Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series)

by Patricia McLinn

  The question rocked his tranquility. How many telephone talks had they had since the times he’d been in and out of D.C. without contacting her? Fifteen? Twenty? She’d never asked then. Why now?

  “You had a new life. It seemed like a good time to, uh, back off. I didn’t want you to think I was checking up on you or anything.”

  He could have said: You had a new husband, and I couldn’t stand to see you unhappy with him. Or happy. He’d believed for years just what he’d told her—that he’d thought it was time to back off, let go of a college friendship. But his mental answer was the real one. He’d been fooling himself. All those years. At the realization, his hand clenched involuntarily before he consciously eased his hold.

  She looked at him steadily for a moment.

  “You didn’t like Terrence, did you?”

  Damn, that question cut a little too close to the bone. Well, the truth could be as good a camouflage as any.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Because he had you . “I didn’t think he was good enough for you.” He tried to keep the words bland. They were true, too. “I thought he leaned on you too much, used up your strength.”

  She laughed, a dry sound but not harsh. “You were right. That’s exactly what happened. Too bad you didn’t tell me all that before we married.”

  “You wouldn’t have listened.” She wouldn’t have listened if he’d told her similar things about Grady back then, either.

  Hearing Tris was getting married had jolted him. He knew she would always care for Grady, so how could she marry someone else? But one look at Terrence—tall and blond, handsome and charming—and Michael had recognized him as an obvious substitute. She might have been mixed up enough to marry Terrence, but in a way she’d still been loyal to Grady. “Nobody who thinks they’re in love listens to advice or reason,” he added.

  “So you figured the best you could do was stay away and not let me sense the disapproval,” she said with conviction.

  “That was some of it,” he said. The part he’d admit.

  “You’re probably right, I probably wouldn’t have listened at the time. I probably would have resented being told the truth before I saw it for myself. So, all around, you were your usual wise self, Michael Dickinson. And I think it’s only fair now to tell you that you were totally right about Terrence.”

  For all the lightness in her voice, the words had the slightest edge and her eyes were solemn as she faced him.

  She looked into the flecks of many colors in the depth of his hazel eyes, and wondered at her odd mix of feelings.

  She recognized an element of irritation. He had said he knew her while she told him about the homeless shelters, and she’d always thought he did know her, in some ways better than anyone else. But then he'd talked to her as if she hadn’t aged a day or learned a thing or suffered a hard knock since her freshman year in college. He’d actually suggested she safeguard ownership of the buildings, as if she hadn’t done that immediately when the backer pulled out.

  For heaven’s sake, he acted as if she would hand him some pie-in-the-sky dream. Didn’t he know she’d never risk something this important to anything less than a thorough, professional job? Couldn’t he guess what even the severest critic of her proposal in the association had said—that the financial strain had happened despite her efforts, not because of them? He doubted her ability, her sense. Maybe he still looked at her as the Tris of all of those years ago. She couldn’t stifle a pang of disappointment at that.

  And he’d sounded so distant and unfeeling when he’d talked about being practical. His words had sounded more like that backer who’d found it suddenly expedient to pull out of his commitment, than the Michael she had known. She felt sadness at that.

  But she also realized an overwhelming need to acknowledge that he had been right about her marriage and to make him understand why it had come apart. The urge was strong enough that she didn’t stop to consider why it seemed important that Michael understand.

  “I wanted a mate, a partner. He wanted someone to arrange all the practicalities of his life. Someday, for some woman, he may make a great husband, because he really is a basically decent human being. But it's going to have to be a woman willing to do a lot of the work. The kind of woman who has the patience to enjoy house-training puppies.”

  Michael chuckled, and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Unexpectedly, warmth flooded her, swamping the disappointment and irritation. Warmth for his understanding and acceptance. She’d spent so long nourishing her crush on Grady in college that she hadn’t seen clearly what a wonderful companion she’d had by her side. She’d come here thinking about showing Grady that she’d grown up; maybe she had another one to convince, too.

  “He wasn’t irresponsible,” she said. “He just wasn’t responsible. I couldn’t count on him. He was charming and endearing. And utterly exhausting. I could never relax. That may be exciting at first, but after a while, it left me too weary to remember that first, wonderful feeling.”

  Without warning, an image of Grady flashed into her head. Grady and Terrence. They even resembled each other superficially, although underneath they were very different. No, they weren’t alike, but what had been identical was her reaction, the same knee-knocking awe of them—so charming, so endearing, so handsome. For a college crush that was fine, but as a basis for marriage it stank.

  Poor Terrence. She never should have married him. But barely out of college and caught in the whirlwind atmosphere of their brief courtship, she hadn’t had the maturity to say no. She’d paid for that mistake with a lot of pain, but she’d also benefited from it. She’d grown up.

  She felt as if she’d just seen her marriage through a window, long clouded but now clear. And there was more. Another window was clearing, another piece of her past would open. All she had to do was look and—

  “The divorce must have been rough.”

  Michael’s voice came low and gentle, but it made her blink. She felt as if she’d just cracked a code—the code to her own past. She not only saw past mistakes, she had a grasp on why she’d made them, and she could forgive herself for them. Everything, even the sensation that she’d just missed another insight, paled in the triumph of that. She beamed into Michael’s puzzled eyes. “Yes. Hellish.”

  “You don’t seem too broken up about it now,” he said with a frown.

  “Not anymore. I’ve grown up a whole lot since then. A whole lot.”

  “Yeah?” The note of doubt in his voice mixed with something else she couldn’t identify as readily. Somehow she connected it with that look she’d seen in his eyes when they’d had their picture taken in front of the old library.

  For an instant, she felt a heightened awareness of the sun warm on her face, the water lapping, the trills of the morning birds and the nearness of Michael. It beckoned her. Tempted her to step forward, nearer to some discovery.

  “Yeah, so grown-up that I don’t mind being a kid now,” she said, stepping back from the edge. Not yet, a voice seemed to whisper deep in her mind. Not yet. “Race you back to the house—last one there has to wake up Paul and Grady.”

  She dashed across the morning-dew-cooled green lawn, trailing her own laugh behind her like a pleasant memory.

  * * * *

  “Do you think four more sandwiches will be enough?”

  “Aunt Nancy, I think you’ve already packed enough food for us to sail from here to Northern Michigan and back three times,” Tris said, as she and Judi exchanged glances. Nancy Monroe had never allowed anybody to walk away hungry, and the prospect of her houseful of guests going sailing for the afternoon had spurred her to mammoth picnic activity.

  “C’mon, Mom. They’re waiting for us.” Judi gestured toward the French doors to the patio, where Grady, Michael, Paul and Bette waited with towels and tote bags.

  “Just let me finish wrapping these, and then I’ll make some lemonade and put it in the big thermos.”

  “You alre
ady did that, Mom. And Michael took it outside with him, remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Michael’s so considerate. Some woman’s going to be very lucky to snare him.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Judi!”

  “I was just agreeing with you, Mom. I’d take him in a second if I could ever get him to look at me as a woman. Though it’s not his consideration I’d be after.”

  “Judi!”

  Tris wanted to echo her aunt’s admonition. Contemplating the frank admiration on her cousin’s face as she looked out the door toward Michael and the others, Tris had the strangest sensation in her stomach, as if it had just dropped about three stories and she hadn’t caught up yet.

  “I’m just saying he’s a hunk. Tris’ll back me up, won’t you, Tris? Don’t you think he’s a hunk?”

  She looked at her cousin. “Hunk? Michael? Don’t you think Grady . . .”

  “Grady?” Tris couldn’t mistake the dismissive note in Judi’s voice. “No. Michael’s much more of a hunk. Those wonderful eyes. And the hair always a little messed up, and that smile. Definitely Michael.”

  “They’re all three very attractive young men,” said Aunt Nancy, with affection in her voice and face.

  “I suppose,” said her daughter, sounding unconvinced. “But Michael’s the only one who makes me drool.”

  “Judith Marie!”

  “All right, all right.” Grinning, Judi soothed her outraged mother as she closed up one of the hampers and headed out, leaving the other for Tris to carry.

  Tris looked out the doors to where Michael and Grady stood side by side. The sun brought out the golden glow of Grady’s handsomeness. But she saw that it also showed off the thick shine in Michael’s dark hair, outlined the strength of his facial structure and tucked shadows into those faint creases at the corners of his eyes. Michael. She found herself warming just at the sight of him.

  “It’s hard for Judi to see that her own brother might be attractive,” said Aunt Nancy. “Or even Grady, since he’s been around the house all her life. He’s practically another big brother. I suppose it’s natural under the circumstances for her to see Michael differently.”

  As she said goodbye and took the hamper, Tris wondered a little if there might be more to Judi’s feelings than Aunt Nancy’s explanation covered, but the thought disappeared as Michael came forward to take the hamper from her. She could understand Judi’s view of Grady. She might even have a similar blind spot herself where Michael was concerned, seeing him more as a big brother than as a man.

  He looked down at her as they headed for the car, his eyes seeming to hold a special glow of warmth. Hastily, she amended that thought: Maybe she’d had a similar blind spot.

  Chapter Four

  Michael turned his face into the wind and away from Grady and Tris laughing over a stubborn knot. He wished he had more to do. But once they’d gotten the boat launched from the community dock, Paul and Bette, with occasional help from Judi, had things well in hand. The soon-to-be-married couple worked well together, communicating with half sentences and sometimes just looks. The sort of communication he and Tris had always shared as friends, the sort that might be growing between Tris and Grady . . . not as friends.

  Damn. Was this worth it? This could be a case where the cure ended up being worse than the affliction. What would be so terrible if he cut his losses and took off now?

  He looked at his hands gripping the railing, the smooth wood biting into his skin from the pressure, but he didn’t really see them. He saw a little boy in bed, with his father sitting on the edge and his mother at the doorway. No tears, no screaming, no scene. Just some phrases about things not working out, the echoing word divorce and then that expression about cutting losses. In the telescoped way of memories, he heard the expression again, and again, in other conversations, with even less emotion.

  He’d been taught young and often the meaning of cutting your losses, and he’d sworn that would never be his way. He’d see this week through, and he’d cure himself of Tris Donlin for good. Forever.

  “Hey, how about something to eat for your captain?” Paul’s shout gave Michael a reprieve from his thoughts. “Why don’t you go get it yourself and I’ll take over at the wheel for a while?”

  “Okay.” Paul let go of the wheel as Michael took hold. “I guess it's safe enough. We've got a rare wind, so you won’t need to do much tacking. Just remember, no right turns. No matter how tempting the sights.”

  Since they were sailing south, parallel to the shore, a right turn would have taken them into Oak Street Beach.

  Michael acknowledged the gibe with a grimace.

  “I’ll keep him on the straight and narrow,” volunteered Judi. She ducked under his arm and came up in the small opening surrounded by his arms, his chest and the wheel. She twisted to give him a devilish, lash-fluttering look over her shoulder. “Best seat in the house.”

  He chuckled. They’d been playing this flirting game for as long as he could remember. He figured he’d been the first of Paul’s friends to treat the then scrawny adolescent as something other than a kid sister, and a nuisance at that. She’d been honing her flirting skills on him ever since. He pitied the guys her own age.

  “Are you commenting on the scenery or bragging, Judi Monroe?”

  She leaned her back against his chest with a would-be sultry sigh. “I didn’t think you’d ever notice, Michael darling.” Then she giggled.

  “Pretty good, kid. Except the giggle at the end rather ruins the mood.”

  “Rats. I thought I might finally have gotten your attention.” This time her sigh was gusty. “Maybe I need a makeover—’Find the New You.’ You know, like an image consultant. They have those guys in politics, don’t they, Michael? You know anybody who specializes in sexy?”

  “The old you is fine, Judi. And, no, I don’t know anyone who specializes in sexy. They’re usually more interested in creating illusions of things like reliability and integrity.”

  “That sounds despicable. Why are you involved in politics when it’s like that?”

  “Because not all politicians are like that, because some are trying to do good things.” He thought of Joan. Then, unexpectedly, he thought of Tris’s project. “But there are some hard, cold realities you have to deal with, too. It’s part of being grown-up.”

  “Hey! Judi, come here and decipher Mom’s handwriting. We can’t figure out what’s in which wrapping without taking them all apart.”

  Judi popped under his arm with a farewell grin, and left Michael alone with a few of his own realities. Like his lack of success as a ghost exorcist.

  “Want a sandwich?”

  His hands tightened on the wheel at his private ghost appearing, very real, at his elbow.

  “Thanks. I’m starving.” He held the wheel steady with his hip before taking the sandwich from Tris and quickly consuming it.

  “I’d have thought you’d ask Judi to bring you back something.”

  If she sounded testy, he barely noticed. Sun caught the lighter streaks in her hair and the breeze tossed it around to lick at her forehead and cheeks. A stab in his gut accompanied the errant desire to push back the hair and explore her face with licks of another kind. Disgusted with himself, his answer was curt as he stared straight ahead. “We were talking about other things.”

  “Oh, you weren’t discussing mutual hunger?”

  Astounded, he turned to lock at her. An angry glitter in her eyes and a pink in her cheeks beyond what the sun had put there proved that he hadn’t imagined the edge in her tone.

  “What are you talking about, Tris?” He knew the calm of his voice could be deceiving, and very useful in masking a lot of emotions. He’d used it successfully many times in political settings. Never before had it been incendiary.

  Eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists, Tris snapped, “Don’t talk to me like I’m still seventeen years old or don’t have eyes in my head”

  He felt his calm facade sli
p, felt the anger that had simmered underneath all week surge closer to the surface. “I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t you think Judi’s just a little young for you? Taken to robbing the cradle these days, Michael?”

  Anger spilled over the facade, swamping it and him. How dare she criticize him when she’d been practically falling all over Grady Roberts for four days—hell, more like twelve years! He’d had enough, more than enough. The hell with calm. The hell with being her friend, with being understanding, with being grown-up. The hell with Tris Donlin.

  Wrapping one hand around her arm, he jerked her against him, so her slender body was wedged between the unyielding wheel and his own tense body. He lowered his head to glare into her eyes and snarl his words into her face.

  “How about you, Tris? Isn’t that what this whole week is about—trying to pretend you’re still seventeen? Trying to live out your girlhood fantasies? It didn’t work with your marriage, but—”

  “My marriage?” The confusion in her eyes couldn’t check his frustration—at her, at himself, at fate—that had accumulated over twelve years, piling up even when he’d thought he’d left it far behind.

  “—now you can try it again with the real thing, can’t you? Having any luck? Is he worth the wait? Or are you finding the reality less enthralling than the dream? Is that why you keep running to old pal Michael?”

  She tried to push free of him, but he pressed her more tightly against the wheel. Somewhere inside, he was aware of a sharp, tearing pleasure even now at the feel of her body against his, the slender length of it a brand through clothes and skin and muscle, right down to the bone.

  “No, not my old pal Michael. You’re nothing like him. You’re—”

  What might have been a stifled sob cut off the rest of her speech. Automatically lie eased back, and she wrenched her arm out of his grasp to push free of him. For an instant he thought she might slap him. He might have preferred that to the hurt he saw in her eyes before she turned on her heel.