Happy Is the Bride

by Lori Wilde

  “What are friends for? Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” Meg gave her a reassuring smile. “Will you be spending time with Linc while he’s here?”

  “No more than I have to.” Tracy glanced at her watch. “But I’m leaving here with him now. He wants to discuss some business over dinner—something about a horse.”

  “A horse? Really?” Meg raised a knowing eyebrow. “Well, whatever comes of it, I hope it’s something good. If you need a friendly ear, I won’t be far away.”

  “I’ll remember that. And thanks for listening. It helped.”

  “Oh, I meant to ask,” Meg said. “Brady and Ellie would love to have you at the rehearsal dinner. There’ll be plenty of room and food, and they wanted to include some special friends and family. I know it’s a last-minute invitation, but would you like to come?”

  It was a surprise, but a nice one. “I’d be happy to come,” Tracy said. Then, too late, she realized Linc would likely be there, too. Never mind. She was a big girl. And she wasn’t about to let him spoil her enjoyment of the wedding.

  Chin up, she made her way back through the room to where Linc waited for her. When she’d married him, she’d been young—just twenty. Eleven years older, Linc had treated her more like a toy than a wife. But now she was a mature woman of twenty-eight. She had built a life and a career on her own. She knew how to handle herself with men—even this man, who made her heart drop every time she looked at him.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His hand brushed the small of her back as he guided her out to his rental car: a red Mercedes convertible. “I asked Brady to recommend a good restaurant. He gave me a couple of suggestions. I hope you like the one I chose.”

  “You could have asked me.”

  “I didn’t want to waste time.” He opened the door for her. Tracy sank into the buttery leather upholstery, fastened her seat belt, and closed her eyes.

  “Tired?” He slipped into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

  “Mm-hmm.” Tracy nodded. “It’s been a long, rough week.”

  “Then you need to relax, have some fun.” The engine purred to life as he started the car.

  “Do you still drive like a maniac?”

  He laughed. “Give me some credit. I don’t want to lose my license—or my life. How’ve you been, Tracy? I hear you’re a tigress in the courtroom.”

  “You make me sound like one of those TV lawyers in designer suits and four-inch heels. Just so you’ll know, every hour I spend in court demands hours of preparation behind the scenes. And the pro bono work I do, mostly for women, takes time, too. You want to know how I’ve been? I’ve been damned busy.”

  As the convertible pulled onto the expressway and sped up, the breeze caught her hair, raking it back to flutter behind her. It was getting dark, but she put her sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the wind.

  Linc’s hands rested on the steering wheel. Powerful hands, long-fingered and sensitive. He drove ten miles over the posted limit, with the confidence and skill of a man who enjoyed speed and the mastery of a beautiful machine. She could tell him to slow down, but she knew he’d only laugh. People didn’t change.

  With the rush of wind filling her ears, conversation wasn’t worth the effort. It felt good to just sit back and feel the fresh air on her face. In the west, the last glow of sunset was darkening into night. A roiling cloud bank moved along the horizon. Sheet lightning danced in the distance. The thunder was too far away to hear, but Tracy could smell the coming rain.

  When he took the freeway exit, Tracy guessed where he was going. In this part of town was an intimate and very expensive club that served prime steaks and vintage wines. But Linc drove right past the place, continued on another mile through a maze of streets, and pulled up to the curb in a neighborhood of low stuccoed buildings, graffiti-painted walls, and billboard ads with Spanish text. Young people dressed for a Saturday night strolled the sidewalks in couples and groups. A half-dozen teenage boys looking like something out of West Side Story loitered on a nearby corner. A police cruiser slowed as it passed them, then drove on.

  The restaurant, which opened onto a cracked sidewalk, was dimly lit behind an arched doorway. A flickering neon sign above the door spelled out the name: La Lagartija Roja, The Red Lizard.

  “Here we are.” Linc parked the Mercedes and switched off the engine. “I remembered how much you liked Mexican food. According to Brady, this place has the best in town.”

  Tracy glanced around uneasily. “I love Mexican food. But aren’t you worried about leaving the car?”

  He laughed. “It’s a rental. It’s fully insured, and there are plenty of people out here. Relax; it’ll be fine.”

  Tracy folded her sunglasses and put them in her purse. Now that the car had stopped, she could hear the muted sound of mariachi music coming from a radio somewhere. The aromas of pork carnitas, roasting chiles, and tobacco smoke mingled with the clean scent of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the storm approached.

  “You should at least put the top up,” Tracy said.

  “Not a bad idea.” He punched a button and waited until the convertible’s top had unfolded and clicked into place before climbing out of the car and coming around to open the door for Tracy. “Watch that broken curb,” he cautioned as he helped her out. “It could give you a nasty stumble.”

  “Thanks.” She took his hand and stepped up to the safety of the sidewalk. Her belly growled, a reminder that she’d barely eaten all day.

  “Hungry, are you?” he teased.

  “A gentleman would have ignored that,” Tracy said.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve never pretended to be a gentleman. You of all people should know that.”

  He opened the door, saving her the awkwardness of a reply. Inside, the restaurant was cozily decorated with adobe walls, Mexican pottery, and live green plants. A low blaze flickered in the Talavera-tiled fireplace on one wall. Candles in folk-art holders glowed on the tables. A trio of musicians was warming up on the stage.

  The hostess ushered them to the quiet corner booth Linc had requested. Sliding into her seat, Tracy felt reality settling in. She was having dinner in a romantic restaurant with her ex-husband, a man she’d done everything possible to blot from her memory. And she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Back when they were married, an evening like this would have ended just one way—with a deliciously sensual romp in bed—or wherever they happened to be when the urge became too powerful to resist.

  But if Linc was angling for a rematch—and she wouldn’t put it past him—the man was in for a rude awakening. Her hormones might be screaming yes! but this time her cool, sensible head was calling the shots.

  * * *

  The server took their orders and brought two margaritas. Brady had been right about the restaurant. It was a perfect blend of folksiness and elegance, with its shadowed booths, flickering candles, and romantic music.

  He reminded himself of the bet he’d made. He liked tangy barbecued ribs well enough. With an unlimited free supply, he could throw some great parties. But with Tracy sitting across from him, the candlelight mirrored in her emerald eyes, suddenly the bet didn’t matter. It was the woman he wanted, in his arms and in his bed. He wanted to feel her long, silky legs wrapping his hips, hear her little gasping cries as he sent her spiraling out of control again and again.

  This wasn’t just about winning. It was about winning her.

  “What about my horse?” Her question snapped him back to reality. “You said I needed to make a decision.”

  “That’s right.” Linc had given her the blooded bay gelding as a birthday gift. A few months later Hero, as she’d named him, had suffered a severe condylar fracture in his first race. The trainer had recommended putting him down, but Tracy wouldn’t hear of it. After surgery and long, costly rehabilitation, Hero was sound enough for light riding, but he would never race again.

  “Thank you for keeping him all this time,” Tracy said. “I always meant to tak
e him, but there’s no way for me to keep him here. I live in a condo and can’t afford full-time boarding.”

  “That’s just it.” Linc sipped his margarita, tasting the salt on the rim of the glass and thinking how beautiful she looked by candlelight. “Hero needs a better situation.”

  She sighed. “I understand. What Hero costs you in stable space, food, and care would be better spent on a horse who’s out there on the track making money for you—or busy making babies.”

  Sadly, she’d nailed it. Raising Thoroughbreds was a business, and in cold, hard terms, Hero was a liability. Linc might have sold the horse sooner, but Tracy, as the registered owner, needed to sign the papers.

  “I don’t mean this to sound harsh,” he said.

  “Oh, but you do—and it is.” A wistful smile teased her lips. Linc ached, remembering all the times he’d kissed her, and how intoxicating those lips had tasted.

  “No, it’s more than that. Hero needs a job. He’s being fed and groomed and exercised some. But that isn’t enough to keep him sharp. He needs work.”

  She nodded in rare agreement. “All I want for Hero is that he be valued and treated well,” she said. “I can’t take him myself; what other options do I have?”

  “Here’s what you’re looking at,” Linc said. “I’ve been putting the word out, and so far, you’ve got two offers. You can choose one—unless you have a better idea.”

  “I’m listening.” She sipped her drink, her tongue flicking a grain of salt from her soft upper lip. Linc felt a stab of desire. He stifled a groan.

  “Understand, Hero’s not a youngster anymore, and that front leg could give him some trouble as he gets older. He’s got champion bloodlines, but because he’s gelded . . .”

  “I know all that. But he’s a beautiful horse and good-natured. Surely somebody would want to buy him.”

  “I have an offer of sixteen thousand cash from a spa and guest ranch in the Tennessee hills. Given his age and condition, that’s about as much as you can expect.”

  She gazed down at her drink, as if weighing what he’d just told her. Linc knew she loved that fool horse. Hell, leaving Hero in Kentucky had probably been harder than leaving him.

  “You said there were two offers.” She was looking at him again, her eyes reflecting twin flames. “How much was the other one?”

  “Zero.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s from a project that uses horses to rehabilitate disabled war veterans. They call it Horses for Heroes. If you chose them, you’d be donating your horse. All you’d get would be the tax write-off.”

  Her face lit in the first genuine smile he’d seen all evening. “And they’d take good care of him?” she asked.

  “I’m certain they would. I could look into their facility to make sure, if you’d like.”

  “Would you? After I’ve heard back, I’ll make a final decision. But that sounds like a good job for Hero.”

  “If it’s a yes, I’ll send you the paperwork.” He returned her smile as the server appeared with their meals. “I had a hunch you’d make that choice. I guess I still know you pretty well.”

  “I’m surprised you’d say such a thing, Linc. You hardly took the time to know me at all.”

  I probably shouldn’t have said that, Tracy thought as Linc’s expression changed. The man had been so cocksure of himself. Now he looked as if he’d been doused with ice water. But the words were out and there could be no backing down.

  Maybe he’d needed to hear them. Maybe it was time.

  The plate of enchiladas in mole with rice, beans, sour cream, and fresh avocado slices looked delicious, but Tracy’s appetite was fading. She’d thrown down the gauntlet. Sooner or later Linc was bound to pick it up and fling it back.

  They ate in silence for a few moments, eyeing each other like two feral cats, hungry but distrustful. Tracy could feel the tension building. She was fully braced by the time Linc spoke.

  “Is that why you walked out, Tracy? Because I didn’t spend time with you?”

  She met his wounded gaze. “You were never there for me. You were always off having fun—the races, the parties, the marathon poker games, the women . . .”

  “The women were nothing but window dressing,” Linc snapped. “The only woman I wanted was the one I had at home. As for the rest, you could have come with me, some of the time at least.”

  “I did at first, remember? But after the first few times I’d had enough of standing around in heels and a pretty dress, pretending to enjoy myself. I couldn’t stand it—the people, the drinking and gambling, the whole empty, meaningless lifestyle. It was all about pleasure and the rush of winning—both races and bets.”

  “Pleasure?” Linc had put down his fork. “Let me tell you something you would have known if you’d cared enough to learn. I inherited the house, the stables, and the horses. Even in good times, when my Thoroughbreds are winning races and selling high at auction, the operation barely makes enough to keep it going. I support it with my business investments—the stocks, the franchises I’ve funded, the real estate properties, and more.

  “Most of the people I meet at races and poker tournaments are in business, too. And while we’re standing around, having what looks like a good time to you, we’re exchanging tips and making deals. That weekend in Las Vegas when you left—while my horses were at the track, I was checking out the site for a new resort that was open to investors. I was working, damn it!”

  “And spending every spare minute in the casinos, I’m sure. Whatever you were doing, it must’ve been more important than being there for me.”

  “And when were you there for me, Tracy? I should’ve known better than to marry a twenty-year-old child who’d never stopped believing that life should be a fairy tale—a child who expected to live happily ever after in a magical palace with Prince Charming at her beck and call.”

  As Linc’s words cut into her, Tracy felt a rush of angry tears. Was that really what he’d thought of her? Had he treated her like a plaything because she was too needy and immature to be what he wanted in a wife?

  Trembling, she rose to her feet and hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Whatever you thought of me then, I’m not a child anymore. I’ve grown up. And I don’t have to sit here and listen while you talk down to me. Do you want to drive me back to my car now, or should I phone for a cab?”

  A weary look crossed his face. “If you’ve really grown up, you’ll calm down and finish your dinner.”

  “I am finished.” Tears blurred Tracy’s eyes. Opening her purse, she fumbled for her cell phone.

  “Oh, what the hell!” He stood, fished a handful of bills out of his wallet, and laid them on the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

  With a hand behind her elbow, he steered her toward the door and opened it to a deluge of windblown rain. Lightning sizzled across the sky. Thunder boomed like artillery fire. Rain fell in solid sheets, pouring off the edge of the restaurant’s bar tile roof. Water poured down the narrow street, filling the gutters and flowing over the sidewalks.

  “Are you sure you want to leave now?” Linc shouted over the din of the storm.

  “We might as well. This storm could last for hours.” Tracy was already regretting the argument she’d started. They could’ve finished their dinner on good terms and maybe even parted friends. But no, she’d had to go and open the old wounds—wounds that might never heal again.

  “All right. On the count of three, we run for it. Ready?” He clicked the remote to unlock the car doors.

  “Ready.” Tracy knew they’d both be soaked to the skin in seconds. But that couldn’t be helped.

  Linc began the count. “One . . . two . . . three!” He grabbed her hand. Rain beat down on them as they plunged across the streaming sidewalk. Moving ahead, he opened the passenger door for her. Tracy took a long step to reach it and climb into the car.

  At the last second something went wrong. Her high-heeled boot caught on the broken c
urb that was hidden by overflowing water. Her ankle twisted, throwing her off-balance. She stumbled to one side and went down.

  Reflexively, she flung out an arm to break her fall. As her hand struck the hard cement under the water, something snapped and gave way. A stabbing pain shot up her arm.

  Linc lunged for her, catching her waist and pulling her upright. “Are you all right?” His hands held her steady. Water streamed off his hair and clothes.

  “I . . . don’t know.” She felt strangely weak, almost nauseous.

  “Get in.” He eased her into the car and closed the door. She sat huddled on the leather seat, shivering and in pain, while he went around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and turned on the car’s heated seats.

  “What is it, Tracy? Are you hurt?” His eyes narrowed.

  “It’s my wrist.” She held out her right arm, supporting it with the other hand. “It’s killing me.”

  “Let me see.” He felt her wrist with gentle fingers. She gasped with pain at the slight pressure.

  “It could be a break, or at least a bad sprain.” He reached around her, grabbed her seat belt, and fastened it. “Hang on. We’re going straight to the nearest emergency room.”

  Chapter Three

  Linc used the car’s GPS to locate the closest hospital. The wheels raised geysers of water as he gunned the engine and sped along the rain-slicked streets. Beside him, Tracy huddled like a wounded bird, cradling her wrist and biting back the pain.

  This was his fault, damn it. He should never have let go of her to open the car door. If he’d hung on to her arm a second longer she wouldn’t have stumbled and gone down.

  He’d had high hopes for the evening—a relaxing meal, some fence-mending conversation, one thing leading to another. Who could have predicted their informal date would end like this, with a fight, an accident, and a trip to the ER?

  Chet Bertelson was going to enjoy that last precious bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. The little bastard would probably drink it all on a single bender. But right now that was the least of Linc’s concerns.