Читать книгу How To Be A Blissful Bride - Stacy Connelly, Stacy Connelly - Страница 9

Chapter One

Chance McClaren took a deep breath of cool, ocean-scented air and willed his body to relax. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of the waves rushing against the rocky shoreline wash over him. Faint sunlight barely broke through the November haze, but he focused on the warmth against his skin. Gradually, his muscles started to relax. Neck, shoulders, arms. Not his right leg, but that tightness was due to more than tension.

He could do this. He could smile, he could play along. He could pretend...for as long as it took for his body to heal. For as long as it took to get the hell out of Clearville.

Opening his eyes, he hazarded a glance over his shoulder and scowled. The old lady was still there. Hovering over him. Staring down at him. Watching him.

Turning at the waist until the joints in his back popped, Chance muttered, “You’re losin’ it, man.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, the skin there feeling bare without the weight of the familiar camera strap. As a photojournalist, Chance had the gift of capturing a moment for everyone to see. Of making still images come alive for people half a world away.

But bringing life to a photo was one thing. Imagining that his family’s Victorian hotel, the old lady behind him, was living, breathing, watching him... That was something else.

“Please come, Chance,” his younger sister, Rory, had pleaded. “You haven’t been to Hillcrest House in years. Being here will be good for you.”

His sister had always loved the old gal. Chance’s lips twitched in a smile. The hotel and their Aunt Evelyn, who ran the place and would slay him with a killer glare for even thinking of her as old.

Rory and their cousin, Evie, had moved to Clearville months earlier to take over while their aunt went through cancer treatments. Aunt Evelyn was splitting time between staying with his parents and staying with Evie’s parents as she recovered from surgeries and chemotherapy.

Even if they hadn’t had their hands full, Chance couldn’t have stayed at his parents’ house for another minute. He loved them, he did. But the worry and the lingering sorrow in their gazes, even now that they knew he was safe—knew he was alive—weighed down on him. Suffocated him.

They’d never understood his desire to see the world, to live his life with his backpack and camera gear the only baggage allowed. He was free to come and go as he pleased, to live his life the way he wanted, and his work made a difference! He had contacts around the globe. He could go into places other journalists couldn’t go and tell the stories that might otherwise remain unheard.

His parents had always had a straighter, safer path in mind for him. One that included following in his father’s footsteps and taking over the small photography studio Matthew McClaren owned, buying a house and settling down with a wife and kids.

Chance had jumped the curb and taken his life off-road when he left home at eighteen and had never come close to veering anywhere near that white-picket-fence neighborhood again. He wasn’t the settling kind, and while his parents might not understand that, Chance always believed they respected what he’d accomplished, respected the heights he’d achieved in his career...

Or at least he had until that whispered conversation he’d overheard, the one that made it clear he couldn’t stay under his parents’ roof any longer than necessary.

We’re your family, Chance. We love you.

His mother’s words, the confusion on her face when he walked out—first as a hotheaded kid and then again, just a few weeks ago—cut deep. But he’d known if he didn’t leave, he would only end up saying something he would regret.

His parents hadn’t wanted him to be alone while he was recovering, and he’d thought staying with Rory and Evie might be enough to ease their concern while still giving him space to breathe.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Oh, Chance, this will be so perfect!” his sister had gushed the moment he set foot inside the family hotel. “Our current photographer is moving away soon.”

He’d forgotten about the whole all-inclusive wedding destination business that had been his aunt’s brainchild about a year ago. He didn’t know how considering, as the hotel’s wedding coordinator, the ceremonies were all Rory talked about. Especially now that she’d found a groom-to-be of her own.

“You can fill in while you’re here!”

Wedding photographer? Yeah, that was right up there with fashion photographer as a worst nightmare. “Not exactly my thing, Rory.”

He felt like he’d kicked a puppy as he watched the excitement in his little sister’s eyes dim. Jamison Porter, Rory’s fiancé, had studied him carefully during that first meeting and suggested, “Why don’t you let your brother get settled before offering him a job, sweetheart?”

At that, Rory had recovered quickly, wrapping her arms around him in a far more cautious version of her usual exuberant hug. “Of course! What was I thinking? We have the cottage house set up for you.”

The caretaker’s cottage was a small wood and stone structure on the grounds, but well away from the hotel itself. Chance welcomed the privacy even if staying there felt like living in a very girlie dollhouse thanks to Rory’s decorating skills.

But he’d take the dollhouse over his childhood bedroom. And it was only for a month—maybe two. His leg was getting stronger every day, and Chance refused to think he wouldn’t make it back to 100 percent.

And after a few days of consideration, he’d even agreed to fill in as wedding photographer—which he still couldn’t quite believe. But he needed something to keep his mind active, to keep moving.

He’d traveled to some of the most desperate, poverty-stricken, war-torn areas in the world and yet nothing—nothing—was quite as scary as walking into a room filled with marriage-minded women riding high on romance.

Shuddering, he shifted his weight to his right side, testing his leg without the help of the crutches he’d only recently left behind. Sharp shards of pain sliced through muscle and bone. He’d pushed himself too hard, the packed sand more of a challenge than he’d expected. He had a long walk back to the hotel in front of him.

He pulled in a breath before taking that first step, beads of sweat popping up along his hairline and instantly cooling in the ocean breeze. The stormy blue-gray water was nearly the same color as the stormy blue-gray sky. Nearly the same color as a pair of stormy blue-gray eyes that had haunted him for months.

Alexa Mayhew had been draped in gold the night they met. Beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier, she’d glittered with the grace and elegance of a goddess. She was tall and slender, with a poise and prestige that allowed her to move in elite circles where most mortals wouldn’t be welcomed. And yet he’d sensed a restlessness inside her the moment their gazes met across the ballroom, a need to throw aside the fake smiles and polite facade and grab hold of something real...

Or so he’d thought until she made herself clear. She’d been slumming their weekend together. Different worlds, different lives...different bank accounts.

Reaching into the pocket of his baggy khakis, he fingered the small jeweled hairpin he’d been carrying with him since that weekend. In his line of work, he’d learned to travel light. No extra baggage allowed. And yet, he hadn’t been able to leave the small reminder behind any more than he could convince himself to return it to the woman it belonged to. Such a small thing, he hadn’t thought carrying it with him could hurt.

He’d certainly never imagined it would save his life.

He wasn’t superstitious and he wasn’t sentimental. He certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight, so why was he having such a hard time letting Alexa go?

* * *

“Welcome to Hillcrest. And I understand congratulations are in order?”

Standing in the elegant lobby of the Victorian hotel, Alexa Mayhew hoped she managed a smile to fool the bright-eyed wedding coordinator.

“It’s not official yet,” she murmured, trying to somewhat inconspicuously hide her left hand in the folds of her wide-legged gray trousers. Her naked left hand, unlike the woman in front of her who sported a sparkling rock on her own third finger.

“But we’d still like a tour of the grounds while we’re staying here if that’s possible.” Griffin James wrapped an arm around Alexa’s shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Alexa stumbled slightly at the sudden move before regaining her balance. She and Griffin had checked in earlier that day after a long drive from Los Angeles. Worn out from hours in the car and feeling more than a little nauseous from the twists and turns on the mountain roads leading into the small Northern California town, she had lain down for a short rest while Griffin had—

Alexa tried to withhold a sigh. Who knows what Griffin had done? Announced their impending engagement from the top turret of the towering Victorian mansion, for all she knew.

She shot her could-be fiancé a glare he returned with a wink and a grin, knowing she could never stay mad at him. He’d been her best friend since childhood, the one person she could turn to when times got tough. The one person who could always make her laugh—which was pretty much what she’d done when he proposed.

“Griffin,” she started to protest.

“Come on. It’ll be fun. A good chance to take a look around.” His eyebrows rose pointedly, reminding her why he had chosen this particular hotel.

Alexa hadn’t really cared where they stayed, too eager to accept his offer of a break away from the demands of her grandmother’s charity foundation. And from the demands of her grandmother.

From the time she’d gone to live with Virginia Mayhew, the wealthy philanthropist had instilled in Alexa a sense of responsibility. In the past decade or so, she had become the face of the foundation. She spent countless hours fund-raising, overseeing charity events, speaking with the media, all in an effort to give back.

But for the first time in her life, Alexa had something she wanted to hold on to...just for herself. She needed to get away, and though she was aware of the faint and almost constant vibrations coming from the cell phone tucked in her purse, she refused to check the barrage of emails and text messages.

Understanding Griffin’s unspoken professional interest in looking around the hotel, she said, “We’d love a tour.”

“I have some time free now if you’re not too tired from traveling,” the woman offered. “And I’m Rory, by the way. Rory Mc—”

A high-pitched whistle sounded, and she glanced at the phone in her own hand. A dreamy smile lit her already beautiful face at the text flashing across the screen. The moment lasted only a split second before she appeared to snap back to reality. A slight blush rose to her cheeks as she slipped the phone into a hidden pocket in the folds of her full skirt. “Sorry about that. That was my fiancé and... Well—” she shot a woman-to-woman look at Alexa “—you know how it is, right?”

“Of course.” Even as happy as the other woman looked, Alexa would bet Rory hadn’t laughed out loud when her fiancé proposed.

“Let’s start inside, and then I can show you around the grounds. We remodeled the gazebo over the summer, and it’s always a popular spot—depending on the time of year for the ceremony. Have the two of you picked a date yet?” Rory asked.

Griffin shot Alexa a questioning look, calling her out on dragging her feet—literally across the richly patterned carpet and in giving a definitive answer to the question he’d asked.

Fall decorations highlighted the elegant lobby—a cornucopia on the concierge desk; red, yellow and orange leaf garland wrapped the deep walnut carved columns, and a huge grapevine wreath dotted with tiny pumpkins and squash hung above the river-stone fireplace in the sitting area. Scents of cinnamon and cloves filled the air.

All signs of how quickly time was flying by. Hard to believe Thanksgiving was only three weeks away. Especially when every time Alexa closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted back to the end of summer.

“Sometime before April, I’m thinking,” Griffin answered wryly when Alexa stayed silent.

“Hmm, that’s not much time,” the wedding coordinator warned before holding up a hand. “Not that we couldn’t pull it off.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of a...predetermined time frame.”

As Rory started talking about the history of the hotel, Alexa jabbed an elbow into Griffin’s side. “Would you stop?” she muttered from behind her smile, voice low enough for only Griffin to hear.

“What? It’s true. By April, you’ll be—”

“I know. I know. But don’t you feel at least a little bit guilty going through with this tour when it’s doubtful we’d get married here anyway?”

“Naw, it’s kinda fun.” Griffin tipped his golden blond head toward the wedding coordinator. “It’s like getting a tour from Snow White...”

“Behave,” she warned him, though past experience told her it would do little good. Besides, he was right. Their guide did resemble the Disney princess, but beyond that... Alexa frowned, a memory tugging at her mind like an elusive song lyric she could almost but not quite capture.

“As much as I love this place’s history,” Rory was saying, “it’s the air of romance that brought me back here.” Leaning closer, she confided, “My cousin, Evie, wouldn’t like hearing me say this, but I have to tell you that Hillcrest is, well, special. People have a way of finding their own happily-ever-after here.”

Griffin made a sound Alexa hoped the wedding coordinator would believe to be an indulgent laugh. “Hear that, sweetheart, our own happily-ever-after.”

Alexa didn’t want to think about romance in the air or happily-ever-after. For almost as long as she could remember, she had been one to play it safe. Her jet-setting parents had loved action and adventure—skiing in St. Moritz one day and sunbathing in the Bahamas the next. They’d let life take them wherever the wind had blown, sweeping in and out of her childhood like a hurricane.

After they died, her grandmother had provided Alexa with the stability she craved. No more wondering. No more worrying. No more whirlwind.

Not until that night almost four months ago when she’d hosted a fund-raiser for one of the many charities her grandmother supported. When she’d met the striking blue-eyed gaze of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her heart had stopped, her breath had caught and she’d been swept up in something beyond her control.

Even in that first electric connection, she’d known. There would be consequences. She couldn’t cast aside years of living each day with a carefully laid out plan and then expect to pick up where she left off like nothing had happened. Not when Chance McClaren had happened.

In those first few weeks following the charity auction, he’d played constantly on her mind. Laughing and teasing her thoughts as if he’d stood right beside her, whispering in her ear. After all, he had promised he’d be in touch, and Alexa had jumped at every call, scrambled for her cell phone at every text, scoured her email every few minutes over calls and texts and emails that weren’t from Chance.

By the time he did call, some five weeks later, she’d already come to a decision. What they’d had was a fling. Nothing more, and it was over. She’d sensed his surprise. No doubt there were dozens of women who would be thrilled to hear from him no matter how long it had been since he’d called. But in the end he’d agreed and abided by her wishes.

She hadn’t heard from him again and did her best not to think of him.

Alexa told herself the mental roadblock would eventually work...right up until the moment she realized she’d missed her period. She was pregnant, the father of her child a man she barely knew. A whirlwind who’d stormed in—and out—of her life with a recklessness that left her head and heart spinning.

How was she supposed to tell a man who lived out of a backpack that he was going to be a father? Alexa had rehearsed what she would say dozens of times as she made dozens of calls, trying to reach him.

And then fate seemed to take the decision out of her hands as she woke one morning to see the headline scrolling across a national news channel.

Photojournalist Chance McClaren killed in bomb attack in Kabul.

* * *

“How long have you worked here, Rory?” Griffin asked their guide as she led them back to the lobby after showing them the elegant ballroom. The hotel’s old-fashioned feel filled the room from the dark, carved check-in desk, to the wall of small cubbyholes for guest messages, to an actual phone booth and its replica of an early 1900s phone.

But like any modern hotel, the lobby was a busy spot with families coming and going, bellhops pushing packed luggage carts, and employees offering advice for things to see and do in the nearby Victorian town of Clearville.

Rory stopped to allow a chatting couple to wheel by with a stroller. And as she had for the past few months, Alexa locked in on the baby strapped inside. Her breath caught at the sight. An infant with her eyes closed, her chubby cheeks pink with sleep, her head slouched to one side. So sweet, so small...

She wrapped her arms around her waist. Before she’d gotten pregnant, she hadn’t understood that she wouldn’t need to wait for her baby to be born to feel such a deep connection with the new life inside her. She was amazed by how much she already loved the child growing in her womb. How she loved the idea of a little boy or little girl with dark hair and startling blue eyes like—

No, she wouldn’t think about the baby’s father. She wouldn’t.

She watched with a combination of anxiety and anticipation as the mother stopped for a moment to adjust the lacy pink sock barely clinging to the toes of the tiniest foot she’d ever seen.

“Well, I’ve worked here as a wedding coordinator for the past six months or so,” Rory was saying, “but my family has owned the hotel for decades. My Aunt Evelyn runs the place now, but the McClarens have—”

“What—” Alexa stopped so suddenly, Griffin almost knocked her over. “What did you say your last name was?”

“McClaren.” Rory’s blue gaze—her familiar blue gaze—swung back and forth between Alexa and Griffin. “Didn’t I say that earlier?”

“Alexa?” Griffin’s arm tightened around her shoulders as she swayed against him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Everything...

It wasn’t easy to spot the resemblance between masculine, rugged features and this delicately feminine woman, but Alexa must have subconsciously noticed the similarities. The rich, almost black hair, the high, sculpted cheekbones, those blue eyes...

The thick, patterned carpet swirled beneath her feet as the room spun. “I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to lie down...”

“Of course. I’ll walk you back to the suite.”

To the suite. Alexa fought a hysterical laugh. That wasn’t nearly far away enough to escape the dizzying thoughts whipping through her mind.

The McClaren family hotel... Chance’s family’s hotel?

And before she could make her escape, the hotel’s carved entry doors opened and in walked the father of her child.