Despite the ache inside him, he smiled. “If you weren’t so stubborn, I’m not sure I would love you as much.”
“If you weren’t so stubborn, you wouldn’t think you loved me at all.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve underestimated me from the very beginning. Maybe you ought to update that intuition of yours.” He walked to the Harley and swung his leg over the seat. Reaching for the ignition key, he paused. “Sara? Would it make any difference if I told you my net worth?”
A sound somewhere between tears and laughter escaped her throat. “One hundred dollars and fifty cents.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you look in my wallet?”
She shook her head. “Merely a lucky guess.”
“Well, you were wrong. You still owe me the fifty cents.”
“So I do.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll get it, if you want to wait.”
“Don’t bother. I’d rather have you in my debt.” He patted his leg. “Come on, Cleo. Let’s get going.”
The dog lingered at Sara’s side, and Ben wondered if he should have tried reverse psychology on both of them. “All right,” he conceded. “Stay, if you want to.”
To his surprise, Cleo stayed.
Sara pulled on her collar. “Go on, Cleo. Ben’s waiting for you.”
The Lab looked at her but didn’t move.
“She prefers to stay with you.” He forced a smile. “An understandable choice.”
A stricken expression wiped the color from Sara’s face. “No, Ben. You can’t leave her behind.”
Ben slipped on the helmet and started the motorcycle, watching as Cleo pressed her head against Sara’s leg and closed her eyes at the touch of Sara’s hand on her ear.
“It isn’t my decision to make.” He shrugged, feeling the heaviness inside him turn cold and lonely. “She’s your problem now,” he said.
Lifting his hand in goodbye, he revved the engine and drove away.
Chapter Thirteen
Somewhere a harp was playing Mozart. The smell of roses pervaded the room with a subtle fragrance. Sara looked in the oval mirror and saw a bride who looked remarkably like her, auburn hair, dark eyes, a gown as white as hope and as elegant as the seed pearls and raw silk from which it had been crafted. In her hands she held a bouquet of rosebuds, white against dark green foliage. All trace of thorns had been removed, of course. No bride should prick her finger and bleed on her wedding day. Especially not Sara. Especially not today.
“You’re going to have to do something about your lipstick,” Gypsy announced, getting to her feet after smoothing the bridal train.
Sara leaned toward the mirror. “Is it the color? I have another tube somewhere in my bag.”
“I don’t think the color matters. It’s the way it makes your mouth droop at the corners.”
Exerting the effort to smile, Sara met her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “Is that better?”
Gypsy shrugged. “It will have to do, I suppose. Too bad no one has invented a lipstick that makes you look happy even when you’re not.”
“I’m happy,” Sara lied. “I’ve planned this day all my life. Everything is perfect.”
“Great. I’ll just go and check on Tad, make sure he’s still asleep and doesn’t need his mother.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to start calling the baby by his real name.”
“I don’t see why. Just because legally he’s Kevin, Jr., doesn’t mean I can’t give him a nickname.”
“You’ll embarrass him one day by calling him Tadpole in front of his friends.”
Gypsy’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. “So what’s your point? If he’s old enough to object, he’s old enough to be embarrassed. That’s the way it is with mothers and their sons.”
Sara smiled at the sage tone in her friend’s voice. “I won’t argue with your superior experience…all three weeks of it.”
“Now, that’s the way you should smile on your wedding day.” She stepped forward, a round, curlyhaired blonde in the dark green silk that designated a member of the wedding party. “It isn’t too late to change your mind, you know. If you’re not absolutely sure…”
“Don’t be silly.” Sara turned Gypsy toward the door. “Go check on little Kevin while I change my lipstick. There’s only a few minutes left before Jason gives us our cue.”
“Now, who would have thought that brother of yours would turn out to be so responsible?” Gypsy commented slyly. “Why I can remember when you didn’t think he could be trusted to take out the trash, and in the three weeks you’ve been planning this wedding, he’s suddenly become Mr. Ambition himself.”
“He’s come a long way,” Sara admitted.
“And surprised the stuffing out of you.” Gypsy grinned. “A just reward, I must say. I always said that Jason just needed you to have a little faith in him. Was I right or was I right?”
“You were right. Now go and check on the baby before it’s time.”
“The Big Moment.” Gypsy wrinkled her nose and left.
Sara looked at herself in the mirror and wondered why she wasn’t more excited. Her big moment was at hand.
The other bridesmaids were already in the vestibule. By this time, West and his groomsmen would be at the front of the church waiting with the minister. DeeNee would be stepping to the microphone to sing the first of two selections. Everything was in place, just the way Sara had always planned.
Since the day of West’s proposal, she hadn’t had a minute to think about anything except the wedding. The rush to the altar was his suggestion, based on the demands of his hectic schedule and the timing of an impending trial. It was either now or months from now. And, as West pointed out, she owned a business that specialized in getting things done.
So, with Jason’s help, Sara had made it happen in three short weeks. Every detail exactly the way she wanted. Every aspect just the way she’d planned. With a sigh, she adjusted the veil and frowned at her reflection. She was happy. West was the right man to be her husband. She knew what to expect from him and she knew what he expected from her. They were a perfect match. Both ambitious, focused, organized and sure of what they wanted. Their life would be all she had imagined. Despite what some people thought, there was nothing wrong with being able to predict what tomorrow would bring.
She squinted at the mirror, trying to see her future, trying to imagine West standing behind her. When she had put on the other wedding gown, she had imagined everything from its compelling twinkle to the glimpse of a man sharing her reflection. And if she had imagined all that, why couldn’t she force West’s image into the mirror now? Why was it Ben’s face she saw, Ben’s smile that matched her own, Ben’s solid body she wanted to stand beside her?
She had made the right choice, the safe choice. Ben didn’t belong in this picture. Turning, Sara glided to the door, pausing only long enough to give Cleo a stern command. “Don’t you dare get off that blanket, Cleo. You are not invited to the ceremony. Do you understand? Stay put.”
The Lab wagged her tail. She had been a model of decorum since Ben left, and Sara attributed the change to the strict, no-nonsense attitude she used whenever she gave a command. West didn’t fare so well, but then it was no secret that he didn’t like dogs.
As she stepped from the room, she could hear DeeNee’s soft alto voice singing the words of a song that suddenly sounded wrong. It was the right song, the one she had chosen, and DeeNee was performing it perfectly. So why did Sara feel as if she’d made a terrible mistake?
She moved quickly down a short hall to the vestibule, fighting the feeling that she was moving in slow motion. Something wasn’t right. Something…Despite the protesting murmurs of the bridesmaids, she walked past them and stopped in the doorway. Everything was in place. The church was full of family and friends. The flowers were perfect. The candles were lit. DeeNee raised an eyebrow when she noticed Sara, but she continued to sing. West, the minister and the groomsmen l
ooked at her with some slight surprise. A few of the guests turned, smiling curiously, as people did when something was out of sync.
Sara looked down the aisle that stretched between her and the future she had planned so carefully and realized she was the one out of sync. She hadn’t waited for her cue. She had been so afraid something would go wrong, she’d almost made it a self-fulfilling prophecy. Stepping back hastily, she stepped on her train and fell flat on her butt, sending a thud like thunder echoing through the church.
In a second, she was surrounded by a sea of green silk and the concern of her bridesmaids. DeeNee’s voice faltered, but she kept singing, even over the hushed babble of whispers flowing from the crowd to Sara’s ears. She tried to scoot out of the doorway, only to find too many hands stretched to help her, too much green silk in her way. In a panic, she scrambled onto her knees and attempted to crawl out of the picture. Just as she felt the dress pull across her back with a loud ripping sound, Gypsy entered the disaster zone and gasped audibly.
“Sara!”
No whispers out here, Sara thought miserably.
“Did you faint?” Gypsy hurried forward, bending over to discover the problem, blocking the path and keeping Sara on all fours by her awkward positioning. “Are you all right?” Without waiting for a reply, Gypsy straightened and scanned the audience. “Is there a doctor in the house?”
Collapsing with a moan seemed like her best option, but Sara was made of heartier stuff and she made another attempt to get to her feet, grasping the back of Gypsy’s dress for leverage…and tearing the back bow right off the green silk dress. Gypsy whirled around, unaware that her underwear was on display, and the other two bridesmaids moved back, obviously afraid Sara would reach for them next. She struggled to her knees, ripping her wedding gown even more and breaking several strands of seed pearls, which hit the hardwood floor with a clatter and rolled down the aisle.
DeeNee stopped singing, and as if he knew the song wasn’t over, Brody began to howl from his secluded seat in Harry’s lap. Cleo trotted out, tail wagging, to investigate the commotion. She paused to lick Sara’s chin and then joined her voice with the pug’s in a howling duet.
“Shut up, you mongrels.” West stalked down the aisle and stood over Sara, who could only look at him. “What in the hell is going on back here?”
“You shouldn’t talk like that in church,” she answered. “It’s sacrilegious.”
“Oh, and your making a mockery of our wedding isn’t?”
“You think I did this on purpose? I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“Well, it’s not perfect now,” he snapped, offering her a hand up.
Cleo took exception to either the gesture or his tone of voice and began to bark. West stamped his foot in her direction, causing her to jump back and bark some more. Brody scrambled out of Harry’s arms and raced down the aisle to lend Cleo his moral support. Guests moved restlessly in the church pews, some of them staring openly, some of them politely pretending not to notice.
“Shut up!” West yelled at the dogs, who of course ignored him and kept barking. He bent down, grabbed Sara’s rosebud bouquet and threw it at Cleo.
The Labrador picked it up in her mouth and did several artful dodges past the ladies in green silk, who tried to take it away from her. Gypsy lunged for the dog, only to be knocked off her feet when Brody dashed between them.
Together, the dogs raced down the aisle with their prize, slipping and sliding on the length of white satin that covered the floor. The minister reached down to stop Cleo as she ran past, and being a rotund man, his hips hit the left candelabrum, knocking it over, scattering hot wax and a dozen lit candles, which in turn started a dozen small fires on and around the length of white satin. The groomsmen and two guests from the front rows scurried about, stomping out the flames, while the minister ran from the baptistery to the altar carrying water in a cup, tossing it on what was left of the fires.
At the far end of the aisle, Sara sank onto her heels, thinking how long it had taken her to plan every last detail—and how quickly chaos had won the day. It was then that she started to laugh, a bubbling, lighthearted laugh that spilled from her lips in a surprising stream of relief. Her amusement elicited a few hesitant titters from the guests and a black scowl from West.
“I don’t see anything funny about this,” he said. “And I certainly can’t understand why you’re laughing.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Looking at him, Sara admitted that he was far from perfect. He would undoubtedly make a fine husband—but not for her. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life thinking that he looked scrawny without his clothes on. “I can’t marry you, West. I’ve seen you without your briefs.”
“What?” He extended his hand with a continuing frown. “Come with me. We’ll go somewhere private and talk about…Will you please stop laughing?”
She tried, but relief welled inside her until she couldn’t suppress it. Gypsy leaned over and whispered through a giggle, “Does this mean I don’t have to sew that dumb bow back on my dress?”
“You don’t think I’m going to sew all those seed pearls back onto this one, do you?”
“Sara, please,” West said impatiently. “I want to talk to you, but not in front of a church full of people.”
“This looks like as good a place as any,” she replied. “Shoot.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Not here. This is not the place for the discussion I have in mind.”
“It will have to do, West, because in an hour I’m going to be on a plane to California.”
“Don’t be absurd, Sara. We’ll plan another wedding for a few months from now. After I’ve won my case.”
“You’re not listening. I’m not making any more wedding plans. I’m going to California. Today.”
“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Not ridiculous,” she corrected. “Impulsive. It sounds like someone who’s about to jump off a fence into a bramble bush.”
Gypsy joined in. “It sounds like someone who would put on a wedding dress because she saw it twinkle.”
Sara smiled. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It even sounds like someone who’s finally realized she believes in love at first sight.”
Gypsy sighed. “I love happy endings, and I’m so glad I don’t have to cry at your wedding.”
“She just said there wasn’t going to be a wedding.” West looked angry and confused at the same time. “Which, if you two don’t stop that silly giggling and get up off the floor, will soon be quite obvious to everyone.”
Tails wagging—although in Brody’s case, it was more like the whole back end—the dogs traipsed down the aisle like newlyweds, and Cleo dropped the crushed, saliva-sopped bouquet in Sara’s lap.
“Thank you, Cleo. I always wanted to catch a bridal bouquet.” She wrapped her arms around the Labrador and whispered in her ear. “Let’s go see Ben, what do you say?”
Cleo’s answer was an all-over, head-to-tail shake of happiness.
FINDING BEN was the easy part. It took an entire day and thirteen phone calls, but Sara hadn’t put together At Your Service without becoming something of a detective. It required patience and persistence, and she had to curtail her impulse to jump on the first flight out of town. But once she had an address, everything fell into place as neatly as if she’d been planning the trip for months.
But when she stopped the rental car outside a house fronted by an expanse of green lawn and palm trees and backed against the blue Pacific, her palms began to sweat. She double-checked the directions she’d gotten from a clerk at the hotel and matched them against the numbers on a decorative post next to the driveway. “This is the place,” she said to Cleo. “Ben must be working for the owners.”
Cleo pushed her nose out the open window, snuffling the breeze off the ocean. Her tail whipped from side to side like a metronome, as if she knew Ben was near.
“I know just how you feel.” Sara was nervous and eager,
hopeful and scared, anxious and excited. One minute she imagined Ben taking one look at her and dropping to his knees to propose marriage. The next minute she was afraid he’d take one look at her and say, “What was your name again?”
She parked in front of the house and tried not to be intimidated at the thought of walking up and ringing the doorbell. It was just a house, she thought. Impressive as hell, but still just a house. Someone would answer the door and tell her where she could find Ben. Maybe she shouldn’t have parked in the drive. Maybe she should have driven around back. But, no, better to ask first.
Cleo started barking, joyous gulps of noise to match the rhythm of her wagging tail.
“Okay, okay.” Sara took a deep breath. “I’ll ring the doorbell and ask for Ben. You stay put.”
When she pushed it, the doorbell chimed like a church bell, its tone long and deep. She glimpsed a tall shadow through the tinted glass of the door and straightened her shoulders.
“Hello,” she said in a rush of nervous energy the very second the door opened. “I’m looking for Ben Northcross. I think he might work…” Her voice trailed off in surprise as she took a good look at the tall, thin man who stood before her. “Arthur?”
“Ms. Gunnerson, I presume?”
“Arthur,” she repeated. “What are you doing here?”
“I am the butler. May I ask what you are doing here?”
“I came to find Ben. You remember him—well, of course you would since he must have gotten you this job.” She tried to swallow at least some of her amazement. “He is here, isn’t he?”
“He’s working in the garage today, I believe. If you’ll step inside, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. I wouldn’t want to get him in any trouble. I’ll, uh, just go around.” She turned, then looked back. “I can walk to the garage, can’t I?”
Arthur’s dour expression didn’t alter. “I’d prefer that you did, although I suppose I could carry you.”
She frowned, feeling suddenly more comfortable and somehow grateful for Arthur’s familiar dry humor. “West was very annoyed after you left,” she said.
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