Читать книгу The Man Under The Mistletoe - Muriel Jensen - Страница 10

IN THE FRONT ROOM of her shop, surrounded by the male members of the wedding party, Rosie studied the fit of their tuxes. Though Derek and his brother had been carefully measured for them, and Matt had assured her in a fax that his measurements for the tux he wore at their wedding remained the same, she wanted to be sure there were no last-minute surprises.

Despite the animosity between them, she could appreciate how wonderful Matt looked in his tux. Not only did he have the ideal broad-shouldered and lean-hipped frame, but his rugged good looks were lent an urbane maturity she didn’t remember in him.

On the job, he’d always been rough and ready, no subject too mighty or intimidating to tackle, no detail too small to track down. At home, he’d worn old jeans and sweatshirts while he worked on the house, the lawn, the car. That was what had appealed to her about him in the beginning—he’d been an intellectual with the body of a quarterback.

Francie’s groom, Derek, on the other hand, was tall and very slender, and the tux gave a sort of polish to his thin-faced, bespectacled self. His brother, Corin, an inch shorter, more thickly built and five years married, was so cheerful and funny that he’d have looked good no matter what he wore.

“Everyone comfortable?” Rosie asked, walking around them, checking length of sleeves, leg, and smoothness across the shoulder.

“No,” Derek complained, pulling on the small bow tie at his neck. “I wanted to get married on the beach in shorts and sandals.”

“It’s December in western Massachusetts,” she reminded him, pulling his arm down to see if she could adjust the tie. “There’s no beach and there’s snow on the ground. You’d freeze to death.”

He tipped his head backward while she worked. “I was thinking in terms of Florida or Hawaii. But Francie thought getting married somewhere else might upset your mother.”

“I couldn’t have flown to Hawaii, anyway.” Corin did a turn in the three-way mirror. “I have a mortgage and pediatrician bills.” His many reflections grinned at his brother. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to get married without me.”

“True. Ah, that’s better.” Derek breathed a little easier as Rosie loosened his tie. “I’m sure this is best, all in all. I just hate the fuss, you know?”

“Women are about fuss,” Corin said as Rosie drew him forward to stand beside Derek. “You’d better just resign yourself to that now. And once you have children, there’s no going back, fusswise.”

Rosie tuned out the children remark, refusing to let her brain hold on to it, and did one last walk around the men to make sure everything was perfect. But she was aware of Matt shifting his weight, and when she walked around them to stand back and take in their appearance one last time, she noted the grim line of his jaw, his unfocused gaze.

When she stood in front of him, he refocused on her, and for one split second they looked into each other’s eyes. She saw his pain and knew that he saw hers, though she tried not to feel it. But, however unwittingly, they shared the moment.

Then Corin went on about teething and sleeplessness and the moment was gone.

“You all look very handsome,” Rosie said finally. “And contrary to what usually happens, your tuxes seem to be perfect fits. Take them with you, but please don’t let them get rumpled.”

“What time’s the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Corin asked. “Katie’s excited about a night out without the kids.”

“Seven o’clock,” Derek replied. “Yankee Inn. Same place we’re having the reception, just in a smaller room.”

“Right. Okay.”

Corin and Derek went back into two of the three dressing rooms. As Matt headed toward the third, Rosie noticed what appeared to be a small split in the seam of one of the sleeves. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. She was so into her wedding-planner mode that she forgot for a moment what touching him might do to her.

As she explored the split seam to see if it went through to the lining, she felt the hard ridge of his shoulder, the warmth through the fabric of the flesh and blood that covered it. She saw the broad expanse of his back, the wiry dark hair at his nape, the shirt’s starched, white collar pressing into his neck.

Though he didn’t move a muscle, she was suddenly aware of the tension in him. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Finally, impatient with herself, she dropped her hand from his arm and said a little sharply, “The collar looks tight. It’s cutting into your neck.”

“Formal clothes are always uncomfortable,” he replied quietly, turning to her, her change of mood noted in his eyes. “It’s not as though I’ll be in the tux that long.”

“Still, it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. I’ll have a larger one overnighted to the house from Boston. You told me your measurements hadn’t changed.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been working out a little, but all my regular clothes fit.”

“Yes, well, so many fabrics have stretch and give today that you probably wouldn’t have noticed. Just leave the tux in the dressing room so I can fix that small tear.” She paused. “Uh, do you remember where the Yankee Inn is?”

“Of course.”

“Francie will expect to see you there.”

“I’ll be there. Want me to drive?”

“I’ll be working late, so I’ll leave from here. But you can drive Mom, Aunt Ginger and Chase.”

He accepted that for the dubious honor it was. “I don’t suppose you’re going to want to dance with me once we get there.”

“No, I won’t.” She thought she sounded firm, though she was still a little unsettled by his nearness, and surprised that he’d even suggest they dance. “Please save us both the embarrassment of doing anything to make it look as though we’ve remained friends.”

“Then please don’t touch me anymore,” he said with the same firmness. “And how is it going to look to the wedding guests if we’re at war throughout the day tomorrow?”

“We won’t be at war,” she argued. “We just won’t be…in contact.”

It wasn’t until Derek cleared his throat that she realized he and his brother were standing nearby and had probably heard most of what she and Matt had said.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” Derek said quickly, doing his best to pretend they hadn’t heard anything. “Anything I can do to take some of the burden off you?”

Rosie was momentarily distracted from Matt by Derek’s sweetness. Francie was a lucky girl. “I think everything’s under control. Just hang up the tux, and be ready on time tomorrow.”

“You got it. See you tonight.” Derek and Corin left, and silence fell over the shop.

Matt eased out of the jacket and handed it to her. “I know this isn’t the time for it, but I want to sort through what happened between us and try to figure out where we lost each other.”

“There’s no going back,” she said. But she took the jacket from him and clutched it to her. He wondered if the small gesture spoke of what she truly felt but wouldn’t allow herself to say.

“I don’t want to go back,” he assured her. “Believe it or not, there’s as much pain there for me as there is for you. But if we put effort into it, maybe there’s a way ahead.”

He saw the smallest flare of hope in her eyes. Or maybe he wanted to see hope so much that what he saw was merely the reflection of his own hope.

“You left me,” she said. Her free arm closed over the one holding the jacket. She was creating the creases she’d warned against.

“You no longer wanted me,” he said, feeling a little crazy that she didn’t remember it that way. He strained for patience. “You have to stop blaming me for what was ultimately your fault. You hated me, but for what? I didn’t do anything. Unless it was just that I was still alive and our daughter and all the other men you loved were dead.”

She looked stricken but didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“It doesn’t get us anywhere to go over that old ground,” he finally added. “Let’s just agree to talk about it after the wedding.”

She met his gaze, then seemed to realize what she was doing to the jacket. She held it in front of her and shook it out in disgust. “I don’t want to,” she said finally. “Thanks for driving the family to the dinner. I have to go fix this. Excuse me.”

He’d been with her long enough to know that when argument turned to polite dismissal, there was little point in continuing. She’d frozen up, turned off. He went into the claustrophobic little room, changed into his own clothes, hung up the slacks, placed all the other accessories on the bench and left the shop.

THE REHEARSAL DINNER was an exercise in charm and good manners. The Yankee Inn had been decorated for the holidays with chunky garlands wound with lights, huge Christmas trees in the lobby and the banquet room, and festive table linens.

All the guests did their best to be amenable. Even the outspoken Aunt Ginger engaged Corin’s wife, Kate, in pleasant conversation. Sonny captivated Derek’s parents with stories about Francie and the amusing things she and her siblings had done as children.

Francie tried to listen, but Rosie seemed determined to distract her with a brochure featuring all the highlights she could expect to see on her honeymoon in Bermuda. Rosie wore a simple purple suit, her hair loose and full, the sight of it almost more than Matt could bear. She tossed it a lot, and he knew that to mean she was acting. This good cheer was all for Francie’s benefit.

The only tense moment of the evening came when Derek’s mother asked if Matt’s presence at the wedding meant they were together again.

“No,” Rosie replied politely. “Matt and Francie have always had a great affection for each other, and with our father gone, he was the logical choice to walk her down the aisle.”

Mrs. Page frowned. “Isn’t that awkward for you?”

“Not at all,” Rosie lied, then tucked her arm in his to prove her point, and walked him onto the dance floor.

He hesitated before taking her into his arms. “I thought you didn’t want to dance with me.”

She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. “I don’t, but I didn’t know where else to take you. I want everything to be perfect for Francie.”

“So you keep saying, but what about how things should be for you?”

She seemed surprised that he’d asked such a question. He had to forestall what he was sure would be her response.

“If you say, why should I care because I left you,” he warned, “I swear I’ll kiss you senseless right here in front of God and everybody.”

She took his hand and forced him into a dance attitude. “Then I’d say dancing is the lesser of two evils.”

Taking her into his arms was so easy. Her hand on the shoulder of his sports jacket, her fragrant hair skimming his nose, her slender body in his arms. Everything was dearly familiar.

Painful as hell, but dearly familiar.

She did, however, hold herself rather stiffly tonight, when she used to lean into him trustingly, comfortably. She’d always been warm and invitingly physical, even in a crowd, touching him, bumping against him, whispering things to him, her lips and her cheek touching his. He wanted that back with a desperation he struggled not to show.

But he’d been the one to admit there was no going back. They couldn’t recapture even the best parts of the old days. They had to find a new way to connect, another method of communication.

He splayed his left hand between her shoulder blades and applied enough pressure to bring their bodies into contact.

“Matthew…” she warned under her breath.

“Relax, Roseanne. It’s just a dance. That’s all life is. That’s all love is.”

“I’m not…” She tried to wedge some distance between them, but he thought the effort a little halfhearted, so he held on to her.

He lowered his head until his cheek rested against the side of her temple. “You’re still a warm and vital woman. The three most important people in your life may have died, but you didn’t. Just let yourself be alive for the space of this dance.”

“I…don’t want to dance,” she complained, but she’d stopped pulling away.

“You led me to the dance floor,” he reminded her.

She said in a breathless whisper, “There was nowhere else to go.”

He held her closer. “That’s right. Until the music stops, just pretend you belong right here.”

To his amazement, she did. “Embraceable You” played on, mellow and torchy, and when it was finally over, she drew out of his arms with seeming reluctance. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and all he knew for sure was that she considered him responsible for those tears. That was fine with him, he thought, watching her hurry off the dance floor toward the ladies’ room. He’d become familiar with assuming the blame.

FRANCIE AND DEREK’S wedding was as perfectly organized and executed as any major military or political event Matt had ever covered as a journalist. He knew it was a testament to Rosie’s expertise that every detail was perfect, right down to the red ornament at every place setting. FRANCIE AND DEREK and the date, had been hand-printed on it in gold leaf.

Matt overheard several women at a table behind where he sat with Chase speculate over why it was, when Rosie could probably be an event planner in Hollywood if she wanted to, that she felt tied to Maple Hill.

“She lost everything here,” one of them said. “Her brother, her father, her baby, her marriage. And contrary to popular opinion, you don’t run when that happens, you stay and spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what went wrong.”

“I think she stays because her mother needs her,” another guessed. “Sonny Erickson comes on like she knows and understands everything, but I’ll bet she’s hollow inside since the tragedies. If it wasn’t for Rosie, she’d fall apart.”

“I think she’ll leave now that her sister’s moving away next year.” That came from a younger voice. “Francie’s brilliant, but a little wild. Rosie’s been a steadying influence.”

“Rosie was just waiting for Matt to come and take her away,” a fourth voice said with authority. “She never stopped loving him. Have you seen how she watches him now? There’s greed in her eyes! I’ll lay you odds—”

“Shh!” One of the other women, probably recognizing the back of his head, stopped her abruptly. Matt heard mad whispering, a giggle, a groan of regret. Ordinarily he might have been annoyed at being the object of gossip, but he was happy to hear that last opinion.

“Aunt Francie looks beautiful!” Chase said, scarfing down his third piece of cake with ice cream. “Even with her blue hair.”

“Yes, she does.”

“And so does Aunt Rosie.”

She certainly did. The raspberry-colored dress clinging to her breasts and waist, and yards and yards of filmy stuff flying out around her, lent color to her complexion and drama to her very presence. Everything was going so well that she’d stopped being the wedding planner and reverted to her role as maid of honor.

He had a sudden flash of memory of when she’d been the bride and the sparkle in her eyes had been all for him. That had been an eternity ago.

“Hey, handsome.” Sara Ross, Rosie’s old high-school friend, sat down between Matt and Chase, looking very glamorous in a plum-colored suit and a broad-brimmed hat in the same color. She patted Chase’s hand. “Or should I say, you two handsome men?” Chase preened. “You guys look so cool,” she went on. “And I hear you’re on your way to China with a hefty advance in your bank account, Matt.”

Matt reached for the carafe in the middle of the table to pour coffee into her cup. He remembered her as a smart but plain young woman, not at all the curvaceous beauty she was today. He didn’t even remember that she’d been blond. He had to stop himself from staring. “I am,” he replied finally. “And what have you been up to? Whatever it is, it agrees with you.”

“I’m working for a law firm here,” she replied, placing a pink linen napkin on her lap. “And I’m going back to school next term to get a law degree.”

“I’m impressed.” As he recalled, she’d worked for the city, the hospital, and clerked in several stores. She’d even done a stint in the army, though there was nothing remotely military about her appearance. “Ambition is very appealing in a woman.”

Her cocoa-brown eyes widened.

“To whom, exactly?” She heaved a big sigh as she picked up her fork. “I had a life of domestic bliss planned,” she said in a jocular tone, “but that doesn’t seem to be working out, so I’m making new plans. Smarts and money are my focus now.” She winked at him and picked up her fork. “Well, tell me what you’ve been up to. If Rosie knows, she isn’t talking.”

They spent half an hour catching up, then Corin and his wife joined them, and by the time they noticed that the crowd was thinning and Francie and Derek were ready to leave for their honeymoon, it was midafternoon.

Everyone collected coats and gathered outside where Francie threw her bouquet. It was caught, ironically, by Sara. The small crowd pressed the bride and groom toward a waiting limousine, but Francie broke free to throw her arms around Matt’s neck. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Her smile was blinding. Then she grew serious and said for his ears only, “Make this work, Matthew. Get her back.” Then she kissed him noisily on the cheek and got into the car.

They drove off to cheers and applause and birdseed thrown after them. Matt looked for Rosie, but she’d avoided him all day.

“You think I could have one more piece of cake?” Chase asked him, following him back inside.

“No.” He did head for the buffet table. “Did you have anything at all substantial today? Ham? Cheese? Deviled eggs?”

Chase made a face. “I thought there’d be hamburgers or hot wings.”

“It’s a wedding. They have classier stuff.” He studied the array of food. “How about some vegetables and dip?”

“How about more cake?”

“No.”

Chase looked betrayed. “You sound like Aunt Rosie.”

“That’s because we love you and want you to be healthy.”

Matt finally talked Chase into eating a spring roll by telling him it came with hot sauce. Chase felt honor-bound to try it.

By the time he’d finished two of them and a few carrot sticks, the Yankee Inn’s banquet hall was empty of guests and the waitstaff was beginning to clean up.

Sonny appeared, changed out of her elegant pink suit and wearing casual slacks and a faux fur-trimmed black parka. She was still very chic. As Matt stood, she wrapped him in a fragrant embrace.

“A cab’s picking up Ginger and me to take us to the airport. You’ll be long gone when I return, so I just wanted you to know how good it was to see you again and…” Her smile seemed to falter and that deep sadness he’d often seen in her came to the fore. “And…how much I wish things had turned out differently for you and Rosie.”

“So do I.” He returned her hug. “I haven’t given up yet, though she’s not doing much to inspire hope.”

“I think you should kidnap her,” she said, “and take her to China.”

“I’ll give that some thought.”

Ginger shouted from the doorway that the cab had arrived. Rosie, still wearing the raspberry gown, had pulled her coat on over her shoulders and hurried toward them from the other direction. She and Matt and Chase followed Sonny and Ginger to the cab.

It was almost four and the sun was already low on the horizon. Snow-covered rooftops and church steeples were pink in its glow.

There were hugs all around.

“Do think about what I said,” Sonny murmured to Matt as she followed her sister into the cab. She held the door open when the cabbie would have closed it. “I’ll be home the night before the community Christmas dinner,” she shouted at Rosie. “If anybody needs me for anything, you can give them Aunt Sukie’s number. You know Carol Walford. Everything’s a crisis!”

“Okay, Mom. Don’t worry.”

“What’s that all about?” Matt asked.

“Mom’s giving the welcoming speech at the Revolutionary Dames’ annual Christmas dinner on the tenth. Carol Walford is the chair, and Mom swears she wears starched underwear. You can imagine how stiff she is if Mom thinks she is.” The cabbie closed the door. “I heard her tell you to think about something. What was that?”

“She wants Uncle Matt to kidnap you and take you to China,” Chase reported, looking from one to the other.

Rosie gasped indignantly.

Matt brought his fist down playfully on top of Chase’s head.

He should have let him have another piece of cake, then he’d have been too engrossed in it to overhear their conversation. “Just a little joke, Rosie,” he said placatingly.

Rosie turned to wave as the cab drove away with the snick of tire chains in the rutted snow. Quiet settled over the parking lot, now empty of cars. The staff still inside were parked in the employee lot in back.

“Like carting me off somewhere would solve anything,” she said while she continued to wave. “You and I just aren’t…”

Matt heard only part of her assurance that nothing in the world could bridge the chasm between them. His attention was caught by the glint of a slanting ray of setting sun on metal or glass. It had an eerie familiarity. He’d been a soldier during Desert Storm, and he’d covered a year of battles in Yugoslavia before he decided that he missed home too much and gave up being a foreign correspondent.

His brain processed what he saw more quickly than it reeled out the accompanying thoughts. He’d already pushed Chase to the ground when a bullet smashed into the ground between him and Rosie.

Rosie turned at the strange sound, and Matt lunged toward her to knock her to the ground as a second shot rang out.

Something slammed into his upper arm, burning like a branding iron, and knocked him to his knees.

He heard Rosie scream, saw her white and horrified face as she knelt beside him, and thought with perverse satisfaction that he finally had her attention.