Wild Card (Wild At Heart Series Book 3)

by Christine Hartmann

  “Ready when you are, mi hermana.” Strains of Albinoni’s Concerto in D Minor filtered through behind her. She held the door wide as Bree tiptoed through to avoid getting the dress caught on her high heels.

  Bree looked up and down the short hallway. “Where’s Kacey? Don’t tell me the guy who’s supposed to give the bride away is late.”

  Stephanie winked. “He’ll be here in a second. I’ll scoot inside to give the all clear.” The padded door fell closed behind her without a sound.

  Stephanie’s father had offered to give Bree away, but Bree couldn’t make peace with the idea of an older man walking her down the aisle in place of her father. Kacey stepped in as the perfect imperfect solution. She stood in the hallway examining the door’s leather upholstery. Inside the chapel, she thought, were her friends on one side of the salon and as many of Mal’s relatives as they could cram onto cushioned benches on the other.

  She heard the pat of men’s shoes on the carpeted hallway only when they almost reached her. She stretched out her hand without looking. A firm, warm grasp greeted hers. She squeezed the fingers, still averting her gaze.

  “Are you ready?” Kacey’s voice sounded hoarse and off-key.

  Bree nodded.

  He tucked her arm under his. “I’m glad you’re not mad.”

  She raised her eyes questioningly just as the chapel doors swung open before them. The guests turned as one in their seats, staring at Bree, who stared, in turn, open mouthed, at the man escorting her with slow steps down the aisle. The wedding march echoed through the chamber. But in Bree’s head, the white noise of confusion drowned out every sound. The man whose hand clasped hers tightly was Ryder.

  She resisted the urge to stop in midstride. Her steps shortened. “Where’s Kacey?” She whispered through clenched teeth, aware of the cell phones thrust into the aisle to capture the moment and, presumably, post it quickly on Facebook.

  “Ask your friends.” Ryder spoke in hushed tones, his mouth turned up at the corners in, as far as she could tell, a realistic smile.

  Bree turned her head to search for Stephanie and Kacey among the assembled individuals. Her gaze fell on Mal. She scanned him for signs of confusion, annoyance, or even jealousy. But he looked past her, his face preoccupied with a seemingly uncomfortable internal struggle. She wasn’t even sure he was aware the ceremony had begun.

  They traversed half the floor length. She slowed their procession to a crawl.

  “You’re giving me away.” The words jumped out of her mouth as though they had a will of their own.

  His voice floated softly on the air. “Only if you want.” He gripped her arm tighter to his side.

  Her lips were growing tired from being stretched in a grin she knew must look horrible but was the best she could do. “Mal’s waiting for me.” She elongated her pace. He matched her stride and after a few seconds of silence they reached the altar.

  Bree tried to catch Mal’s eyes again, but they remained focused on a spot by the far wall. She felt as disoriented as he looked. All the nervousness from the dressing room returned, now coupled with a growing sense of unease. What was she doing in her mother’s wedding dress? Who was this man in a white tuxedo who wouldn’t look at her? How could she make her marriage even half as good as what her parents had? Shouldn’t she give up now? Before it was too late? Or was it already too late?

  Ryder’s tanned face leaned toward her cheek and brushed it with his lips. “Sometimes, Bree, you need to grab what’s waiting for you.”

  He released her arm and edged into the second bench on Bree’s side of the aisle, behind Stephanie’s family. Kacey turned around and fist bumped him, grinning. Mal’s father and Juli scooted closer together to give Ryder more space. The remainder of the benches on her side were occupied by an eclectic mixture of Mexican relatives and San Francisco friends.

  The Patel half of the salon was packed to the gills with brown haired men and women, some in traditional Indian clothes and some in expensive Western suits and elegant dresses. Faye occupied the front row, with two daughters on either side. Her face looked pinched. She threw periodic glances in the direction of her soon-to-be ex-husband, as though hoping to extinguish him from the ceremony with her vitriol.

  The music faded and the guests hushed. The hotel-provided minister stepped forward from a recess. Bree closed her eyes and focused her attention on the weight of the necklace that rose and fell with her breathing. She turned to Mal. The minister cleared his throat.

  Mal held up his hand. “I can’t do this.” He peered at Bree from under lowered eyelashes and shifted from one foot to the other. A mumbling issued from the guests in the front rows.

  “Excuse me?” The minister leaned in.

  Mal shook his head. “It’s not going to work.” A pallor tinged his face.

  Bree took his hand. It was clammy and cold. She waved back the minister, who had begun to speak again. “Mal, it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  Mal’s stomach heaved visibly. He held his hand to his mouth. He stared at her, his look both frightened and accusing. “I think it was the banana pancakes.” His voice gurgled. He cast a desperate glance at the minister, who pointed down the aisle. Mal dashed past the assemblage, careened into the padded doors, and disappeared. A flower stand tottered in his wake, threatening to fall, before a lithe guest jumped from a bench and righted it.

  The atmosphere disintegrated the way a high school classroom disintegrates when the teacher leaves the room. The minister smiled sheepishly at Bree.

  She forced a smile. “Bet you see a lot of crazy things.” Her fingers twined around the curls on her shoulder.

  He shrugged. “Groom running away is a first. Did have one guy throw up at the altar. That’s why I’ve got this.” He pointed at a plastic bucket hidden behind a flower stand.

  Bree surveyed the yellow container. “I’m sure he’ll…”

  A shout from the front row resounded over the ubiquitous chatter. “This is your fault, Soumil Patel.” Mal’s mother stood, her arms stretched across her daughters’ heads, pointing at her former spouse, gold bracelets jingling, her finger shaking.

  Soumil glanced at her. The anger in his gaze would have silenced a lesser woman. It spoke volumes about years of pent-up frustration. But with Faye it was like throwing gasoline on smoldering coals. She raised clasped hands to the ceiling. “Don’t you ignore me, you sinful man.”

  The minister, obviously seeing it as part of his job description to get the situation under control, stepped toward the raving woman. But she anticipated him and marched across the aisle to stand directly above her victim. To Bree’s surprise, Soumil neither looked away nor showed any signs of backing down. Her father-in-law to-be, she thought, had certainly changed.

  “You taught your son to be weak. Because you are weak.” Faye practically spat the words.

  Soumil slowly rose to his full height, as though levitated by invisible strings. The audience, seeming to sense a fight, hushed. The minister’s “ah-hem” fell on deaf ears as the two sides squared off, measuring each other up.

  “Mal simply has indigestion.”

  At the sound of Soumil’s level voice, the guests’ faces fell.

  “He said whose fault it was.” Faye pointed at Bree, whose eyebrows shot up. “And who encouraged him to marry such a woman?”

  Stephanie jumped from her bench, with Kacey springing up only a second behind. “Bree’s the best thing that ever happened to Mal.”

  Bree waved at her friend, urging her to sit back down, but unable to repress a smile.

  The room waited in silence for Faye’s response. The minister seemed about to try his luck again, when everyone’s attention was abruptly turned to the other side of the room, where Val, clutching her purse to her chest, swayed on unsure legs. “After all Mom did for you.” She shook a finger at her father.” Now you’re sleeping with another woman. It’s disgusting.”

  Seeming to be bolstered by Val’s support, Faye lit into Soumil again.
Juli next rose to her son’s aid. Then the four Patel daughters traipsed over the marble floor to join their mother. This, the faces on the Patel side of the chapel clearly showed, was a far better wedding than any they had anticipated. Bree cringed as she saw some of the younger members removed cell phones and begin filming. She could just see it: her wedding going viral on YouTube. She was about to step into the fray when she felt a pull on her elbow.

  “Funny.” Ryder stood next to her and gestured with his chin at the melee.

  Bree glared at him. “My wedding in ruins?”

  Ryder shrugged. He pushed his wavy blond hair behind his ears and leaned back. “Funny that they call this family.” The corner of his mouth crept up in a grin as some of the Patels marched across the aisle.

  Bree noticed Stephanie’s relatives had retreated from the front bench to stand against the wall, where Bree’s friends had gathered. Stephanie motioned for the minister to join them. She rolled her eyes at Bree and held up the photo of Bree’s parents in a helpless gesture.

  A giggle grew in Bree’s chest. She bit her lips to suppress it, imagining her work colleagues watching the viral video during their free time. But when a bouquet plucked from one of the flower stands sailed out of nowhere through the air and landed in an explosion of pink and orange petals on Faye’s head, she lost control. Laughter burst forth through her pursed lips. She leaned on the minister’s podium.

  “They’ve ripped the lid off.” She spoke between explosions of mirth. “The mess is out in the open.”

  Ryder chuckled. He slid his hand around her waist, his eyes sparkling. “What do you think, Bree? Time to go?”

  She examined his face. Her mind flashed back across the past months and the feeling that had grown within her despite her own protestations. She nodded, unable to speak, surprised at her own acquiescence, but relieved.

  Ryder guided her through the aisle, helping her avoid the fracas. When they reached the padded doors, he paused, his look questioning. Bree turned and surveyed the scene. Stephanie was leading a procession of laughing guests toward the place where she and Ryder stood. Mal’s family feud had devolved into a screaming free-for-all. Bree felt the last remnant of stress flow from her body down into the glossy floor. She laughed up into Ryder’s face. “Did you set this up to help me see the light?”

  Ryder bent down and kissed her on the lips, an open-mouthed kiss of deep contentment that drew her in completely, wholly, longingly. The world faded into the background. And in the wedding dress she had thought was for Mal, she embraced the person who had walked her down the aisle.

  When their lips finally parted, she entwined her hand in his. He pressed it against his heart. He pushed the doors open and threw one last glance behind them. “It’s what I said before. Family isn’t what you’re given. Family is something you have to create.”

  They sauntered down the short hallway. Bree felt as though she were gliding an inch above the floor, her dress flowing around her like a cloud, wafting her alongside Ryder. Movement was effortless, her mind free from care or worry. When Ryder tugged her arm, bringing them to a stop, she hung in the air for a moment, like a bird soaring on a thermal.

  “It’s Mal.” Ryder’s eyes focused on hers.

  Bree’s feet returned to the ground. But her heart beat normally. She disengaged herself.

  Mal leaned against the bathroom doorframe with one hand. The other held his stomach. His white tuxedo front was splattered with yellow dots. His face looked green. When Bree approached, he lifted his gaze listlessly and observed Ryder and Bree and the mass of guests behind them with uncaring eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Bree reached out her hand to touch his shoulder.

  He shrunk away. “Don’t touch me. It might be viral.” He closed his eyes as a spasm gripped him. “It wasn’t the pancakes. I’m sorry I said that.”

  Bree studied the bedraggled man in front of her, the man she had been about to marry. She hardly recognized him. Who really was Mal Patel, she wondered. And with that thought, she realized she had never seen him for who he really was. She had endowed the man she chose as her life partner with qualities she wanted him to have, fashioned him in her mind as the answer to what she had been looking for. She suddenly understood that it hadn’t been fair.

  She took his hand. “You were right when you said things didn’t fit.”

  Mal glanced behind her at Ryder. “Doesn’t mean they won’t fit. They just didn’t for us.”

  Bree kissed him on his bedewed forehead. She slipped her engagement ring from her finger and placed it in his breast pocket. “I hope you find the perfect fit someday, Mal. Forgive me for not being able to see straight until now.”

  Mal shook his head. “It was both of us.” He gave Ryder a wan smile. “Now go. People are waiting.”

  Ryder approached and took Bree’s hand. He threw Mal a salute. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Mal nodded. “She’ll take good care of herself.”

  Chapter 21

  At the hotel’s main entrance, Bree shielded her eyes from the scorching sun. She stood, blinking, in the bright light. Ryder still held her hand against his chest, and through the fabric of his dark navy suit she could feel his heart thumping. She gazed up at him and he bent down to kiss her again, to the glee of a busload of middle-aged Midwesterners. The group stood in a semicircle around Bree and Ryder, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at their embrace.

  One woman tapped Bree on the arm. “Just married, are you?” She winked before disappearing inside with her cohort.

  Ryder grinned at Bree. “What you think?”

  Bree read the expression on his face. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” Ryder laughed and scooped her into his arms. “I’ve been ready since I saw you in line at the car rental.”

  Bree twined her arms around his neck. “Did you send the roses this morning?”

  Ryder cocked his head. “Do you have to ask?”

  Bree nuzzled her face into his neck.

  Stephanie stepped from among the circle of guests who had followed them. “Stay right there.” She lifted the hem of her dress and streaked across the lot. A minute later, a white Hummer limousine pulled in front of the hotel. A tinted window lowered and Stephanie’s head popped out. “Had this waiting as a surprise, amiga.”

  Ryder released Bree’s hand and opened the door. She stepped into the air conditioned interior and he carefully folded her dress in after her. He squeezed in and made room for himself by her side. Guests piled in after them. One of those who couldn’t fit stuck her head in.

  “We’ll take cabs. Where to?”

  Ryder grinned at Bree. “Bureau of marriage licenses.”

  ***

  An hour later, Bree ordered the limousine to stop. “Let’s walk.” She tugged Ryder’s arm. “It’s fun to spread the joy.”

  Ryder nodded. “You’re the bride.”

  She stepped onto the hot concrete sidewalk and he heaved her dress out after her. The sun beat down. In the distance, a white wedding chapel glowed like a shimmering mirage. He removed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. One hand wrapped tightly around hers and held it against his heart. Behind them, a long line of taxis pulled to the curb like an eddy in a river.

  After the assembly gathered, they formed rows on the sidewalk. Ryder and Bree lead, with Kasey and Stephanie next to them, Stephanie cradling the framed photo of Bree’s parents. Passing cars honked. Drivers lowered their windows to wave. Tourists on the Strip stepped aside, pointing and snapping pictures with their phones. A teenage girl glanced up at her mother for permission, then ran to Bree. The procession halted.

  The girl gazed at Bree with awe and held up her phone. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Bree grinned.

  “Can I take a selfie with you?”

  Bree bent over the young girl’s thin shoulders. “Don’t you want Mr. Handsome in it too?” She gestured at Ryder to join them.

  But the girl peered at Ryder and shook her head. “He’s
nothing special. But you’re…” She pulled her eyebrows together. “You’re exactly what I want to be when I grow up.”

  Bree blinked as the girl snapped pictures. Then, watching the young figure skip away with glee, she lay a hand over the necklace on her chest.

  Ryder strode toward her. He cupped her face. “See. Other people notice it too.” His lips melted against hers as he held her gaze. “You’re the amazing one.”

  BEFORE YOU GO…

  DON’T MISS OUT!

  Would you like to be a part of our FREEBIE FRIDAY LIST and get 5 FREE E-books sent to your inbox each week? Every week we send out different e-books including ALL different genres such as Romance, Suspense, Thriller, Westerns, Paranormal, New Adult, and much more! If you’d like to join over 9,500+ subscribers and growing, click below to be a part of FREEBIE FRIDAY…

  Join FREEBIE FRIDAY!

  Acknowledgments

  This book had many friends who helped along the way. Wild at Heart Newsletter readers chose character names and scene locations. I am indebted to the staff at Limitless Publishing for their shepherding of the project from first draft to completion. My editor, Rosa Sophia, was delightful as always. My husband, Ron Strickland’s birthday party near Las Vegas provided the impetus for the story setting. And Ron’s willingness to critique chapter after chapter helped shape some of my favorite sections and character quirks. I love this book and sincerely hope you do as well.

  Onward, to book four!

  About the Author

  Christine Hartmann grew up in Ohio and Delaware and loves traveling to exotic, romantic settings. After a college semester in Kathmandu, her first three “real” jobs were all in northern Japan, where she lived for almost 10 years. She currently splits her career between her daytime occupation (improving the quality of veterans’ nursing home care) and her nights/weekend avocation (writing both fiction and non-fiction books). Her husband, Ron Strickland, is a well-known long-distance hiker, trail guide writer, and the founder of the 1,200-mile Pacific Northwest National Scenic Trail. Christine loves reading, pilates, bicycling, snorkeling, and health foods that taste like they’re bad for you. You will often find her at a keyboard, with Ron whispering sweet edits over her shoulder.