the lesson had been learned until this moment. Melanie was all grown-up and on her own.

“Or maybe,” Margo said quietly, watching the younger couple dance, “because her only daughter’s just gotten married and she’s feeling a little world-weary, a little lost.”

Bruce waited until the pause drew itself out into silence. “Is this where I’m supposed to choose one of the above?”

Rousing herself, Margo smiled as she nodded. “Yes, this would be the logical place.”

“The last one?” He thought it was a safe guess.

She’d opened up a little more of herself than she’d meant and now retreated. Light laughter filled the air. “Wrong. To be friendly.” she told him. Purposely Margo maneuvered Bruce so that her back was to her daughter. Getting misty twice in one day was twice too many. “I like people, Bruce. I like them to like me. With men, that means a little flirting.”

Across the floor Melanie watched their progress with amusement and a touch of concern. She liked Bruce. Liked him a great deal. A man like that was completely unarmed when it came to someone like her mother. Unarmed and unprepared.

She raised her eyes to her new husband. “My mother is dancing with your father. Think I should warn him about her?”

Lance would have hated to admit it at one time, but he and his father were a lot alike. Or had been, until Melanie had entered his life. His father deserved a chance at mining that kind of treasure.

Lance shook his head. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

The compliment warmed her, but it didn’t dispel her concern. That was just the problem. At bottom, her mother wasn’t like her.

Melanie bit her lower lip as she watched the pair move in slow circles on one tiny section of the dance floor. Go easy on him, Mama.