How to Be a Blissful Bride

by Stacy Connelly

  Wrapping her arms around Jamison’s waist, Rory smiled. “Well, clearly Nina and Bryce don’t share your opinion. Otherwise why would they have named their baby Wyatt Chance Kincaid?”

  “They named him after you?” Alexa looked up at Chance in surprise, but he only shrugged in response, having clearly already heard the news. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  His attention focused on the beer in his hand, he shrugged again. “Like I said, it was no big deal. I was just...”

  There.

  His voice trailed off, the unspoken word a very big deal between the two of them.

  * * *

  He made it through dinner. He sat with his family as his father said grace. He dished up food, passed along plates and compliments as they all dived into the traditional Thanksgiving feast.

  But as Rory and Jamison were clearing the dinner plates for dessert, he’d made his escape. Chance couldn’t really call it anything else. Stepping out onto the front porch, he sucked in a much-needed lungful of cool, rain-scented air.

  The man of the hour.

  Chance knew Jamison meant the words as a teasing compliment, but he couldn’t help feeling like the other man had hit the time frame right on the dot. An hour, he could do. A lifetime commitment? The kind Bryce had made to Nina? The kind Jamison had made to Rory and to his daughter by walking away from a lucrative job as a corporate attorney for life in small town Clearville?

  That was something Chance didn’t know if he was capable of.

  He swallowed hard. How had Alexa described her parents?

  They were like Christmas and New Year’s and the Fourth of July...

  He’d been there for Thanksgiving. If he took the assignment his editor had offered, he’d be lucky to be back with Alexa by Christmas.

  The screen door squeaked behind him, and Chance turned to see his father in the doorway. Matthew paused, his split-second hesitation—a hesitation Chance had caused by walking away too many times—hitting hard.

  A sudden image of Alexa making pancakes flashed in his mind. She was willing to try, to work hard, not to follow in her parents’ selfish, self-absorbed footsteps. Chance wanted to be a good father. Maybe his first step was in trying to be a better son.

  “Hey, Dad. Wanna join me?”

  Taking Chance up on the offer, Matthew stepped outside. For a moment, the two men stood silently side by side, the drip of rainwater from the eaves the only sound.

  “You might want to get back in there before everyone’s done fighting over that last piece of pie,” Matthew said after a moment.

  “I’ll head back in after a minute. What about you? You’ve never been one to turn down dessert.”

  His father made a sound that might have been a laugh. “And your mother knows it. She cut me a slice so thin, it was practically see-through.” He sighed. “I just needed a minute or two for myself.”

  They’d always had that in common, Chance realized. A need for space. How many times as a kid had he found his father sitting by himself on their back patio? Matthew had found room to breathe in his own backyard. Chance’s need had taken him a hell of a lot farther.

  “You’re walking better than the last time we were here,” his father pointed out.

  “Yes.”

  “I take it that means you’ll be heading out on another assignment soon.”

  Chance opened his mouth to give another affirmative, but the words didn’t come. Instead he found himself saying, “I want to explain why I’ve been—distant these last few months,” he began before relaying the conversation he’d overheard in the hospital when they’d thought he was still asleep.

  “Chance. What you heard...” His father scrubbed a hand along his jaw before clasping the back of his neck. “It wasn’t what you thought you heard.”

  “I may have been whacked out on pain killers, but I know what I heard.” Sucking in a deep breath, he added, “But I also want you to know that I...understand a little better now. When I think of anything happening to Alexa or the baby, well, I guess I can see where you were coming from in wanting to keep me safe.”

  “Your mother and I weren’t just worried about you being safe, Chance. We were worried about you being happy,” his father stressed.

  “You thought I wasn’t happy? Dad, I have the career I’ve always dreamed of, a job I love—”

  “Do you?” his father challenged. “Do you still love it? Because over the past few years, your mother and I have both started to wonder. Not that your work has ever suffered. Your photos and the articles you’ve written are as inspired and as passionate as ever, but we’ve gotten the feeling that the demands of the job, the constant traveling, have started to take a toll.”

  Chance wanted to argue just—he feared—for the sake of the argument. Hadn’t he started to question his commitment ever since meeting Alexa? Had his parents sensed he was burning out even earlier than that? How many times he had pushed through sheer exhaustion, times when he woke up not sure what country he was in, forget what city, by forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other?

  Grabbing the railing with both hands, Chance stared out over the rain-soaked yard. “I can’t go back to Medford, Dad. I know how much you love the shop but—”

  Matthew interrupted with a snort of laughter. “Get a grip, son. I gave up that dream a long time ago.”

  “So you aren’t still hoping that I’ll take over?”

  “Is that what I wished for when you first took an interest in photography? Sure. And I know I made the mistake of pushing too hard and ended up pushing you away. You ran off to prove that you could make it as a photographer, and you’ve done that. We just want you to slow down long enough to ask yourself if the life you’re living is still the one you want. Or if maybe there’s something more.”

  A rare smile softened his father’s features, and Chance followed his old man’s gaze to see a tiny red tricycle parked in the corner of the porch. “Your life has changed, son. You have...so much more to live for.”

  Chance scowled. “That makes it sound as if I didn’t want to live before. Like you think I had some kind of death wish.”

  “Of course not. But you were reckless. You took chances other journalists wouldn’t take because you only had yourself to worry about.” He held up a hand before Chance could protest again. “I’m not saying you didn’t care about us, but a wife and child are different. Alexa and the baby need you more.”

  The weight on his chest pressed harder as he admitted, “I don’t know if I can just walk away. This life—being a photojournalist, it’s the only job I’ve ever known, the only job I’ve ever wanted.”

  Matthew gave another short laugh. “You need to take a look at this.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal a crayon-colored picture of a lopsided, slightly turquoise Christmas tree. “As soon as Hannah saw your mother and me this morning, she wanted us to have this. It’s her Christmas list, one I’m pretty sure Rory helped with since Hannah isn’t old enough to write yet. But she’s old enough to let her soon-to-be grandparents know that she wants a doll, a paint set and some computer game I’ve never heard of.”

  “That’s great, Dad, but I’m not really sure what that has to do with anything.”

  After tucking the list back into his pocket, his father asked, “Do you remember what you asked for when you were five?”

  “What?” His mother had always been the sentimental type, holding on to pieces of the past he’d long since forgotten, not his father. “No, Dad...”

  “When you were five,” he said, undeterred by his interruption, “you wanted one of those glow sword things... What were they called?”

  “Lightsabers. I wanted a lightsaber.”

  “Right. And then when you were seven, you wanted a baseball bat and glove, and a Mariners hat.”

  Chance gave a
short laugh, getting caught up in reminiscing despite himself. “We’d gone to a few games that past season, and I thought I was going to be the next Ken Griffey Jr.”

  “So you didn’t always want to be a photojournalist.”

  “Maybe not, but, Dad, I was never going to be a Jedi warrior—lightsaber or no lightsaber.”

  “That is not the point.” Reaching out, Matthew clapped him on the shoulder. “The point is that dreams change over the years. By the time you were a teenager, you knew you wanted to be a photographer. You followed that dream, you worked hard for that dream and you succeeded. But that was then. This is now. And walking away from that—if it’s what you choose to do—that isn’t quitting. You aren’t giving up on your dreams, Chance. You’re just...dreaming bigger.”

  * * *

  The bedroom was still dark when Alexa woke, but she knew even before she reached across the mattress what had disturbed her. Chance was no longer lying beside her. Slipping out from beneath the blankets, she walked down the hall. She must have made some slight sound at the sight of him standing in the living room. He spun to face her—a familiar olive drab duffel bag in his hand.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “My editor called—” Chance swore as he dropped the bag and crossed the room to catch her by the shoulders. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just...” Her voice trailed off as he led her to the sofa. Sinking into the cushions, she closed her eyes. The image was seared on her eyelids—Chance holding that same duffel in their Santa Barbara hotel room before telling her he had to go.

  “I have to do this, Lexi.” Kneeling in front of her, he covered her clenched fists with his hands. “You knew I would take another assignment at some point.”

  She had known. But seeing him with that duffel bag... It had been her last memory of him, the one she’d carried with her for all those weeks until she read the news reports that said he’d been killed. She swallowed hard, forcing the ache in her throat to sink into a painful knot in her stomach.

  “I thought we would at least discuss it first! What the assignment is, how long you’ll be gone, where you’ll be going...”

  How dangerous it would be...

  “I swear, Alexa, I won’t be gone long, and when I’m back, I’ll—”

  “Call?” she filled in. After all, they had played this scene once before. She knew how it ended. With Chance grabbing his things and leaving her behind—hurt, angry and determined to harden her heart.

  She didn’t even know why she thought this time might be different, but that same toxic mix of emotions was already building inside her chest. Is that how it would always be? Chance resenting her for asking him to stay while she resented him for telling her he had to go?

  “Were you even going to tell me you were leaving or were you planning to sneak out and avoid any messy farewells?”

  “That’s not fair, Alexa.”

  “Not fair?” Pulling her hand from his, she pointed at the duffel bag and demanded, “You want to talk about not fair? Your editor just called, but tell me, Chance, how long has that bag been packed and ready to go? Days? Weeks?”

  His jaw tightened in response, revealing the answer he wouldn’t give, and that knot inside her tripled.

  Her voice thick with unshed tears, she whispered, “I can live with you being gone, Chance, but what I can’t take is for you to have one foot out the door even when you’re here.”

  Chance flinched as if she’d struck him. “That’s not—do you want to know why I had that bag packed, why I didn’t stop to talk to you about the assignment before I said yes? I knew if I slowed down for even a second, that if I didn’t leave now, I never would!”

  He ducked his head, his voice barely audible as he confessed, “I’m afraid, Alexa.”

  Her heart ached at the pained admission. “Of course you are, Chance! Who wouldn’t be after what happened last time?”

  “I’m not afraid for me,” he said as he shook his head. “What if something happens to you while I’m gone? What if something happens to the baby?”

  He looked up then, and Alexa forgot how to breathe. Forgot...everything for a second, held spellbound by the vulnerability she never would have thought she’d see. Linking his fingers with hers, he held on tight as if he’d never let her go.

  Faint wings of hope fluttered within her chest as she whispered, “Oh, Chance... I can’t promise you that nothing will happen to me.” Even as tears filled her eyes, she gave a small laugh at the reversal of roles. Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be afraid of losing him? Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to reassure her?

  And yet wasn’t that what loving someone could do? Make you vulnerable and yet invincible? Weak and yet strong. Overjoyed and terrified, all at the same time.

  “But you’ve shown me that some risks are worth taking and some of the best things in life are unplanned. Like meeting you, like this baby...like falling in love.”

  His throat moved as he swallowed, and he opened his mouth but the words didn’t come. Disappointment tugged at her heart, but Alexa refused to allow the emotion to take hold. Maybe, maybe admitting how he felt would leave Chance too vulnerable. Maybe it was her turn to be strong. Strong enough to let him go and strong enough to believe he would return.

  He took a step back as she stood. “Alexa—”

  Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands. “It’s all right. I’ll be right back.”

  It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for in the tiny bedroom. Chance was standing where she had left him, and Alexa didn’t know if she’d ever seen him so still. As if on the edge of a crumbling precipice, not knowing which way to turn.

  So different from the man she’d met in Santa Barbara, the one who’d known exactly where he was going, the one whose steps were confident and sure—even as he’d walked away from her.

  That was the man she needed him to be. The man who could shut off his emotions with the single-minded purpose of getting his shot. The man who could keep his head in the game and who would survive and come back to her.

  “Here.” Slipping her hand into his, she pressed the butterfly hairpin into his palm. “It’s your good-luck charm, remember? I want you to take it with you, and then I want—I want you to bring it back to me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “So, Alexa.” Seated at a table in the Hillcrest dining room, Virginia Mayhew pinned Alexa with her piercing blue gaze. “Where is this young man of yours?”

  Focusing on the grilled salmon she had no desire to eat, Alexa said, “He had to leave on a business trip. I’m sorry, Grandmother. I know how you hate to travel.”

  Virginia sniffed as she smoothed a napkin over her silk skirt. “Well, thank goodness for private planes. Had I been forced to fly commercial, I’d be tempted to chase after him and give him a piece of my mind.”

  A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the idea of her grandmother dressing Chance down in some middle of nowhere dot on the map.

  Seeing the McClaren family together at Thanksgiving, Alexa had known she needed to call her grandmother to tell her about the baby. This was not just her child. This was Virginia’s great-grandchild.

  Alexa had been dreading telling her grandmother she was pregnant, fearing how her somewhat old-fashioned, austere grandmother might react. But Virginia had surprised her. After a moment of stunned silence, she had offered her genuine congratulations. And then she’d caught Alexa completely off guard with her offer to travel to Clearville to meet Chance.

  Something she’d wanted to surprise him with and then completely forgot about when he told her he was leaving. But he would be back. He’d meet her grandmother some other time. Alexa held on to that belief with her whole heart.

  “I’m so sorry you came all this way for nothing—”

  “I came all this wa
y for you, Alexa. Yes, I wanted to meet the father of your child, but I came to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever said that before.”

  “You never left before.” Even though a hint of reproach entered Virginia’s voice, she shook her head. “And that’s my fault.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re a grown woman, Alexa. You should have married and started your own family years ago. Instead you’ve spent the last two decades living—Well, not just living with an old woman, but living like an old woman.”

  “That’s not—entirely true,” Alexa protested, her weekend with Chance—and all that followed—the exception that proved the rule.

  “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” her grandmother asked.

  “I do love him, but—”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “I—Yes, how did you know?”

  Virginia sighed. “Because I’ve spent most of my life feeling that same way. The exact same way I’ve taught you to live. Always afraid to trust. Always afraid to love.” Her blue eyes filled with regret as she confessed, “And I am sorry for that, Alexa.”

  “Grandmother, no. You’ve taught me so much! About business, about the foundation.”

  Her grandmother waved a blue-veined hand. “Business, yes. I’ve taught you about business. But about life? About love? I’m afraid that is where I’ve failed miserably.” Virginia signaled a server to box up the food neither of them had much interest in eating.

  After the young woman swept the table clear and brought hot water for their tea, she said, “I know you don’t remember your grandfather. He died while you were still a baby, but he was the love of my life. And your father was his spitting image. In ways that were both fortunate and unfortunate.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t remember him.” Alexa warmed her hands on the ceramic mug, fascinated by this side of her grandmother she had never seen before.

  “They both had such energy. Lighting a room simply by stepping foot inside. I never felt as truly alive as I did when I was with your grandfather. And when he died—and then your father and mother died only a few years later... Somehow they took all that light, all that life with them.”