Prelude to a Wedding (The Wedding Series Book 1)

by Patricia McLinn

  * * * *

  “Hey, I like this one,” Paul said as he pulled up to the curb in front of a Dutch Colonial. The front lawn sported an open-house sign decorated with yellow balloons. “Looks like we saved the best for last.”

  “Mmm.”

  He grinned to himself at the small sound Bette made as they headed up the front walk.

  Earlier, when she’d talked about having a house-searching schedule, he’d persuaded her to spend the afternoon looking in suburbs strung north along the lake. Thoughts of why it was important for her to consider living nearer him were pushed away, just as he’d done with last night’s questions about what he’d gotten himself into. Instead, he focused on overcoming her arguments about this not being her target area. When he finally resorted to asking what harm it could do and she gave in, he’d wondered if he’d gone crazy to actually instigate spending his Saturday looking at houses. The surprise came when he enjoyed himself.

  With no intentions of ever buying, he’d never considered what he would want in a house. But this afternoon he discovered opinions he’d had no idea he harbored. Also, he found pleasure in watching Bette at each house, analyzing and weighing. It wasn’t his way. But on her it looked good.

  As they wandered through the Dutch Colonial’s rooms, he felt something expanding in his chest until, standing in the otherwise deserted basement watching Bette frown at the monster-shaped furnace, he pulled her into his arms.

  “Paul!” Her small squawk of protest sounded breathless enough to be encouraging.

  He lowered his mouth to hers and felt a sunburst of pleasure when she immediately parted her lips in welcome. Backing her up, a slow, kissing step at a time, he pressed her against the smooth surface of the washing machine. She was gripping him, letting him know she wanted more closeness, too. God, how could anything feel so good? Rubbing against her, he marveled how her softness hardened him.

  “Paul!” This gasp held enough true urgency that he lifted his head from where he’d been following the open collar of her shirt. “Somebody’s coming!”

  At her words, the world beyond the two of them returned, and he heard footsteps on the basement stairs. Together they shifted their clothes into order before the people coming down the stairs reached the bottom. Another matter, however, required more time to adjust.

  The newcomers nodded a greeting, casting them doubtful looks as they started their survey of the basement. Keeping his back to the room, Paul pretended great interest in the washer and dryer. Hoping it would help, he changed position as if to see behind the appliances.

  “I don’t know about this venting system,” he told Bette, trying to sound knowledgeable.

  “Maybe,” she started, with a chuckle underlying her words, “it’s the coupling that’s causing the problem.”

  He tried to glare, but couldn’t hold in the laughter. The other house hunters stayed strictly on the opposite side of the basement before leaving hurriedly.

  “C’mon, you troublemaker, let’s go upstairs before you get me in real trouble,” Paul ordered.

  They accomplished the rest of the tour in companionable silence, thanking the real estate agent as they headed out.

  “The hardwood floors are great, aren’t they?” he said as they reached the car.

  “They need refinishing.”

  “It has a terrific yard.”

  “The taxes are high and they’re scheduled to go up next year in this neighborhood.”

  “Look at all the big old trees.”

  “The furnace is awfully old.”

  “And that screened porch is wonderful. You could put up a hammock in the corner and—”

  “I think the roof would need replacing in a couple years.”

  “You could practically live out there all summer.”

  “The kitchen is crying out for updating, and the second bathroom shows sign of moisture damage.”

  “So you didn’t like it?” He felt oddly deflated. What was the matter with him? It wasn’t as if he had a stake in this. It wasn’t as if it affected him what kind of house she bought. He turned the engine on and pulled away.

  “Of course I liked it. It’s a charming, warm home. But it’s much bigger than I’d need living alone. And looking ahead, there would be a lot of expenses keeping that kind of place up, Paul. Besides, I can’t afford a house like that. I couldn’t even afford a garage in these neighborhoods. Nobody can.”

  “Well, somebody’s buying in these neighborhoods, because the houses are getting sold.”

  “Yes, but to two-income families. I’m buying on my own. And with one income, I need to look farther out, and in very specific neighborhoods.”

  Why did she keep emphasizing that she was buying the house on her own, going to be living in it alone? Wasn’t he supposed to show any interest? Was she trying to remind him it was none of his business?

  He accelerated from a stop sign with more force than necessary. He just wasn’t wild about her moving farther out. It was a long enough trip as it was from his place to hers. Not that he had any expectation one way or the other about still seeing each other by the time she found a place and moved. But she’d certainly be farther from her work, and chances were she’d be farther from whomever she might be dating by then.

  He ignored the gnaw of acid in his stomach that came with that thought. Hungry, that was all. He was hungry.

  “So what do you want to get my ravenous sister for dinner?”

  “What?” Bette blinked at him as if her mind had been very far away. “Oh, dinner. I don’t know. What does Judi like?”

  “Everything,” he said with feeling.

  She laughed, and he felt his mood lightening.

  “Surely she demonstrated that while the two of you were in the kitchen.”

  “Well, she did nibble on a thing or two.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Nibble? She eats with as much abandon as she talks—which reminds me, what were you two talking about so earnestly in the kitchen?”

  “Oh, girl stuff.”

  “Like?” he pursued.

  “Dating. Clothes. Uh, men. Baseball. Families.”

  “An interesting collection.”

  Suddenly serious, she turned to face him. “She told me about your arguing with your grandfather about where you were going to school.”

  He slanted a look at her, surprised at her intensity. “Does that bother you?”

  “It seems so sad. I loved my grandfather. He was a wonderful man. He had such dreams for me, for the whole family. He was always telling me how we would do wonderful things in this country, building our lives, our successes. I learned so much from him. He could see the family’s success unfolding, step by step.”

  If the steering wheel hadn’t required both his hands right then, he might have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. Yeah, she’d learned a lot from her grandfather, all right. She’d learned to sacrifice happiness today in hopes of success tomorrow.

  “I guess you could say the same thing for Walter MulHolland, Only I didn’t fall for the indoctrination.”

  “Indoctrination? It wasn’t like that with my—”

  “As far as rebellions go,” he cut off her protest, “it wasn’t much, but the episode Judi told you about was my formal declaration of independence.”

  She seemed to forget her earlier objection in concern for him. That shouldn’t have warmed him so.

  “What happened, Paul?” she asked.

  “Not much, really. He had it all mapped out. Where I’d go to school. What I’d study. Where I’d get my law degree. How I’d fit into the firm. When and where I’d buy a house in the right neighborhood and memberships to the proper clubs. Who I’d marry—at least that she’d be ‘our kind.’ Hell, he probably had a schedule for our sex lives so he’d have a great-grandchild produced on order.”

  Without looking at her, he could feel her eyes on him.

  Strange, he could also feel understanding in them.

  “I refused to go alo
ng. My senior year in high school, I turned down admission to his Ivy League choice and signed up to enroll at Northwestern instead. Not exactly a felony. But you would have thought so to hear Walter Mulholland. The old fool actually threatened to disinherit me, as if I gave a damn about his money.” His laugh died abruptly. “I found Judi huddled on the stairs, crying her eyes out. She was just a baby, all skinny arms and skinned knees, and she thought he was kicking me out of the family or something.”

  It sounded foolish spoken out loud after all these years. But the feelings were still raw and powerful. The anger. The determination. The triumph. Walking out as the old man ranted futilely. Then finding Judi, and knowing he was fighting for more than himself. He had to break free, so he could prevent her from being caught in Walter Mulholland’s straitjacket.

  A staccato horn reminded him he’d been sitting at a stop sign too long for the patience of the driver behind them.

  He drove. And waited, wary of what Bette would say next. He didn’t want questions. He wouldn’t be able to take sympathy. He couldn’t abide platitudes.

  The touch on his arm was light, fleeting. Perfect. He glanced at her and saw the smile she tried to produce. He felt a closeness to her that went beyond the physical.

  “You know, she still has skinny arms,” Bette said.

  “What?”

  “Judi. She still has skinny arms. We should be thinking about what to feed her tonight.”

  He slid the car into a parking spot amid Evanston shops and restaurants. Turning off the ignition, he twisted to face her, his knee touching hers. He wanted to kiss her. To take her face between his palms and let his tongue sink into the warmth and sweetness of her mouth. But he knew that would be only the start of what he wanted—and couldn’t have, here on this downtown street.

  He contented himself with brushing the side of his thumb along the slant of her cheekbone, the tilt of her upper lip, the rounded point of her chin.

  “Okay, what shall we feed my ravenous sister?”

  They decided on pizza, after a survey of the neighborhood where he’d parked. Just before they got out of the car in front of his apartment, he pulled her close for a quick, hungry kiss.

  “One thing, let’s agree now that we’ll go back to your place tonight,” he told her. “That way we don’t have to worry about getting Judi out of the way.”

  She gave him a quizzical look, as if he’d said something surprising, and he wondered if he’d presumed too much.

  He sure as hell knew he wanted to be with her, but maybe she didn’t feel the same. Maybe she wanted time away from him. Maybe—

  “Okay.”

  The word had never sounded so good. It carried him through a dinner surrounded by laughter, easy conversation and the certainty that Judi and Bette had hit it off. He was oddly touched by that. Especially when Judi admitted to feeling she’d never gotten over the tomboy stage. He’d known his sister wasn’t sure yet of her attractiveness as a woman, but he’d never heard her refer as openly to it as she did to Bette. She clearly felt her vulnerability would be safe with this woman.

  Bette tentatively suggested she and Judi could go shopping together sometime.

  Judi pounced on the offer. “Really? When?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Any time, I guess.”

  “Really? Like maybe this week? Maybe Thursday? I have early classes, so I could take the El downtown and look around first, then get your opinion. Do you think?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

  “Are you sure? That wouldn’t be an imposition?”

  Bette hesitated and Paul wondered if she would plead the demands of her schedule. She might have wondered, too, because her smile held some surprise. “I’m sure. It would not be an imposition.”

  “Great! There’s this holiday formal coming up, and I want the absolutely perfect dress. I just know you’ve got great taste and you won’t try to make me buy something that makes me look fourteen, like Mom always does.” Judi smiled glowingly at both Bette and Paul. “You might be good for something after all, Paul,” she added.

  He grinned, but grumbled, “Yeah? I was good enough to teach you how to sail, and to play basketball and tennis.”

  “Yes, but there are other things in the world, you know. I’ve always wanted a sister, and maybe you’re finally going to get around to providing me with one.”

  Paul felt as if a cell door were being slammed in his face. The only way he could give Judi a sister was by marriage. Even the word conjured up prison bar images. And the man closing the door on him was his mother’s father.

  The “right” marriage was one of those links Walter Mulholland had planned to chain his grandson to the “right” life. He would have approved of Bette Wharton as a hostess, as a helpmate, as a mother to his great-grandchildren. The old man would have seen Bette’s business sense, her ambition, her dedication and her dignity as business assets.

  Paul didn’t give a damn about that. But the idea that he might be moving in a direction Walter Mulholland would have ordered, even for different reasons, left an uneasy feeling.

  The odd thing was that neither the uneasiness nor the reflexive 180-degree change of subject could dilute the warm feeling that had settled somewhere deep in his chest. Very odd.