Читать книгу The Case Of The Vainshed Groom - Sheryl Lynn - Страница 8

Brad picked up Galena’s purse. He was dying for a smoke, but his fiancée was such a puritan she’d faint if he lit up in her presence, or even if she smelled it on him. If he recalled correctly, Galena smoked like a chimney.

“Hey!” Galena shouted, grabbing her purse out of his hands.

But not before Brad saw the unmistakable gleam of a firearm. He jumped and drew up his hands to protect his chest He stared wide-eyed at her. “Is that a gun? Are you nuts?”

She pulled a blue steel.32 automatic from her purse. She glared steadily at him. “I must be, for trusting you.”

He flopped onto a cheap chair, hating this sleazy motel room, and hating Galena. But if she got a whiff that he had a penny of his own, she’d go straight to Dawn and ruin everything. He watched her pace like a tigress, caressing the gun barrel as if it were a pet.

“I’m pretty good with this thing. I’ve changed a lot in five years, Brad—”

“Quentin,” he corrected. “My name is Quentin Bayliss. I told you, the Witness Protection Program insists that I stay in character all the time.” She stopped in the middle of the room and hung her head. Her shoulders shook. It took him a few seconds to realize she was laughing. He softened his tone. “I know what I did was wrong, baby. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice, but those mobsters were out to kill me. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anybody, or ever will. I still love you. If I could turn back the clock, I would.”

Her head snapped up. “Liar!”

“I don’t blame you for not believing me. If you’d run out on me, I’d have been—”

“Run out on you? You ruined me, Brad! I lost the gallery, I lost my house. I lost everything because of you.” She extended her right hand, and sighted down the barrel of the pistol, aiming it straight at his head. “Five years, baby. Five long years and the only thing I’ve done is hunt for you. If you don’t give me back my money, I will kill you.”

He huffed a heavy sigh. When he’d married her, she’d been a flaky artist, an appealing eccentric who always wore black and drank only Dom Perignon. Now she was just plain flaky, and obsessed—and dangerous. The only way to shake her off his tail would be to give up Dawn and her millions, but that he refused to do. “Look, Dawn promised to give me the money.”.

“Sure.”

“She thinks it’s a business debt, and she’s agreed to pay. A hundred and fifty grand, a cashier’s check. She promised to give it to me as soon as we’re married, but she won’t give it to me until we’re legal. Ten days, baby. Just hang on until the wedding. Then we’ll be square.”

“You better not be lying. Because you can’t hide from me anymore. No matter where you go, no matter what lies you tell, I will find you.” She lowered the pistol. “And if I have to find you again, you won’t have time to open your big mouth. I’ll put a couple of holes in your head and then we’ll really be square.”

“You won’t need money if you’re in prison,” he grumbled.

“I won’t care, as long as you’re dead.”

WONDERING WF she made the biggest mistake of her life, Dawn Lovell entered the lobby.

From the outside, the main lodge of Elk River resort looked rustic. Constructed of logs and stone, the lodge seemed to sprout from the rocky forest along with the towering pine trees.

Inside, Dawn gazed in wonder at the exposed beams high above the lobby and the posts sporting antlers and Old West memorabilia. As a native of Colorado, Dawn knew about Southwestern style. Only in theory, though, or from what she’d seen in magazines. Mother had not approved of “rustic charm.”

With guilty pleasure, Dawn approved heartily of the decor. She liked the brightly colored rugs on the pine floor and the squat furniture covered in geometricpatterned upholstery. Knotty-pine wall paneling had aged to a golden patina. Western art depicting cowboys, Native Americans, North American wildlife and sweeping landscapes enchanted her with earthy colors and lively subjects.

She twisted her engagement ring around her finger and wished Quentin had agreed to join her for this prewedding vacation.

A young woman behind the reception desk smiled curiously at Dawn. Another young woman carried a tray of drinks across the lobby to a man and woman seated before a window. A catch gripped Dawn’s throat as she stared at the pair. She hoped once she and Quentin were married, he’d settle down enough so they’d make a happy-looking couple. As much as she loved him, his hyperactivity distressed her.

“Dawn Lovell?”

The warm masculine voice startled Dawn. She caught her pocketbook in both hands. Turning her head slowly she stared into a pair of bright gray eyes.

Beautiful eyes sparkling to match a sunny smile. Dawn forgot her nervousness about being in a strange place. Forgot her loneliness. Forgot the curious looks of the girl behind the reception desk and the happy couple enjoying the panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains.

Deep in the secret place where she allowed her spirit freedom, she heard the crystalline whispering of bells.

The man lifted one thick eyebrow and his smile softened, turning crooked. “Are you Dawn Lovell?” he asked, but hesitantly, his voice lower.

Snapping back to herself, she lowered her gaze. She noted the man’s light gray trousers were of expensive fabric and cut, breaking perfectly over his shiny black loafers. “Uh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Miss Lovell.”

“Ross Duke.” He thrust out a hand.

Ross Duke, Quentin’s best friend since high school and the owner of this mountain resort. Quentin had assured her Ross would see to her every comfort this week, but he hadn’t told her his friend was so attractive. Or how the sunshine filtering through the windows appeared to dance against his chestnut hair.

Keeping his hand out, Ross said, “Quent didn’t describe you very well.”

She clutched her pocketbook more tightly. With eyes blinded by love, Quentin had most likely described her as an angel gracing the earth. Now Ross saw firsthand she was nothing special at all. By sheer force of will, she made her fingers release her pocketbook, leaving it to hang by the shoulder strap. She surreptitiously swiped her palm against her skirt before extending her hand for a proper handshake.

Ross touched her fingertips. Electric chills tickled her skin. He slid his hand across her palm and folded his fingers over the side of her thumb. While she puzzled over his unusual hold, he bent at the waist, lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of her hand.

The chills raced up her arm all the way to her shoulder. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her face warmed. She opened her mouth to protest, but a sigh emerged.

“Quent never said you were so pretty.”

Drowning in the smooth river of his voice, she stared helplessly at his handsome face.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Dawn. Where’s your luggage?”

Pretty? This man with movie-star good looks called her pretty?

He glanced at the wide doors where a young man wearing a white Western-style shirt and black trousers pushed a cart into the lobby. The sight of her dark brown luggage brought Dawn back to her earth.

Of course Ross Duke was charming. He had a resort to run and his job required flattering the guests. “There’s my luggage,” she said. “I’m about to check in. It’s—it’s—it’s kind of you to greet me.” Suddenly feeling conspicuous and out of place, she looked about. “This is the first time I’ve ever taken a vacation without my parents. Mother was very good at arranging the details.”

Ross cocked his head and gave her a curious look.

She mentally replayed her words. What a silly thing to say. At thirty years old, she was capable of arranging her own vacation plans.

“I prefer big pictures to details myself.” Ross grasped her elbow. “Here’s the desk.” He guided her across the lobby and presented her to the clerk. “Miss Dawn Lovell, sweetheart. She goes first-class all the way.”

The young woman, whose name tag read Kara, rolled her eyes and gave Ross a tense, admonishing smile. The rude expression vanished before she turned her attention on Dawn. Dawn noticed, however, and it made her uneasy. In her book, the boss shouldn’t call employees “sweetheart” and hired help shouldn’t make disrespectful faces at the boss.

After accepting Dawn’s credit card, Kara typed deftly into a computer. “Welcome to Elk River, Miss Lovell. All of us are looking forward to your wedding.” She placed the credit card, a room key, brochure packet and a maroon folder on the counter, then tapped the folder with a fingernail. “Mom made the arrangements for you. It’s all in here. I’m sure she’ll want to speak to you as soon as you’re settled.”

“Mom?” Dawn questioned.

Grinning insolently at Kara, Ross leaned against the counter. “Tsk, tsk, sweetheart, have to remember your professionalism.” He added in aside to Dawn, “She’s a trainee.”

“I mean Elise.” Kara’s cheeks turned pink. “Ross, dear, get lost. Don’t pay any attention to him, Miss Lovell. My brother thinks he’s a comedian.”

Ever since Quentin had insisted they hold the wedding and spend their honeymoon at Elk River Resort, Dawn had spoken many times to Elise Duke—Ross’s wife, she’d assumed. Now she realized she had misinterpreted the relationships. Ross and Kara were siblings and Elise was their mother. She felt a prickle of annoyance. As talkative as Quentin was, he could be terribly vague at times.

Quashing her irritation, she picked up a pen to sign the computerized slip Kara placed on the counter. Seeing clearly in her mind’s eye her father’s disapproval, she hesitated. “Conspicuous consumption is a certain sign of poor breeding,” he’d often told her.

What could be more conspicuous than to spend an idle week at a luxurious mountain resort? Quentin had been perfectly reasonable in his arguments. “You deserve it, darling. I’ll be busy the entire week and I can’t bear to think about you rattling around in that big lonely house, getting on your own nerves. Do it for me. Have fun. Walk in the woods. Play some tennis. Soak in the hot springs. I want you relaxed, suntanned and happy for our honeymoon.”

“Is there something wrong?” Kara asked. “Is your name spelled correctly?”

Dawn swallowed hard and signed the registration card.

Ross picked up the room key and nodded as he read the number. “The view will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, Dawn. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Stefan will show her to her room. Don’t you have something to do, Ross?”

He gave the question a moment’s thought before widening his eyes and shaking his head. “Nope. Only thing on my agenda this week is showing Dawn a good time.” He tossed the key and caught it in a graceful downward swipe.

“You better watch out for the Colonel.” Kara slammed a drawer under the counter.

“I’m shaking in my boots, sweetheart.” Ross swept Dawn toward a staircase.

Bemused by the interchange, Dawn waited until they reached the second floor before asking Ross about the Colonel.

“You’ll meet him. He’s my dad.”

“You call him the Colonel?”

“Everybody calls him the Colonel.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “He even calls himself the Colonel. I bet every morning when he goes in to shave, he salutes himself in the mirror.”

She supposed every family had its eccentrics. Except hers, of course; her parents had been the epitome of social grace and exemplary decorum. Eccentricity had never been tolerated in her home.

He stopped before Room 208 and dropped his hold on her arm. His release relieved her. His warm hand had been too possessive for comfort. When he turned his back to her, she rubbed her inner elbow briskly.

“It’s most generous of you to have your family living and working at your resort.” She admired the carpet; its Southwestern design made the windowless hallway cheerful.

Ross pushed open the door. “My resort?” He laughed. “Elk River is the Colonel’s baby, not mine. I only visit when I get nostalgic for some abuse from Mom and the girls. Do you have sisters?”

Now thoroughly confused, she shook her head. She’d completely misunderstood Ross’s connection to the resort.

“You’ve already met the baby, Kara. She’s still in college, so she only works here in the summertime. You’ll meet the other two soon enough. Janine’s the oldest. She runs the joint. Don’t let her cutie-pie looks fool you. She has the soul of a riverboat gambler holding four aces. Megan is in the middle. Don’t let her sucker you into a tennis match. She’ll take your head off.” He swept an arm in a wide, graceful gesture. “Ta-da! The Jesse James suite. Welcome.”

She crept inside. Her breath caught at the sight of so much sunshine drenched loveliness, and yes, rustic charm. The outer wall consisted of a massive bank of windows—Ross had not exaggerated about the view. Mountain peaks rose, baldly majestic, in the background. Despite its being June, snow was frozen in rivulets on the highest peaks, glittering like liquid pearls. Over the dark pine forest, checkered with bright patches of aspen trees, a hawk soared weightlessly.

“The Jesse James suite?”

“Do you know how the outlaw died?”

The vulgarities of history—especially concerning the notorious—had never been considered a fitting interest for a Lovell. She shook her head.

“Shot eight times and left for dead. Somehow, he managed to climb onto his horse and make it here. This used to be a brothel. The highest-class cathouse in the Rocky Mountains. Cattle barons traveled for days to sample the fancy women Madame Belle imported from Europe. Jesse and Belle were longtime friends, so she hid him from the posse in this very room and did her best to keep him alive.” Ross turned a mournful gaze upon the bed. It had a wrought-iron headboard crafted into a trellis of climbing roses and singing birds. “He died right there.”

Dawn took a few steps closer to the bed. Tingles of pleasurable fear squeezed her diaphragm. “He died here?”

“It’s not the same mattress. Some folks have seen Jesse riding a black horse down the hallway. His ghost always disappears into this room.”

“A ghost?” She turned to him with wide eyes. “This room is haunted?”

Ross made a strangled noise, then burst into laughter.

She looked between him and the bed, his laughter distracting her from coherent thought. The only thing she could focus on was the rich warmth of the sound and his handsome face creased in good humor.

Then she got it. “Mr. Duke, you made it all up.”

He shook a finger at her. “One of these days I’ll get that story out without cracking up. Definitely need to work on my delivery. And call me Ross.”

“Honestly! You shouldn’t tell tales about ghosts.”

“People like ghosts.”

He had a point. Until Ross began laughing, she’d been enjoying the idea of a sharing a room with a ghostly outlaw. She chuckled, and covered her mouth with a hand. Imagining her credulous face as she drank in Ross’s tale turned the chuckle into a laugh. She distracted herself by examining the beautifully crafted bed.

“The resort has history, but not of the shoot-’em-up, wild-west variety. The original lodge was built in the 1920s for a hunting club. They sold it to some back-east investors just in time for the Great Depression. The place was deserted until the fifties when Jute Hailstone bought it.”

“The cowboy actor?”

His smile dazzled her. “You’re a B-grade western fan?”

She blushed. Few people knew about her affinity for great old, bad movies.

“Jute turned it into a dude ranch. When he died, his kids didn’t want it, so they sold it to Ralph Beerson. He upgraded it into a resort and added the wings. The Colonel bought it from him.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

“I’ll be glad to tell you about it later.”

He moved across the room. Trying to keep at bay the schoolgirlish urge to stare openmouthed at his every move, she watched him. Tall and lean, he moved with an athlete’s smooth grace. His casual knit shirt fit snugly over his broad shoulders, but draped elegantly on his torso. He looked much younger than Quentin’s forty-two years. She liked the way his hair curled in back, barely brushing his shirt collar.

She caught herself twisting her engagement ring and made herself quit.

He opened a cabinet, revealing a television set and stereo. “In case you get bored. But I don’t intend to let you be bored for a minute.” In a slightly mocking manner, as if imitating a bellhop, he showed her the wet bar and the well-stocked cabinet of drinks and snacks. After a demonstration of the light switches, the bedside clock radio and the television/stereo remote control, he informed her the housekeeper’s name was Nancy.

His good humor put her at ease. In the spirit of the game, she tested the faucets in the bathroom and caressed the soft towels. She declared everything perfectly acceptable.

“Good.” His gray eyes gazed intently into hers; she wanted to sigh. “Stefan will be here in a minute with your luggage. Put on your play clothes, then join me in the lobby. We’ll have lunch before I take you on the grand tour.”

She supposed her linen suit wasn’t proper resort wear. “All right.”

His smile faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. His suntan gave his complexion a golden cast, contrasting with his pale eyes.

The bells pealed inside her soul.

Ross gave a start and turned away. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Dawn. We’re going to have a blast this week.”

She nodded slowly and pressed a hand between her breasts. Her heart raced as he closed the door behind him.

A shaft of sunlight flashed against the large diamond in her engagement ring. Guilt filled her throat and she swallowed hard. Ross Duke had definitely been flirting.

As she was certain she’d flirted in response.

And her wedding was less than a week away!

She hurried to the telephone. She must tell Quentin the resort vacation was a mistake. If he felt strongly about not holding the wedding at a church in Colorado Springs, then they could go downtown to the justice of the peace.

As she lifted the phone, she realized how silly she would sound. Surely Ross wouldn’t betray his best friend by flirting with his fiancée.

Quentin had been her godsend, rescuing her from the lonely grief of losing both her parents within the space of a year. He loved her. He worshipped her. He wanted the very best for her.

She hung up the telephone. Her gaze traveled the room and settled on the breathtaking view out the window. She loved the mountains. Her most pleasurable indulgence was the sound of her boots on rocks and the crisp taste of mountain air in her lungs. This vacation was Quentin’s way of indulging her—his gift. She could not toss a gift of love back in his face.

She smiled at her own foolishness. All her life she’d been warned about men like Ross Duke. Too handsome, too glib, too charming, and far too interested in her money. “Use your head, never your heart,” her father had told her time after time. “Emotion causes nothing but trouble. Logic and reason are the criteria for a successful life.”

Quentin Bayliss was the logical choice for her husband: a successful businessman whom she suspected was even wealthier than she. He had good manners, impeccable breeding and courage. Father and Mother would have approved. Logic also told her Ross had a vested interest in her satisfaction with Elk River Lodge. Even if he didn’t own the resort, his family did, and all resort owners needed happy guests.

She fingered her engagement ring, watching sunlight create rainbows around the diamond.

Hearing bells was foolishness, illogical, ridiculous. Ross Duke meant nothing to her and he never would.

“ITHINK I’M GOING to be sick to my stomach,” Dawn said. She gazed haplessly at Connie. Her friend knelt, scrubbing at a tiny spot marring the scalloped hem of Dawn’s wedding dress.

Connie Haxman lifted her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“I shouldn’t be getting married. It’s a mistake.” She stared at the clock radio next to the bed. In one hour she and Quentin would exchange their vows in the Sweet Pines Chapel. “Quentin doesn’t know me well enough. What do I have to offer? I don’t even know any jokes!”

Connie rose to her feet and tugged at her pale fawn jacket. “You’re the nicest girl I know.” She grinned saucily. “Kind of neurotic, but perfectly nice.”

Feelings ruffled, Dawn sniffed. “I am not neurotic.”

Connie glanced at the small tape recorder lying on the bed. “You’re the only person in the entire world who actually uses one of those things to make memos. And don’t forget, I’ve seen your Daytimer. You could singlehandedly organize an entire country.”

Dawn peered with worry at the tape recorder. Making verbal notes to oneself made perfect sense. She could reuse the cassette tapes countless times, helping the environment by cutting down on the use of paper. “That makes me neurotic?”

“In a nice way.” Connie laughed. “Chin up, my darling, you’re a gorgeous bride. This is nothing but jitters. Even I feel the jitters when I get married, and I’ve had plenty of experience.”

Dawn managed a small smile, but debated how much to tell Connie. They’d been friends since the day Dawn began volunteering for the Children’s Betterment Society, which Connie had founded. Mother had always dismissed the socialite by saying, “One can drape a hound in jewels and even take it to the ball, but it remains a hound.”

Despite Mother’s opinion, Dawn loved Connie. She laughed too loud, drank too much and wore vulgar clothing, but she had tremendous energy and a generous heart.

Dawn twisted her engagement ring. “I’m not—I mean—I don’t know. I’m not sure if I love him.”

Connie folded her arms, pressing her impressive bosom higher. “This is moving kind of fast. You met him at the Valentine’s Day ball, so that makes it what, four months?”

“It’s not that fast,” Dawn said hesitantly. Quentin swore love at first sight and had proposed three weeks after they met. “I am thirty, and I want children. I don’t have time to waste on a long engagement.”

“Are you asking my advice, opinion, what?”

Knowing only that she didn’t know what she wanted, Dawn considered. “Assurance?”

“All right. Quentin is good-looking and obscenely wealthy. He can charm the socks off a brass statue. He’s funny, bright, and I think your father would have approved.”

“Really?”

Connie chuckled. “One shark always approves of another.”

Not understanding the joke, Dawn peered closely at Connie’s face.

“Oh, please, my darling. Your father was a Great White. He didn’t get where he did by being sweet.” She held up a hand, displaying an impressive number of diamond, sapphire and emerald rings. “Do not get me started on your parents. We’ll both be sorry. We’re discussing Quentin.”

Dawn hung her head. Connie had disliked the Lovells as much they had disliked her. Occasionally she indulged in tirades, calling Edward Lovell a bully with ice in his blood and a stock-market ticker for a brain. Worse, she called Deborah Lovell a stuck-up, snobbish, bluenosed twit without an ounce of compassion. Worst of all, Dawn sometimes secretly agreed.

“Quentin has a lot of energy. He’ll force you to come out of your shell.” She held her hands wide in a gesture of welcome. “Maybe he’ll succeed where I’ve failed and draw you out into the open where you belong. You’ll make beautiful children, to whom I give permission in advance to call me Auntie.”

“Oh, Connie.”

“Oh, my darling, forget these silly jitters.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “Unless you’d care to postpone this ridiculous wedding in the sticks and let me throw a proper bash for you? I still can’t believe, you’re not inviting anybody. Not even one reporter!”

Dawn sheepishly shrugged. “I have too invited people. Important people.” Her short guest roster included those people who had been especially close to her parents. She and Quentin had argued about including any guests at all, and about having a reception. He claimed anything other than a small, private ceremony would turn into a media circus. She argued that her parents’ friends would be irreparably offended if she failed to hold some kind of celebration. They’d compromised by holding the wedding out of town and keeping the guest list under thirty. “Quentin doesn’t like publicity. I don’t care much for it myself. Besides, considering my age, a huge wedding seems rather—”

“Watch it. I’m a year or two past thirty myself.”

Dawn hid a smile by lowering her face. “The wedding itself doesn’t bother me at all. I find it all very romantic.” Screwing up her courage, she admitted, “It’s another man.”

Connie gasped. When Dawn looked up, she realized it was a delighted gasp.

“I don’t mean it that way! You see, Quentin’s best friend has been my companion this week. He’s been…wonderful.”

Connie tapped her lower lip with a talonlike fingernail.

“We’ve gone hiking and horseback riding. I don’t know how many games of tennis we’ve played. We’ve gone swimming and had picnics. We’ve watched movies. I was reluctant to take this vacation, but now I’m glad I did. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.”

“You haven’t.you know?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. He’s been a proper gentleman. He’s Quentin’s best friend, after all. I don’t know why he wasn’t at dinner last night, but you’ll meet him at the wedding and I’m sure you’ll agree, he’s very nice.”

“You’re attracted to him.”

She nodded miserably. “I shouldn’t be. He hasn’t a serious thought in his head. Even his own family apologizes for his behavior. We haven’t talked about anything personal, but I gather he doesn’t hold an honest job. I think he’s a professional gambler. He’s rude to his own father. He teases his mother and sisters unmercifully. He has no ambition. He tells outrageous lies, then laughs when he’s caught in them. Altogether an inappropriate man.”

“But you fell in love with him anyway.”

“No!” Dawn closed her eyes. “It’s just that.around Ross I feel, I feel—”

“Pretty? Special?”

“Yes,” Dawn whispered in a sigh. “I feel so guilty and disloyal. What am I to do? I can’t marry Quentin under false pretenses.”

Connie laughed. She grasped Dawn by the shoulders and made her turn around to face a mirror. “Latebreaking news bulletin, my darling, you are both pretty and special.”

Dawn stared wide-eyed at the vision in the mirror. Appliqués of white roses and twining leaves overlaid the sleeveless, fitted bodice. Matching appliques covered the tea-length, scalloped hem, and a pair of embroidered roses fastened the narrow sash. Her hair was upswept into a French twist held by combs festooned with tiny rosebuds; a single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Cosmetics expertly applied by Connie made her eyes large and luminous.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Connie said softly. Her eyes glistened with tears. “My little mouse has blossomed. I wish you were my own daughter.” She snatched a tissue from a box and dabbed at her eyes.

Dawn wondered if Ross saw her this way when he stared so intently at her. She prayed Quentin saw her this way, too.

“Don’t worry about being attracted to another man. Despite your mother’s best efforts, you’re a perfectly normal young woman. It’s only natural to get the hots over a hunky man.”

Dawn frowned at Connie’s reflection in the mirror.

A soft knock on the door caused both women to turn. Dawn steadied herself with a deep breath. “The car must be here. I’m ready.”

Moving toward the door, Connie asked, “Are you sure? There’s still time to back out.”

Dawn clasped her trembling hands over her fluttering stomach. “Marrying Quentin is the right thing.”

“Good.” She opened the door.

Hands in his pockets, his tuxedo jacket hanging open, Ross Duke stood in the doorway. “Hi.” He extended a hand. “You must be Mrs. Haxman.”

Connie exchanged a glance with Dawn. Then she straightened her shoulders to better show off her bosom, cocked a hip, and laid her hand against Ross’s. “And you must be Ross.”

He kissed the back of her hand. Connie giggled like a girl.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make the rehearsal dinner last night. We could have gotten properly acquainted.”

“You can’t possibly be sorrier than I am.” Connie dreamily rubbed the back of her hand.

“What are you doing here, Ross?” Dawn asked. “Shouldn’t you be with Quentin at the chapel?”

“May I speak to you for a moment?”

He looked serious, even solemn, without a trace of his usual teasing sunniness. She just knew he’d come to tell her Quentin wanted to call off the wedding.

Connie looked between them. “I’ll go check on the car.”

Before Dawn could protest, Connie was gone. Ross glanced at the hallway behind him before slipping into the room and softly closing the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her heart shouldn’t be pounding and she shouldn’t be thinking how devastatingly gorgeous he looked in a tuxedo, either. The summer-weight fabric draped gracefully over his broad shoulders and the stark white shirt set off his tan to perfection.

“Are you sure about all this?”

She focused on her restless feet, willing them to stay still. She didn’t dare look at Ross. The bells she longed to hear belonged to Quentin, not to this rascally playboy. “Sure about what?”

He lifted his shoulders in a quick shrug, then shifted his weight from foot to foot and smoothed a hand across the side of his head. He stared at the floor. “Marriage.” The word emerged in a rush, as if it pained him to speak. “It’s a major commitment.”

“I know about commitments,” she said coldly. “Is something wrong with Quentin?”

He looked up sharply. “You can do better than Quent.”

Dawn gasped.

Ross’s eyes widened and he clamped his hands on his hips. The action pushed back his jacket, revealing a cummerbund snug about his narrow waist. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I should say not.” The fear of Quentin deserting her faded away as she realized she’d heard about this kind of thing before. Ross must be one of those determined bachelors who considered marriage something akin to a prison sentence. Ross hated the idea of his friend falling into such a miserable fate.

“You’re not at all what Quent led me to believe. Maybe he isn’t the right guy for you.”

Emotion swelled in her throat and burned her eyes. She suddenly hated Ross for daring to speak what she felt. She especially hated him for being so attractive, for making her feel attractive, and for making her uncertain about the man she loved.

“Leave, please.”

“This is the rest of your life, Dawn.” He held out a hand and his fingertips twitched, beckoning. “You’re special. You deserve the best.”

What he possibly hoped to gain from this confrontation was beyond her comprehension. “I love Quentin, and he loves me. If you’d listen to your mother instead of fooling around all the time, you might understand what that means. Now, leave.”

His thick eyebrows lowered and his eyes narrowed. A dark flush rose on his cheeks. He turned for the door. “Guess I stepped out of line.”

She gazed upon his broad shoulders and lowered head, and suffered a pain so deep it threatened to double her over. She pressed an arm to her aching stomach. “Let’s not argue. Please. You’ve been very kind to me this week and I appreciate it more than you can know. I’d like us to be friends.”

He turned his head enough to see her over his shoulder. “Kind? You’re either stupid or completely clueless.” Shaking his head, he left the room.

He called her stupid? What did she expect from the likes of him? He’d spent the entire week undermining her confidence in Quentin. An experienced, worldly man such as he must have recognized her lack of experience with men. He was one of those predators she’d always been warned about, amusing himself at her expense—at Quentin’s expense.

She grabbed a tissue from the box and carefully dabbed at her burning eyes. She didn’t cry; she never cried. She certainly wasn’t going to start because of a man like Ross Duke.