The Heartbreaker (17 page)

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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

BOOK: The Heartbreaker
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Most of the town, invited or not, came by for the ceremony. Beth chose to hold it outdoors in a ribbon-and-flower enhanced area of the quaint little park on Main Street, conveniently located just below the Copper Queen Hotel, where preparations for a wedding dinner were underway.
Alana was Beth's maid of honor, and Mike's best man was Jack Nesbitt, his best man from his first abortive marriage attempt. Jack had moved to California and was now running a flight school. Mike invited him to try the whole thing again, and this time Mike promised to go through with the ceremony. Jack flew his own plane over for the occasion.
Beth wore a wide picture hat and a flowing dress of old lace. Alana, with Beth's blessing, wore a stunning shade of royal purple. Mike surprised everyone by insisting on a tux for himself and Jack. “Because you're worth it,” he'd told Beth. “And I'll bet it's been part of your fantasy all along.”
The wedding fulfilled every nook and cranny of her fantasy, from the bouquets of flowers dangling artfully from the trees to the look of pride on Mike's face as he waited for her to begin walking down the makeshift aisle between rows of folding chairs. The vows were to be exchanged beneath a latticework arch that Beth and Alana had transported to the park and decorated with flowers. To one side of the arch was a wrought-iron stand displaying Beth's wedding gift to Mike, the circle of stained glass titled
The Embrace.
Beth had chosen to walk down the aisle alone, although she'd confided to Mike and Alana that she wouldn't be alone. With each step she took, Pete would be on one side and Ernie on the other. She'd finally told Mike and Alana about her vision on the night of the storm, and the three of them had decided their fathers had joined forces one last time to pull their kids out of a jam.
The recorded music began, and Beth started walking in measured steps toward Mike and her new life. And as she'd expected, she felt the presence of Pete to her left, and Ernie to her right. By the time she took Mike's hand and faced the minister, she was battling tears of joy.
Mike squeezed her hand. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” she murmured around the lump in her throat
The precious words were spoken, her mother's wedding ring slipped on her finger, and then, at last, Mike's strong arms held her dose. “Forever,” he murmured, just before he kissed her.
Alana let out a whoop, and the assembled guests followed suit
Mike lifted his head and smiled at Beth. “We're a hit, Mrs. Tremayne.”
“Ready to party, Mr. Tremayne?”
He rolled his eyes. “If we must” He started with her down the aisle amid cheers and congratulations. “But once it's in full swing, we're sneaking out,” he said in an undertone.
“Whatever for?” Beth said, smiling at everyone as Mike whisked her along.
“I'm dying to find out what sort of sexy stuff you bought to go under that very proper wedding dress.”
Beth thought of the risqué white satin garments that moved so deliciously against her skin as she walked. “Just the basics.”
“I don't believe it.”
“Goodness, what sort of woman do you think I am?”
“Just the sort I want.”
And at long last, Beth knew that it was true.
 
WELL, PETE, WE DID IT. Wasn't easy, but danged if we didn't pull it off.
Looks like it. I've never seen Mike or Beth looking happier. Even Alana seems to be glowing today.
Probably has something to do with that Jack fellow. He's been making cow eyes at Alana, and every once in awhile I notice her lookin' back.
You know, Ernie, I can't say I'm surprised about that. I guess I never told you, but Jack got drunk at the rehearsal dinner eight years ago, took me aside and poured out his heart. Seems he'd loved Alana for years, but he hadn't said anything because she was Mike's girl, and Mike was his best friend.
So why the heck didn't he move in when Mike moved out?
He tried. She wouldn't have anything to do with him.
Looks like a different story, now. She's sittin' next to him, flirtin' to beat the band. She'll have him drinkin' champagne from her shoe before the night is over.
Speaking of that, Ernie, my friend, pass the bottle.
With pleasure. Want one of my cigars? They're imported.
You know what, old buddy? I just think I might.
 
BETH GLANCED AROUND at her guests as they enjoyed the wedding supper she and Mike had planned so carefully. She sniffed. Then she leaned toward Mike. “I smell cigar smoke.”
“Nobody's supposed to be smoking in here.” Mike took inventory of the room. “Must be coming from outside the dining room. Nobody has a cigar, Beth.”
She sniffed again. “But it's so strong. And it smells like...never mind. I must be going crazy.”
“No, you're not,” Mike said quietly. “I smell it, now, too.”
She looked into his eyes, and there was a suspicious sheen of moisture there. A lump formed in her throat. “Mike, you don't suppose...?”
His voice grew husky. “That's the brand he used to buy when there was a really special occasion. And this certainly qualifies.”
“It could be somebody passing by who smokes the same brand.”
“Or maybe he's here, sharing our happiness.” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “After all, you just agreed to be my wife. Miracles are happening all around me today.”
“That's a lovely thing to say.”
His grip tightened. “I have a few more up my sleeve. Come home with me and you'll find out what they are.”
“Now?”
“They'll never miss us. And I want so much to be alone with you.”
Beth slipped her hand in his. “Then I'm all yours.”
 
IS IT MUCH TROUBLE to get these cigars, Ernie?
Why, Pete?
Take a look at where the happy couple is headed.
They're sneakin' out!
They sure are. And unless I'm mistaken about how these things go, we'll need another box of cigars before you know it.
Hot diggity dog. Grandbabies.
Here's a sneak peek at
Colleen Collins's RIGHT CHEST, WRONG NAME
Available August 1997...
 
 
 
“DARLING, YOU SOUND like a broken cappuccino machine,” murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.
Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn't. If he
sounded
like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.
“What mischief did you and your friends get into at your bachelor's party last night?” she continued.
She always had a way of saying “your friends” as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn't swollen to twice its size.
“You didn't do anything...bad...did you, Russell?”
“Bad.” His laugh came out like a bark.
“Bad as in
naughty.
”
He heard her piqued tone but knew she'd never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.
After agreeing to be at her parents' pool party by noon, he untangled himself from the bed sheets and stumbled to the bathroom.
“Pool party,” he reminded himself. He'd put on his best front and accommodate Char's request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he'd slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.
He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.
Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. “Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel.”
His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he'd been struck by lightning. “Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?” he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.
Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell's gaze dropped.
“What in the—”
Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.
Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.
“A red heart?” His voice cracked on the word
heart
. Something—a word?—was scrawled across it.
“Good Lord,” he croaked. “I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it.”
Not Charlotte. Liz!
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7103-6
 
THE HEARTBREAKER
 
Copyright © 1997 by Vicki Lewis Thompson.
 
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
 
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
 
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
 
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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