"This is you?" she asked, looking from the flat, one-dimensional image to the living, breathing original next to her."You look so. . . so—"
"Angry." Joe snatched the picture from her, glanced at it, then handed it back. "I was." He pulled another cigarette from his coat pocket. "Very angry."
It wasn't a professional shot. No pro would ever have allowed his strong-boned face to disappear into shadow and yet the anger in his eyes still singed her fingers as she held the picture. He was thinner in the photo, less muscular, his denim work shirt open at the neck. Nestled in the thick chest hair was a medal of some kind, and below that dog tags. His black hair was long; its straight strands covered his brow and brushed below the collar of his shirt. Most of his face was hidden by a beard and moustache that lacked the lushness of maturity.
He was sitting on a window seat, lighted cigarette in two fingers of his left hand, which rested on his right knee. His eyes, a brilliant deep green in reality, seemed dark and mysterious in the photo. Through the bay window behind him, Meg could just make out the figures of people playing with a Frisbee in Anna's Lakeland House backyard.
"I know that room," she said, handing Joe the photo. "That was where the dancers practiced."
Joe passed the photo to McCallum, who was quietly observing the two of them. "When I was at Lakeland, there were no dancers."
"I thought Anna catered to all the arts," Meg said. "When I was there, she—"
"Mrs. Kennedy opened her doors to dancers three years after Joe's stay," Patrick McCallum broke in, sliding the two snapshots into his coat pocket. "Which is a good five years before you arrived."
Meg turned to Joe and quickly assessed him.
"I'm not as young as you thought," Joe said with a quick grin.
"I thought you were around my age."
"Which is?"
"Twenty-six years and three months," McCallum volunteered. "Margarita was born July sixth and you, Joseph, were born July seventh—a difference of seven years and one day."
Next to her, Joe bristled. "How the hell do you know so much about us?"
McCallum's face, lined and friendly as a basset hound's, lit up. "I was Anna's lawyer and I know everything about the people she cared most for."
"I'm flattered," Meg said, "but I don't really see why it—"
"Matters," Joe broke in.
McCallum's sigh was long and low. "I hadn't wanted to bring this up until we got to Lakeland House."
"We weren't planning to go back to the house," Meg said.
McCallum stepped between them and draped an arm around each one of them. "Oh no, no, no, my dear people. That can't be."
"The hell it can't," Joe said, temper clearly getting the better of him. "I'm driving back to Princeton tonight."
The intense young man in the photo sprang to life in front of Meg. She was fascinated but poor McCallum seemed cowed.
"We just said goodbye to someone we loved. It's been a shitty morning and I don't think either I or-" He fumbled for her name.
"Meg," she said.
His look was one of thanks and apology. "I don't think either Meg or I want to be strong-armed into—"
"Strong-armed?" McCallum released Meg so quickly it was like she'd caught fire. "Strong-armed, is it?" His pale blue eyes were filled with concern. "Good God, but it has been a difficult morning, hasn't it?" He rubbed his square chin absently. "Didn't I make it clear? You, Joseph, and you, Margarita, are both requested to be present."
"Requested by whom?" Joe still sounded wary.
"By Anna."
"I beg your pardon?" Meg's voice rose an octave.
"I spoke with Anna a few hours before she died," McCallum explained. "She said the will cannot be read except in your presence." He favored them with another smile. "Your presences."
"This is the first I've heard of anything like this," Meg said as an uncomfortable fluttering began in the pit of her stomach. "You'd think Anna would've mentioned it."
Joe shook his head. "Not the Anna I knew. She delighted in surprises."
"Now you get the idea." McCallum, satisfied that he was finally understood, draped his arms over their shoulders once again and propelled Meg and Joe back toward the church and the waiting cars. "This is going to be a very interesting afternoon all around."
~~end of excerpt~~
I Do, I Do . . . Again – contemporary romance
A 25,000 word novella from USA Today bestselling author Barbara Bretton
Sunny Talbot and Robert Holland were high school sweethearts whose teenage marriage quickly fell apart in the face of real life.
When a chance meeting brings them together again years later, they quickly discover that the passion they once shared burns hotter than ever.
Robert and Sunny are sure they've finally found their happily-ever-after but will their second chance at love survive planning the wedding?
#
~~ChapterOne~~
They say a man never forgets his first love, the first woman to claim his heart. Maybe that was why the sign in the art gallery window caught Robert's eye on that sunny April afternoon. Grand Opening, it read in bold deco print. Sunny invites you to a wine-and-cheese Open House to celebrate the opening of Gallery One.
Sunny.
The name alone was enough to summon up the memory of warm summer nights and youthful dreams. Lately he'd found himself thinking about his ex-wife at the oddest times. The scent of Shalimar...a woman with eyes the color of a green meadow...the nagging feeling that if they'd tried harder or loved each other more their marriage might have worked out.
The odds of bumping into her after so many years were probably a million to one. There had to be more than one woman named Sunny in the state of Pennsylvania, he reasoned as he opened the door then stepped inside the gallery.
"Hi," said a middle-aged woman dressed in white. "Help yourself to wine and cheese." He was about to thank her when she gave him a closer look. "Are you the guy from the bank? Mr. Daniels said he was--"
"That's what I get for wearing a suit to an art gallery," he said with an easy laugh. "I'm just taking a look around."
She shrugged. "Well, enjoy yourself. And make sure you have some wine."
He glanced around the crowded gallery. The women in the room were either too old, too young, too tall, or too average to be Sunny.
He'd been looking for a curvy slip of a woman with a fiery personality to match her wild mane of red curls. She could be a blonde now. She could have tamed both her disposition and her hair and turned into someone he wouldn't recognize without a name tag. Nothing stayed the same, no matter how much you wished it would.
The thought of Sunny trading in her dreams for a stock portfolio was enough to ruin his day.
A man's first love was meant to live on in his memory forever, beautiful and perfect, untouched by time. This had been a lousy idea and the thing to do now was get out while the getting was good and his memories were still intact.
And then he saw her.
He would have recognized her anywhere. She was standing near a Chinese screen, looking as beautiful as she had the last time he'd seen her. She wore a Spandex mini skirt, an over-sized silver and gold sweater and sheer black stockings with patent leather ankle boots. A Technicolor tumble of red curls fell halfway to her waist and he wanted to plunge his hands into the silky mass and--
Whoa.
Ex-wives weren't supposed to get a man's heart pumping hard inside his chest. He had no business noticing the way the glittery sweater clung to her rounded breasts or the shapely length of leg revealed by her mini. He'd known her back when breasts like that were a fervent dream, not a luscious reality. He'd seen her with her hair in rollers, with makeup and without. Happy, sad, and every mood in between.
A big guy with a shock of ice blond hair whispered something in her ear and she laughed. Husky. Low. Sexy as hell. He'd never heard her laugh like that before and the sound sizzled its way to all of his major body parts. Who did that schmuck think he was
, whispering to her like that? Back off, Holland, an inner voice warned. That schmuck could be her husband.
"No," he said out loud. "No way in hell."
She was his.
#
Sunny was still laughing at Vladimir's joke when she saw him.
Was the one man she'd loved enough to marry was about to step back into her life? It was impossible.
Absolutely, positively impossible.
"It's been a long time, Sunny." That voice. Deep. Rich. Vibrant. The kind of voice that could talk a woman into bed before she knew what was happening. Dear God, it was....
"Robert?" She stared at him, open-mouthed. He was bigger than she'd remembered and older, but he was still the most beautiful man she'd ever known and she wondered how it was they had ever said goodbye. "Robby!" She threw herself into his arms, tears and laughter erupting simultaneously. "My God! I can't believe this!"
He swept her up into an exuberant bear hug that lifted her from the ground and made her feel fragile and feminine and infinitely desirable. He smelled faintly of soap and his cheek was still warm from the sun. His thick dark brown hair grazed his collar, same as it had years ago, and she found herself wondering if it would feel as silky as it looked. He was broad across the chest and still narrow of hip and he was still the sexiest man she had ever seen.
He released her from his hug and she found herself reluctant to let go. It had been so long since she'd been close to him and, right or wrong, it had felt so wonderful in his arms.
He gave her a long and appreciative look. "Only you could get away with an outfit like that."
"This is one of my more conservative outfits." She tugged at the tie that hung loosely about his neck. "And only you could get away with this and still look sexy."
"You look great, Sunny."
"So do you." Age was always kind to men and in this case, it had been extremely generous. Was it possible for a man's eyes to grow bluer with time? She doubted it, but still....
"When did you--"
"What brought you--"
They met each other's eyes and laughed again.
"You first," he said. She felt as if she were caught somewhere between the past and the present, suspended on a cloud of bittersweet memory.
We can make it, Sunny, I know we can. I'll work part-time at McDonald's and after the baby comes, you can--
She shook her head to banish the memory. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Business meeting just outside of town. I was hunting around for a place to grab some lunch."
"You're the last person I expected to see."
"I'm kind of surprised myself."
She made a show of inspecting his attire. "Judging by the suit, I'd say you became an attorney after all."
He favored her with a wry smile. "Judging by the gallery, I'd say you found your career in art."
"I'm not going to be the next Picasso, but I'm happy."
"I'm glad."
She tilted her head, looking at him with open and unabashed curiosity. "You're telling me you just happened to walk by my gallery?"
He motioned toward the sign in the front window. "I saw the poster. You know what a sucker I am for wine-and-cheese parties."
"This from the man who once told me he'd rather be trapped in a locked basement with Godzilla than go to a party with my artsy friends?"
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" He shook his head. "I was eighteen. I've mellowed."
Impulsively she reached out and took his hand. "You don't know how wonderful it is to see you again. I'd hoped to see you at our tenth reunion." Idiot! Why don't you just pin your heart to your sleeve and be done with it? It wasn't as if she'd spent the last fifteen years pining after her ex-husband. She had a successful career, a happy life, friends and family who loved her. She had no right to want more. "I mean, the old gang really missed you."
An odd look drifted across his face and he glanced away for a moment. Just long enough for her to sense the gulf time had placed between them.
"You didn't miss much of anything," she continued, trying to fill the silence with chatter about the last reunion of the class of 1997. "Lisa was pregnant with her fourth baby. John lost weight. Kenny is cornering the market on Rogaine and Karen still loves Paul."
"And what about you?" Who do you love, Sunny? Who claimed your heart?
"Still a free spirit," she said, feeling anything but. The sweet yoke of their common history tugged gently at her heart. "Drifting through life, wondering what's around the next corner."
"People who drift through life don't open their own art galleries."
"Oh, I land from time to time," she said, trying to figure out a way to release his hand without seeming rude. "I'm not a total flake, Robby. I just look like one."
"I never said you were."
"That's right," she said softly, remembering. "You never did." Everyone else had laughed at her dreams, told her to put aside her visions of glory and study business like the rest of them, but not Robert. He had been behind her all the way, even though her dreams must have seemed as formless and bizarre as a Dali painting to him.
"Excuse me." Her assistant bustled up to them. "No more champagne. No more pate. No more crackers." Her glance flickered to Robert then back to Sunny again. "What now?"
"No more party, I suppose." She glanced at her watch. "Actually we've run an hour later than I'd planned."
"The painters called and they're itching to finish up in the back. Can I give them the go-ahead?"
"Another half-hour," said Sunny. "I'd hate to give our guests the bum's rush." Especially you, she thought, stealing a look at Robert. It had been so long--and there was so much she wanted to know about him.
Her assistant hurried away to give the painters the go-ahead and Sunny turned back to her ex-husband. She had already noticed there was no ring on the appropriate finger, but that in itself meant little. One of her most persistent would-be suitors had been a ringless married man.
"Are you married?" asked Robert.
She blinked. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
"So are you?"
"No." She took a shaky breath, remembering something about a wife and children. "Are you?"
He shook his head. "Widowed."
"I'm sorry."
"And I have two kids."
She took another deep breath. "Two?"
"A six year old boy and a twelve year old girl."
"Oh."
"Do you like kids?"
"I like them just fine." She'd given him children, whoever his wife had been. A sharp stab of envy knifed at her heart. "It must be difficult, being a single father and all."
"I'm luckier than a lot of people," he said, eyes locked with hers. "I can afford help at home. Mrs. Jennings keeps us all on track."
She tried to imagine him driving a carpool or fixing school lunches, but failed miserably. He had everything they'd ever wanted...everything they'd ever dreamed they would one day have together.
"Sunny!" Her assistant's voice rang out. "Roscoe needs some help over here."
"Go help Roscoe," said Robert with an easy smile. "I'll still be here when you're finished."
Her heart did a strange little dance inside her chest. "You will?"
"I'm taking you to lunch."
"That sounds wonderful."
"Know where we can get some good food?"
"Oh yes," she said with a pleased smile. "I know just the place."
#
She hadn't been his wife since Bill Clinton was in office, yet the minute Robert stepped inside her house overlooking the river, he instantly recognized her personal touch in every corner of every room. From the floor-to-ceiling wall of cuckoo clocks in the foyer to the lemon yellow hammock suspended from the exposed beams in the living room, the place was pure Sunny.
"Help yourself to some wine," she said, heading toward the narrow staircase to the left of the foyer. "I'm going to change into something more culinary."
"Not
hing wrong with what you have on." Covering up those legs of hers would be a capital offense.
To his amazement color flooded her cheeks as if she had read his mind. "The glasses are in the kitchen. Second cabinet to the left of the sink. Pour me some red," she said, running a hand through her tousled curls with a quick, yet graceful, motion. "I'll be right down."
He stood at the foot of the stairs, blatantly watching her until she disappeared through the door at the top of the landing. Her slender hips still swayed gently when she walked, like a provocative metronome. It was nice to know some things didn't change. He'd spent the better part of high school enjoying the way the back pockets of her jeans moved to the syncopated rhythm of her walk. You wouldn't think a man would remember something like that after all this time. He'd finished law school, remarried and fathered two children, but still the memory of Sunny in her faded jeans lingered.
Sunny was the first girl he'd ever kissed, the first girl he took to bed, the first to claim his heart. It was only logical he'd feel something toward her, a tug of emotion over what they'd once shared. They'd loved with the intensity of youth, the fire of innocence. They'd believed in the sanctity of marriage, believed that the vows they'd taken with such hope for the future would last a lifetime. For an instant he caught the scent of orange blossoms in the air and he glanced about the room, looking for a potpourri hidden away somewhere. He couldn't find one but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
Nobody imagined the scent of orange blossoms.
#
Sunny prayed he didn't notice the way her hand shook as she accepted a glass of red a few minutes later.
"To old friends," he said.
She smiled. "To old friends."
They clinked glasses. Sunlight streamed in from the stained glass window on the far wall, casting shadows of sapphire and ruby across the polished oak floor of her living room. She wished she'd turned on the radio, anything to mask the thundering of her heart inside chest. What had she been thinking of, inviting him back to her house like this? They should have gone to a restaurant, some nice, anonymous place in the center of town where she knew everyone and everyone knew her.
Second Harmony Page 25
