by Mary McBride
“Daddy?” The word left her lips in soft, almost childlike whisper.
“Laura!” He started across the room, arms stretched out to her, tears glistening in his blue eyes. “Look at you! Just look at you! My little girl’s all grown up!”
It was a good thing he hugged her so tightly, otherwise Laura would have crumpled to the floor. Then he led her to a chair, saying “I think we both need to sit down, sweetheart.”
When he took her hands in his, all she could do was stare at the long fingers—just like hers—and the shape of his nails, identical to her own.
“We don’t have much time, honey. I have to be back in Chicago in a couple hours. But Sam told me how much damage the divorce did to you, and I need to make this right.”
“You left us.” Her voice sounded small, as if she were six years old again.
“No. That’s the thing, honey. I didn’t.” He squeezed her hands. “Your mother wanted the divorce. She wanted me out of her life. And your life, too.”
“So you just left.”
“Her! I left her, but I never left you. I came by the house every week, but she always sent you out someplace. I sent checks she never cashed. I sent birthday cards.”
Laura thought of her shoebox filled with all the cards she’d ever received. None of them was from Oliver McNeal. “I never got them.”
“I know. Every damned one came back marked Return to Sender.” He twisted his wrist a fraction to consult his watch. “Ah, God, sweetheart. There’s not enough time to tell you all the whys and the whens. But finally, I guess when you were about twelve, your mother told me you never wanted to see me again, that you’d said you wished I was dead.”
“I never…”
He touched her cheek. “I know that now. But back then, sixteen years ago, I believed it. That’s when I moved away and tried, for the sake of my own sanity, to make myself forget.”
“Oh, Daddy.” Tears started cascading from her eyes, plopping on the lap of her dress. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Laura. Or mine.” He sighed roughly. “But, look. That’s all behind us now, right? This is your big day. You’re getting married. And the baby!”
“Sam told you?”
“Yes, he told me, and it’s the best news I’ve ever gotten in my life. I never remarried, so I don’t have any other kids or any family at all. Now I’ve not only got my daughter back, but I’m going to be a grandfather. That’s such wonderful news.”
Laura nodded. Suddenly it was wonderful news. Suddenly everything was wonderful. There weren’t any words to describe how her heart was feeling. She was about to babble something when Sam opened the door and stepped inside.
Zachary, S. U. was looking Seriously Unsure of himself just then. Sweating Undeniably.
“The judge is ready for us,” Sam said, offering her his hand.
Laura’s heart felt so full she could hardly breathe. So full and happy and complete. Sure. Utterly.
Charlie, with a grin permanently plastered on his lips, joined them in the judge’s chambers, and while Sam had a last minute talk with Judge Randle, Laura whispered to her father.
“I don’t usually dress this way, Daddy.”
Oliver McNeal gave her an appreciative wink. “That’s too bad, honey. You look good in blue.”
“No, I mean…”
“Shh,” he said. “I know what you mean. Sam told me about the day you came into his office. A lucky day for you both, I’d say.”
It wasn’t easy being grateful to Artie Hammerman for socking her in the eye, Laura thought, but that moment she was enormously grateful.
The judge crossed the room to introduce himself and to shake hands all around. When he took Laura’s hand, the man said, “Ordinarily I don’t perform the traditional wedding service, Miss McNeal, with the traditional vows. But Sam has asked me to make an exception this afternoon. I’m assuming that’s all right with you?”
“Yes. Of course.”
The judge straightened his black robe while the bride and groom and the witnesses took their places in front of him.
Laura stood with her arm linked through Sam’s, savoring the lovely words of the ceremony—the dearly beloved and the for richer, for poorer and the in sickness and in health—even as she wondered why her almost-husband seemed to be finding the beautiful, age-old vows so amusing.
It didn’t take too long, though, to discover why he couldn’t wipe the silly grin off his face.
When the judge finally got to the end of Sam’s vows, where he somberly intoned, “…till death do you part?” Sam didn’t answer with the expected I do.
Instead, he just kept grinning as he bent his head and whispered, “I told you so.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1744-7
BLUER THAN VELVET
Copyright © 2000 by Mary Myers
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit Silhouette at [http://www.eHarlequin.com] www.eHarlequin.com
Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Dedication
Books by Mary McBride
About the Author
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Copyright
