Blind-Date Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to be a burden. I’ve got my sister, if I need her.”

  He remembered. The waitress who had served his dessert had been a duplicate of Brianna. Twins. He studied the woman standing in front of him, framed by the rosy light of the setting sun. The cinch of emotion in his chest tugged harder. Odd, since she was all wrong for him. Way too wrong for a broken-down soul like him.

  “Besides,” she was saying in a gentle alto, “you don’t want to hang around waiting for me to talk to the police. I’m sure a guy like you has a lot more exciting things to do.”

  “Sure. That’s me. Excitement.” Not. He got enough of that on the job. His pager buzzed, vibrating in his jeans pocket. He tugged it out not surprised to see that it was work calling. There was no rest for the weary and never for a detective. He would call in a little bit. He fastened his gaze on the woman with the wind scattering her long hair and with shadows on her face. First things first. He wasn’t going to leave until—

  A short burst of a siren shot out, and he looked up. It sure looked like trouble coming. Dobbs and Paulson, two buddies of his, pulled into the lot in an unmarked cruiser. He held up a hand, signaling them over.

  “The cavalry has arrived.” He wanted to stay, but she was no damsel in distress. She stood on her own feet, looking determined and only a little shaky.

  The cruiser pulled to a stop and the window zipped down, revealing Dobbs and his know-it-all grin. Max shook his head. He knew what his good buddy was thinking, so he spoke first. “This is Brianna. Her car turned up missing.”

  The door swung open. “Is that so? Well, Brianna, let’s take a report and see what we can do. We’ve had a lot of this kind of thing lately.”

  Max watched Brianna nod shyly at the officers. Her chin was set, but she was pale. She was struggling, but she didn’t want it to show, that was his guess. She looked achingly vulnerable as she wrapped her arms around her middle and went to answer Dobbs’s questions. He’d pulled his clipboard out of the car and was taking information. Max wasn’t surprised to learn she worked at the bakery, since she was sugar and sweetness.

  Remembering his page, he called in. Standing in the crisp March wind as the sun slid ever downward, he shivered. Maybe it was the damp air, or maybe it was something else. Something he didn’t want to think about too hard. The call connected, the line rang and he waited, unable to rip his attention away from Brianna. The wind ruffled the rich light gold of her hair, gently tossing it against her silken face. With the light shimmering over her in the last long moments before the sun vanished, she looked like a fairy-tale princess, something too good to be real and impossible to believe in.

  A voice came on the line—Fredericks. There was a shooting at the far end of town. Probably drug related. He pocketed the phone, conflicted. He had to leave. He didn’t want to. Wasn’t that always the way? The job came first. He liked what he did, and he had never found himself hesitating on answering a call. He had work, but what was he doing? Strolling toward the woman who took the pen Dobbs had offered her and signed her name with a flourish on the bottom of the clipboard.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and closed the short distance between them. “Do you need a ride, Brianna? I’d be happy to take you home.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught Dobbs’s wide grin and a wink as he backed away to the cruiser. Apparently both uniforms were taking interest in the interaction. Great. Just what he needed, more ribbing from a bunch of married guys.

  “I’ll have my sister take me home. She gets off in a little while.” She padded toward him, moving like poetry with the last of the day’s light pearling her perfect face.

  He didn’t like that this was ending. He couldn’t begin to explain why. He took a step toward her, just one step, that was all. Maybe it was best that he held his ground. “I guess this is goodbye.”

  “Yes.” She shrugged out of his jacket with graceful movements and handed him the garment. “Here’s hoping we both have better luck on our next blind dates.”

  “Sure.” It was all he could think to say. Max Decker, the man who had a comeback for any occasion, stood speechless as she cast him one last look. Her gaze met his like a bolt of electricity and it jarred through his system, leaving him rooted to the spot.

  Amazing. He watched as she glided away, unaware of what she’d done to him with one single glance. His heart had stopped beating. The blood stalled in his veins. He struggled for air as she walked away with her gentle, easy gait, her sleek straight hair brushing her shoulder blades with each step.

  Why was he captivated? Was it sympathy for her or something more? She opened the door without looking back. He watched her sister look up and spot the patrol car, and dismay crossed her face. The sisters hugged, and from half a parking lot away, Max turned, tangled up with too many emotions to name.

  “Was that your date?” Paulson had retreated to the driver’s side of the car and was leaning on the edge of the roof, grinning knowingly. “She’s real pretty. Too bad it had to end like that.”

  Max shook his head, but he didn’t need to say a word. Dobbs was already answering.

  “She wasn’t Alice. It was my idea to set him up with Alice. So, what gives?”

  “The same old thing. The lady wasn’t looking to be a cop’s wife.” Who could blame her? He didn’t. “I gotta go. Got a shooting across town. You jokers try not to get into trouble out there tonight.”

  “You know us. We’re nothing but trouble.” Dobbs winked, but there was no smile in his eyes. Their work was like that. They could kid around all they wanted, what they did was serious. “See ya, Decker.”

  Max nodded once, waiting until the cruiser had rolled before he took one last look at the bakery. Brianna was at a table toward the back, and all he could see of her was the cascading length of her blond hair and the curve of her back. Emotion tugged within him and he closed it down.

  Time to go. He yanked open his truck door, realizing his coat was fisted in one hand. Brianna. He smelled her soft, sweet perfume on the garment, something gentle and innocent. Tenderness swept over him, tenderness he didn’t want to feel.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Bree?”

  “Fine.” Sweat streaked down her spine, but other than that she was perfectly okay.

  As she waited for her sister to take one look around the bakery’s kitchen and make sure everything was in order and all appliances turned off, she reminded herself of how this night was different.

  The moon was big and round, casting plenty of light to chase away the shadows around the back door. They weren’t alone—all the other workers were waiting outside the door in the comforting glare of the security lights. It was March, not a hot summer night. Most of all, there was no gunman, no ricochet of bullets firing and no terror. She breathed in the fresh air, let the peace of the evening roll over her and faith reassure her.

  “Then let’s roll.” Brandi gave the door a tug.

  Glad to be leaving, Bree stepped into the back lot. There were goodbyes as the other two workers broke apart, heading off to their nearby cars. Everything was fine. There would be a day when she didn’t worry so much, or feel as if the other shoe was about to drop.

  “So that hunky guy is a detective, huh?” Brandi asked with just a tad too much of a smile.

  Oh, she so knew what her twin was up to. She was trying to distract her from the memories. Really. “Don’t start jumping to conclusions.”

  “Why not? He and that gorgeous woman he talked with never did wind up at the same table together. I happened to notice.” Brandi grinned as she sorted through her keys to unlock the passenger door of her battered little pickup. The poor thing had seen much better days ten years ago. “He could like you.”

  “You are a meddler, sister dear.”

  “I know.” Cheerfully, she opened the door and circled around to the driver’s side. “He seemed awfully nice. Manly, you know, as in solid, strong, mature.”

/>   “Oh, I know.” Did she! She could still feel the weight of his leather coat on her shoulders, warm from him and faintly pine scented. Nice. “He wasn’t interested in me.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Uh, he didn’t ask for my last name or my number.” Not that she’d expected him to. She dropped onto the seat, slid her bag on the floor and banged the door shut. “This is the last time I’m going on a blind date.”

  “Be careful. You’ve said those words before.” Brandi turned over the ignition and gave the truck gas, hoping the engine would catch. It rolled over and over. “Blind dates aren’t so bad.”

  “How can you say that? They’re terrible. Look at tonight. Disaster.”

  “Sure, but it could have been worse.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “Uh, the building could have caught fire?” The engine finally caught and roughly idled. Brandi twisted in her seat to back out of the spot with a squeak of brakes and a whine from the transmission. “At least you met a nice guy. Okay, so he didn’t want to date you, but at least you know nice guys are out there.”

  “As rare as hen’s teeth, but they exist.” Bree frowned, remembering how Max had made her feel. Small and dainty and utterly feminine, and incredibly, wonderfully safe. That was exactly how the right man ought to affect her.

  Now, she simply had to find the right man for her. No easy task. “I mean it, I’m done with blind dates. Notice how you don’t go on any?”

  “Sure, because I’m not looking for Mr. Right. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to find out he doesn’t exist.”

  Yikes, that was exactly what she was afraid of down deep. Beneath her optimistic thinking and her stubborn faith, that in the end, there would be no Mr. Right and no happiness. She sighed, pushing away the dark shadows from her childhood. “Although a girl has to have hope.”

  “Yes, and you keep holding on to it,” her sister agreed. “And I will try to somehow. Despite my totally pessimistic attitude.”

  “Hey, careful. That’s an attitude I’m trying not to catch.”

  “Which is why I’m keeping my opinions to myself.”

  Bree grinned. She could always count on her sister to be supportive, even if she didn’t agree. Their family was broken and scattered, and she had half brothers and half sisters she hadn’t seen in years. Mom had never been exactly what you could call reliable, and Dad, well, he’d been in and out of prison most of her life. Not exactly model parents or the kind a girl could ever depend on, which made her sister a double blessing.

  The lights of Bozeman flashed by as they drove along in companionable silence. Despite the theft of her car and her no-show date, the evening didn’t feel like a loss. She smiled, snuggled safely into the car’s bucket seat, thinking about Max. Not that she would ever see him again—what were the chances?—but it didn’t hurt to hold the memory of meeting him close, like her own little handful of a dream.

  The headlights spotlighted their rented duplex, and the truck squeaked to a stop on the concrete driveway. As they pulled into the carport, reality set in. They were home. Tonight she had a lot to be thankful for—that the only thing taken from her was her car. Tomorrow there would be the insurance agent to call and transportation to figure out.

  But as she opened the car door, she thought of Max and how he had offered her his coat. Memories of his kindness warmed her as she followed her sister inside, where the heater clicked on and she felt safe.

  It was well past midnight, and he still couldn’t get the young woman out of his mind. Max hit the garage door button, sorting through his keys while the door cranked shut. He unlocked his door, thinking of how she had looked standing alone in the light of sunset with his coat too big on her delicate frame.

  Bree was an image of goodness and loveliness he wanted to believe in. But could he? He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d lost his ability to believe in people. He was struggling to believe in a lot of things. The lock tumbled, he opened the door and stalked into his kitchen.

  A single light over the sink shone, casting an amber glow across the marble countertops. Looked like his kid brother, whom he was raising, had done the dishes and cleaned up. Good kid. Marcus was in bed asleep, and the place felt empty.

  The town house was something he’d picked up because it beat paying rent. He’d been here nine months and had yet to feel as if he’d come home. Maybe it was because he’d learned that nothing was permanent. He knew from on-the-job training that life could change in a blink; he didn’t count on much lasting these days. He took one day at a time.

  He pulled a can out of the refrigerator and popped the top. The lemony ice tea ran down his throat like comfort. He’d worked hard tonight. It felt good to mosey over into the living room, put his boots up on the coffee table and sit in the dark.

  He was too wound up from his work to go up to bed; he wasn’t in the mood for TV. He took another long swig of tea and tried to blot out the ugliness of the night. He couldn’t forget the broken-down excuse for a house near the railroad tracks, children’s chunky plastic toys scattered around the filthy floor where a gun had been discharged. He couldn’t forget the father who was too high to realize where his toddler had wandered off to. They had found him playing on the tracks. It was a blessing no trains had ambled through. Social Services had been called, and now he would have another file of heartache on his desk.

  The man who’d been arrested was the brother-in-law to the backdoor burglar, as fate would have it. Or, he believed more strongly, God.

  Max set down his can with a clink in the stillness. It was the quietest time of night, when no traffic rolled by and it felt as if even the shadows slept. His feet hit the floor and he launched himself out of the chair, haunted by the image of Brianna when he’d first laid eyes on her. She had big violet eyes and the sweetest face. His chest tightened. He wanted to think it was only curiosity and nothing else that drove him upstairs past Marcus’s room, where he opened the door a crack—yep, the kid was asleep. He wandered into the second bedroom and saw his computer glowing in the corner.

  Sure, maybe it was more than a little curiosity, he conceded as he logged in and found the local newspaper’s Web site. He typed in his password, remembering when he’d first approached Brianna’s table and how she’d smiled up at him. He punched a few keys and hit Search, waiting, recalling how hard he’d been hoping that the nice-looking blonde could possibly be his blind date. And praying equally as hard she wasn’t.

  And why? Going out to meet Alice hadn’t been his idea. After six months of pressure, he’d finally caved. That was all there was to it. He wasn’t a blind-date kind of guy. He’d gone to shut his buddies up, that was it.

  Okay, maybe there was still a little bit of hope alive in him somewhere that he would find the right woman. That there would be that click, and life could turn for the better.

  The screen changed, offering him several links to articles. He hit the last headline and waited. Several grainy black-and-white images crowded the screen with a long front-page article on the holdup. Two kitchen workers and a cook dead, and a waitress taken by medevac to Seattle’s Harborview Hospital. Brianna.

  With his heart thundering, he scrolled down the screen and skimmed the article. He wanted to see the specifics of the case again in black-and-white. His eyes caught the phrase “…waitress in critical condition. Charles Lintle, the restaurant’s dishwasher, said Miss McKaslin ran to the aid of her fallen coworker without regard for her own safety. That she was injured while trying to save a life seems doubly cruel….”

  Max squeezed his eyes shut, unable to read more. A sick feeling filled his gut. Sympathy left him trembling. This was why he believed in his work, and why he gave his job all he had. He did his best to catch the bad guys before they could hurt more innocent people. But it was never enough, never fast enough.

  He breathed air into his strangling lungs and bowed his head for a quick prayer of gratitude. However badly she was hurt, Brianna had recovered. At least physic
ally. He thanked the Lord for that. The image of her shivering in the parking lot looking alone and vulnerable lingered, getting him right in the soul.

  When he opened his eyes, he read no more. He got off-line, shut off the monitor and wandered through the darkness down the hall. His room was dark, too. Cold inside, he flipped on the lamp and reached for the top book on a big stack on the nightstand. The comforting feel of his Bible felt good in his hands. It had been a long day.

  The mattress faintly squeaked as he sat on the edge and opened the guide to the marked page. If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Thy hand will lead me, and Thy right hand will lay hold of me.

  He took comfort in the truth that God was watching over them all, that no sorrow went unnoticed, and no valor.

  Brianna stayed on his mind as he sat in the dark, listening to the hours pass.

  She woke from the nightmare right before she screamed Juanita’s name. Bathed in sweat, her stomach knotted up with horror and hopeless failure. With her blood thick in her veins, she sat up in bed, blinking, fighting to reorient herself. Gradually the echoing explosions of gunfire faded, the scent of bleach and cooked food evaporated and the vision of injury and death lessened. She groped for the bedside lamp, knocking over knickknacks on the nightstand, and finally found the switch. A small pool of light flashed on, chasing away some of the darkness. A lot of shadows remained.

  The shadows were huge tonight, like living monsters ready to hurl her back into the past. A place she never wanted to revisit. She swallowed against the metallic taste of fear on her tongue and pulled her Bible into her arms. She closed her eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer until her pulse returned to normal and the memories no longer threatened.

  But would they ever go away entirely? She prayed they would, but tonight they clung stubbornly to her soul. Maybe having her car stolen had shaken her more than she’d thought. It had been just a car, a possession, a thing that could not be injured or die, nothing that her insurance couldn’t replace, but the crime had shaken her all over again. A reminder that in an instant, life could change.