A Kiss Is Just a Kiss

by Melinda Curtis

  Sure, she’d been snapping at him these past two weeks like an abused horse in a too-small pen. Sure, she’d been drinking too much leading up to the big day. And sure, she’d felt like a stranger in his arms this morning during their photo shoot. Chalk it up to nerves.

  Why should Beck worry? Everything was going his way. Beck was having a great year. His colt O’Brien’s Free Ride had come in third at the Kentucky Derby. He had two horses with riders in the dressage Olympic training program. He was engaged to be married. And his soon-to-be father-in-law was giving him a filly as a wedding gift, a horse with a pedigree tracing back to Man O’War.

  Life couldn’t be better.

  Beck attributed the sweat at the back of his neck to the discovery thirteen minutes before the wedding that he’d been locked in the groom’s vestibule. But he’d been rescued in time to stand at the altar before one thousand wedding guests–one of thirteen men.

  Thirteen…

  Beck’s head pounded and his skin felt too tight, as if he’d been out in the Florida sun too long.

  He was a horseman, from a long line of horsemen. And horsemen were a superstitious lot. Thirteen was an unlucky number. Seeing your bride before the ceremony was unlucky, too. Just this morning, his horseshoe charm had disappeared off his key ring. If he’d been entering a horse in a race, he would’ve bet against him.

  But today–his wedding day–wasn’t about superstitions or lucky charms. The long-awaited production that was his wedding was about to start. There was no time for second thoughts.

  Not that he had any. Not any at all.

  Beck tugged at his bow tie.

  The music began for the bridesmaid procession and the first bridesmaid appeared. It was Kitty. Like all bridesmaids, her dress was the color of a bright margarita (his favorite mixed drink–there was a sign!). The wedding planner had insisted the bridesmaids needed full skirts to balance the massive girth of Maggie’s dress. Getting within kissing distance of his bride for pictures this morning had been about as tricky as walking with Bingley after he’d been neutered and wore a plastic cone around his neck.

  Kitty was walking faster than they’d rehearsed, her steps out of sync with the music. She’d always stood out to him among her sisters–the shortest in height, the most delicate features, the darkest hair color, the most intense way of looking at a man. Of looking at him. As if he’d never measure up to her standards.

  Take now, for instance. She should have been smiling serenely. Instead, she glared at him as if he was a threat to national security.

  Apprehension galloped down his spine like an angry stallion defending his fence-line.

  Had the sisters argued? Was his bride having second thoughts?

  Kitty ascended the altar and stopped in front of Beck. A wave of murmurs rippled through the church. She was supposed to take her place on the bottom of the altar on the far side, not a step below the groom.

  “Are you in love with my sister?” she demanded in a whisper, clenching her small pink peony bouquet with a white-knuckled grip.

  Something had happened. Something bad. Beck’s smile wavered.

  What had Kitty asked?

  Something about love. Beck’s balance wavered. Was he in love? His shoulder bumped his best man’s as he struggled to find the words to answer. “I am.” Was that his voice? Did it waver, too?

  It had. He’d better not sound so unsure when it came time to say, “I do.”

  Unlucky. The day was unlucky. It couldn’t end soon enough.

  Beck steadied himself. He worked up enough saliva to swallow and smiled, but it felt as if he’d borrowed someone else’s lips.

  More bridesmaids were marching down the aisle, taking their places without glares or interrogations.

  Kitty didn’t move. “If your barn was on fire and you had to choose between that horse of yours and my sister, who would you save?”

  “You’re saying she couldn’t walk out?” Beck blurted, immediately disliking his answer. He also didn’t like that people were staring at them. And he especially didn’t like Kitty.

  “Move along,” he growled. “I love…” His bride’s name escaped him, damn it. “…your sister.”

  “You don’t.” Kitty’s eyes narrowed. “Not really. Not the way you should.”

  Something stuck in Beck’s throat. Something sharp and shameful.

  Kitty was stuck, too. She didn’t move. Not when the bridesmaids filed past. Not when the aisle was clear. Not when the organist began the first few chords of the wedding march.

  The guests stood.

  Beck had a bad feeling, a prickle at the back of his neck like the time O’Brien’s Free Ride had pulled up lame last winter.

  This was the moment his bride had dreamed of her entire life. The moment Beck had patiently been preparing to endure.

  He tried to edge the short wayward bridesmaid aside.

  And then disaster struck.

  Kitty kissed him.

  Chapter 2

  Protecting her sisters had always involved drama, usually between Kitty and her father. It didn’t usually involve a topsy-turvy, wish-I-could-turn-back-time, sickening sensation in Kitty’s stomach.

  She sat on a curb in the near-empty parking lot of the church, melting in the waves of muggy Florida heat rising from the asphalt. Her poofy taffeta skirt floated about her in an unruly mint green cloud that rose nearly as high as her face.

  Mission accomplished. Wedding stopped.

  Mom had cried. Dad had yelled. Maggie had disappeared in a swarm of mint green, bell-skirted bridesmaids before Kitty could talk to her.

  If only that was the end of the drama. Above her, dark storm clouds moved in from the east, threatening to blot out the sunshine.

  The guests had left, the bridal party had departed, and a few minutes ago, a priest had asked Kitty to vacate the church, locking the door behind her.

  She wished that was the end of it. If only those fast-approaching storm clouds would pass.

  Kitty couldn’t get that lucky. Her mission may have been successful, but her job wasn’t done. Her gaze stuck on Beck’s truck–a large black beast with four tires in the back, two on each side. It was made for towing. Or perhaps mowing things down. The front grill was chromed and seemed to snarl, “My way or the highway.” Staring at it made her stomach feel better.

  “Waiting to take one last shot at ruining my life?” Beck appeared next to her. His black tuxedo jacket hung over his arm. He’d rolled up the white sleeves of his dress shirt and untied his bow tie. He stood casually, but there was nothing casual about the expression in his sharp blue eyes as he glared at her. Those eyes made promises involving words like grudge and revenge.

  “I didn’t set out to ruin your life.” Kitty returned her stare to his truck. It had New York plates and road dust. No colorful streamers. No shaving cream letters that proclaimed the driver was happily Just Married. Was that a good sign? And if it was, good for whom?

  Beck stepped off the curb and onto the asphalt, blocking her view of his getaway vehicle. “You kissed me on my wedding day.” He leaned over all that mint green taffeta, jaw thrust out, blue gaze grudge-worthy. “You had to know that kiss would wreck my life.”

  “I was more intent upon saving Maggie’s.” Saving her from a lackluster marriage, like the one their mother had.

  “That’s how you save Maggie? By kissing me?” Beck set his lips in a thin, disapproving line, as if trying to contain the anger railing inside him. He failed. “I thought doctors were supposed to heal, not hurt.”

  Kitty stared at her hands, unwilling to say more. She’d felt more than contempt when she’d kissed him. She’d felt an unwelcome spark. And in that moment on the altar–when the assembled had gasped and Maggie had wailed–Kitty had prayed. She’d prayed she hadn’t made a mistake. She’d prayed for that errant spark to be nothing more than a product of nerves. She’d prayed Beck wouldn’t kiss her back.

  “I thought the Summer sisters were close.” Beck’s harsh voi
ce tried to rile.

  It couldn’t. At least, not beyond the anger she already felt toward him for trying to use his sister as his own personal bank account.

  “I thought the Summer sisters cared about each other.” Beck’s harsh voice tried to wound.

  It couldn’t. At least, not when she’d already beaten herself up about what had happened, not to mention that unexpected spark. Where had it come from?

  Kitty snuck a glance at him, unable to curb her curiosity about that glimmer of attraction, because one of her prayers had gone unanswered–Beck had kissed her back!

  Oh, sure. Beck was good-looking with his broad shoulders, wavy brown hair, and intense blue eyes. And he was intelligent, quick with a witty remark. But she’d dated smarter, wealthier, more handsome men without that feeling of chemistry. There had to be more to Beck O’Brien to have created that flush of magnetism.

  “I thought you–Maggie’s idol–would never hurt her.” Beck’s harsh voice tried to demean. “But…” He faltered, his gaze turning distant. “You…” He sighed and pointed behind her. “Isn’t that your Grandmother Dotty?”

  It couldn’t be. “She left with the others.” Nonetheless, Kitty craned her neck to look.

  It was Grandma Dotty. She and Kitty shared the same petite frame and pert nose. But Dotty’s hair was snow white and her skin the pale crepe of a pampered woman. She had her teal chiffon skirt lifted to her knobby knees and was dancing between two palm trees as if waltzing with Fred Astaire.

  Anger bubbled in Kitty’s veins with heat rivaling that from the asphalt. It was one thing to leave Kitty at the church. It was another to leave Grandma Dotty.

  Kitty got to her feet in a tumble of taffeta.

  Beck was already crossing the lawn with a long stride Kitty could never hope to match, not when hampered by slender heels sinking into grass.

  “Ronald!” Dotty threw herself into Beck’s arms. For the second time that day, the almost-groom received an unwelcome kiss from a Summer female. “Darling, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Beck back-pedaled out of lip-lock range.

  Kitty kicked off her heels and ran barefoot the rest of the way across the crab grass.

  Her grandmother shaded her faded brown eyes. “Is that Kitty? You look beautiful. What a gorgeous prom dress. And your date…” Dotty squinted at Beck, who back-pedaled some more.

  “He’s not my date.” Nor was he Ronald, Kitty’s deceased grandfather. Kitty placed her arm around Dotty’s slight shoulders. “He’s…” She gave Beck a once-over. For the time being, he was no longer her future brother-in-law.

  The wind driving the storm clouds ever closer tossed a lock of Beck’s hair over his forehead while he scowled. “We were at a wedding.”

  “You should snap him up, Kitty,” Dotty said in a loud whisper. “He looks like a keeper.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” Kitty led Dotty toward the parking lot. Not only had she dropped the ball with Maggie, she hadn’t realized her grandmother had come to a point where her mental stability threatened her safety. When they got back to New York, Kitty was taking Dotty to the best dementia doctor in the city. Meanwhile, there was a bigger issue at hand. “Beck, I need a favor.”

  “Not on your life.” His long strides carried him past them.

  Kitty drew Dotty along with more urgency. “I don’t have my purse–”

  Dotty tsked. “A woman should never be without her purse.”

  “–which means I don’t have my cell phone or money for a cab back to the hotel.”

  “That’s why you should never be without your purse.” Dotty sounded vindicated.

  Kitty refrained from pointing out that Dotty was purseless, too. Or that the doctors covering for her while she was away had no way to get in touch with Kitty in case they needed a consult.

  Beck stopped and turned, staring at Kitty with a smug smile. “Your family left you.” Not a question, but a jab. A jab at Kitty.

  The impact of his punch rolled around Kitty’s stomach like a fourth cup of coffee on the maternity ward night shift. She could tell herself a thousand times that she’d stopped the wedding for Maggie’s own good, but it wouldn’t take away the hurt she’d seen on her sister’s face.

  Did Maggie truly love Beck? Would she forgive Kitty? Did Kitty deserve to be forgiven? She had to get to the hotel to find out.

  “Well…” Kitty tried not to shrink away from Beck’s stare, but found herself looking at Dotty’s white orthopedic sandals outlined by crab grass. “They left Grandma Dotty, too.”

  “Priceless.” Beck continued to stare at Kitty until she met his turbulent gaze again. “All right, I’ll take you to the hotel. But only if you tell Maggie you lip-bombed me. I had nothing to do with that spectacle you made.”

  “I love your spectacles.” Dotty patted Kitty’s arm. “They always upset Timothy. Have I ever told you what a trial he was as a boy?”

  “Many times.” Kitty towed Dotty gently toward Beck’s truck by way of her shoes on the lawn. “Listen, Beck. As long as we’re bargaining, I’ll tell Maggie the kiss was all me–” She wouldn’t mention he’d kissed her back. “–just as soon as you tell her how you’re only marrying her for her money.”

  “What?” Beck threw his jacket to the grass and stepped closer to Kitty, angling his head as if to hear her better. The wind tousled his brown hair once more and a cloud began to block out the sun.

  But on this score, Kitty was as confident as she was delivering full-term babies. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. I heard what you said in the vestibule before the wedding.” She bent to put her shoes on, and then straightened her shoulders, her gaze, and her resolve, meeting his gaze levelly, if from a much lower height. “You bragged to everyone about how Maggie was going to make you a lot of money.”

  “I bragged…” Beck tossed his arms and turned in a tight circle. “I said Mags. Mags is the filly your dad is giving me as a wedding gift.”

  “Nice try.” Kitty narrowed her gaze. “But my dad doesn’t own a horse.”

  “Your uncle Joseph does,” Dotty said, sounding clearer than she had previously. “Or he did. He took a pregnant mare in exchange for someone’s debt and Tim bought her, earning the right to name the baby. Why can’t I remember what Tim called that filly?” Dotty’s narrow features puckered with distaste. She knew she had memory and clarity issues, and she didn’t like it. “Margaret’s Renewal or Margaret’s Rain Gear or–”

  “Margaret’s Reward,” Beck murmured, earning a scowl from Kitty, one he met with a shrug that seemed to acknowledge he wasn’t comfortable with the filly’s name either.

  “She’s black and the descendent of…of…” Dotty stamped her sandal and demanded, “Of who?”

  “Man O’War,” Beck supplied with a hint of a smirk. “Mags was supposed to be a surprise, but Tim told me this morning while we were taking pictures.”

  While Dotty muttered about memory loss, Kitty’s stomach did an acid-spattering hokey-pokey. Her mind spun through the implications of the horse. Her father would never offer such a lavish gift, much less a gift exclusively for the groom. Unless… “You knew about the horse before my father had you sign a pre-nup.”

  The smirk went the way of Beck’s bride. Vanishing.

  Kitty’s gut settled. At least one prayer was answered. She hadn’t made a mistake when she stopped the wedding. “You can’t touch any of Maggie’s fortune, but you do get the Holy Grail of breeders if you get married. How the loss of such a fine horse must sting.”

  Beck clenched his jaw and glared at Kitty while proclaiming, “I love Maggie.”

  “You couldn’t remember her name at the altar,” Kitty pointed out, clinging to that fact.

  Beck snatched up his jacket and marched across the parking lot. Kitty hurried after him, afraid he might leave without them.

  “Was there a wedding?” Dotty scrunched her white eyebrows together. “I can’t seem to remember.”

  “I envy you that, Dotty.” Beck opened the passen
ger door to his truck and then walked around to the driver’s side. “I’m trying to forget.” He started the truck and blasted the air conditioning.

  Kitty helped Dotty inside, balancing on the running board to buckle Grandma into the center seat, before lifting the cloud of taffeta and climbing in beside her. Kitty’s dress needed its own seat. The mint green skirt filled the space meant for her feet and knees, and challenged the dashboard for height.

  Beck settled behind the wheel and began driving. He was an impulsive driver, speeding to red lights, braking hard, cursing under his breath. The sky continued to darken and Dotty couldn’t keep her body upright as Beck squealed around each corner. She ricocheted back and forth between Kitty and Beck like a palm tree in a storm.

  The truck, devoid of decoration, bothered Kitty, especially when everyone else had flown down from New York. “Why did you drive down here?”

  “We were going to honeymoon at your family’s property on Tybee Island. I wanted to drive.” He wove in and out of traffic. “I like to drive.”

  Something about Beck’s answer didn’t add up. He was a busy man. It took at least two days of hard driving to get from New York to Boca. It would’ve been more convenient to fly.

  And then the pieces fell together for Kitty, just as they did when she was diagnosing a patient with conflicting symptoms. “My father’s wedding gift couldn’t have been a surprise. You wanted to pick up that precious horse of yours on your way home.” Uncle Joe lived in Virginia. The horse was in Virginia. Virginia was on the way back to New York. “Why else would you be driving this big truck?” Her opinion of Beck lowered to the level of melted gum on hot asphalt.

  “Dotty told me about the filly,” Beck admitted, much of the bluster gone from his tone. “A while back.”

  “Aha!” He’d known of Dad’s expensive carrot, maybe even before Dotty told him. For all his arguments to the contrary, Beck didn’t love her sister. Everything was going to be all right. Maybe not today, but when Maggie had time to process why Beck had wanted to marry her, she’d realize Kitty was right to kiss him.