The Duplicate Bride

by Ginny Baird

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “And you’ll try, too?” He searched her eyes when she didn’t answer. “I’m not asking for a miracle… Because the funniest thing is, I feel like one’s already happened.”

  He inched closer, dying to kiss her, because the moment felt so right.

  “Brent, I—”

  Then both startled at the sound of Jet Skis roaring by.

  Three teens were out joyriding and kicking up some serious wake. Jackie jerked back, and Brent tried to steady her, but their erratic movements sent their canoe rocking wildly as roiling waves crashed toward them, one after another.

  The canoe teetered back and forth, and Jackie gripped its sides with white knuckles.

  “Don’t move.” He snatched up a paddle in a vain attempt to stabilize the canoe, but it was already too late.

  The canoe capsized.

  Chapter Eight

  Cold. Cold. The water was so cold—and murky. Brent sank abruptly, then bobbed back up, propelled by his buoyant life vest, his shoes momentarily making purchase with the muddy bottom.

  He encountered Jackie on the surface of the water, splashing and flailing her arms around. The water temps here in June stayed in the forties and fifties, and already his skin was feeling tingly numb. He had to get Jackie out of the water, or they risked hypothermia.

  “Argh!” she hollered. “It’s freezing!”

  She lunged for a bobbing paddle and clung on tight, then grabbed the second one as it floated by. Her wet hair was plastered to her head, and her teeth chattered.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He flipped the canoe back over, following the safety protocol. People first. Things later.

  Their picnic basket drifted away, followed by Jackie’s sun hat, which was turning in lazy circles in an eddy. Brent pushed the canoe toward Jackie and relieved her of the paddles, tossing them into the canoe. “Let’s get you back on board, and I’ll take us home.”

  “My hat!” she cried, seeing it caught up in a new swell and spiraling away.

  “We’ll grab that on our way out of the cove. That picnic basket, too.” He grimaced. “It belongs to Grandmother.”

  He tried to give her a boost into the canoe, but she sagged in his arms. Out of the blue, Jackie laughed. Then she started laughing harder. So hard that she couldn’t manage to haul herself into the boat.

  Brent tried helping her again and found himself laughing, too. He was sure that both of them looked like drowned rats, but still, they needed to get out of the water right away.

  He got a better idea, deciding to get himself into the canoe first and then hoist her aboard. “All right,” he said, extending his hand. “Let’s try this.”

  He gave her a firm tug upward and caught her under her arms, lifting her into the canoe. She scrambled toward the far bench, shivering and gripping her elbows with her arms crossed in front of her.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” Brent said above the nip of the wind.

  “It’s not your fault. The canoe kind of just…flipped.”

  He frowned when she shivered again. “You’re freezing.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Brent’s heart pounded at the distressed look in her eyes. The sun had sunk lower, and it had grown later than he’d originally thought. “I’ll get us back as soon as I can.”

  “Maybe I can help?” she asked, lifting one of the paddles.

  He nodded, knowing the sooner they got back the better. Besides that, moving would help get her core body temperature back up. “I won’t fight you on that this time.”

  He motioned for her to turn around, and she spun on her seat so they both faced westward with him positioned behind her.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get going. We can grab our stuff as we move along.”

  He caught a floating cloth napkin drifting past. Next, he scooped up the bobbing empty wine bottle.

  The tide had begun ebbing already, with the mudflats hugging the shoreline becoming more and more exposed.

  The farther the tide went out, the harder it was going to be to bring them ashore without things getting very messy.

  Jackie nabbed items that had come from their overturned picnic basket from the other side of the canoe.

  Each of them was careful not to rock the canoe again as they propelled themselves out of the cove, grabbing what they could as they went along.

  Brent snagged the soaking picnic basket by its handle.

  Seconds later, he plucked Jackie’s soggy sun hat from the water.

  He handed it to her, wincing as she shook it out while giving another shiver. Her pretty sundress clung to her like a glove, and the damp fabric was likely making her colder.

  “I’d offer you my jacket if I had one,” he apologized. Unfortunately, his clothing was just as soaked through as hers.

  “Thanks,” she said, dipping in her paddle and stroking it back in a practiced move. “I’d probably take it.”

  He smiled at the humor she displayed in the situation, noting her skill with the paddle.

  “Hey, you’re pretty good at that.”

  Then, she overreached, and the craft listed.

  “Ahh!” Jackie yelped, and Brent’s heart hammered.

  “A little more gradual next time,” he said. “Try holding your paddle steady and stroking it back like so.”

  He gave a demonstration with his paddle, and she made a fumbled next attempt.

  By the third time, she got it.

  She peered back at him and grinned. “And there you thought I was so great at this.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  The wind picked up as they pulled farther out into the bay.

  Brent scoured the shoreline, calculating an obvious three-foot drop in the tide.

  They’d never make it back to where he’d parked his SUV without having half a mile of muck to wade through.

  His grandfather’s dock extended farther out into the bay. Even with the tide receding, if they got there quickly enough, they might just make it in time.

  Someone in the family could give Brent a lift to pick up his SUV later. Since he lived so close by, Derrick was probably at his grandparent’s house by now.

  “I think we need to head that way.”

  When she looked at him questioningly, he explained. “The water level’s dropped a lot. I’m not so sure we’ll make our launch point.”

  Her dark eyes rounded. “What?”

  “But we can make it to my grandparents’ house. It’s much closer to where we are. Plus, they’ve got a deep-water dock. Um…when the water’s deep, that is.”

  “Then why didn’t we launch there?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to take the scenic— Watch out.”

  She whipped her head around to see they were approaching an anchored lobster trap and Brent was attempting to steer them around it.

  She focused her effort on her paddle, managing to help him circumvent the bobbing buoy marking the trap.

  They rounded a bend and had to paddle harder, since they were aiming toward shore and now were working against the very strong tide.

  Their canoe struggled along, lurching a few feet forward and then one foot back.

  “This is nuts.”

  “Keep going,” he encouraged. “We’ll make it.”

  “At least I’m feeling warmer.”

  She was being such a trouper about this, and it had become a disaster of an afternoon.

  Well, not a total disaster. The first part of it had gone okay, and he’d loved the fun conversations they’d had. He’d also liked learning about that necklace. Even though he was agitated at the thought of other guys not treating Jackie well, at least that was in the past.

  At last, they approached the stretch of land where his grandparent’s place was located.
>
  He spotted the carriage house first, then the roofline of the main house beyond that.

  “Almost there,” he told her.

  Then he groaned when he saw the bottom steps to the dock hanging two feet above the open mudflat below it.

  “Yikes,” she said. “These crazy Blue Hill tides.”

  Their canoe ran aground with a bump, wedging itself into the mud.

  “No worries,” he assured her. “We’ll make it.”

  She shoved her paddle into the mud, and it stuck like glue.

  “Yeah,” she asked with a worried frown, “but how?”

  …

  Brent jumped out of the canoe, and mud splattered up against the side of it.

  Hope stared down, aghast to see he’d landed in the muck ankle-deep.

  “Come on,” he said with outstretched arms.

  She freaked. “You’re expecting me to jump into that?”

  “Not into that.” He nodded toward the ground, taking slogging steps closer. “Into these.”

  She frowned at his outstretched arms. “You’re going to carry me?”

  “Unless you have a better idea.”

  The truth was she didn’t. Hope knew from living in Blue Hill that mudflats could be disgusting. Certain folks made their living by digging for bait in these fertile fields.

  Some of the bloodworms found here could be more than a foot long, and she didn’t want to step on any of them.

  “Wh—what about you? Don’t those worms bite?”

  “Not if we move fast enough. Besides…” He glanced toward the steps to the dock, then back at her. “It’s less than fifty feet, and I’m wearing water shoes.”

  “Right.”

  His water shoes were more like open sandals, which left him vulnerable to attack from whatever lurked beneath the surface. So she couldn’t leave him standing there forever.

  She stood unsteadily, remaining in a crouched stance, and the back end of the canoe wavered. The nose of the canoe was still waylaid in the mud.

  Brent gripped the side of the vessel with one hand and told her to slide her arm around his neck.

  When she did, he reached behind her bent knees with his other arm and swept her into his embrace.

  Her heart pounded as the hem of her damp dress dangled below her. His wet T-shirt had partially dried, and the warmth of his body seeped into hers, with his broad shoulders breaking the bite of the wind tearing off the water.

  He took a giant step forward, then another, each motion creating a weird sucking sound.

  She stared back at their waylaid craft. “What about the canoe?”

  “I’ll grab some waders and come back for it.”

  She frantically scanned the sticky, dark area ahead of them, watching for any movement or strange divots. Mudflats also contained “honeypots,” deep holes that could sink a person’s foot quickly. If Brent got sucked into one of those, his chances of a bloodworm attack would be higher.

  He was obviously aware of this, too, because he moved extra carefully, testing the weight of each new spot before fully setting down his foot.

  Hope’s gaze swept to the left, and her heart stopped.

  A ghoulish-looking creature wiggled out of the muck, and it was headed right for them.

  “Brent. Run!”

  Her panic spiked when he did just the opposite.

  In fact, he stopped walking to stare at her.

  “It’s a big one. Huge. Huge, huge.”

  “I’ll go faster,” he said, picking up his pace but not exactly running. Their increased speed caused more mud to fling and muck to fly as he hustled them toward the dock.

  “Grab onto that railing there,” he said, “and I’ll give you a boost.”

  She did, and once she was secure, he lifted himself up onto the wooden steps and out of the mud next.

  “Whew, that was close,” she said, breathing hard.

  He chuckled. “A big one, huh? With fangs?”

  “How would I know about fangs? I wasn’t about to let it get that close.”

  They reached the top of the steps to the dock, and there was another long flight of stairs ahead of them, scaling the cliff to the back lawn of the main house.

  Hope thought she heard the sound of laughter and happy chatter lightly threading through the air. “Oh no, has the party started?”

  Brent checked the angle of the sinking sun.

  “Might have by now.” He eyed her from top to bottom and pursed his lips. “I hope that’s not dry-clean only.”

  Hope goggled down at her dress, which was pockmarked with mud.

  Even her heart-pendant necklace was coated with sludge.

  She wiped the small jewelry piece with her fingers, then looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You mean I’m going to have to meet the rest of your family looking like this?” she asked, mortified.

  “We could always make another run for it?” His forehead rose, causing Hope to belly laugh. Then, she laughed again at the sheer absurdity of the situation. It was a warming laugh, too, one that filled her heart and smoothed out the rough edges of her soul.

  Despite being capsized with Brent, she’d had the very best time with him. She wouldn’t have changed any of it for the world—not even this.

  He must have been thinking the same thing, because he stepped toward her.

  “Thanks for coming on a picnic with me. I’m sorry that it ended badly.”

  He was so near she could feel the heat of his breath against her lips.

  “It didn’t end badly,” she barely managed to say.

  Brent cradled her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes.

  Time, space, and reason slipped away.

  “No,” his tone grew husky, and he drew closer. “It didn’t.”

  His lips brushed over hers, and heat flooded her face. She wanted his kiss so badly, but she couldn’t give in. He was Jackie’s fiancé. But still, it didn’t feel like it was Jackie he wanted to kiss. It was her.

  Hope’s resolve weakened, and she tilted up her chin.

  “There you are!” a woman shouted.

  Hope stared at the precipice in alarm.

  Ava Webb stood at the top of the steps, wearing dangly ostrich feather earrings and a glittery gold headscarf knotted on one side. Her chin-length auburn hair shone extra brightly in the sunlight, and she held a cocktail glass in one hand.

  Hope gaped up at her. “Mom?”

  Ava gave amused smile. “What have the two of you been up to?”

  Brent greeted her with a grin. “Hello, Mrs. Webb. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

  …

  Hope climbed the steps with wobbly knees, Brent right behind her.

  She’d nearly kissed him. Or at least he’d almost kissed her.

  And oh, how she’d wanted him to.

  What a horrible sister I am.

  On top of her guilt attack, now she had to face her mom while pretending to be Jackie.

  “Why Jackie,” her mom said, scanning her outfit. “Your dress is a mess.”

  Hope grimaced, avoiding her mom’s gaze. “Tidal surge.”

  But what was still surging inside her were her emotions, turning all topsy-turvy at the thought of what she’d nearly done.

  What she’d ached to do with Brent: kiss him until his lips turned blue.

  “Brent Albright,” he said, shaking her mom’s hand. “Welcome to the wedding.”

  Ava considered his muddy clothing. “Looks like you two had an adventure.”

  He grinned at Hope, and her heart skipped a beat. “We did. Sorry,” he said, waving at Derrick. “I need to grab my brother.”

  A guy in boat shoes, shorts, and a collared shirt approached them in brisk strides. Derrick Albright had a fair mix of his parents’ features, with Parker’s
dark hair and blue eyes. He was ruggedly handsome in a rough-hewn way and was almost Brent’s height—a little shorter.

  “You must be Jackie,” he said with a bright smile. He chuckled good-naturedly at her appearance. “I’m guessing the hug will have to wait?”

  “If you don’t mind,” she said, chuckling, too.

  She shook Derrick’s hand and introduced her mom, who exchanged pleasantries with the youngest Albright brother before excusing herself to refresh her drink.

  Before she stepped away, she pulled Hope aside and whispered, “Is everything all right?”

  Hope laughed self-consciously, freaking internally that her mom suspected something. Though Jackie and Hope had fooled her a couple of times by swapping places as kids, Ava had gotten better at detecting their subterfuge over time.

  “Uh-huh, great.” Hope glanced toward the garden path when her mom tried to meet her eyes. “I just need to go and grab a shower.”

  Ava started to say something more, but—mercifully—Elsa called her away with a wave of her hand. “Oh, Ava. Come on over here and meet Brent’s grandmother.” She stood on the porch with Parker, Chad, and Margaret, who’d just joined the group.

  “Delighted,” she said, putting on her posh-people airs. She murmured softly to Hope before retreating: “Catch you later.”

  Derrick perused the dock area and the marooned canoe at the base of the mudflats. “A little boating trouble?”

  “Yeah, just a tad.”

  Hope nodded in goodbye. “I’ll see you both in a bit.”

  …

  Hope stepped from the hot shower feeling like a new woman. She’d also calmed her nerves regarding her mom detecting her identity. Ava loved the idea of high society, so she would easily be caught up in the swell of schmoozing with the monied Albrights.

  As long as she didn’t hang around Ava too much—or sit across the table from her—everything would probably be fine.

  The situation between herself and Brent caused Hope greater concern, because she secretly worried that she was falling for him. She was starting to learn things about him. Things that he’d never told Jackie because she’d been so distracted by her own life.

  Hope could picture those Albright summers, with Brent and his brothers and sister playing board games in the den. Or maybe poker with their grandparents around the kitchen table, while Grandmother Margaret displayed her card shark ways.