How to Be a Blissful Bride

by Stacy Connelly

  “I told you. I can’t sleep without you.”

  “And I think I told you, I’m not sleeping with you. Chance?” Alexa pushed at his shoulders, her hands sliding uselessly against soft material of his T-shirt and the smooth muscles beneath. “Chance!”

  She may well have questioned the truth of his words, especially given what he’d told her about his aversion to pain pills, but actions spoke louder as he settled deeper into the pillows with a contented sigh and promptly fell asleep...with her.

  * * *

  Chance knew he was dreaming again.

  The dream was so realistic—like the ones in the hospital during the first days after his surgery. He could feel the silken brush of Alexa’s hair across his arm, the teasing warmth of her breath against his neck. He pulled her closer, but instead of bare skin against his, he encountered the softness of some fuzzy material.

  Why was she wearing clothes? His dreams always started with her naked in his arms and ended with her slipping away...

  “Chance! Chance, wake up!”

  He ignored the voice, the one that sounded like Alexa’s but was only a trick. He tightened his grip, determined not to let her get away and equally determined not to wake up. When he opened his eyes, she would be gone.

  “Seriously, Chance. I can’t breathe here.”

  “Dreams don’t need to breathe,” he protested, rolling until he half pinned Alexa’s dream self beneath his body.

  She laughed at that—maybe a little breathlessly—before saying his name.

  With his eyes still closed, his lips found the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. She smelled just like he remembered—something sweetly floral but with that hidden hint of spice. She whispered his name again, even more breathlessly this time, and heat flooded through his veins.

  In the real world, too much stood between them for Chance to give into desire. The secret she had kept, the uncertainty of the future, the responsibility of their child. But this was a dream where nothing could come between them.

  Nothing but that stupid fuzzy sweater.

  “Why are you wearing clothes in my dream?” he complained.

  Alexa groaned, sounding as frustrated by the unnecessary clothing as he was. But when she spoke this time, a note of panic entered her voice. “Chance, you need to wake up now.” She pushed at his shoulders, but he wouldn’t budge. “No, really, you need to wake up. I think someone’s here!”

  He faintly heard a car door slam, something else completely out of place in his dream and enough to make him wonder... The sound, combined with a sharp pain in his leg as Alexa scrambled out from beneath him, jerked him from the remnants of slumber.

  Blinking, he stared at Alexa as she scurried off the side of the bed. With a wide-eyed glance at the window, she straightened the cashmere sweater from his dream and smoothed her hair. Not that it helped. Her clothes were wrinkled, her normally perfect hair tousled, her face free of makeup and still softened from sleep.

  His heart did some kind of a slow roll inside his chest. He’d never seen her look more beautiful, and he asked himself again how the hell he’d managed to walk out of that hotel room four months ago.

  Was it any wonder he’d pictured her there a hundred times since, and yet for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out...

  “What were you doing in my bed?”

  “What was I—You—” Color bloomed in her cheeks and she shook her head in exasperation. “Do not start with me this morning. And get up! Someone is here!”

  What the hell happened last night? He remembered the fight, Alexa showing up at the cottage, taking those damn pain pills... After that, things got a little blurry, but considering she was fully dressed and he—Chance tossed back the covers to confirm—yep, he was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, he was pretty sure nothing had happened while she was there.

  His reflexes slowed by his still groggy state of mind, he barely blinked as a pair of jeans hit him in the chest and then fell to the floor in a heap. “What—”

  “Get dressed,” Alexa hissed as she turned toward the open closet door.

  He swallowed a groan as he awkwardly bent to snatch the jeans from the floor. “Who’s here?”

  “I have no idea, but someone—” The knock on the front door interrupted the flurry of activity as she clutched one of his shirts to her chest, her eyes wide with panic.

  After a split second of silence, the knock sounded again. “Chance, sweetie!”

  Alexa still didn’t move, but Chance saw her eyes narrow at the sound of the feminine voice. “Sweetie?”

  This time he didn’t even try to swallow his groan. He almost wished he had some past girlfriend standing on his front porch as Alexa clearly suspected. “That’s my mom,” he sighed. Limping over, he grabbed the shirt from her frozen hands. “Prepare to meet the parents.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Your parents?” Alexa’s voice rose an octave as the knocking on the front door suddenly seemed to reverberate inside her chest. “I can’t meet your parents now!”

  She had no experience with anything like this. Not even as a teenager had she been caught in a compromising situation.

  A Mayhew does not sneak boys into her bedroom or make out in the back seat of a car.

  His gaze washed over her from head to toe. “You could meet the queen of England like this. You look as beautiful as ever.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks at the compliment as well as at the intimacy of the moment. Even though they’d spent a weekend together, even though they’d made love, an even more powerful connection stretched between them. An unspoken acknowledgment that said they were in this together.

  The truth was, she could have left his bed at any time last night. Though he had initially held her tight, the pain pills weren’t enough to keep him from a restless sleep. Before long, he’d rolled to his side and then tossed onto his back. She’d even pushed back the covers, ready to slip away, when he called out her name.

  At first she thought he was awake, only to quickly realize he was still asleep and reaching out for her in his dreams. “Don’t go. Don’t leave...again.”

  And in that moment, she’d known she wasn’t going anywhere.

  He’d needed her last night, and as impossible as the idea sounded in her own mind, Alexa couldn’t shake the thought that Chance needed her now.

  His dark hair was mussed, and a pillow crease lined one lean cheek. His morning beard combined with the black-and-blue bruises on his jaw and eye gave him a dangerous air. But there was something almost defensive in his posture even as he joked, “There’s always the window if we want to try to make a break for it.”

  “We? They’re your parents,” she reminded him.

  Chance sighed. “Exactly.”

  After tossing the clothes onto the bed, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. Alexa’s jaw dropped as he stripped off the shirt and tossed it aside. “What—what are you doing?”

  “Hey, you wanted me to get dressed. And it’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

  Seen, felt, tasted... Her face heated even as she protested, “Not with your parents right outside the door!”

  His deep chuckle sent another round of nerves dancing in her stomach. “Better than right inside the door...which is where my mother will be in about two seconds if I don’t get out there.”

  “They’re going to think we’re sleeping together.”

  “They’re gonna know once they find out about the baby.”

  He laughed again when Alexa spun around the second his hands dropped to the drawstring waistband of his flannel pajamas. But memory supplied such mouthwatering detail she almost wondered why she’d denied herself.

  The rustle of denim was loud in the otherwise silent room, the rasp of the zipper seeming to run straight down her spine. The hair on h
er neck stood on end as Chance stepped close enough to murmur in her ear, “I’ll try to buy you a few minutes.”

  “To duck out the window?”

  “Or join us in the living room. Up to you.”

  * * *

  Alexa used the extra few minutes in the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair before stepping into the living room, where Chance made the briefest of introductions.

  Dozens of unspoken questions were written in his parents’ eyes, and it would have been impossible to miss the look the older McClarens exchanged in the split second before Alexa held out her hand.

  Chance’s mother, Mary, ignored it, enveloping Alexa in a quick hug. Familiar brilliant blue eyes beamed as she said, “It’s so good to meet you. I’d like to say Chance has told us so much about you, but he’s always been notoriously silent when it comes to his love life.”

  “Mom...”

  Mary met her son’s pained protest with an exasperated look. “Well, it’s true. We haven’t met one of your girlfriends since—”

  “So what are you two doing here?” Chance interrupted, silencing his mother but certainly not Alexa’s curiosity about the last woman he’d brought home.

  “We’re heading down to Santa Rosa for a retirement party for an old friend of your father’s,” Mary explained as she started tidying the small room, straightening a ruffled pillow, picking up the empty water bottle, pausing only slightly at the now-defrosted bag of corn. “We thought we’d stop by since it’s on the way.”

  “Not exactly on the way,” her husband muttered, jingling a set of keys in the pocket of his khakis.

  Matthew McClaren had salt-and-pepper hair and the same wide forehead and strong jaw as his son, but classic bone structure wasn’t the only similarity between the two men. Alexa hadn’t missed the stubborn set to those matching jaws.

  Mary, however, smoothed over the moment with a laugh. “It is if you take the scenic route.”

  “Still,” Chance pointed out, “you have a long drive ahead of you—”

  “Which is why we left before the crack of dawn. We certainly have time for a late breakfast with the two of you while we’re here.”

  “There was an anniversary party at the hotel last night. The restaurant’s bound to be packed right now.”

  His mother waved aside the warning. “No offense to Hillcrest’s restaurant, but you know we’ve never been big on eating out. Rory told me she made sure to stock the kitchen before you came?”

  “Packed to the rafters,” Chance answered wryly.

  “Perfect! Alexa, you’ll lend me a hand, won’t you? We’ll let the men talk,” Mary said with a pointed look at the two males in question.

  “I, um, sure,” Alexa said weakly with a final glance at Chance before following Mary into the kitchen. She knew perfectly well why she was nervous about a one-on-one chat with Chance’s mother. What she couldn’t figure out was why Chance seemed just as uncomfortable talking man-to-man with his own father.

  * * *

  Despite her initial concerns, Alexa felt instantly at ease with Mary McClaren. Partly, she imagined, because the older woman kept a constant stream of conversation flowing. Her mouth moved almost as fast as her hands as she bustled around the tiny kitchen, slowing only when she had to search another cupboard or two for an ingredient.

  “I am sorry we just showed up out of the blue like this. If Chance had told us—But, well, Chance doesn’t say much of anything when it comes to his personal life.”

  Alexa paused, the plate in her hand hovering an inch above the pale oak table as she waited for Mary to say something more about the woman in Chance’s past. But when nothing more was forthcoming, she admitted, “My own arrival was somewhat of a surprise, as well. I’ve only been in town for a few days.”

  “But you and Chance...”

  “Met a few months ago in Santa Barbara. We, um, planned to keep in touch after he left for another assignment but then—”

  Alexa cut herself off as Mary’s movements slowed to a stop. She bowed her head for a moment as they both silently acknowledged what happened—what almost happened—then...

  “You do like pancakes, don’t you?” Mary asked Alexa over her shoulder, her smile forcefully bright. “So many people nowadays have food allergies.”

  “No, no allergies.” She couldn’t recall the last time she had pancakes, though, more likely to have something as simple as tea and toast in the morning. And during her bout with morning sickness, even that had often been too much.

  But now... Finished setting the table, Alexa walked over to the counter. Her stomach let out a very unladylike growl as Mary dropped a handful of blueberries into the batter and gave a quick stir with a wooden spoon.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone make pancakes without a recipe before. Other than a professional chef.”

  “Professional?” Mary gave a laugh. “You mean like those cooks on television? Oh, trust me. I’m not in their league. I guess I’ve just been doing it for so many years I can make them automatically.”

  Alexa hadn’t been talking about television. She’d been referring to the full-time chef on her grandmother’s staff. Her face heated slightly at her near faux pas. If Mary didn’t think of herself in league with a TV personality who could smile for the camera and beat an egg at the same time, she certainly would have felt outclassed compared to the cordon bleu–trained chef her grandmother employed.

  “So if you don’t consider yourself a professional, how did you learn all this?”

  “I guess I consider myself a professional mom. Not always the most glamorous of jobs and not one that will win you an award, but rewarding enough for me.” With her reddish-brown hair streaked with gray and faint lines fanning out from her hazel eyes, Mary McClaren exuded a warmth and comfort that drew Alexa in.

  A professional mom. She liked the sound of that. For the past few months, she’d been so caught up in the idea of being pregnant, of having a baby, somehow the thought of being a mother had gotten lost. “So you learned all this after Chance and Rory were born?”

  “Oh, no! My own mother taught me to cook when I was still a little girl. It was always such a treat to be with her in the kitchen.”

  “Oh. Right.” Of course. These were skills Alexa was already supposed to have. All things her mother was supposed to have taught her.

  “By the time I had two kids, I barely had time to breathe. Thank goodness this was all second nature by then. Although with a newborn, then the trick came in learning how to do it all one-handed.”

  “One-handed?”

  “It’s amazing how quickly you figure out how to hold an infant in one arm and still crack eggs with your free hand.”

  Alexa swallowed a disbelieving laugh. Holding a baby while cracking eggs. Sure, she’d give that a try. Right after—oh, who knows? Sword swallowing? Fire juggling?

  “But then once the kids were older, I was able to pass down all I’d learned. Rory was such a good little student, standing on a stool by my side, so eager to help. I think for Chance, it was more about the bonus of licking batter from the beaters and having first dibs on dessert.” Mary’s eyes sparkled at the memory. “So what kind of things did your mother teach you?”

  Her mother taught her how to smile even when she was crying inside.

  You be a good girl for nanny and Mommy will be back soon!

  Bree didn’t like when Alexa cried when she left or begged her not to go. So Alexa learned to be a good girl, always waiting hopefully for her mother to return.

  That hiding behind a smile came in handy as she said, “Oh, my mother taught me so much, it’s hard to know where to begin.”

  But as she watched Mary in the kitchen, Alexa couldn’t help thinking that the most important lesson Bree had taught her was how not to be a mother.

  A lesson Alexa had just over five months to tot
ally unlearn.

  * * *

  “So how did the two of you meet?”

  Chance didn’t even try to hold back his groan. “Five seconds, Mom. That must be some kind of record.”

  His mother had whipped up a feast of blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs and bacon. The tiny table could barely hold all the serving dishes and plates, and despite the sweet smells filling the kitchen, he didn’t have much of an appetite.

  Not when he was going to end up getting grilled as the main course.

  She gave him a reproachful look as she passed the butter to his father. “It’s just a question.”

  And hardly one that was out of line. Especially not when coming from parents who had just walked in on their son scrambling out of bed with a young woman.

  Even if nothing had happened the night before. Which was both a relief and an embarrassment. He’d learned way back as a kid that he and pain pills didn’t mix. He’d had plenty of cause to take them during the daring exploits of his youth, and the side effects were never pretty. Walking in his sleep. Talking in his sleep.

  Hell, he could only imagine what Alexa had to put up with. Snippets of memory floated through his mind, but it was too similar to what had occurred after the accident, when most of what he recalled had been nothing but imagination.

  Alexa’s warm, feminine curves beneath his body... Her golden hair spread out across the pillow... Her slender arms around his neck...

  I’m here, Chance. I’m right here. I won’t leave you.

  One thing he knew wasn’t imagination or some kind of delusion.

  Alexa was pregnant. With his baby. He was still coming to grips with the sudden turn his life had taken.

  “We met at a charity event,” Alexa was saying to his all-ears mother, her movements graceful and precise as she used a knife and fork to cut her single pancake into tiny bite-size pieces. “Chance was there to sign some of his photographs as part of a silent auction.”

  Chance’s grip tightened on his fork. Alexa couldn’t possibly know the minefield she’d just walked into. His job was a decade-old point of contention between him and his parents. His father, especially, and Chance didn’t miss the scowl on the elder McClaren’s face.