3, 2, 1...Married!

by Sharon Sala

  It was the diamond she’d left behind in the restaurant.

  He wanted to slip it on her hand again, but this time, he was gun-shy. “Be interested in a slightly used engagement ring? Only been on one other finger for a couple of seconds.”

  Tears obstructing her vision, she raised her eyes to his. “Then you still want to marry me?”

  He took that as a yes. “I never stopped wanting it.” With relief, he took the ring from her hand and put it on her finger. Where it had belonged all the time. “Lady, maybe you haven’t learned this yet, but I’m not the fickle type.” He kissed her softly, sealing both their fates. “I love you, Katherine Colleen Haley, and I’m here for the duration.”

  And this time, she believed him.

  Epilogue

  As Nathan took three more sheets from the dwindling stack of pages that represented copies of a single article from the August issue of Prominence, he looked at Jeff. “Tell me why we’re doing this again?”

  They were sitting in Rachel’s living room, part of the guests who had gathered together to see K.C. and Bailey married by the last moment in 1999. Shredding pages into tiny squares of confetti. Their task had come about thanks to an offhanded remark K.C. had made about the article that Rachel somehow thought responsible for at least indirectly bringing them together.

  “I’m not sure,” Blake confessed, shredding the last of his page. All the pieces were going into bowls and were to be tossed at the bride and groom as soon as the vows were exchanged. “But it has something to do with the bride’s wishes.”

  One eye on his twins, who were being entertained by the sitters Rachel had provided for the occasion, Nathan looked a little uncertain at the explanation. “She wants to be pelted by confetti made out of some woman’s-magazine article?”

  Jeff laughed, glad to see that Bailey had finally found someone to share his life with that didn’t spring off a drawing board first. “Hey, whatever it takes. The main thing is that they’re both happy.”

  Looking regal and triumphant, Rachel swept into the living room and looked around. After exchanging a few words with the minister, she made her way to the men she had put to work.

  Her smile was beatific. “It’s almost time. Are you ready?”

  Jeff indicated the overflowing bowls. They’d been shredding pages for the last half hour. “Got enough here even if they run in slow motion.”

  Pleased, Rachel nodded. “Wonderful.” She glanced at her watch out of habit, though there was no need. She knew exactly what time it was. There was a little less than half an hour until midnight of the last night of the last year of the century. “Then let’s get this wedding moving before the bride gets cold feet.”

  But she was worrying needlessly, she thought, as she reentered the bedroom where her sister was getting ready. If the bride’s face was any indication of what the rest of her was like, her feet were warmer than freshly baked bread.

  Rachel closed the door behind her. Her wedding dress, with a few modifications, looked wonderful on K.C. “I’ve never seen you look happier.”

  K.C. gave her veil a last adjustment. “That’s because I’ve never been happier.” She hugged Rachel impulsively. “Thanks for butting in—and if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Rachel beamed, in her element. “But I just nudged things along.” She adjusted the train. “Bailey wasn’t about to let you get away.”

  In her heart, K.C. knew Rachel was right and she was glad. Glad Bailey had loved her enough to keep trying. Because she loved him so much it hurt. But it was a good hurt.

  Rachel looked at her watch again. They were running out of time. “Hey, if you want to get married before the next century,” she cracked, “you’d better move this along.”

  Butterflies flapping madly in her stomach, K.C. took a deep breath to try to calm them down a little. She had marginal success as she pressed her hand against her abdomen. “I’m ready.”

  “Just a second,” Rachel ordered, holding up her hand.

  The strains of the wedding march began a moment after Rachel popped back into the room. K.C. looked quizzically at her sister.

  “Stereo system,” Rachel explained. She held the door open for K.C., one eye on the train to make sure it didn’t get caught. “I’m trying to keep this as official as possible.”

  Gracie was in the hall where she’d left her. Deftly, Rachel took her daughter’s hands and placed them at the edge of the train.

  “Okay, honey, try to keep up with Aunt K.C., and whatever you do, don’t pull on this.” Her eyes met K.C.’s. “We’ll count ourselves ahead of the game if you don’t arrive before the minister naked.”

  “I’ll do my best,” K.C. promised.

  They were lucky to find a minister on such short notice. A lot of other couples had the same idea as K.C. and Bailey had. But the Reverend Simmons was a friend of the family and he had agreed to perform the ceremony at what had amounted to almost a moment’s notice.

  Slowly moving into the living room, which Rachel with her unerring eye had managed to transform into the perfect setting for a millennium wedding, K.C. tried to find Bailey. Her heart swelled when she saw him. He was so handsome, it made her ache just to look at him.

  When he smiled at her, the last of the tiniest doubts disappeared.

  She was getting a wonderful man. And a fantastic little boy as an added prize for making the right choice. She saw Bobby, all dressed up, nestled in the corner of the sofa, his little head drooping. On his lap was a satin pillow, a ribbon with two wedding rings tied to it. They’d wanted him to be part of their wedding, just as he was so very much a part of their lives.

  In the background, a big-screen television set was turned on. A popular television host was on, every unswaddled part of his body freezing as he stood in Times Square, waiting for the official end of the old century and the beginning of the new. K.C. could just barely make it out above the din in the room even though she was concentrating on the words the kindly faced minister was saying to Bailey and her.

  “Do you, Katherine Colleen Haley, take this man, Bailey Quaid…”

  As the minister began saying the words that would forever seal her to the most wonderful man in the world, they intertwined with the words from the big-screen droning on in the background.

  “Ten—”

  “I do,” K.C. promised.

  “And do you, Bailey Quaid, take this woman—”

  “Seven—”

  “—As long as you both shall live?

  Bailey looked at her, love in his eyes. “I do.”

  “The ring, please.”

  “Four—”

  “—Then by the powers vested in me by the state of California—”

  “Three—”

  “I now pronounce you—”

  “Two—”

  “Husband and wife.”

  “One!” the man on the television set cried as the world on the screen seemed to explode in a volley of sounds and colors. Laughter filled the air. “Happy New Century, everybody!”

  In Rachel and Bryan’s living room, cheers aimed at K.C. and Bailey were coming from all directions. Someone switched the lights off and on in the time-honored tradition of ushering in the New Year as others threw confetti at them wildly.

  K.C. inclined her head toward Bailey. “We made it,” she cried, laughing breathlessly.

  “We certainly did,” Bailey agreed just before he kissed her. The first kiss of the century. The first of many.

  Dear Readers,

  I confess to being a romantic and to truly believing in the power of love. I consider love, marriage and family the most special gift life has to offer a man and a woman. I’m one of those fortunate women who, after over thirty years of marriage, is still deeply in love with her husband. We’ve weathered many storms, but what kept us afloat is the fact that we faced our problems together, hand in hand. Even when we occasionally didn’t like each other very much, we always loved each other.
We’re fortunate that, although we married very young, we have grown together and not apart. And our dedication to each other and our children has created a strong and lasting bond.

  When asked to write a short story for this anthology, I had to come up with a good reason why an intelligent woman would advertise for a husband. Deciding that she would aim her ad at one specific man—a man she already loved, but who thought of her only as a friend—made perfect sense to me. Since I enjoy writing about protagonists who come from very different backgrounds, I chose a self-made man from the wrong side of the tracks as my hero and a wealthy Southern belle heroine who is determined to make it on her own without her family’s millions. Taking Bennie and Holt on the journey of love, marriage and happily-ever-after reminded me once again of life’s greatest joy and of how blessed I am to be married to my own special hero.

  Sincerely,

  Getting Personal

  Beverly Barton

  To Norma Koons,

  a dear and lovely lady, who possesses a marvelous

  positive attitude and a truly kind heart.

  Chapter 1

  Stop thinking about it! Just do it! Marianne Bennett’s gaze darted back and forth from the August issue of Prominence Magazine lying open on her desk to the telephone. How many more years of your life are you going to waste waiting for Holt to notice that you’re a woman? If he hasn’t shown any personal interest in you in all this time, what makes you think he ever will?

  Lifting her hand, she reached for the telephone. Her fingers hovered over the receiver. You want to get married and have children, don’t you? she asked herself. Yes, of course she did. But it had been so long since she’d had a date that she couldn’t even remember the last guy’s name. So, make that call. You’ve got to start somewhere!

  Her lack of a love life was all Holt Jackson’s fault—the big jackass! Why couldn’t he just open his eyes and see that the perfect woman for him was right under his nose and had been there for the past five years?

  It wasn’t as if Holt was stupid. Far from it. The man had built his own business, from the ground up. Bennie laughed. No pun intended, of course. Holt was a building contractor who had started out with nothing and was now a millionaire. But when he’d hired her as his secretary, he had just landed his first contract and was trying to acquire a bank loan. That had been five long, unrequited-love years ago.

  “What’s so funny this early on a Monday morning?” Rene Lowe bounded energetically into Bennie’s office. Holt’s present secretary held two cups of coffee in her hands. She offered one to Bennie, who clasped the yellow mug like a lifeline.

  “Thanks, I need another jolt of caffeine. I didn’t get much rest last night thinking about this article. The one you showed me Friday.” Bennie tapped her index finger on the magazine. “And as far as my morning chuckles— Well, let’s just say that I was amusing myself by thinking about actually giving one of the suggestions a shot.”

  Plopping her skinny behind down on the edge of Bennie’s desk, Rene giggled as she focused her gaze on the magazine. “Ah, the ‘Married by the Millennium’ article that listed all the ways to snare a husband by the end of 1999. So, which tried and true method have you chosen to capture a mate?”

  “I’m going to place an ad in the personals section of the Herald Daily. I was trying to work up enough courage to make a phone call to the newspaper before Holt storms in for the day.”

  “It would serve that man right if some fabulous Prince Charming stole you right out from underneath his nose. I swear the man has to be blind not to see how hog-wild crazy you are about him.”

  “Thanks for reminding me what a fool I am.” Bennie’s lips curved into a mockingly sad smile. “Everyone in the whole world—at least here in Fairmount—knows how I feel about Holt. And they all know how he feels about me. He thinks I’m the best damn personal assistant a guy could ask for.”

  With a bright-red mug in one hand, Rene slid farther onto the desk, then reached over and laid her other hand on Bennie’s shoulder. “I’m afraid the boss man is a lost cause. We’ve tried making him jealous by sending you flowers at work and dropping hints that you were having an affair. We’ve put you in a tight sweater to show off those great boobs of yours. We’ve let your hair down from that bun and even gave contact lenses a try. The man is blind. I’m telling you, he’s blind!”

  “You’re one hundred percent right! I’ve wasted five of the best years of my life mooning over that man, hoping and praying he’d fall in love with me. Now, I’m beginning to think Holt has no idea what love is. He goes through women like a chain smoker goes through a pack of cigarettes.”

  “So what are you waiting for?” Rene asked. “Pick up that phone and call the Herald Daily.”

  Slightly hesitant, but nevertheless determined, Bennie lifted the receiver. “I just hope this doesn’t turn out to be a mistake.”

  “Dial, woman. Dial!”

  Bennie punched in the number she had looked up in the directory when she’d first arrived at the office this morning. But now the voice of the Herald Daily’s receptionist created uncertainty in her mind. She almost hung up. But one look at Rene’s frown and she cleared her throat.

  “Yes, I’d like to place an ad in the personals section of your newspaper.”

  “Drop by the office here on Courtland Street anytime between nine and five, Monday through Friday, pick up one of our forms for the personal ad, fill it out and return it with your payment.”

  “Oh, all right. Thank you.” Bennie’s stomach churned. Her hand quivered as she replaced the telephone receiver.

  “So?” Rene peered directly into Bennie’s face.

  “So, I have to pick up a form and fill it out.”

  “I’ll pick the form up for you on my lunch hour today and I’ll help you fill it out. If you word it yourself, you’ll be too modest. After all, you’re not likely to say that you’re beautiful, brilliant and filthy rich.”

  “Shh!” Bennie glanced through the open doorway leading from the office into the reception area. “What if Holt had heard you say that?”

  “So? He’s got to know that you’re beautiful and brilliant—”

  “Brilliant? Maybe. Beautiful?” Bennie glanced down at her round, hourglass figure. “Not by today’s standards. But the comment that I didn’t want Holt to hear is about my being filthy rich. You know he doesn’t have any idea that I’m independently wealthy, that I have money other than the salary he pays me. Sometimes I regret I ever told you about my trust fund.”

  “How could you not tell me? We’ve been best friends for the past four years.”

  Bennie remembered the day she’d hired Rene as a part-time gofer around the office, back when Rene had still been in college. The two had hit it off immediately and gradually become best friends. Her good buddy had picked up on her obsession with Holt almost immediately and begun devising methods for Bennie to gain his attention. They had tried everything short of Bennie sashaying around the office stark naked.

  Rene sipped on her coffee as she stood and sauntered toward the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she grinned. “Even if you hadn’t told me the truth about your family, I would have figured it out after that day your mother came by your place. If the Mercedes she was driving hadn’t given me a clue, then the million dollars worth of diamonds she was wearing would have given it away.”

  Bennie chuckled. “If there’s one thing that Mary Bennett isn’t, it’s subtle. All Mother has to do is walk into a room and everyone immediately assumes she’s wealthy. As much as I love my mother, I don’t want to be a carbon copy of her. I want to be liked for me—not my money. You know that’s one of the reasons I moved from Montgomery and built a life of my own here in Fairmount. Mother will never know who her true friends are or if any of the men she’s dated since Daddy died like her for herself or her millions.”

  “Okay, so we won’t include anything in the ad about your being the heir to a multimillion-dollar fortune.” Rene traced her jawline
with the tip of her hot-pink fingernail. “Let me see…we could put in something about your being from a prestigious old Southern family. There are plenty of women around from those kinds of families who don’t have a lot of money, but are welcomed into all the right circles. After all, if you can’t snag Holt, then you might as well go for a man like dear old dad, right?”

  “Wrong! I don’t want a man like my father. Someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. If that’s the kind of man I wanted, I could have married Grayson Stafford IV five years ago. I broke off my engagement and left home so that I could find a man like… Well, like Holt. A man who had nothing and built his fortune himself, with his own two hands. And I want a man who will love me for me—not my family’s wealth. Not because I’m his social equal and we can produce another generation of in-bred blue bloods.”

  “So, if you place the ad and some wonderful guy shows up, are you going to be able to forget about Holt?”

  “I don’t know,” Bennie admitted. “If I thought for one minute that I had a chance with Holt, I’d—”

  “Morning, all!” A deep baritone voice rumbled as the big boss man blew into the outer office like a March whirlwind.

  Bennie’s heart skipped a beat at the sound, then when she glanced past Rene and saw Holt, a hundred untamed butterflies did a wicked Saint Vitus’s dance in her belly. From the first day she met him, Bennie had thought Holt Jackson was the sexiest man alive. His features were a little too rugged to be classically handsome, but there was a chiseled strength to his face, as if an artist had painstakingly sculpted the high cheekbones, the square jaw and the aquiline nose.

  And that body! All six feet two inches of Holt Jackson was lean and mean and powerful. Broad shoulders tapered to a long, slim waist, narrow hips and taut buttocks that had inspired more than one erotic fantasy. Masculinity oozed from his pores like syrup from a tapped maple tree.