The Bride Takes a Powder

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  In her wildest imagination who would have thought she'd run into someone from college? Mike Banning had sure changed. She chuckled to herself. Yeah, he'd been a bit nerdy looking back then, but now he was gorgeous. And had some serious problems that were none of her business just as hers were none of his.

  Chapter Four

  Norah smiled a greeting when her landlady climbed the porch steps right behind her.

  Jan tipped her head toward the front door. "Norah, do you have time to come inside for a hot cup of tea? You look like you need it."

  "Yes, thank you. I'd love it." As she followed Jan through the house she admired the lovely restored wooden moldings and floors. It looked as if all the work had been meticulously done.

  "I'll get some water heating."

  "The weather changes every minute, it seems. It was beautiful earlier. Fresh and springy." Norah took a chair at the kitchen table. "Now it's chilly."

  Jan turned from the stove. "Oh, we don't have to stay here. It's just the kitchen."

  "I don't mind it." Norah gazed around the space. "It's so cozy and old-fashioned looking."

  "Old-fashioned as in just plain old, yes." But Jan's smile was contented.

  Norah grinned agreeably. "I meant comfortable and homey. I love it here."

  Jan nodded. "I'm glad. I love it too." Then she set about arranging tea mugs and a plate of homemade cookies on the table.

  "This is a beautiful old house. Can you tell me the history of it? Are you a McMillan?"

  "No. We bought the house ten years ago from the last of that family. It's such a fixture in town that when I decided to make the upper floor an apartment, I decided to use the McMillan name just to give it some interesting pizazz."

  "Were you born and raised here?"

  Jan shook her head. "My husband and I moved to town when he got a job at the paper." She tilted her head and took a shaky breath. "He's gone now. Died about a year later."

  "I'm so sorry. You must have been very young."

  "Yes, I was widowed at thirty-one. I bought this house with the life insurance."

  Norah had no idea what to say. There were obviously sadder stories than hers. "When did you start renting out the top floor?"

  "About five years ago. It helps with expenses."

  "Did you remodel the main floor like upstairs?"

  "Not quite. Most of the house is original, the woodwork, fireplace and so forth. I updated the two full bathrooms down here and did some work here in the kitchen, electrical and plumbing, cleaned up the cupboards, and refinished the hardwood floor. But I tried to keep visible changes as close to the age of the house as I could. Except I wanted modern appliances and marble countertops."

  "Sounds like a heck of a lot of work. Like an HGTV series."

  "Yeah, but I loved doing it." Jan replenished their tea with more hot water and fresh tea bags.

  "What about a social life in this small town?"

  "Do you mean do I date?" She smiled.

  "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  "That's okay. Pickings are kind of slim in B Falls, but I have a lot of friends. I haven't found anyone I like as much as my husband."

  Norah reached across the table and patted Jan's arm. "It can be hard to find a good one, I know."

  "Is that what you're doing in town?" Jan gazed curiously at her. "Now it's my turn to ask questions."

  Norah stared into her teacup, took a breath, and admitted, "I just broke up with someone." Then as if a floodgate opened, she continued, "On my wedding day."

  Jan's mouth opened comically. "Holy crap!"

  "No kidding. The good part is that I didn't make a big mistake. But now I need to reorganize—" She frowned and gazed swiftly toward the window over the sink. "—reconstruct my life."

  "You will. If you ever want to talk, you know where I live." This time Jan patted her arm.

  Meeting her new friend's gaze, she said, "Thanks. I might take you up on that."

  "B Falls is a nice place to live even though there's talk of a scandal at the high school."

  "I read about that."

  "I know Mike Banning wouldn't be part of it."

  "Really?" Funny out of all the names in the article, Jan mentioned the only person she knew.

  "He's the most sincere, truly nice guy. If you're ever in Ollie's, you'd meet him."

  "I actually have. You're the second person to vouch for him. And I agree. He does seem very nice." Which was putting it mildly. "I met someone named Phoebe at the grocery store this morning. She was the one who had good words to say about Mike."

  "Oh yes, Phoebe's husband and Mike went to high school together and are very good friends."

  "Phoebe invited me tomorrow night to hear her sing."

  "She has such great talent. It was wonderful that Marc came back here to live and brought her back with him."

  Norah heard her phone chirp. At first her heart skipped a beat. It was too early to hear back from the doctor. That was her first thought. But no, it wasn't the doctor. It was Garrett's mother's number showing up on the screen. Wishing she could ignore it, she figured it would be better to talk to her and get it over with. His mother was a bulldog and would keep calling. In fact, she was surprised Francine Dunleith hadn't called earlier than this. "I need to take this call. I'm sorry."

  Jan held up a hand. "No problem. Go ahead."

  "Hello, Francine," said Norah as she walked out of the kitchen and headed up to her apartment for this very private conversation.

  "Norah, I'm just going to say I'm sorry Garrett acted as he did, but you didn't need to call off the wedding."

  "Are you kidding me?" Norah replied, putting ice in her tone. "He wasn't even at the church. He was at the police station. Even if I still wanted to marry him, at that point he would have been hours late to the ceremony. And while I'm at it, there's no way I would have anything to do with him after knowing he'd been with other women. Especially the night before our wedding!"

  "He loves you, Norah." Francine's voice was very low as if she knew she was on the losing side of the argument.

  "I wonder if he ever did."

  "Where are you?" Francine demanded.

  "I'm not going to tell you. My folks don't know either. I don't know what I'm going to do now but am in no hurry to make any decisions." Norah began her goodbye but had one more thing to say. "For your information, I'm being tested for STDs in case your son gave me anything. Believe me, I could kill him for his cheating and putting me in danger like this. I will never forgive him."

  Before she hung up, Francine, still subdued, said she was sorry.

  Yeah, sorry. Everyone is sorry except Garrett. Not that she wanted to talk to him but she decided she'd answer the next time he texted or phoned. And she'd blast him. Her head pounded with anger and frustration. Swallowing three aspirins with a tall glass of water, she proceeded to pace the small apartment for several minutes until the medication began to work through her bloodstream and calm her.

  ***

  Pausing inside Marietty's entrance, she narrowed her gaze to adjust to the dim interior. She hadn't been sure how you dressed for a small town nightclub. Settling for her default casual uniform of skinny jeans, stilettos, and silk blouse, she then threw on a wool blazer since the temperature had dropped again. Not in any big hurry, she'd strolled along the Falls River where a lovely wide walkway was lined with iron benches, bushes, and flower beds. Circles of light from picturesque old-fashioned looking lamps lit beds of yellow tulips bordered by multicolored early petunias and impatiens. With all the rain, the river had risen and water lapped at the shore sometimes spraying up over the rocky banks propelled by gusts of wind. She had to time her steps in order to keep her feet from getting wet.

  The misting and humidity in the air played hell with her hair. Brushing her fingers through the short strands and lifting them away from her scalp put the hair back in order, damp but in place. She smiled wryly and shrugged. Who was there to impress? Garrett had always been so conce
rned about how she looked, wanting her makeup and hair to be perfect. He was very fashion conscious too, never out in public in anything other than expensive clothing, and she'd grown to follow his example. When had she become such a sheep?

  For the moment she'd forgotten, then reality hit. She'd run away from her groom and her wedding, her long-planned expensive society wedding. I'm a runaway bride just like the movie. Except I rode a train instead of a horse. No one knew where she was. Her folks only knew she was okay, not her location. She was utterly on her own. Lifting a hand to push away a strand of hair tickling her cheek snapped her from her brooding. She'd arrived at the nightclub, and a dry doorway opened right in front of her. Perfect timing.

  A tall gorgeous guy with a big smile approached her. Wow, were all the men in this town hunks?

  He smiled and nodded. "Are you Norah Ballard?"

  Her heart jumped. She'd never seen this man so how could he know who she was? Had her picture been on TV or online?

  "Marc Rahn." He held out his hand. "Phoebe's husband. She wanted me to watch out for you. Tall, blonde, and pretty. Those were her words, not that I don't agree…" His voice petered out, then he laughed. "Sorry, I'm being an idiot."

  Grasping his hand, she laughed along with him. "Yes, I'm Norah." Unbelievably gorgeous, he had a military bearing but without the short hair. Phoebe said he was a cop, and he certainly looked that part.

  "Come on," he said, his lips tipped up, his pale eyes twinkling. "I'll take you to the table."

  He led and they wove their way through the standing-room-only crowd, past the bar to a round table in front of the stage where several people were already seated. The men stood, Marc pulled out a chair for her and asked, "Norah, what can I get you to drink?"

  Checking out what was already on the table, she said, "Draft is fine." Mike was next to her and looked mighty gorgeous. A long-sleeved Henley hugged a muscular chest, broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and was tucked into slim-fitting jeans. She gave a general smile to the group and, suddenly feeling awkward, turned her attention to the stage.

  Wow! Phoebe perched on a stool in the curve of a black baby grand and began singing Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay. She had a husky sexy voice you wouldn't think could come out of a petite pregnant woman. She was good. Very good. And she'd given up a career in Chicago to come back to this tiny town? But then, if that guy was her husband, Norah could see why Phoebe wouldn't pass him up.

  At the end of the number, when everyone was applauding and whistling, Norah surreptitiously glanced around the table at what appeared to be an interesting group. Next to Mike was the guy from that first night, the reporter, as well as another man and a woman.

  Mike leaned in and whispered into her ear, "Welcome to the second best bar in B Falls."

  Her eyes reflexively closed as his smoothly shaven cheek brushed hers, and his warm breath wafted across her cheek. Then her breath caught, her eyes popping open with the shock of electricity racing from her ear and raising all the little hairs on the back of her neck. She'd already thought him handsome and hunky, tall and so broad shouldered. Masculine. He smelled divine. Whatever cologne he wore had just become her favorite fragrance.

  Pulling back, he began to introduce the others.

  What a strong reaction to him she was having. Come on, girl. She struggled to collect her emotions. This kind of thing doesn't happen to you. You've been reading too much of that romance novel you bought.

  "This is Moira Logan, Davy Marsh, and Stu Pressman. Folks, this lady is new in town. Norah Ballard."

  How is it that Mike's sitting next to and appears to be friendly with the reporter? She smiled, though and lifted a hand in greeting at the choruses of hi from around the table. Marc returned and handed her a frosty stein of beer. "Thanks." Taking a sip, she smiled up at him. "That's really good."

  "It's a Belgian beer, Delirium Tremens," he said as he took a seat between Moira and Davy at the table.

  She lifted the mug in a toast then smiled her pleasure at the first strains of Phoebe's next number. Sneaking a quick peek at Mike, she caught him watching her. Curiosity, interest, attraction—a responsive heat smoothed over her skin, and she snapped her gaze back to the cold amber brew. The song's intoxicating romantic lyrics were enchanting in a way new to her, a scary way. Shouldn't she have felt this kind of sizzle for Garrett, for his body? Racking her brain, she tried to remember how it had been between them in the beginning. And couldn't.

  But now, tonight something sensual and delicious was happening to her with a virtual stranger. Maybe she'd known Garrett too long to be still aroused by him.

  Real love wouldn't end so easily, would it? I don't really know Mike Banning. Why is this happening now? What if I were already married?

  She was suddenly overwhelmed with all that had happened in the last few short days. She'd upended her life. And Garrett's. Had she ever really known him? Had she known herself? Jostled to awareness by the sudden absence of music, she wrenched her gaze up from her mug to the stage. The audience loudly applauded Phoebe. Giving a shaky smile, she joined in the cheers.

  Marc lifted Phoebe off the stage, held her in his arms, and planted a good long kiss on her.

  Norah's pulse quickened at the intensity of that kiss. It was as if the two were alone in the room. When the kiss ended, they remained in an embrace, foreheads together, soft smiles on their faces. So much love. She stared at the table, wrapping her hands around her beer mug. Had her whole life with Garrett been a lie? She was baffled, and her heart ached, but her gaze was inescapably drawn to Mike's. He may as well have been a stranger, because he was nothing like the college guy she remembered. Maybe it was the culmination of everything that had happened in the last few days. Maybe she felt lonely and vulnerable and needed to have her ego stroked to prove she was actually a desirable woman.

  In shock, she sat there while the world she'd known flew apart, while she wanted to roll the icy beer stein over flushed cheeks to cool them and knew that was impossible. People would notice.

  The jostling of chairs to resettle everyone and make room for the addition of Marc and Phoebe at the table startled her back to reality. But even though Mike's leg pressed searingly against hers and she dared not look down at his thigh, she ignored him and said, "Phoebe, you were wonderful."

  "Thank you. I'm so glad you made it, Norah."

  Moira caught her attention with a friendly smile. "Norah, what brought you to our fair town?"

  She raised her voice to be heard over the combo's music now playing. "I'm just visiting. I don't really have any plans right now."

  "Visiting from where?"

  She replied dismissively hoping to repress any more questions, "I live in Chicago." The less information she revealed, the better.

  Stu the reporter said, "You look familiar, Norah. Is this your first time in Birchwood Falls?"

  "Yes." Then, "I saw you last night at Mike's bar."

  "Yup. Small town."

  "Stu's a reporter for the Morning Herald." Tipping his head toward the other man, Mike added, "Davy works at the paper too."

  "In accounting, though, not the glamorous world of reporting." Davy smiled toothily at Stu, who grinned back.

  "You're exciting enough, babe." Stu stretched an arm across the back of Davy's chair.

  Okay. Gay. Stu Pressman was the byline of the article she read this morning. Moira Logan, also mentioned in the article, was the local prosecuting attorney. Friends with the target of your investigation?

  "Come on, Davy, let's dance." Stu stood, holding out his hand.

  A good-looking guy came over from the bar and asked Moira to dance. She gave him a big smile as she took his hand.

  Mike raised one eyebrow at her in silent invitation.

  She held up a hand, palm out, in an oh no, that's not necessary sign and regretfully shook her head.

  "Come on, let's dance. I'm not too bad." He treated her to a confident smile. Pretty confident for someone under investigation for committing a crime
. And very attractive. This was turning out to be a crazy town, so what the hell. It was just a dance. Taking his hand, she rose, and followed him to the dance floor.

  Mike, sliding his arm around Norah's waist, tucked her in close—breast to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. This was where he'd wanted her since she'd first sat down at the table, actually since he'd first seen her again in Ollie's.

  He just plain wanted her. It was amazing that someone he barely knew from his college days would be the one to arouse his sexual hunger again. He knew pretty much all the women in town, and none of them appealed to him as much as Norah did. Celibate for too long, he'd been busy teaching and working in the bar. Then one day he walked into his own place and immediately spotted her in the corner. Damn Axel. It would have been nice to renew their acquaintance without her being accosted first by that jerk. But on the other hand, he'd been able to rescue her. Knight in shining armor and all that. Thank you, Axel.

  Oh boy. She was a perfect fit in his arms. Beautiful and smart. Beautiful and a great figure, can't forget that. He skimmed his hand up her back between her jacket and silky blouse. She felt supple and firm at the same time, if that made any sense. It did to him. She sighed softly and melted against his chest. Spanning her narrow waist with his palm, he tightened his hold on the small of her back. The lengths of their thighs brushed together, and he had no doubt his swollen shaft, pressing on her belly, was a dead giveaway. It wasn't like he could control the reaction of his cock when he held a gorgeous woman in his arms.

  "This is a fast song, Mike." She had to press even closer and lean up to make sure he could hear her.

  That made him smile. And smolder since it crushed her breasts against him. Then she tried to strong arm herself away. Uh uh. He tightened his hold. "I know," he replied smugly, her sensual breathy words in his ear raising goose bumps across his neck. "I'm not much of a fast dancer," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his breath grazing the short strands curled there.