FINALLY A BRIDE
A Valentine’s Romance
By
Colleen Charles
Table of Contents
Title Page
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Copyright
Foreword
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Prologue
Angelica
Ah, how I love December weddings. Boughs of holly with tiny crimson berries. Wreaths of coniferous pine complete with fragrant cones. Flecks of fake snow twinkling under the fairy lights. Winter white and red satin. Sweetheart trees decked out in all their snowy splendor. Silky faux fur wraps over antique lace bridal gowns. Grooms wearing bright bow ties and cummerbunds.
But as much as I admire the theme and the décor… the love… I don’t want it for myself. Not anymore. Those dreams that I used to fantasize about as a little girl when Barbie married Ken – they’re gone. Long gone. Fading away on the gently falling snow outside the stained-glass windows. And that’s why I can’t believe I find myself in this position standing in front of the double doors to a church.
With an aisle.
With a handsome man who says he loves me.
With pews overflowing with our friends and family.
With the cutest flower girl in the history of the world who already threw velvety red rose petals in my honor.
But I don’t want it, because I know something they don’t. Well, one – make that two – other people know too.
The carved oak doors with huge brass handles call to me, but I refuse to answer because I don’t love that handsome man inside breathlessly waiting on his already late bride.
Holding the note in my trembling hand, I shove down the bile that burns the back of my throat. I blink to avoid the inevitable tears that threaten as my heart pulls at the emotion swirling through me.
I will not cry.
And the more I think about it, the more I come to the unavoidable decision that I have to leave this place without a word. Without closure. Without any thought to the values my parents raised me to believe and follow. Because in the end – no one is going to miss me.
Not really.
Not him.
Least of all not her.
Like removing a thorn or a hornet’s stinger, it will be a relief to everyone inside if I disappear. I’ve been a pain in everyone’s ass since the day I was born – unplanned and unannounced. And living down this latest fiasco and humiliation will be far easier for all of them if I’m not around to remind them of how bad it really is.
The idea of running gains momentum like a bullet shot from a gun. I can do it. Vanish into thin air. Take on a new identity. Go someplace where no one will even know my name or know what kind of disaster I’ve already made of my young life. Where no one will know about my embarrassment – my shame over the ultimate betrayal.
And that place has to be a place without men. That will be my number one prerequisite for living there. Anything with a Y chromosome is the reason I hate myself right now. I’ve made an ass out of Angelica Amor for the last time over the males of the human species. There has to be someplace in the great US of A where there aren’t a lot of humans armed with rogue penises.
I glance down again and shiver. My shoulders sag even as I beg them to stay strong.
Dravon and I had sex the night of his bachelor party, Angelica. And it wasn’t the first time. I just thought you should know who you’re marrying.
Not Alaska.
Surely not Texas.
As my mind races, I steel my spine. Tears prick my eyes, hot rivers of pain pooling at the corners.
But I’ll find it – I’ll find the place for a new start.
Come hell or high water – I’m over men.
Done.
Chapter One
Knight
I push open the door to Cool Beans and stomp the snow off my boots. The sudden warmth and twinkling lights that seem to be strung on every available surface sting my eyes. Yanking off my gloves and hat, I head to my favorite booth in the back away from the fray and the prying eyes of people I don’t really want to talk to. The coffee shop is filled to overflowing with customers sipping cherry mochas and munching on brightly decorated cookies in the shapes of hearts and cupids. Valentine’s Day is approaching fast – not that I care. Lord knows I haven’t had a special someone in years. But there’s not much else to do on a blustery day in Sweetheart Hills – except drink hot coffee and maybe scroll social media without interruption.
A few heads turn when I walk by. None of the men inside nod or ask me to pull up a chair which is fine by me. I’d probably stroke out if they did. My work automatically gives me the popularity of a flaming bag of dog shit with the locals. But after all these months, I’m used to it. So far, the guys have given me a wide berth, but without any signs of bullying or violence, thank God, even though I’ve gone places where I might have been greeted with a shotgun instead of a good morning.
But you’re still in one piece.
For now.
Blowing on my frigid hands, I slide into the worn pleather booth. The Minnesota wind chill is far below zero today. I’ve been working outside for the better part of six hours. My boots are caked with ice, my hands too numb to function and my stomach bitches about the fact that I’ve been ignoring it for hours. With a yank, I unzip my Carhartt parka and push the coat off my shoulders. Then I hear it. My ears perk up as my entire body tightens in response.
What the hell?
A voice. A feminine voice.
My eyes shoot up, searching for it.
There are women in Sweetheart Hills, just not many. The terrain is too rugged – the weather too harsh – the jobs too few and far between. We’re not far from the border of the USA and Canada but we might as well be in a polar vortex. The total population of this town isn’t more than a few hundred – less in the winter when a few snowbirds head south. Summer cottages and hunting cabins are empty this time of year, and even the timber industry shuts down when the trees are too frozen to cut through. Permanent residents are all known by name, rank and serial number. Loners. Survivalists. Bearded and gruff Duck Dynasty wannabes. Mostly people who march to their own drumbeat. There are zero lone women. All the women of Sweetheart Hills are claimed by someone because this is no damn place for a woman alone. She just wouldn’t be safe.
This particular female stands out like a rose in a bed of thorns. Maybe late twenties and petite with curves in all the right places. Long, platinum waves travel down the middle of her back and hit the top of a perfectly rounded ass. She’s a cross between a fifties pinup and a sexy Goldilocks. Her ski jump nose and crystal blue eyes complete the picture of a stunner. And lips – shit – those full lips pout into a cupid’s bow.
Kissable lips.
My body roars to life as I rub the circulation back into my icy hands, and I study the rest of her. Her clothes look like N
orth Face – expensive as hell and completely unnecessary out here due to the town’s lack of fashion sense. They also look new with her jeans hugging that delectable rump and a man would have to be a monk not to notice the full tits pressing against her fleecy vest.
Who is she and what the hell is she doing here?
Maybe Len Summers, the owner of Cool Beans hired a new barista/server. I understand why he wants to hire help, just not why he hired help that might cause such a distraction instead of the many male high school kids that actually live here. As if on cue, she pours two steaming mugs of dark roast and meanders through the tables to deliver them.
Her clumsy juggling of the cups so as not to spill the scalding hot coffee suggests a total lack of experience as a server.
With both her hands full, Jess McGraw takes that opportunity to pinch her on the butt with a wink for the other dudes standing around him, making themselves pains in the ass over their bottomless mugs of the house blend. Blazes of angry fire light her cheekbones as a river of hot coffee starts to slosh over the side of the ceramic mug creating a mess on the hardwood floor and a trip and fall hazard.
I lift an eyebrow, waiting for something even worse to happen. Honing and fine-tuning my gut feelings for trouble are necessary in my line of work. Nothing about her distressed jeans and turtleneck sweater are overtly sexual, but these horndogs haven’t been exposed to something as beautiful as she is in the flesh for years – maybe even decades in some cases. Some of these guys never leave Sweetheart Hills and keep their television and social media trimmed down to the bare bones.
Catcalls echo from the crowded table by the electric fireplace. Jess and his posse were clearly born in a barn and raised by a pack of wolves, and they were all making a mockery of a little bit of spilled coffee on the floor. Jess insists that some of the spatter hit him in the groin. He gives a couple of lewd hip thrusts and demands that the woman wipe it off with a fresh napkin. The splotches of color on her high cheekbones turns from red to crimson.
Her eyelashes flutter and she inhales little pants of breath as she glances up and spots me in the corner, tucked out of the fray. As soon as she escapes Jess and his long-dormant dick, she heads over, and flips open her order pad. “I’m so sorry you had to wait, sir. What can I get for you today?”
My stomach topples over itself. “Black coffee no cream or sugar. And a couple of blueberry muffins.”
She scribbles the order with her head tucked down and I don’t get the honor of looking into that azure gaze of hers. I stare, willing her to make eye contact. After a few tortured seconds, I hit pay dirt and those pillowy lips part in a sweet smile meant only for me. “Muffins?”
I will myself not to stare. “Yes, as in two.”
In that moment, she looks at me and all the breath escapes my lungs. But she doesn’t really notice me despite my hulking six-foot four frame. She looks right through me when I want her to look at me. I usually don’t have an issue catching a woman’s eye – I’ve had my fair share over the years. But apparently this one will never be one of them. And it would have been nice to have someone to at least flirt with during the dark winter days before the bloom of spring.
After one quick glance at me, her gaze drops to her pad. I see her write ‘black and blue two’ and underline it. “I’ll be back as soon as I clean up that spill. Don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I nod and she spins around again as if she wants to run from my presence. Despite her inclination to flee, I looked my fill before she escapes. Once the flush recedes, her porcelain skin appears silky smooth. Definitely soft enough to touch. Her voice flows like syrup, feminine and sweet. The tag on her shirt reads, ‘Angelica’ and if she’s looking for attention from a bunch of men, she’s come to the right place, although that doesn’t seem to be what this stunner wants at all.
She looks as if she wants to disappear.
Regardless, Angelica won’t find a better male to female ratio outside of Alaska. And yet, the image of looking for a provider or a protector just doesn’t fit this woman. Her stiff posture, tucked head and constant blushing says something else. She’s a mystery wrapped up in an enigma. And I’m not sure I have the desire or energy to peel back even one layer, at least not today.
I watch her take another order, careful to keep her body out of arm’s reach of any of the crass dudes in this restaurant, not looking at any of them in the eye – and then she disappears behind the tall, glass pastry case.
I roll my shoulders, mentally blocking out all the conversations and background noise and my curiosity about Angelica right along with it. She’s not my problem. I’ve got enough of them and I sure as hell don’t need another no matter how much my stirring dick begs me to push that aside. The warmth radiating from the fireplace melts some of the ice from my bones, and exhaustion starts to flow over me in waves. If my stomach wasn’t creating an obnoxious ruckus, I’d drive straight home to my trailer and fall into bed.
My rock-hard body is used to physical labor, and this snowy day isn’t any worse than hundreds of others I’ve pushed through. Then why is weariness dogging you as relentlessly as a shadow today?
I don’t know when my eyes drift closed, yet they do, because the aroma of fresh coffee and warm muffins reaches my nose. The steaming mug sits in front of me, hotter than the fire a few feet away. The gorgeous girl came and went without me noticing, but I can see her now, darting around the restaurant, serving fresh coffee drinks and chocolate croissants. Maybe I underestimated her, because she seems to have everything under complete control.
Over the next hour, she comes to my table three times, never saying a word. But she keeps my coffee filled. She doesn’t hover – she doesn’t even ask me if I need anything – but she takes care of me better than my own mother has since I graduated high school. She’s the best thing to happen to Sweetheart Falls in… well, in forever.
Something about that tugs at my gut and an ache settles into my chest.
I can’t help but notice that her quiet confidence is in direct contradiction to her blushing and stammering. I’ve always had a gift with skittish creatures and maybe she’s just one more. The fact that she seems to trust me doesn’t hurt my feelings. Maybe once I’ve had a good night’s sleep I’ll come back here and see if I have the same reaction to her.
Too bad Angelica won’t need any great intuition to realize that the other men treat me like a violent case of the clap. For most women, that would be an oversized billboard shouting at them to stay away, and with my height and size, the last thing I inspire in women is safety. Yet, Angelica approaches this whole interaction differently than I’m used to. Like she instantly labeled me as okay just because I’m not an obnoxious pervert when she has no idea if that’s true at all. And although she’s right in the end – I’d never hurt a woman physically or emotionally and I’d sure as hell never get pushy – her behavior toward me softens something in my chest.
I’m not used to it.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it.
I wolf down a bite of muffin, watching Jess try to get handsy again. Cool Beans specializes in their baked goods as well as their dark roast. Normally, a man can make a better cup of coffee than even the best coffeeshop because he can brew it to his particular tastes. But no one does a dark roast better than Len Summers who prides himself on his organic imported beans and it just keeps me coming back again and again. Almost like I’m addicted to the special caffeine rush. But today… the coffee isn’t washing down the moist muffin as much as it usually does.
Because I have a lump of emotion in my throat.
And I’m not sure why.
Then again, maybe I already know.
I’m not in any kind of bromance with Jess – or anyone else in Sweetheart Hills for that matter – but him and his pack of rednecks are regulars here in the afternoon. They have too much time on their lazy hands. I’ve seen them often enough to know they’re misogynistic pieces of shit. Jess’s hair is shaved in a faux hawk, he dresses in
camo, plays weekend survival games and too much Grand Theft Auto, all while flashing his AR15 as often as he can and spouting the latest conspiracy theory being peddled by FOX News.
Thank God Minnesota’s not an open carry state or he’d have the high-powered rifle strapped to his back right now. There’s something small about a man who needs to prove his worth by carrying a huge gun.
After Jess gets his hand slapped away, a raucous round of male laughter echoes through the coffee shop.
I don’t lift my head. At least not yet. She’s not really in trouble. There’s nothing really challenging about handling Jess, who’s nothing but an annoying blowhard. All Angelica has to do is kill him with kindness or tell him to fuck right off. Both would probably work, but she’s not doing either and that’s what’s making him keep needling her, because he’s getting a rise out of her for minimal effort, making him look like a hero in front of his latest bromance when it should be the opposite.
Any woman who has an older brother or works around men would know that. Testosterone fuels bad behavior. Jess won’t ignore her if she keeps giving him a reason to push her boundaries.
Just after I take my last bite of the sugary goodness swirled with the perfect ratio of tart wild blueberries, she whisks over and slips the tab on the table, face down. After Jess’s latest antics, she’s worrying her lower lip with her teeth until it’s red and swollen.
Like she’s just been well kissed.
Where in the hell did that thought come from?
I push it back down. With the lack of women around here, it’s never wise to get all horned up when the only date a man can make in Sweetheart Hills is with his right hand. The next time I rub one out, it will be to images of her lush curves, that much I can count on.
Glancing up, I catch her staring at me. Those eyes. They could stop a man dead in his tracks.
“I’ll be back if you need change,” she says.
Before I even have a chance to grab my wallet, she sashays away. I fish out a few bills and put them with my tab. Change is not necessary in this case – I’m leaving her a huge tip which is well earned and deserved. I’ve never had such great service in here and I hope she stays. I don’t mind the kind words and the view is stellar.
Finally A Bride: A Valentine's Day Romance Page 1
