Blind-Date Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “I’m one of the good guys. Or I try to be.” That was the truth. He tried as hard as he knew how to walk that narrow straight line. Not easy in this world. “Anyway, I’m with my buddy, his wife and her best friend and I’m on my best behavior. Trying to be suave, you know, impress the lady.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Nope. Talking and walking was beyond me that day. I ran into a garbage can, a utility pole, miscalculated in the crowd and stepped on the back of my date’s shoe, pitching her forward into the sheep tent.”

  “Was she okay? How did the sheep handle it?”

  “I didn’t know something harmless and innocent could ram a gate so hard. I got her out of the way just in time, but she had sprained her ankle and cut her hand.” He shook his head. Why was he admitting this? “See, we all have bad dates. But I recovered.”

  “Oh, so she forgave you and went on a second date?”

  “No, no second dates yet, but I keep hoping.”

  “You told me a story to make me feel better, didn’t you? That didn’t really happen. I can’t see it.” Her gaze raked over him, as if she were sizing him up and making her own judgments on his character. “I’m sure women fall at your feet.”

  “Only unless I trip them accidentally.” He rolled his eyes. “To be fair, I haven’t done that before or since, but I use it as a yardstick to measure my long string of date failures against. No matter how bad things are, it’s nowhere near as bad as that date turned out.”

  “Turned out? You mean there’s more to the story?” She leaned forward expectantly.

  Call him a fool, but he couldn’t resist making her smile a little more. She was striking, not just beautiful, and totally wholesome. Maybe it was the soft pink sweater she wore. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she looked like a storybook princess. Not that he was searching for that, but a guy liked to believe somewhere there was goodness in the world, that someone somewhere was good through and through.

  He felt like a fool, but he went on with the tale. What was his dignity next to seeing the hint of sadness gone from her face? “The final straw was when I slipped down two bleacher steps when we stopped to watch the roping competition. She suddenly remembered an appointment and ran in terror.”

  “From the looks of you, I never would have suspected you were such a scary dude.”

  “Frightening.” He felt comfortable with her, right off. That was something he never felt around a woman. Maybe because he wasn’t actually dating her.

  Then it hit him. He knew what had been bugging him about her. He’d seen her before. The snapshot flashed into his head. He saw the image of her face but without the smile and the warmth of laughter in her eyes. Her hair had been shorter then, hanging straight and lifeless, thoroughly wet from the rain. Brianna had been a crime victim. He’d worked on part of the case last summer.

  The door opened on a gust of cool air and the chime above jangled, cutting through his thoughts. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, as if someone was looking him over. In walked a tall, well-tailored woman. Her thin leather briefcase was tucked beneath her arm and her designer suit skirt swirled tastefully around her slender calves.

  She crooked one penciled eyebrow in silent question.

  If this lady was Alice, then Dobbs had gotten it wrong again. Best go deal with this. “I guess I had better go see if that’s my date.”

  “Sure, you don’t want someone like that getting away.”

  With a wink, he rose from the chair, taking his regrets with him. Only when he really knew to look for them did he see the shadows in Brianna’s eyes.

  Her smile was genuine as she gave him a finger wave. “She’s pretty. She could be The One. Here’s hoping.”

  Hope? He would need more than that. He was going to need Providence to see him through a piece of cake and a cup of decaf with the woman who should be right for any man, but he knew in his gut if that woman was Alice, she couldn’t be more wrong for him.

  He gave Brianna a nod for goodbye and let his feet take him toward the woman waiting for him at the counter.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m sorry,” Brandilyn whispered as she paused on her way by, carrying a loaded tray. “I had hoped he was Billy.”

  “Tall, dark and rugged isn’t my type.” Brianna put down her book, gathered up her empty plate, fork and tea things. She may as well clear her own table and save her twin a little bit of work.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Max. Apparently the woman wasn’t Alice, but he had ordered a beverage anyway and had retreated to the only empty table in the bakery, which happened to be in the far corner. Totally her luck. He had pulled a book out of his jacket pocket—not that she was watching or anything, but she couldn’t help noticing.

  And so did the blond woman who was not Alice. She sat at a table alone, too, but across the aisle from Max. Not Alice kept making eye contact and smiling at him.

  Of course, Bree didn’t blame the woman one bit. They made a handsome couple. His dark good looks and her golden ones. The woman was perfect. She had a delicate beauty and impeccable accessorizing skills. Her shoes, hose and purse matched her designer-label outfit. She was probably exactly what Max went for. Good for her.

  “I thought that was exactly the kind of man you were looking for.” Her sister wasn’t easily fooled.

  “Maybe I should leave the looking to God.”

  “You’re right, but it’s hard to wait.”

  Waiting was the story of her life. She said goodbye to her twin and slipped into her coat. It was March and while the day had been sunny, the dusk was approaching and with it the chilly night. She slung her pink plaid backpack over one shoulder, bussed her dishes and headed out. She kept her eyes on the door and then on the parking lot. She didn’t want to catch accidental sight of Max.

  Ever since the robbery last summer when she’d very nearly lost her life, she’d had a hard time feeling anything. Sometimes it was as if her heart had simply turned off. Other times, she felt too much, like now.

  Some days it was best to be numb. Her shoes tapped against the concrete sidewalk and the wind pressed like ice against her face and bare hands. She hated walking alone. It didn’t matter that the parking lot was well lit or in perfect view of the bakery. She fished her keys out of her coat pocket and held them ready. She tucked the mini can of pepper spray attached to her key ring in her palm. Probably totally unnecessary in this small city, but she felt better, stronger, as she tapped through the fading daylight.

  See, she was safe. The deep-seated dread squeezing her was from the posttraumatic stress, that was all. She was fine. She stepped off the curb, and a car door slammed. The sound rattled through her like a gunshot. A guy emerged from between the cars wearing a Montana State University sweatshirt and a backpack. He walked toward her.

  She swallowed hard. She was fine. Nothing was going to happen. Good thing the sun hadn’t gone all the way down. She was in full view of the bakery’s wide picture windows where all sorts of people could see her. She trembled, unable to shake the fear that had taken root in her bones.

  Nothing bad is going to happen, she reminded herself, fighting for calm. The counselor had warned this would simply take time. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. She needed only to have the courage to face it. One day, the fear and the residual trauma would be gone.

  That was the plan, anyway. She cut between a pickup and an SUV and froze at the empty parking spot. Where had her car gone? This was the correct place, right? She turned around, scanning the small lot, already knowing the truth in her gut. Someone had stolen her car. She shivered deep inside.

  It’s just a car, she told herself. No one was hurt. She was safe.

  Then why was adrenaline crackling through her? She trembled, fighting the pull of fear. The past was right there—the trauma she hadn’t completely dealt with—and she wasn’t going to let it pull her down. There wasn’t a gunman holding a semi-automatic to her temple. There wasn’t anyone crit
ically hurt and crying out with terror echoing in her memory. She gave thanks that this wasn’t the same at all.

  “Do you always hang out in parking lots?” a familiar baritone rumbled behind her.

  She whipped around, relieved to see Max standing in the golden slant of light. He appeared trustworthy standing there with his hands on his hips, emphasizing the dependable line of his shoulders. He looked like someone she could trust. “I left my car here, but I guess it took off without me.”

  “You mean someone stole it?”

  “Incredibly. I can’t imagine anyone would want it.” While she was grateful for a working car, the fourteen-year-old Chevy had seen better days. “I know I locked it. I’m compulsive about that sort of thing.”

  “Locks won’t stop a car thief.” Max pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “I’ll get a uniform over here to take your statement.”

  “The police?” Brianna gulped in air, fighting to keep calm. They would come with their flashing lights and their badges. It would remind her of that night. She shivered.

  This wasn’t the same thing, she told herself. This was a case of a missing car, nothing more. It didn’t mean her foundation had to be rattled. It didn’t mean she had to be catapulted back in time.

  “Brianna?” Max’s voice came as if from far away. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “F-fine.” Any minute now he was probably going to think she was loony tunes. A real nut bar. Shame crashed through her like a cold wave. “I’m just a little shocked.”

  “No, this is more than shock.” His palm curved over her shoulder, his grip strong and comforting. “You’re shaking. Come with me.”

  His grip remained, holding her emotions steady as she put one foot in front of the other. She thought of all the ways this evening was different from the one her mind would not let go of. She carefully catalogued them. It was nearly sunset now and bold colors stained the sky. She was outside, breathing in the crisp evening breeze instead of the heated, food-scented air in the kitchen of the restaurant where she’d been working last summer. So much was different right now, but that didn’t seem to matter to her brain.

  The images came anyway, flashes of chaos and agony and panic. She blinked away the pictures of violence and blood and concentrated on the pavement solid beneath her shoes, the traffic whipping by on the nearby street and the gleaming neon sign from the dry cleaner in the next building over.

  Tonight was not the same, she thought as Max guided her down the row of parked cars. Her foundation hadn’t crumbled. She didn’t have to flash back to that terror-filled kitchen. The ground felt more solid beneath her feet with every step she took. Her shoes tapped on the blacktop and she concentrated on the straight broad line of Max’s back and his reassuring presence a half a step ahead of her. The past faded, she felt whole again. Thank heavens there had been no full-fledged panic attack.

  Cool wind fanned her hot face. She waited while he opened the passenger door to a shiny white truck. It felt nice standing beside him. He towered over her, and for all his strength he felt kind, not intimidating. His grip on her elbow was firm and caring all at once as he helped her onto the comfy leather seat.

  “Better?” He shrugged out of his coat.

  She nodded. “And here you’re thinking, she looked so normal sitting in the bakery.”

  “What you’re going through is normal.” He leaned close, bringing with him the scents of coffee and cake and the masculine pine scent of his aftershave. His breath was warm against her neck as he draped his coat over her shoulders.

  The garment’s weight hugged her and its heat soothed. Bree studied the man in front of her, the man she knew nothing about other than the blind date disaster story. “Normal? You mean lots of people shake like this after finding their cars missing?”

  “Sure, but I was referring to the aftereffects of the robbery.” His rugged voice softened, and the unmistakable gentleness she heard made her heart suspend beating.

  “You know about what happened?” She shook harder. There were the images again, piercing like sharpened blades into her thoughts, cutting through the present and making her remember. The ear-spitting thunder of gunfire, the rapid pop-pop-pop and the echoes resounding against the tile walls of the kitchen. The crash to the floor of a tub of dishes as Juanita dropped, falling like a rag doll.

  Don’t remember. She closed her eyes, drew in cold fresh air and thought of the passage from her morning’s devotional. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you. The words calmed her. She let go of the images too painful to face.

  “I’m a detective with the city police department,” he explained, his hand gently settling on hers. His touch calmed her. “I was on the backdoor burglar case. I was assigned halfway through the investigation.”

  “You’re a cop.” When she opened her eyes, she saw understanding on his handsome, rugged face and more sympathy than she could accept. “I never would have guessed it.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Up close, his eyes were the truest blue she had ever seen. The tight grip in her stomach eased, the one that had been there since that fateful night when her world changed. For the first time in a long while she felt her muscles relax.

  She looked at Max as if she’d never seen him before. In the shadowy light he looked surreal, more dream than flesh and blood. His essence shone through, with a noble heart and trustworthy goodness even she could believe in. “If you’re a detective, then you must see a lot of the bad stuff. The dark side of humanity.”

  “I have.” His hand on hers felt like a lifeline. “Sometimes, now and then, I see the bright side, too.”

  His smile made it seem as if he thought she was one of those bright sides. Warmth filled her until the cold, bad pieces lodged in her memories faded and she felt like the girl she used to be, full of wishes for the future without shadows. She breathed in the sweet evening air, made sweeter for the scent of his aftershave, and savored the sun on her face. It was good to be herself again before tragedy changed who she was.

  She managed a carefree smile. “Mister, you are trying to charm the wrong woman.”

  “Hey, I’m not trying to charm you.” He was pure innocence with a dash of trouble crooking his grin.

  “You’re just naturally charming?” she joked, but she was serious, too. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, but you should return to waiting for your date. I’m fine. I can take it from here.”

  “I’m sure you can, but the truth is my date isn’t coming.”

  “She’s not?”

  “I’ve been officially stood up.” He shrugged casually, as if it were no big deal. “She called my cell a few minutes ago. That’s why I’m on my way home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No biggie. I get rejected a lot.” He winked.

  “Me, too.” It felt okay to confess it and even better that they had this in common. “Dating is hard. That’s what no one tells you.”

  “And it doesn’t seem to get easier. I try not to take it personally.”

  “How can you not?” That’s exactly what she wanted to know. Her entire identity didn’t revolve around getting married. No, that wasn’t it at all. She had been evaluating her life lately, and she realized there was a lot that she wanted but didn’t have. Closeness, connection, her own family, security. She had a heart full of love to give. Why not try to find love and change her life for the better?

  She tugged his coat more closely around her, glad the shivering was easing. “When a date doesn’t want to see you again, even if you don’t like them, it feels personal.”

  “Tonight is the perfect example. Alice sounded nice enough, but she didn’t want to know me. That would take more than a thirty-second conversation. She rejected me because of what she wanted. She has no idea who I really am.”

  No, but I have an idea. Bree looked down at his capable hand covering hers. Her heart gave a little flutter. He was a nice guy. Who wouldn’t be looking for that? “
Next you’re going to say Billy ditched meeting me because of his own shortcomings.”

  “That’s right. Everyone has them. It’s part of being human. I say it’s best to accept your own, that makes it a lot easier to accept other people’s.” His smile was part dream, part impossibility. “Now, tell me the truth. Are you feeling better?”

  “Much.” The quaking deep inside had calmed. The past was safely where it belonged and the memories buried. She withdrew her hand reluctantly from his and hopped to the ground. “I’m over the shock of seeing my car gone.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m getting out of your truck so you can go on your way.”

  “If you think I’m going to leave you standing in the parking lot by yourself, you’re wrong.” He closed the door and leaned against it. “There’s a cruiser on its way. They’ll take your statement, you’ll sign the report and that’s it.”

  “Nothing scary about that. I’ll be fine.” She smiled shakily. “Great. Now you think I’m emotionally challenged.”

  “No, I don’t like to leave a lady by herself when it’s getting dark.”

  “My sister is five yards away. I’m not by myself.” She set her chin. She was fragile, but strong.

  At least that was his guess. She would have to be, to come back from the trauma she had. He had seen others who had gone through similar experiences and they had never found themselves again. He ached for them and likely for what lovely Brianna had gone through. The specifics were sketchy in his mind, since he’d gone on to other cases, but he remembered the string of burglaries that had grown more violent with each occurrence until three victims had been left dead and two others gravely injured. Violence happened, even in Montana.

  “I’ll stick around.” He couldn’t stop the pull of concern in his chest. “I want to make sure you have moral support if you need it.”