Three Brides, No Groom

by Debbie Macomber

The question hung in the air between them like a piece of spoiled meat. “You won’t like the answer to that one, either.”

  “I asked, didn’t I?” she insisted. “I’m a big girl. You can say it.” She defied him to come up with a suitable candidate. She was meant to be with Eddie. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she was sure he would come to his senses soon.

  When Clark wasn’t immediately forthcoming with a response, she asked again, this time with more feeling, more determination, more courage.

  “Exactly who do you see me marrying, if not Eddie?”

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and she almost cheered. He was squirming in his seat. She loved it. Triumph rose in her. He couldn’t come up with anyone better suited to her than Eddie.

  Clark glanced at her again. “I could see you married to me,” he admitted softly.

  She gasped. It was as if someone had sucked out all the oxygen from the car. “You?” she repeated. “You and me? Together?” She hadn’t expected him to suggest that.

  “I warned you that you weren’t going to like the answer.”

  “You aren’t serious.” This was a joke. She should have known he was just like every other man. His ego demanded he come up with a response, even one so patently nonsensical.

  “I’m serious.”

  “It’s your ego, right?” she asked when he exited the freeway. “I realize men have a problem with pride.”

  “Men aren’t alone in that.”

  “True enough.”

  Clark and her? She couldn’t see it. They were as different as two people could be. Not that there was anything wrong with diversity. But she wasn’t right for him. He needed someone who understood him and his high-tech world. Someone really wonderful.

  He drove to her apartment building, parked and killed the engine.

  Apparently he was waiting for an invitation. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Again he answered with a terse “Yes.”

  She certainly had no objections to his company, nor to his seeing her place. The studio apartment was small, but she’d made an effort to decorate it nicely and was pleased with what she’d done. A few stuffed animals sat here and there on the sofa, mostly so she could hold them while she watched television. Her cheerleading pom-poms rested on the fireplace mantel, along with the trophies she’d accumulated during her college years.

  Clark stepped inside and glanced around appreciatively. “You’ve made this homey, Carol.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gestured for him to make himself comfortable, and then walked into the kitchen and turned on the faucet.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, following her.

  “Making coffee.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “I thought you’d like a cup….” Now that he’d asked, her making coffee made about as much sense as everything else that had happened that evening.

  He moved toward her, his gaze holding hers. His eyes were dark and intense, keen and purpose-filled. He reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders. His touch was light, gentle and, in a small way, comforting. It had been weeks since Eddie had held her, and she’d missed the closeness, the sense of belonging.

  “I’d like to prove my point.”

  “Your point?” She wasn’t sure she understood.

  With his eyes imprisoning hers, he gently drew her closer. Apparently he planned to kiss her. Her eyes widened.

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her against the solid length of his body. What she’d suspected earlier proved to be accurate—he was both trim and muscular. Before she knew it, she was wrapped in the warm shelter of his embrace. He smelled of musk and spicy Chinese food, an odd yet pleasing combination.

  Her heart pounded so loudly that she was certain he could hear it. She raised her head, anticipating his lips, telling herself that she wanted this over with so she could tell him that while his kiss was very nice, they would never be anything more than friends.

  Then it happened. Something she could neither explain nor define. A yearning buried in the deepest part of her being broke free. If anyone had told her such a thing was possible, she never would have believed it. She’d been engaged, involved with one man for years. A man she’d loved—loved still, despite what he’d done.

  She’d always been a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. Never one content to wait patiently on the sidelines, she made a habit of grabbing hold of opportunity with both hands.

  That she should experience this…whatever it was, before Clark even lowered his mouth to hers, left her feeling claustrophobic and fearful. Perhaps there was something to what he was saying, although she had trouble comprehending it.

  Slowly, with deliberation that bordered on torture, he pressed his lips to hers. Her heart went into overdrive. She couldn’t think to move. In that moment she was his prisoner.

  The instant his warm moist lips settled over hers, she was lost. No kiss had ever been more potent. A frightening kind of excitement took hold of her. She stood on tiptoe and slid her hands up his chest to link them behind his neck.

  The kiss deepened as she opened to him the way an orchid opens after a rainfall. She wanted more. Her breathing came fast and hard, and she was gratified to realize his breath was ragged, too.

  He demanded, and she gave. Freely and without reserve. The heat of their kiss felt hot enough to set off the kitchen smoke alarm as they angled and twisted their mouths, seeking to give more, to take more. To be more.

  When he eased his mouth from hers, his chest was heaving. Clinging to him, she kept her eyes closed and forced air into her lungs. Even now her heart pounded in her chest like a boxer’s fist hammering a punching bag. Never in all her life had she experienced a kiss as profound as this.

  She should have known it was too perfect, too beautiful. She should have known it would never last.

  It didn’t.

  Within seconds he ruined the most beautiful kiss of her life.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” he said. “You don’t know yourself nearly as well as you think you do.”

  Chapter 3

  Carol couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed when Clark’s secretary returned from vacation. Mrs. Derby was exactly as she’d pictured her. Late fifties and meticulously groomed, in a dark business suit with her gray hair primly pulled back in a bun. Punctual, precise and particular. Her personality meshed perfectly with Clark’s needs. Everyone said they got along famously.

  Carol missed seeing Clark on a daily basis, but at the same time she was grateful they didn’t have to spend a lot of time together. Not after what had happened when he kissed her. Especially when she considered her response. She’d gone over that night countless times, but she had yet to make sense of it.

  Ego had prompted Clark to kiss her. That part she understood. What she had trouble reconciling was her response. After a while she decided the best thing to do was put it out of her mind, banish that night and the kiss from her thoughts.

  Fate seemed to be on her side. Clark didn’t have a lot of free time on his hands. Door Handle, his software program, had received a warm reception from Softline’s board of directors, and he’d been granted the additional funds he’d requested, along with a handful of staff.

  Whenever she saw him, he was surrounded by others, all making demands on his time and expertise. His gaze would follow her, and she made a point of greeting him with a smile or a wave. He had to bow out of the ballroom dancing classes, and while she realized he regretted having to renege on his promise, he had no choice.

  Every now and again they would bump into each other in the cafeteria or in the building lobby. He would always stop and ask how she was doing, but she had the feeling the question needed to be rephrased: how are you doing without Eddie? Her answer was the same every time. “Good, really good.” But the truth was, she’d expected to hear from Eddie long
before now.

  She didn’t need to ask Clark how he was doing; the answer was obvious. He worked too many hours, ate poorly and, from the darkening shadows beneath his eyes, she also suspected he wasn’t getting enough sleep. While his poise remained unshakable, she instinctively recognized he was frazzled.

  As for her, the job with Softline was ideal, because it offered terrific flexibility. She was able to substitute teach as long as the schools let her know in advance. The more time she spent in the classroom, the more she loved teaching. Kids of all ages loved her, and she found herself proving to be a popular teacher. Her performance reviews were full of praise, and she was convinced it was only a matter of time before she was hired permanently.

  Teaching had been her dream from the time she was five, when she’d lined up her dolls in front of a small chalkboard. Wearing her mother’s high heels and a broad-brim hat her grandmother had given her, along with several long beaded necklaces, she’d lectured her rapt audience on vowel sounds and the importance of not eating glue.

  As much as possible, she tried not to think about Eddie. But surely he missed her. Surely he thought about her. Surely he wasn’t so busy that everything they’d shared no longer mattered to him. She simply couldn’t believe it. After four years of daily contact, she’d simply assumed he would feel as if a part of himself was missing without her at his side.

  The waiting was agony. The not knowing. He haunted her dreams, and often she awoke with her heart heavy and her emotions raw. In the beginning it had been much easier. Her anger and frustration had effortlessly carried her through the first few weeks. Later she’d focused her fury on Mark Raferty, Eddie’s agent. No one could convince her that Mark wasn’t responsible for turning Eddie against her.

  As August rolled into September, she began to blame herself for being foolish enough to hold on to any hope of Eddie’s wanting her back in his life. Surely he would have contacted her by now if that was the case. Even with Mark’s disapproval, he would have found a way to reach her.

  He hadn’t, and that told her everything.

  The first Sunday of September would either break her or make her, she decided. That was the day the Denver Broncos would host the Seattle Seahawks in Mile High Stadium.

  She promised herself that she wouldn’t so much as turn on the television. It was as simple as that. Why torment herself? Nothing good would come of seeing Eddie suited up in a Bronco uniform. Viewing him, even on television, was sure to make her heartache ten times worse. She would be crazy to make herself miserable on purpose.

  It didn’t take her long to admit that a promise made was a promise broken. On Sunday morning she dutifully sat in front of the television screen, dressed for the occasion in baggy jeans and a Queen Anne sweatshirt.

  The national anthem was playing when her doorbell chimed. She tore her gaze from the screen to run to the door.

  “Clark,” she breathed, surprised to see him.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked, and looked past her to the television.

  “I assumed you’d be at the office,” she said. For a while she’d toyed with the idea of inviting him over just so she wouldn’t turn on the football game. But knowing Clark, he would have felt obligated to accept, and she didn’t want that. Not when he was so busy with his career.

  “I should be at the office,” he told her, and yawned, stepping into the apartment.

  “Then why aren’t you?”

  His eyes were dark and serious. “You need me.”

  He removed his jacket and made himself comfortable on the sofa, stretching his arms out along the back. “I know you. Eddie’s playing, and you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  She couldn’t very well argue with him.

  He patted the space next to him. “Are you going to sit down and watch the game or not?”

  “I wasn’t going to watch the entire game,” she rushed to tell him. “I planned on changing channels just as soon as…” The lie died on her lips when his gaze swung from the television to her with laser accuracy.

  “Okay, okay, so I thought I’d check it out. Eddie’s the second-string quarterback, so it’s highly unlikely he’ll even play.”

  “You’re still pining for him, aren’t you?”

  “Not as much.” Embarrassed that what he’d said was true, she downplayed her feelings. She had never thought of herself as weak, but that was the way Eddie made her feel. Years ago, in one of her psychology classes, she remembered the professor explaining that a person’s sense of emotional well-being was directly related to the amount of control they had in a situation. Eddie was the one in control of her, and it was time to let go. If only she could!

  “Sit down,” Clark said again, and again patted the space next to him.

  She did as he asked. Leaning against the thick cushions, she pretended to find football and everything that went with it exceedingly boring. It wasn’t long, however, before she’d scooted to the edge of her seat, enthralled with the game and clutching her teddy bear to her chest.

  “You hungry?” Clark asked.

  So intent was she on the action on the football field, she barely heard him. When the Seahawks completed a pass she leaped from the sofa and danced a jig in front of the coffee table. “First down. Did you see that?” she cried, thrusting her arm in the air. At his blank look, she added, “We just completed from third and ten.”

  “Wonderful. What have you got to eat around here?”

  “Not much.” She sat back down and pressed her fingers to her lips as a Seattle running back carried the ball five yards, broke free from a tackle and gained three more for a total of eight. It was highly satisfying to envision the Seahawks beating Denver on their own turf. Her heart would ache just a little less if that was the case. It was a matter of honor, of pride, of triumph over a man with a fickle heart.

  In three months’ time, she had become petty and childish. Too bad. She hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Months!

  Clark took it upon himself to examine the contents of her kitchen, which in her tiny apartment was directly behind the sofa. She heard him opening and closing cupboards and grumbling under his breath.

  “I haven’t bought groceries this week,” she said over her shoulder. “There’s some bread for a sandwich, though.” If she remembered correctly.

  She heard the bread box open and close, then heard him muttering something about preferring his bread white, not green.

  At last she heard a triumphant “Ah!” She couldn’t imagine what he’d found, but whatever it was appeared to satisfy him. He set the microwave to humming and soon the apartment with filled with the distinctive sound and mouth-watering aroma of popcorn.

  Her stomach growled. She hoped he realized he was a dead man if he didn’t intend to share. Her thoughts quickly returned to the football game when Seattle fumbled the ball, setting up the Broncos for an easy score. She fell to her knees and pounded the carpet. “No, no, no.”

  “Something happen?” Clark asked, sitting back down.

  She toyed with the idea of being flippant and decided against it. He might get angry and decide to keep the only edible food in her entire apartment to himself.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, and sat down next to him, eyeing his bounty.

  She generally ate directly from the popcorn bag, but he had emptied the contents into a ceramic bowl. A paper towel protected his knee.

  “You’re going to share that, aren’t you?”

  He eyed her skeptically. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

  Old habits being what they were, Carol gave a one-woman cheer, leaping high in the air when, several plays later, Seattle scored their first touchdown of the game.

  “You’re rooting for Seattle?” Clark asked.

  “Of course.” His question irritated her. Naturally she would cheer for Seattle. This city was her home, not to mention that her heartless ex-fiancé happened to play
for the opposing team. She would love to see the Denver Broncos get their butts kicked purely for having the audacity to draft Queen Anne’s star quarterback.

  “What about Eddie?” Clark asked next, his words hitting her square in the chest. Too close to her heart for comfort.

  “What about him?” How well she could dupe Clark into thinking she didn’t care about Eddie remained to be seen. “Football’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. You think I’m only pretending to root for Seattle just to spite Eddie?” She made the question sound as ludicrous as possible to hide the fact that in fact that was exactly what she was doing. “You’re probably unaware that both my brothers played high-school and college football. It’s in our family’s blood. It’s only natural I should love the sport.” Too late, she realized she’d given far more of an explanation than necessary. Clark knew, and nothing she said would convince him otherwise.

  Turning back to face the television, her eyes fell on the screen at the precise moment the camera focused on Eddie Shapiro. He was standing on the sidelines, looking fit and muscular, and so handsome that merely seeing him produced a sharp unexpected jab of pain.

  Pleased with the media attention, he smiled into the camera. And it wasn’t just any smile, either. It was a special smile that held deep meaning for her. It was the smile he’d always directed at her after he’d completed a touchdown pass. The smile that reminded her of his love, and the promise that they were a team and would always be together.

  Yeah, right.

  As if he was looking directly at her, he winked. Too late to tame her reaction, she gasped. Pride demanded that she look away, but she found she couldn’t. She broke into a cold sweat and felt as if she was about to be violently ill, and still she couldn’t force herself to stop watching.

  Noiselessly Clark knelt beside her on the carpet and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close.

  Gripping his upper arms, her nails digging into his flesh, she waged a fierce inner battle between the demands of her pride and the intensity of her pain. She squeezed her eyes closed and trapped the emotion inside in her chest until she gasped for air. She was hardly aware of the tightening sensation in her lungs until they felt about to burst.