by Lori Wilde
“Hello,” she said in her soft Texas drawl, and he could hear her heritage in the way she drew out the long O. “And who might you be?”
“Running late,” he said.
“Now that’s an odd name, Mr. Late,” she teased. “Welcome to the Bluebird Inn. Are you with the wedding party?”
He deposited his backpack on the ground, grinned like a fool at her corny joke, and strode forward, hand outstretched. “Tom Loving. I should have been here last night, but my flight out of LaGuardia got canceled. I’m sorry to have missed the rehearsal dinner. But, hey, I’m just the uncle. Hopefully, my absence was easily overlooked.”
“I seriously doubt you’ve ever been overlooked, Mr. Loving,” she said, and shook his hand with a firm, yet delicate grip.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss . . .”
“Mrs. Patterson,” she said. “Felicity.”
Fantasies that he didn’t even know he was having dropped and shattered against the hardwood floor. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and he’d just assumed she was single.
“Your husband,” he blurted, “is a very lucky man.”
“I’m a widow,” she said, and for a fraction of a second her dazzling smile slipped, but she quickly hoisted it up again.
Widow. A sad word, especially for a woman so young and full of life. Was it wrong that his dreams hopped right off that floor and jumped back into his chest?
“Do you have a car that needs to be valeted?”
“Motorcycle.”
“Oh,” she said in a tone that he couldn’t decipher. Did she disapprove? Or was she impressed? “Harley?”
“Ducati.”
“Ahh.”
Another tone that told him nothing. She was good at hiding her opinions. Cagey, this one. “I parked under the carport next to a green Prius. Yours?”
“It is.”
“Ahh,” he said, serving cagey right back to her.
She smiled, a slight, but definitely amused smile. “The other members of the wedding party are already here. Some of them are in the meditation room. Others are walking the gardens. Your niece, her mother, and the bridesmaids are upstairs in the bridal suite getting ready.”
“And my brother?”
“I’m not sure where Joe is at the moment. Let me show you to your room, Mr. Loving, so you can get settled before things kick into high gear. It’s already nine-thirty,” she said in an efficient voice, and reached for his backpack.
“No, ma’am. I’m not letting a lady carry my baggage.” He grabbed for the backpack at the same time she did.
Their fingers touched.
Snap!
Electricity arced between them. The old AC/DC song “Thunderstruck” bulleted through his head with the power of raw lightning, hot and powerful and stark. His heart pounded; his knees quivered; he broke out in a cold sweat.
Mind blown.
Her eyes widened, and she jerked her hand back, tucked it into her armpit as if she’d received a jolting shock and didn’t know how to shake it off. “Yes, well, okay,” she mumbled, and backed up. Stuck her hands in the pockets of her blue dress with its wide, swingy skirt. “This way.”
Like a cowboy taking one last deep breath before pulling up his bandana as he moved a high-plains herd, Tom inhaled from the base of his belly all the way up to his throat and followed those lovely, swaying hips.
Cowboy metaphors? Lord help him, he had been back in Texas for all of two hours, and already he was falling into the old family ways.
And for the life of him, Tom couldn’t figure out if he was happy about that or not.
Chapter Two
The Saturday morning edition of the Serendipity Gazette—yes, there was still a charmingly antiquated town newspaper sporting a surprisingly robust subscriber rate of two thousand in a town triple that population—declared it the wedding of the decade and cleared its front page to describe the setting for the union of Serendipity’s hottest bachelor, Dr. Chance Worthington, to Savannah Loving, daughter of the famed ranching family.
“Lookie!” Aunt Molly waved the paper under Felicity’s nose. “You made the front page!”
Indeed, two days ago a reporter had come out to photograph the grounds. The interview complimented the renovations that Felicity had undertaken in order to restore the inn to its Victorian grandeur. At the end of the article, the reporter declared the Bluebird fit for royalty and Lovings alike.
What the piece did not say was that Felicity had sunk every last penny of a hundred-thousand-dollar loan into the improvements. If the gamble didn’t pay off, she could lose everything.
It’s going to be fine, she told herself. She had all those bookings, and it was such a glowing article. She could relax. She’d finally made it.
Normally, that would have been enough to reassure Felicity. But today, the day she’d learned she’d been jinxed at birth, a strange sense of foreboding lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
Silly. Oh gosh, she knew it was silly and superstitious, but if for some reason things did fall apart, she could lose Steve’s family home and the last shreds of the dream they’d dreamed together.
“This is so exciting,” Aunt Molly said. “I’m so happy for you. Fingers crossed the jinx is broken.”
“Put the paper down. The wedding guests are starting to arrive. Grab the programs and man the garden gate,” Felicity told her aunt, tired of this jinx nonsense.
“Okay, okay.” Aunt Molly put down the paper and picked up the stack of wedding programs. “But I just have to say your mother would be so proud of you.”
Felicity gave her a quick one-armed hug. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
The wedding planner buzzed through the room and gave them a thumbs up as she spoke into a headset nestled at her chin, barking out instructions to the underling in charge of the ushers.
Felicity took her place, waiting on a hilly area, slightly to the right and behind the altar, at the ready if the wedding planner should need her. From this vantage point, she had a perfect view of the proceedings.
The guests filtered in through the garden gate. Aunt Molly passed out the programs. The ushers escorted wedding goers to their seats. The wedding singer belted out “Marry Me” from a raised stone dais to the left side of the gathering. The videographer captured the event on his state-of-the-art, high-def video camera. The gardens were beautiful. The visitors well-heeled. Everything was moving along as scheduled.
Felicity nodded. It was going to be okay. Not a single glitch.
The patio door leading from the Bluebird Inn into the gardens opened, and Tom Loving, dressed in a sharp tuxedo with a white rosebud at his lapel, stepped into view. He was tugging at his wrists as if testing the cufflinks on the French cuffs, in a gesture so accomplished and regal it took her breath away.
She didn’t know if his majestic bearing came from military service or from being part of the imperial Loving clan, or both, but he moved with a rare carriage and grace. His salt-and-pepper—for now more pepper than salt—short-clipped hair glistened in the sun. He wore shades, but slipped them off, tucked them in his front jacket pocket, raised his head, and looked straight at her.
His gaze was a kick, spicy as Sriracha, and she was a good fifty yards away. She had no idea how his eyes had zeroed in on her past the guests and the altar and the flowers, but she felt them land on her as firm as a grip.
He knew she was watching him.
The corners of his mouth turned up into a smug smile. He gave a slight shake to his head and winked.
Felicity jerked her gaze away. Good grief, but he was handsome and far too out of her league. She had a job to do. He was just traveling through. But it had been a very long time since she’d felt the touch of a man’s hand on her skin. Tasted a man on her lips.
She gulped and swallowed, alarmed. She’d thought all her sexual desire had died along with Steve; to feel herself come roaring, quite wildly, back to life, was a surprise.
Eyes on the prize. Head in th
e game. High profile wedding under way. A wedding that was going to leave the Bluebird Inn with a lasting legacy, or so said the reporter from the Serendipity Gazette.
Dr. Chance Worthington took his place at the altar, with Savannah’s brother at his side as his best man.
Chance’s back was to Felicity. He held his shoulders straight. Head up. No fidgeting. Here was a man ready to settle down. He had his pediatric practice established. He was thirty-three years old. Yes, his bride was a bit younger at twenty-five, but merging the Worthington name with that of the Lovings . . . Well, Chance and Savannah were building an empire.
It was romantic and compelling, and Felicity’s eyes misted as she remembered her own wedding day and just how over-the-moon happy she’d been.
Of course, if she’d known she was jinxed, she might not have been so optimistic.
Knock it off. She was not jinxed. Gee thanks, Aunt Molly, for picking today of all days to tell her about that nutty story.
Whatever. Forget it. She waved the thought away. Smiled big. But she couldn’t help glancing over to where Tom had taken a seat on the Loving side of the aisle. He was still looking at her.
All right. Serious business. It was eleven o’clock. The wedding march was starting. No more jinx nonsense. No more Tom Loving nonsense either.
The patio door opened again. Joe Loving, Savannah’s father, emerged from the house with his daughter on his arm.
Everyone turned in his or her seat to watch the bride. The crowd murmured in awe at her youthful beauty. Everyone, that is, except for Tom Loving, whose eyes were fixed firmly on Felicity.
She frowned, pursed her lips, shook her head.
His grin split wider.
She stuck out her tongue.
His eyes rounded, and he slapped a palm over his mouth to hold back laughter. She pointed her finger at his niece, who had stopped at the top of the carpet leading to the aisle.
Finally, thank the Lord, Tom turned to look at his brother and his niece.
Savannah ducked her head, her face obscured by the lace veil she’d ordered from Neiman Marcus. Her father nudged her forward.
The bride stumbled.
Felicity automatically reached out as if to catch her, realized what she’d done, and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
The father strong-armed his daughter, pulling her up against his side. Felicity cocked her head. Joe seemed to be forcing Savannah down the aisle.
A portentous wriggling began in the pit of Felicity’s stomach, and she heard Aunt Molly’s words in her head.
At the moment of your birth, a bluebird, attracted by the shiny prism hanging in the bedroom window, hit the glass pane and broke its beautiful azure neck.
Savannah dug in her heels, shook her head.
Joe literally dragged her forward.
Chance moved toward his reluctant bride.
“Maybe,” Felicity whispered to herself. “Maybe the poor girl is just having a wardrobe malfunction.” She crossed her fingers, held her breath.
Joe glowered, bent his head to Savannah’s, said something to her.
Half the guests were on their feet, craning their necks to see what was going on. Savannah looked at her uncle, and her mouth pressed into a grim line. Tom was facing toward his niece, so Felicity couldn’t see his face.
The next thing Felicity knew, Savannah was kicking off her high heels, yanking her arm from her father’s hand, gathering her frothy white train in her arms, and sprinting away through the garden gate.
And, with the runaway bride, went Felicity’s future.
* * *
The congregation sprang to its feet, and half a dozen people, the groom included, went running after the bride.
Tom heard his Ducati start. Gulped. Oh shit. He should have seen this coming when he’d jokingly given Savannah the keys and told her she could always run away. Never in a million years had he thought she’d take him up on it.
He closed his eyes, blew out his breath, wondered how she’d managed to straddle that motorcycle in her wedding gown, and prayed like hell the dress didn’t get caught in the spokes.
Tom stayed welded to the chair, feeling guilty as sin, but also strangely exhilarated by his niece’s bold escape. What was wrong with him? Was he that soured on marriage?
People milled around him, chattering excitedly.
What happened?
What’s going on?
Is she coming back?
Did Savannah just ditch the most eligible bachelor in Serendipity?
Honestly, I’m not surprised. The Lovings shouldn’t have held the wedding at the Bluebird Inn. It’s jinxed.
What was that last part? Tom cocked his head, listening for more gossip. Felicity Patterson jinxed?
What did that mean? Tom searched for Felicity in the crowd, but she’d left her post on the hilly rise behind the altar, and he couldn’t find her in the throng.
Suddenly, the guests gasped, and Tom turned to see what had drawn their attention.
The groom, Dr. Chance Worthington, was coming back through the garden gate, clutching Savannah’s wedding gown to his chest. He looked stunned, but at the same time, oddly relieved.
The way Tom imagined he’d looked on the day his divorce became final.
“She stripped off her wedding dress,” Chance mumbled. “She had on leggings and a T-shirt underneath. Took her dress right off and left it trampled on the front lawn. Jumped on someone’s motorcycle and took off. She was planning this. . . .” His voice hitched; he staggered.
Had Tom’s niece been planning it? Or had the idea first taken root when Tom had gone upstairs to see Savannah in her suite and wish her well—and had joked about her escaping on his Ducati. Had he caused this?
Aww, the ego on you, buddy. Yeah, sure, the world revolved around his sage advice.
Women immediately surrounded the bewildered groom. Patting him on the shoulder, clucking their tongues, telling him everything would be all right.
Tom wanted to get the hell out of there, but Savannah had taken his motorcycle, and the aisle was clogged with people. No way out.
“Brother—” Joe’s voice slammed into his ear like a sledgehammer, hard and loud. “What the hell kind of ideas did you plant in my daughter’s head?”
Tom got to his feet and faced his older brother, who was standing there in his tux, skin flushed, veins throbbing at his temples, hands knotted into fists at his sides. Joe was furious and looking for someone to take the brunt of his anger.
“Did you give Savannah the keys to your Ducati?” Joe ground out.
“Yes,” Tom admitted.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“It was supposed to be a joke.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You see anybody around here laughing, little brother?”
Tom swallowed his pride, which tasted bitter and prickly. He wasn’t accustomed to apologizing. “I never thought—”
“That’s just it, you never stop to think about how your actions and words affect other people.”
It was a sweeping statement, and not really accurate. Joe was upset, and Tom was a handy target, but there was a tiny slice of truth in his older brother’s accusations. Tom cared about people, yes, he did, but he was military born and raised and trained. Leaders had to make hard decisions sometimes, and a good commander didn’t let messy emotions cloud objective thinking. Joe was a civilian. He didn’t get it.
Tom was a civilian now too. It was time to start living . . . and thinking . . . like everyone else.
“Do you know how much this damn wedding cost me?” Joe growled. “Sixty thousand dollars down the drain in the blink of an eye, just because you decided to be a smart guy and shoot off your mouth. I know your marriage was crappy, and you have no idea what a happy relationship is supposed to feel like, but did you have to poison my daughter with your piss-poor attitude?”
Tom winced. Joe’s words peppered him like buckshot. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come to the weddi
ng. He raised a hand. “Look, I’m sorry that I gave Savannah the keys, but if she was truly ready to marry Chance, she wouldn’t have used them.”
“Were you trying to sully my good name?” Joe said. “Are you that jealous of me?”
“Joe, I’m not jealous of you. I’m happy for you.”
“Your words say one thing, but your actions say something else entirely.” Joe snorted.
Tom chuffed out a heavy breath. If he could go back in time, he would have ticked the Will Not Be Attending box on the wedding invitation.
“You know,” Joe said, “when we got your RSVP, Marion was so excited, and I was hopeful that maybe we could finally let go of the past and become a real family.” Joe grunted. “Should have known better. A leopard can’t change his spots.”
Tom was vaguely aware that people were ringed around them, watching the two Loving brothers toe off. Ha! Loving. Their surname was a cosmic tease. There was no love lost between the two of them.
Joe’s eyes drilled into him, but underneath the cold hardness Tom saw a vulnerability he’d not noticed before. There was a tremor in his brother’s hands and a crack in his voice. Joe was visibly upset, and it had nothing to do with Tom, money, or the hit to Joe’s reputation. Joe was hurting for his baby girl.
“Hey.” Tom reached out, touched his brother’s upper arm.
Joe raised both arms in a get-off-of-me gesture and backed away. His wife, Marion, rushed over, took Joe by the elbow.
“Let Tom alone,” Marion said, picking up the wedding dress that the groom had left draped across a chair before he’d disappeared. “He’s not ever going to be the brother you need him to be. Let’s focus on finding Savannah. Our daughter is what’s important.”
Joe turned his back on Tom and walked arm in arm with his wife into the B&B, the guests falling in behind them and filing away. Many of them planning on heading to the reception, despite the lack of a wedding. Several people shot Tom dirty looks and murmured unpleasant things under their breath, making it clear he was persona non grata.
Leaving Tom standing by himself in the sunlight, feeling lonelier than he’d ever felt in his life.
Then a soft, kind, feminine voice whispered, “Are you okay?”
