by Tawny Weber
Mr. Barclay scowled at her from the doorway. A bull of a man, he didn’t fit in the cramped quarters of the inn’s office. Which was why he usually called Sammi to his.
“You know that I expect my people to show proper respect.” He huffed, so that with his silvery mane of hair he sounded like a grumpy lion. “You’re supposed to set an example, Sammi Jo. Now more than ever. Do you want your staff to think that you’re taking advantage of your engagement?”
“No, of course not.” Sammi fought the urge to hunch her shoulders, but did surreptitiously tug at the waistband of the sundress she’d worn with her bridal shower in mind.
“I’ve left numerous messages that you’ve neglected to return.” His bushy brows drew together as he peered around. Sammi held her breath. Had she cleaned up all evidence of Sterling’s abduction? Her gaze shot through the room like a well-aimed pinball. It looked normal, but she couldn’t relax.
“I prefer not to have to track you down, Sammi. I dislike leaving my office during business hours,” Mr. Barclay continued, his eyes now resting on the miserable excuse of a computer.
She had to curl her fingers together to keep from pointing to the landline right there on the corner of her desk. But what if there was something wrong with it? She resisted the urge to grab the receiver and check for herself. Was that why she hadn’t heard from Laramie? He’d said he’d have her cell phone back to her today. Had something happened?
It wasn’t until the tiny black spots started dancing in front of her eyes that Sammi realized she wasn’t breathing.
Whoosh. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She had to blink a few times to clear the dots, but soon Mr. Barclay came back into focus. As if etched from white oak, his features were strong and decisive underneath his full head of silver hair.
She finally managed a stiff smile.
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to reach my cell phone. I’ve been having some technical difficulties. What was it you needed?”
“I’ve gone over your budget for this new wedding project and made a few adjustments.” Still standing in the doorway, he held out a file folder.
Her wedding? Was she even going to have one?
Breathing through the panic, she focused on Laramie’s promise. He said he’d find Sterling. He told her to act normal, to keep her head and that everything would be fine.
If she expected him to do his part, the least she could do was hers.
Sammi forced herself to focus. Okay. The wedding. Brow drawn, she walked over to take the file.
A quick glance was all it took to realize he was referring to Weddings at the Barclay Inn. Not her own wedding. Breathing a little easier, Sammi flipped open the folder and pursed her lips.
“These are significant cuts,” she noted absently, flipping through the top few pages.
“Do you have an issue with them?” he barked.
“I don’t know until I read them,” Sammi said with a smile and a shrug. Unlike Sterling, she wasn’t put off by the older man’s gruff demeanor. After all, it was his challenging personality in part that made her continually strive to be better at her job. “I’m sorry you had to come over just for this.”
“That, and to find out if you’ve seen that boy of mine.”
Sammi’s stomach constricted as he shot a beetle-browed look around the office as if Sterling might be hiding in the corner.
“No. I haven’t seen Sterling since yesterday,” she said, hoping that honesty would carry the rest of the lies. Her cheeks on fire, Sammi forced herself to channel the best liar she knew, her mother. “But he did say he had a new project that was taking him out of town for a few days. He’s really excited about it. I think this might be a big opportunity. Like, huge, big.”
Sammi held her arms out as wide as she could, her smile so broad it hurt her face.
“Well. Hmm.” As if surprised by her enthusiasm, Mr. Barclay nodded. “That’s good. Good to know.”
She was so impressed with her performance that when she dropped her hands, Sammi surreptitiously slid one down her side to make sure she was still wearing her underwear. Yep, still there.
Whew. One lying performance did not her mother make.
“Still, Sterling should have had the courtesy to call me directly. I know what you’re going to say. He was excited.” Waving away his son’s make-believe enthusiasm as if it didn’t matter, Mr. Barclay shook his head. “A man runs his business, he doesn’t let his business run him. To do otherwise shows poor management skills. I blame that partner of his. What was the boy thinking, bringing a complete stranger like Carl Dillard into the business without consulting me? The man is a hustler. Only interested in get-rich-quick schemes.”
As Mr. Barclay launched into his familiar rant about how he wouldn’t be taken advantage of, not even by his son, Sammi could only grimace. Because while she didn’t think that Sterling was a poor businessman, she did agree that Carl wasn’t a good partner. He did more traveling than working, for one thing. And there was something about him that reminded Sammi of the third, eighth and ninth uncle her mother had brought home.
“Well, enough of that.” He harrumphed a little before smiling. “Since Sterling didn’t have the courtesy to let me know he’d miss lunch, you can come with me instead.”
“I really wish I could, but I’m supposed to be at a bridal shower soon and wanted to get this software installed,” she said, frowning at the clock. “I can meet you for dinner instead, if you’d like?”
“No, of course not.” His refusal didn’t surprise her, but it did hurt just a little. Mr. Barclay saw lunch as business, and dinner as personal, but she’d have thought by marrying his son she’d have merited a meal after 4:00 p.m. Sammi blinked at the tears burning her eyes and pressed her lips tight to keep her smile in place.
Not that he was looking.
“A number of the guests attending your bridal events are quite influential. Don’t forget that you’re a representative of the Barclay empire, Sammi Jo,” he said as he left the room. “Behave appropriately.”
* * *
“SAMMI JO, HAVE YOU and Sterling decided when you want the children to arrive?”
What children? Sammi frowned into her china teacup as she realized they meant her having children. Did she want to have children? Wasn’t that something she should have thought about before her lingerie bridal shower?
Sammi swapped out her teacup for a glass of rum-spiked punch.
“And how many do you want? Sterling must at least be planning for a boy, of course, to carry on the family name.”
“I’m sure Sterling would love that,” Sammi said, not sure at all. The thought had her draining her punch.
And hoping Mr. Barclay didn’t hear about her drinking. She’d started with tea, a nice orange pekoe. But sitting in the private dining room of Martella’s, the fanciest restaurant in town, with her bridesmaids, a handful of friends and twenty women she barely knew, seemed to require a drink or four. She’d had her first during present time, needing something to help her get through the commentary that came with each piece of lingerie she’d unwrapped. But now kids?
Oh, boy.
She looked around for more punch.
“So what do you think?” Clara leaned over the back of Sammi’s flower-bedecked chair to show her the bouquet she’d made of the gift ribbons. Streamers of silver satin flowed to the floor from a small mountain of glittering apricot-colored bows. “I think mine will win the contest.”
What contest? Had she missed something? Sammi glanced around the restaurant’s private room. Rich mahogany and brocade were offset by bell-shaped flower arrangements. Silver tea services were placed within arm’s reach of every place setting, and trays of tiny sandwiches, delicate cookies and glossy tarts sat next to each plate. The guests themselves were like a flower garden, in their colorful summer dresses and best shoes.
But Sammi didn’t see anything that looked like a contest.
“Not fair,” Mia declared before she could ask. “You m
ade everyone wrap the gifts in the bridal colors. How do the rest of us stand a chance at our shower bouquets being chosen as the one she uses at the rehearsal?”
There was a contest for that?
Who had to choose the winner? Not her, right?
Sammi glanced at the ribbons again and frowned. Since Mrs. Ross had changed her colors, deeming the bridesmaids’ dresses enough purple, she could pick. She’d end up overruling Sammi’s choice, anyway.
“Hmm, clever of me, right?” Clara laughed, then looked around the table, gauging everyone’s plate. “Now that we’ve had tea and opened gifts, shall we have cake?”
Clara toted her prize-winning bouquet over to the cake table. Sammi started to rise to help with dessert, but the slew of protests stopped her.
“You’re the guest of honor,” Amy reminded her, folding a sheer red peignoir set and placing it on top of a black satin merry widow. “You just sit here and enjoy being pampered.”
With that and a quick pat to Sammi’s shoulder she went back to packing the gifts.
“This is a great lingerie suitcase,” the brunette said as she kept piling silk after lace after satin into it. “And look at these panties. Who gave Sammi these again?”
Amy held up a black thong with the words Do Me embroidered in red. Sammi grabbed the blue pair with Insert Here on them before Amy could wave those, too.
Since most of the women were still talking and eating, Amy consulted the notepad where Clara had listed all of the gifts and givers. Sammi wondered at the proper way to word a thank-you note for pornographic underwear.
She couldn’t imagine Sterling’s reaction. Would he laugh?
Laramie would. Sammi could just see his expression, those light eyes crinkling at the corners and that smile of his taking on a wicked edge. He’d probably say something about needing to give the gift a test run in order to offer a proper thanks. Sammi’s fingers slid along the smooth satin fabric, imagining Laramie doing the same. His fingers were so long, and she’d bet there was talent in every inch. Would he be gentle when he touched? Would he go slow and soft, teasing every drop of pleasure from the touch? Or would he take? Intense and just a little rough with passionate demand.
Whew. She puffed out a breath. It was getting hot in here.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, pushing away from the table. She needed air. It took her five minutes to make her way through the well-wishers. Despite the urge to head for the door, she settled for the restroom.
She was splashing cold water on her wrists when Blythe walked in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Too many rum punches,” Sammi said, trying to smile but settling on a half shrug. “And it’s a little overwhelming.”
“Mmm,” Blythe murmured, her eyes on Sammi’s face as she held out a towel. “How long have we known each other?”
Uh oh.
Not that question.
She could never hold out against that question.
“We’ve known each other for over twenty years, haven’t we?” Blythe answered when Sammi didn’t. “Of course, it doesn’t take knowing you since we were four and crashed our bikes so our training wheels got stuck together. All it takes is simple observation to see that something’s wrong.”
Sammi bit her lip, trying not to cry.
“Are you having second thoughts about marrying Sterling?”
Second, third and fourth ones, too. But she couldn’t do anything about them when the man was gone, held captive God knows where. Sammi’s bottom lip trembled as she tried to breathe past the knot in her chest. She stared at her hands, unable to look at her own reflection or meet Blythe’s eyes.
“Sammi... No, wait.” Despite her high heels, Blythe crouched down to peek and make sure the bathroom stall was empty, then gave Sammi her most serious look. Quite a feat for a woman wearing purple chiffon with red polka dots and green heels. “You don’t have to go through with it, you know.”
“Probably not the proper thing to say at a bridal shower,” Sammi joked with a watery laugh. “I mean, they’re already cutting the cake.”
“To hell with the cake. Are you happy? Not do you think you should be happy,” she interrupted before Sammi could respond. “Not are you satisfied making other people happy. This is just about you right now. Are you happy?”
She’d been happy when Laramie kissed her. But she knew that didn’t count.
“No.” Sammi shook her head as the misery of everything—Sterling’s disappearance, her fears, all the doubts and second thoughts—took hold. “But—”
“No but,” Blythe interrupted, her pixie face folding into a scowl. “This is the rest of your life we’re talking about, Sammi Jo. You don’t base the rest of your life on a but. You base it on happy.”
“We can’t be happy all the time,” Sammi pointed out. More for something to do than because it needed it, she took a comb from her purse to slide through her hair. Since it was easier to ignore Blythe’s words if she didn’t look directly at her, Sammi focused on her own image as she tidied her russet waves.
“No. But there are times that we should have so much happy that we’re overflowing. The weeks leading up to promising to spend the rest of your life with someone should be one of those times.” Blythe grimaced as if she knew her words weren’t going to be welcome, but she couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Sammi, I haven’t seen you look happy—truly happy—in the last six months. Ever since you got engaged to Sterling. Now, maybe that’s just the times I’m seeing. Maybe you’re doing giant cartwheels of happiness a lot of the time and I’m not around to see them.”
“You know I can’t do a cartwheel,” Sammi said, trying to joke it off as she exchanged the comb for her powder compact. “But you’re right. I have been stressed lately. This wedding stuff is crazy, it really is.”
“So that’s it? The wedding has you stressed out,” Blythe repeated, her words as stiff as her posture.
“You’ve met Mrs. Ross. The woman is a nightmare. She’s taken over everything, changed all of my ideas, so it’s as if it’s not even my wedding. Even this,” she waved her hand toward the door to indicate the party in the other room, “isn’t me. I had to be introduced to half those women out there. Next thing I know, they’re talking about my underwear and advising me on preschools. They expect me to serve on committees and to lunch at the country club. It’s as if I’m supposed to turn into this other person and I don’t even know if I like her.”
As the words poured out, Sammi realized that they were more than a smokescreen to keep from telling Blythe about Sterling. They were 100 percent true.
“You have friends in there, too,” Blythe reminded her in a soft voice, rubbing her hand over Sammi’s arm. “Friends who accept you just the way you are.”
She only gave Sammi enough time to nod before continuing.
“But the rest of them, that’s the world you’re marrying, Sammi Jo. And it’s one thing to take on all of those changes, to face all of those expectations and demands, if you have love and a happy relationship to balance it out.”
Sammi knew that was more of a question than a statement. A question that Blythe wanted an answer to. Maybe it was all the rum swimming through her head, but it didn’t require a lot of thinking or soul searching to figure out. And how sad was that?
“I thought having friendship, common goals and respect would be enough,” Sammi said quietly as she faced Blythe with a sigh. “It still might be. But I have to talk with Sterling and I can’t do that until he’s back.”
“Okay.” Blythe nodded, the move setting her glittering red earrings to spinning. She held out her arms, like a rainbow of friendship always there to brighten Sammi’s day. When Sammi leaned in for a quick hug, Blythe whispered. “I’ll be here, whatever happens. And it’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”
Unable to pretend at just that second, Sammi laid her forehead against Blythe’s and closed her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, she hugged Blythe
tight, then stepped back.
“I’ll start bawling in a minute,” she said with a trembling smile.
“You and me both.” While Sammi took deep yoga breaths and repaired her makeup again, Blythe fanned her eyes with her fingers to dry them. “Okay, I’m going to go out and tell them you had a phone call. Maybe an emergency at the inn. You take your time in here, or better yet take a walk outside. Clear your head until you can come back in and say a friendly goodbye. Then we’ll head back to your place and finish getting drunk and talk this all through.”
Sammi wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to tell Blythe everything. About Sterling’s kidnapping, his cheating. About Laramie’s kiss and how hot and crazy he made Sammi feel with just one look.
But she couldn’t.
The second she confessed all of that, Sammi was afraid of everything else that would spill from her lips. Besides, she couldn’t risk Sterling’s safety by saying anything.
Lips reslicked, she gave Blythe a grateful smile.
“I’m gonna take you up on that first part and clear my head. But the drunk confessions will have to wait a few days.” Before Blythe could voice the protest that went with her frown, Sammi took her head. “I will, as soon as I can, though. Just not yet.”
Blythe looked as if she was going to pout. Instead, though, she gave Sammi a finger wag.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Then go. Skip on out of here for a little while. I’ve got you covered.”
Not sure if it was guilt or excitement that was making her dizzy, Sammi stepped out first. Her stomach contorted when she glanced toward the private room where a handful of friends and a whole lot of strangers were celebrating her upcoming marriage. Oh yeah, it was guilt.
“Go,” Blythe urged with a shoulder bump.
So Sammi went.
Trying to ignore the guilt tapping its way up and down her spine, Sammi hurried from the room. In case anyone was watching, she headed for the front of the restaurant. After a quick hello to the owner and a glance over her shoulder, she slipped out the side door.
The warm evening air spun through her, making her feel as if just breathing was doubling her blood alcohol content. Sammi made her way on slightly unsteady steps toward the alley between the restaurant and Barclay bank.
