Brides and Grooms Box Set: Marriage Wanted\Bride Wanted\Groom Wanted (4 page)

“Dad, Nash is just a friend—not even a friend, really, just an acquaintance,” Savannah said, trying to correct his mistaken impression. “I’m coordinating his sister’s wedding.”

“No need to explain, sweetheart. If you want to bring a young man for your mother and me to meet, we’d be thrilled, no matter what the reason.”

Savannah was about to respond, but then decided that a lengthy explanation might hurt her cause rather than help it. “I’m not sure of the exact time we’ll arrive.”

“No problem. I’ll light up the barbecue and that way you won’t need to worry. Come whenever you can. We’ll make an evening of it.”

Oh, yes, it was going to be quite an evening, Savannah mused darkly. Two stubborn people, both convinced they were right, would each try to convert the other.

* * *

This was going to be so easy that Nash almost felt guilty. Almost…Poor Savannah. Once he’d finished
with what he had to show her, she’d have no option but to accept the reality of his argument.

Nash loved this kind of debate, when he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right. By the time he was done, Savannah would be eating her words.

Grabbing his briefcase, he hurried out of his office, anxious to forge ahead and prove his point.

“Nash, what’s your hurry?”

Groaning inwardly, Nash turned to face a fellow attorney, Paul Jefferson. “I’ve got an appointment this evening,” Nash explained. He didn’t like Paul, had never liked Paul. What bothered him most was that this brownnoser was going to be chosen over him for the partnership position that was opening up within the year. Both Paul and Nash had come into the firm at the same time, and they were both good attorneys. But Paul had a way of ingratiating himself with the powers that be and parting the waters of opportunity.

“An appointment or a date?” Paul asked with that smug look of his. One of these days Nash was going to find an excuse to wipe that grin off his face.

He looked pointedly at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, Paul, I have to leave, otherwise I’ll be late.”

“Can’t keep
her
waiting, now can we?” Paul said, and finding himself amusing, he laughed at his own sorry joke.

Knotting his fist at his side, Nash was happy to escape. Anger clawed at him until he was forced to stop and analyze his outrage. He’d been working with Paul for nearly ten years. He’d tolerated his humorless jokes, his conceited, self-righteous attitude and his air of superiority without displaying his annoyance. What was different now?

He considered the idea of Paul being preferred to him for the partnership. But this was nothing new. The minute he’d learned about the opening, he’d suspected Stackhouse and Serle would choose Paul. He’d accepted it as fact weeks ago.

Paul had suggested Nash was hurrying to meet a woman—which he was. Nash didn’t bother to deny it. What upset him was the sarcastic way Paul had said it, as though Savannah—

His mind came to a grinding halt. Savannah.

So she was at the bottom of all this. Nash had taken offense at the edge in Paul’s voice, as if his fellow attorney had implied that Savannah was, somehow, less than she should be. He knew he was being oversensitive. After all, Paul had never even met her. But still…

Nash recalled his own reaction to Savannah, his observations when he’d met her. She was small. Her dark, pixie-style hair and deep brown eyes gave her a fragile appearance, but that was deceptive. The woman obviously had a constitution of iron.

Her eyes…Once more his thoughts skidded to a halt. He’d never known a woman with eyes that were more revealing. In them he read a multitude of emotions. Pain, both physical and emotional. In them he saw a woman with courage. Nash barely knew Savannah and yet he sensed she was one of the most astonishing people he’d probably ever meet. He’d wanted to defend her, wanted to slam his colleague up against a wall and demand an apology for the slight, vague though it was. In fact, he admitted, if Paul was insulting anyone, it was more likely him than Savannah….

When he reached his car, Nash sat in the driver’s seat with his key poised in front of the ignition for a moment,
brooding about his colleague and the competitiveness between them.

His mood lightened considerably as he made his way through the heavy traffic to the wedding shop. He’d been looking forward to this all day.

He found a parking spot and climbed out of his car, then fed the meter. As he turned away he caught sight of Savannah in the shop window, talking to a customer. Her face was aglow with enthusiasm and even from this distance her eyes sparkled. For a reason unknown to him, his pulse accelerated as joy surged through him.

He was happy to be seeing Savannah. Any man would, knowing he was about to be proven right. But this was more than that. This happiness was rooted in the knowledge that he’d be spending time with her.

Savannah must have felt his scrutiny, because she glanced upward and their eyes met briefly before she reluctantly pulled hers away. Although she continued speaking to her customer, Nash sensed that she’d experienced the same intensity of feeling he had. It was at moments such as this that he wished he could be privy to a woman’s thoughts. He would gladly have forfeited their bet to know if she was as surprised and puzzled as he felt. Nash couldn’t identify the feeling precisely; all he knew was that it made him uncomfortable.

The customer was leaving just as Nash entered the shop. Savannah was sitting at her desk and intuitively he realized she needed to sit periodically because of her leg. She looked fragile and confused. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he was shocked by the strength of her smile.

“You’re right on time,” she said.

“You would be, too, if you were about to have
home-cooked meals personally served to you for the next week.”

“Don’t count on it, Counselor.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve already got the menu picked out. We’ll start the first night with broiled New York sirloin, Caesar salad and a three-layer chocolate cake.”

“You certainly love to dream,” she said with an effortless laugh. “I find it amusing that you never stopped to ask if I could cook. It’ll probably come as a surprise to learn that not all women are proficient in the kitchen. If by some odd quirk of fate you do happen to win this wager, you’ll dine on boxed macaroni and cheese or microwave meals for seven days and like it.”

Nash was stunned. She was right; he’d assumed she could cook as well as she seemed to manage everything else. Her shop was a testament to her talent, appealing to the eye in every respect. True, all those wedding gowns and satin pillows were aiding and abetting romance, but it had a homey, comfortable feel, as well. This wasn’t an easy thing to admit. A wedding shop was the last place on earth Nash ever thought he’d willingly visit.

“Are you ready to admit defeat?” he asked.

“Never, but before we get started I need to make a couple of phone calls. Do you mind?”

“Not in the least.” He was a patient man, and never more so than now. The longer they delayed, the better. It wasn’t likely that Paul would stay late, but Nash wanted to avoid introducing Savannah to him. More important, he wanted her to himself. The thought was unwelcome. This wasn’t a date and he had no romantic interest in Savannah Charles, he reminded himself.

Savannah reached for the phone and he wandered
around the shop noticing small displays he’d missed on his prior visits. The first time he’d felt nervous; he didn’t know what to expect from a wedding coordinator, but certainly not the practical, gutsy woman he’d found.

He trained his ears not to listen in on her conversation, but the crisp, businesslike tone of her voice was surprisingly captivating.

It was happening again—that disturbing feeling was back, deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt it before, several years earlier, and it had nearly ruined his life. He was in trouble. Panic shot through his blood and he felt the overwhelming urge to turn and run in the opposite direction. The last time he’d had this feeling, he’d gotten married.

“I’m ready,” Savannah said, and stood.

Nash stared at her for a long moment as his brain processed what was going on.

“Nash?”

He gave himself a hard mental shake. He didn’t know if he was right about what had happened here, but he didn’t like it. “Do you mind riding with me?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.

“That’ll be fine.”

The drive back to his office building in downtown Seattle was spent in relative silence. Savannah seemed to sense his reflective mood. Another woman might have attempted to fill the space with idle chatter. Nash was grateful she didn’t.

After he’d parked, he led Savannah into his building and up the elevator to the law firm’s offices. She seemed impressed with the plush furnishings and the
lavish view of Mount Rainier and Puget Sound from his twentieth-story window.

When she’d entered his office she’d walked directly to the window and set her purse on his polished oak credenza. “How do you manage to work with a view like this?” she asked, her voice soft with awe. She seemed mesmerized by the beauty that appeared before her.

After several years Nash had become immune to its splendor, but lately he’d begun to appreciate the solace he found there. The color of the sky reflected like a mirror on the water’s surface. On a gray and hazy morning, the water was a dull shade of steel. When the sun shone, Puget Sound was a deep, iridescent greenish blue. He enjoyed watching the ferries and other commercial and pleasure craft as they intersected the waterways. In the last while, he’d often stood in the same spot as Savannah and sorted through his thoughts.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she said, turning back to him. Hearing her give voice to his own feelings felt oddly comforting. The sooner he presented his argument, the better. The sooner he said what had to be said and put this woman out of his mind, the better.

“You ready?” he asked, flinging opening a file cabinet and withdrawing a handful of thick folders from the top drawer.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, taking a chair on the other side of his desk.

Nash slapped the files down on his credenza. “Let’s start with Adams versus Adams,” he muttered, flipping through the pages of the top folder. “Now, this was an interesting case. Married ten years, two sons. Then Martha learned that Bill was having an affair with a coworker, so she decided to have one herself, only
she chose a nineteen-year-old boy. The child-custody battle lasted two months, destroyed them financially and ended so bitterly that Bill moved out of town and hasn’t been heard from since. Last I heard, Martha was clinically depressed and in and out of hospitals.”

Savannah gasped. “What about their sons?” she asked. “What happened to them?”

“Eventually they went to live with a relative. From what I understand, they’re both in counseling and have been for the last couple of years.”

“How very sad,” she whispered.

“Don’t kid yourself. This is only the beginning. I’m starting with the
A
s and working my way through the file drawer. Let me know when you’ve had enough.” He reached for a second folder. “Anderson versus Anderson…Ah, yes, I remember this one. She attempted suicide three times, blackmailed him emotionally, used the children as weapons, wiped him out financially and then sued for divorce, claiming he was an unfit father.” His back was as stiff as his voice. He tossed aside that file and picked up the next.

“Allison versus Allison,” he continued crisply. “By the way, I’m changing the names to protect the guilty.”

“The guilty?”

“To my way of thinking, each participant in these cases is guilty of contributing to the disasters I’m telling you about. Each made a crucial mistake.”

“You’re about to suggest their first error was falling in love.”

“No,” he returned coldly, “it all started with the wedding vows. No two people should be expected to live up to that ideal. It isn’t humanly possible.”

“You’re wrong, Nash. People live up to those vows each and every day, in small ways and in large ones.”

Nash jabbed his finger against the stack of folders. “This says otherwise. Love isn’t meant to last. Couples are kidding themselves if they believe commitment lasts beyond the next morning. Life’s like that, and it’s time the rest of the world woke up and admitted it.”

“Oh, please!” Savannah cried, standing. She walked over to the window, her back to him, clenching and unclenching her fists. Nash wondered if she was aware of it, and doubted she was.

“Be honest, Savannah. Marriage doesn’t work anymore. Hasn’t in years. The institution is outdated. If
you
want to stick your head in the sand, then fine. But when others risk getting hurt, someone needs to tell the truth.” His voice rose with the heat of his argument.

Slowly she turned again and stared at him. An almost pitying look came over her.

“She must have hurt you very badly.” Savannah’s voice was so low, he had to strain to hear.

“Hurt me? What are you talking about?”

She shook her head as though she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “Your ex-wife.”

The anger that burned through Nash was like acid. “Who told you about Denise?” he demanded.

“No one,” she returned quickly.

He slammed the top file shut and stuffed the stack of folders back inside the drawer with little care and less concern. “How’d you know I was married?”

“I’m sorry, Nash, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Who told you?” The answer was obvious but he wanted her to say it.

“Susan mentioned it….”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Just that it happened years ago.” Each word revealed her reluctance to drag his sister into the conversation. “She wasn’t breaking any confidences, if that’s what you think. I’m sure the only reason she brought it up was to explain your—”

“I know why she brought it up.”

“I apologize, Nash. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why not? My file’s in another attorney’s cabinet, along with those of a thousand other fools just like me who were stupid enough to think love lasts.”