Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance)

by Julie Kistler

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, yes, that’s the one,” Kitty Belle exclaimed. “Lovely, dear. Simply lovely.”

  Bridget gazed down at the white dress, feeling a bit awed by the whole experience. She’d looked at lots of magazines with Jay, but it was different when the dress was here, on her body. And it was different when Tripp’s mother was offering extravagant compliments, cooing over her, actually being...well, charming.

  “Do you really like it?” Bridget asked again.

  “It’s stunning.”

  She couldn’t quite believe she and Kitty Belle liked the same dress. It was very simple, very Grace Kelly, according to the designer, with its fitted lace bodice and full, tea-length skirt.

  She twirled in front of the full-length mirror in the hall, feeling like a princess. “Okay. This is the one. I’m sure.”

  “Wonderful. Now, dear, I need to speak with you about something else.” Kitty Belle made a delicate grimace. “I can’t make heads or tails of what Tripp tells me about your family. Now, I know your mother is no longer with us, but there’s your father, two brothers, and two sisters, is that right? So are you using your sisters as bridesmaids?”

  “Uh, no. I wasn’t planning on having any bridesmaids.”

  “None?”

  “None.”

  Kitty Belle blinked a few times, but she got back on track quickly enough. “Well, all right. I suppose. But when are they arriving, dear? Are they coming to Chicago first? Or just straight to Tahoe?”

  “They’re not. Either.” She started walking, away from Mrs. Ashby. “They’re skipping it. They’re busy.”

  “Busy? Too busy to come to your wedding? Why, the very idea!”

  “We’ve never been that close,” she lied. “You know, just grow up and head out the door and that’s that.”

  “But that’s terrible.”

  “Well, what can I say?”

  “Say that you’ll make up.” Kitty Belle’s eyes got misty, and she fingered the lace edge of Bridget’s sleeve. “Your wedding would be the perfect time, my dear. Call up your father and patch things up.”

  “It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t think so.” Spinning on her heel, Bridget ran smack into Tripp.

  “Oh, no! He’s seen the dress! Quick, dear, get out of that dress.”

  But Bridget couldn’t move.

  His eyes were a deep, moody blue as he quite resolutely set her away from him. They hadn’t been speaking too much lately, as if he had decided some distance was the best policy. In fact, standing here in the hallway, with his hands on her shoulders, was the closest he had gotten since that other morning, the one on the couch.

  But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, but she had to find a way.

  “Bridget, this is disgraceful. Go back in your room and get out of that dress.”

  There was no fighting Kitty Belle when she got stirred up. Dutifully, Bridget went over to hand the dress over to the designer patiently waiting in the bedroom, standing guard over a pile of dresses.

  As she carefully stepped out of the white lace confection, she heard Kitty Belle exclaim loudly, “Tripp, did you hear? She’s not having any bridesmaids and her father’s not coming. Who will give her away? Tripp, this is horrifying.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Famous last words.

  As Kitty Belle faded away, in search of new lists to conquer, Bridget marched out in the hall. “No,” she said, staring right at Tripp. She raised her chin. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not bringing my father into this mess.”

  “It looks strange this way, Bridgie.”

  “What doesn’t look strange these days?” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. What with the dress and thinking about her father, she was awash in sentiment. “My father loves me, and he trusts me. I just can’t do this in front of him.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “No, I don’t think you do,” she returned. “He raised me to be honest and to do the right thing. If he knew what I was doing, he would never let me go through with it. And besides, I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want him to know I’m capable of this kind of deceit.”

  “It’s not like you’re robbing a bank or killing someone.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “To my father, it wouldn’t be that far off. And he knows about Jay. He’s met Jay. He likes Jay. He’s so proud of me for marrying someone like Jay. How could I possibly explain what I’ve done?”

  “If your father loves you, he’ll understand. In fact, if your father really loves you, he ought to be trying to convince you not to marry that guy,” Tripp said roughly.

  “Lay off Jay. That’s a very touchy situation right now.”

  “What isn’t?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Bridgie...” He tried to catch her eye, but she purposely eluded him. “Bridgie, I need to know if you really want to go through with this. If the idea of marrying me is so abhorrent, even for a few weeks, then we’d better call it off now.”

  She caught her breath. It was almost as if Tripp’s feelings were hurt. He was offering her an out. He was being gallant. She didn’t know what to think. “I didn’t say it was abhorrent, did I?”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Tripp, I...” Bridget lay a hand on his arm, feeling the fierce strength he held in check. “I care about you a lot. And God help me, I’m even starting to like Kitty Belle.”

  He gave a small smile. “I know. And she’s starting to like you, too. She’s really in her element with all these plans, isn’t she?”

  Bridget laughed. “Absolutely. I’ve never seen a woman more taken with the bridal registry at Marshall Field’s. And you know, it’s hard not to get caught up in the enthusiasm. When she brought that woman with the dresses in here, and told me I looked stunning, well, I could’ve kissed her.”

  “It’s terrible,” he said in a husky voice, “but the lies we’re telling are really making her happy.”

  “So you think we’re doing the right thing?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But a few little white lies never hurt anybody, did they?”

  * * *

  BUT AS THE DAY before the wedding dawned, Tripp found himself drowning in little white lies.

  It was like a breath of fresh air to escape to Lake Tahoe, and he knew he’d made at least one right choice. If either of them had spent one more minute in Chicago, they probably would’ve killed each other.

  Things were getting crazy here, too, of course, with all the last-minute details. Plus all three of his Stud buddies were expected any moment. But it was still a big improvement over the past few days.

  Maybe it was finally the chance to do something, to get the damn wedding out of the way. Better than all that fooling around in Bridgie’s apartment, while his mother treated Bridgie as though she were made of fine porcelain, and he wanted to wring her neck.

  Was she the surly one? Or was he?

  One minute she looked at him like she used to when she thought he wasn’t looking, like he was her hero. And the next she was carping at him.

  He could handle the carping—that was vintage Bridgie—but he couldn’t stand the mournful glances, the screwy moods and the incomprehensible physical reaction he had every time she walked into a room. He’d known her for sixteen years, and he’d never lusted after her once. But now...

  But now, all she had to do was look at him funny, and his body leapt to life.

  He knew better than she did that he couldn’t act on those feelings. He had good reason to believe she might just go along with it if he did. But he couldn’t let that happen.

  Not to Bridgie. She loved another man. She was engaged to another man. As long as he’d known her, she had been so clear about her future, and no matter how hard he tried to convince her that she didn’t have to take on all the world’s burdens single-handedly, she was bound and determined to be somebod
y, to make a difference.

  But Bridgie was no politician. Blunt, uncompromising, quirky, she had always known she herself wouldn’t end up as a senator or ambassador.

  But Jay Philpott could. Jay Philpott was her chance. By marrying Jay, by helping Jay, Bridgie could make the impact she’d always wanted.

  Tripp knew her well enough to have heard her talk about her dreams more than once. And marrying Jay Philpott put her a lot closer to her dream. Fooling around, pretending to be engaged to Tripp was bad enough, but if she slept with him...

  Tripp was no fool. A senator-to-be’s fiancée didn’t sleep with another man without blowing her dreams to smithereens.

  And so he did his best to give her her dream, to stay away, to hold back, which was never going to work after this sham wedding. How was he going to keep up the charade when he was weak with desire?

  The worst part was, this was his own fault. It was his plan. Great plan. Safe, trustworthy Bridgie. Safe no more.

  And whoever was at fault, he was sick to death of it.

  But then he would see his mother, and he would remember what the whole scheme was for.

  Just today, in the middle of the afternoon, he found her dozing in a chair in front of the cabin fireplace. Kitty Belle had always been so strong, so resolute, like a force of nature. And yet time and again lately, he caught her napping.

  Looking down at the fine trace of wrinkles etched in her forehead, he knew suddenly that she had aged, sometime when he wasn’t looking. Sure she was a pain in the neck, but she was also his mother. And his mother was getting old.

  Kitty Belle was mortal. Kitty Belle was dying.

  The finality of it took his breath away. In a few months, maybe even weeks, she would be gone. And there would be nothing he could do to fulfill her dreams.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Tripp, darling, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mother. Are you okay? Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Oh, no, dear, I’m fine.” She sat up straighter. “Well, fine, considering...you know.”

  “Right.”

  He edged away, but she caught his hand. He couldn’t read her expression, but it was very intent. “Tripp, sweetheart, there’s something I need to ask you.”

  This was awfully serious, serious enough to make him uncomfortable. “Okay.”

  “Are you really happy, with the way things have turned out?”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “Getting married, I mean. Are you happy with that idea? God knows you resisted long enough.”

  “Yes, I’m happy,” he told her. White lie number one.

  “And Bridget? This is what she wants?”

  “Yes, she’s fine.” White lie number two. And number three brought up the rear. “We’re in love, and we want to get married. What could be easier?”

  She paused. “You’re sure. Because I know I pushed unbearably and it really isn’t fair to—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “If you’re sure.” She brightened then, as if she had decided to believe him, although she didn’t quite rise from her supine position. “Have you convinced Bridget to call her father? There’s still time to get him here for tomorrow, if we hurry.”

  “Bridget’s father?”

  “How can it be a wedding with no one to give the bride away?” She wrinkled her brow. “It’s so unsettling to think no one from Bridget’s family will be here. I don’t like that, Tripp. I don’t like it at all.”

  “If you want Bridget’s father, then he’ll be here,” Tripp promised.

  Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get a father for Bridget without Mr. Emerick, the high-minded plumber from St. Paul, finding out there was a wedding going on.

  Looked like he was headed for lie number four, and the biggest of the bunch.

  But if he wanted to keep his mother happy, he would produce a father to give Bridgie away. And if he wanted to keep his fiancée happy, he would leave her father out of it.

  * * *

  “HERE’S TO OUR old buddy, Tripp,” said Steve Chambliss, holding up what was about number ten in his own personal stock of beer bottles. “May marriage make him a better man. ‘Cause we all know it can’t make him any worse.”

  His little joke was punctuated by the usual groans. They’d known each other so long, they had the routine down pat. Every time they were together, they drank beer, told terrible jokes, insulted each other and had a great time.

  This time was a little different, of course, since one of their group was leaving the fold. Tripp was the second one, after Steve. But somehow, when the Studs were together, time had a way of standing still.

  So they were throwing him an impromptu bachelor party, outside on the deck of the cabin they all knew so well. They would’ve been inside if they’d had their druthers, but since the wedding ceremony would be in there tomorrow, the boys had been banished to the deck. They didn’t care.

  A few more beers and they wouldn’t know where they were, anyway.

  “So here’s to Tripp,” Ukiah Jones, better known as Ki, interjected, offering a toast of his own. Ki had been drinking pretty steadily, and he was the shakiest of the four at the moment. He grinned. “Here’s to good women, good lovin’ and our good friend, Tripp, who’s known plenty of both.”

  “Long may he wave,” slipped in Deke Washburn, the good ole boy of the bunch.

  “Well, he’s not waving anymore,” Ki protested. “He’s getting married. Hanging up his spurs.”

  “You know Tripp never had spurs.” Deke roused himself from his deck chair, reaching over to pass out another round of beers as Tripp collected the empties. “He’s a pole vaulter. And everybody knows all a pole vaulter needs—” he winked “—is a great pole.”

  “You’re sad, Washburn,” Steve tossed in. “You’ve been using that same line on poor Tripp since freshman year.”

  “Aw, leave me be. The golden boy deserves it. I got plenty tired of all those women eatin’ out of Tripp’s hand.”

  “I think you’ve confused me with yourself, Dr. Feelgood,” Tripp said dryly.

  Deke’s Dr. Feelgood herbal teas were famous worldwide, but so was his prowess with the ladies. None of the four had ever had problems with that kind of thing, which was another reason they’d called themselves Studs so long ago, but Deke was a law unto himself.

  It was funny how different they were, and yet how well they all got along. Always had.

  Steve was strong, sincere, forthright, an all-American man’s man. Ki was a little slicker, a little smarter, a little more ambitious. When those wheels started turning, when he started poking behind the scenes of whatever crime he was writing about this time, look out.

  And then there was Deke. He could charm the fur off a female grizzly bear. And probably had. He loved women. Absolutely adored them. All shapes, all sizes, all kinds. It was a perfect fit when he launched his line of teas and started convincing every woman in America that she wanted to taste Dr. Feelgood.

  In this bunch, Tripp was the underachiever, measured against Deke’s tea millions, Ki’s true crime bestsellers and Steve’s established carpentry business in San Francisco. They all had what they wanted and knew where they were going.

  At first, they’d known him only as a jock, the kind of guy everyone looked up to because he could touch the rim in basketball, and touch the sky when he pole-vaulted. He loved it. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant to be a regular guy, and not the Ashby crown prince.

  And with them, for as long as he lived, it would always be that way. One of the guys. Who could ask for anything more?

  “You’re awfully quiet, Ashby.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Prewedding jitters?”

  “Ashby nervous? Wait, I have to write this down. The Ice Man defrosts!” Ki said with a laugh. He chugged down a long swallow of beer. “Two seconds on the clock, Ashby at the line. Remember? How many games did we see end that way? And Tripp would sink his free throws, nothing but net, and Beckett
College would notch another win.”

  “We never won,” Tripp scoffed. “We had a terrible team.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it. But hey, things have changed. This time, we’re going to have to rewrite the ending.” Ki tipped his chair back on two legs, and Tripp eyed him warily. Just how much had he had to drink? And was Tripp going to have to run over there and catch him? Unaware, still teetering on two legs, Ki went on with his little story. “Two seconds on the clock. Ashby has the ball. He’s open if he takes the lay-up. He goes up... But wait. What’s this? From out of nowhere, Bridget Emerick has just stripped him clean. And that’s the ball game.”

  “Stripped me clean? I don’t think so,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t think Bridget plays basketball.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t talking basketball,” Ki returned, with a wink that looked more like a leer.

  “Bridget Emerick,” mused Steve. “Who would’ve thought you’d end up with her? When she called me to get the address to the cabin, I was pretty surprised.”

  Tripp flashed him a glance. “Why?”

  Steve shrugged. “Just doesn’t seem like your type. Don’t get me wrong. She was always really smart, and that’s great. But...”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Ki rocked back in his chair again. “Funny girl, Bridget. What was it we used to call her? Can’t quite remember. You remember, Deke?”

  “Not really, but I sure do remember her. I thought she was an awful nice girl. Real...serious,” Deke said after a moment. “Can’t recall ever seeing her laugh. Real pretty, but real...serious. But I liked her.”

  “Yeah, well, you liked anything with two X chromosomes,” Steve put in.

  Tripp regarded them in stony silence, unwilling to discuss Bridgie. He had explained the situation to Steve, as well as he could, but he didn’t know what Steve had said to the others. And it wasn’t something he really wanted to have to dissect for their bachelor party entertainment.

  “Yeah, well, the one thing I do remember is that she was always hot for you, Tripp, boy.” Ki chuckled. “You always denied there was anything going on, but she was all over you like white on rice.”

  “Oh, she was not. We were just friends. At the beginning, she didn’t even like me, thought I was a dumb jock.” Tripp tipped back his beer for another swig. “She didn’t like the rest of you guys much, either. And she sure didn’t like the Studs thing.”