Operation

by Barbara Bretton

  “We met in Scotland,” Duncan said, ignoring Sam’s agitation.

  “Scotland?” Martie spun toward Sam. “When were you in Scotland?”

  “You didn’t know Samantha made a trip to Scotland?” Duncan asked, obviously surprised.

  “Wait a minute,” Martie said. “Was that the trip you made in April, just before my bridal shower?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. She wasn’t about to offer any unnecessary information.

  “You went to Scotland?” Martie asked again, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own ears.

  Sam nodded.

  “Why?”

  Sam swallowed hard. “Business.”

  “What business?”

  “She was looking for me,” Duncan offered helpfully.

  Sam shot him a murderous look. “Why don’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

  “Sammy!” Martie looked horrified.

  “Oh, stop staring at me like that, Martie,” Sam snapped. “He deserved it.”

  Martie turned to Duncan. “So you met my sister in Scotland?”

  “Aye,” he said. “At an airport north of Glasgow.”

  “And?” Martie prodded.

  “One more word,” Sam said to Duncan, “and so help me, I’ll—”

  “I was her pilot,” he said.

  “And?” Martie prodded again.

  “I flew her to her destination.”

  “That’s it?” Martie looked terribly disappointed.

  “And that’s it.”

  “So if you were just her pilot, what are you doing here?”

  “Coincidence,” Sam broke in. “He, uh, he had to take a…he was supposed to fly a—”

  “Businessman,” Duncan offered.

  “Yes,” Sam went on, “he had to fly a businessman from Glasgow to Houston for—”

  “For a conference,” Duncan said. “Electromagnetic technology.”

  Martie considered them both for a long moment then sighed loudly. “You know, that’s the funny thing about telling lies. Keep them simple, that’s what I always say.”

  “What did it?” Duncan asked. “The electromagnetic technology?”

  Martie nodded. “That was really a little much.”

  “Don’t you have something to do?” Sam asked her. She was starting to feel desperate. “Like cut a wedding cake or toss a bouquet?”

  “Oh, my God, I forgot!” Martie lifted her skirt above her ankles and flew to the door. “Join us, Duncan,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery before the honeymoon starts.” She hurried toward the ballroom in a flurry of white lace.

  “Over my dead body,” Sam said to Duncan as soon as her sister was out of earshot. “Forget she said anything. I’m dis-inviting you.”

  “You can’t do that. It’s her wedding. She can invite whomever she pleases.”

  “You don’t belong,” she said bluntly. “You’re a stranger.”

  “Not to you.”

  “Especially to me. What happened between us was an enormous mistake.”

  “’Twas no mistake.”

  “A mistake,” she repeated. “Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of sleeping with strangers.”

  “Nor do I, Samantha. You have no worries on that account.”

  Fierce heat rose from the soles of her feet. “That, Mr. Stewart, is none of my business.” It was her business, of course, but right now all she wanted was to get as far away from him as fast as she could.

  “Still, it is something you deserve to know.”

  “A little late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Aye,” he said, “and for that I’m sorry. You deserved more consideration.”

  “I really don’t want to have this conversation. We made a mistake. I don’t see why it’s necessary to talk about it.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch my sister and her husband cut their wedding cake, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  * * *

  IF SAM had expected Duncan Stewart to go quietly into that good night, she quickly found out how wrong she was. It seemed as if he was always within reach, those dark blue eyes of his fastened on her with laser-like precision. Was he serious about the ten thousand dollars? The idea seemed absurd to her, but then so did everything else that had happened since that ill-fated flight to Glenraven. Just because he was an artistic genius didn’t mean he was rich. And she knew enough about castles and titles to know that they didn’t necessarily translate into wealth. Maybe he needed the money to put toward a new Cessna to replace the one they’d wrecked along the shores of Loch Glenraven.

  Still, she couldn’t fault Duncan Stewart on his manners. He mingled easily with people, identifying himself only as a pilot when they asked. A few of Martie’s artist friends instantly recognized his name, but the Scotsman shrugged and said his was a common name back home. He stuck fairly close to her side but not so close as to set too many tongues wagging.

  Of course, just the fact that she was with a man was bound to attract a certain amount of attention, especially since it happened about as often as Halley’s comet sightings.

  “So who is he, darlin’?” Lucky asked as they shared a dance toward the end of the evening. “Is it time to plan another wedding?”

  “You can put away your tux, Daddy.” She tried to keep her voice light and breezy. “Unless Frankie has a fiancé or two up her sleeve, you won’t be playing father of the bride again any time soon.”

  “Didn’t know they grew ‘em so big in Scotland.”

  “Spoken like a true Texan,” she said with a nervous smile. “We don’t have the market cornered on size.”

  Lucky gave her a curious look. “So how did you two meet?”

  “I told you, he was my pilot.”

  “And he’s here because—”

  “I don’t really know,” she said, “and I’m afraid I don’t really care.” She’d long since learned that, with her father, the best defense was a good offense.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I’m telling you everything I know.”

  “Baby girl, you haven’t told me everything you know since you were three years old.” To Sam’s amazement, his eyes filled with tears.

  “Daddy?” She stopped dancing. “Are you okay?”

  “Just feeling some regrets today, darlin’. Wishing I’d made a few different choices.” They picked up the rhythm again.

  “We all have regrets,” she said carefully. Since Lucky’s heart attack some months back, he’d been prone to bursts of high emotion, and for the first time, she was beginning to understand how that felt.

  “Martie and Francesca—I made mistakes with them, too, but they found a way to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? I don’t understand.”

  “You were always so smart and seemed so happy that I didn’t bother to look deeper, to find out what you really needed.”

  “Daddy, I—”

  “No, don’t interrupt me, darlin’. Let me get this off my chest. You needed something your sisters didn’t.”

  “I really wish you—”

  “You needed the kind of parents Julia and I didn’t know how to be.”

  “You did your best for us. I know that.”

  “I wasn’t around. This damn business—”

  “The business is what kept a roof over our heads. I understand that.”

  “It was more than that, darlin’. Same thing that busted up the marriage. Julia and I were too damn selfish to see what was right in front of us.”

  She tried to make light of his statement because she knew no other way to deal with his revelations. “You did your best.”

  “The hell we did.” His tone was fierce. “We did what was best for us, not what was best for you.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.” What he was saying was true, but she hadn’t the stomach for hurting him with the admission.
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  His expression softened as he looked at her and she remembered suddenly how much she loved him, despite their problems. “Nothin’ you can say, darlin’. What’s done is done, but lately you’ve got me worryin’ that your mamma’s and my mistakes are keepin’ you from finding your own happiness.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You’re alone, darlin’. You can’t be happy. You’re not gettin’ any younger, Sammy. It’s time you started thinking about the future.”

  “I have been thinking about the future, Daddy. Wilde & Daughters is in trouble. If we don’t—”

  “Not tonight, darlin’. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been sayin’?”

  “You said that last week and last month and the month before that. If it isn’t the right time very soon, it’ll be too late for all of us.”

  “We’re the best jewelers in this country, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to change that.”

  “We might be the best Daddy, but we’re no longer the most successful. Not when it comes to the bottom line. We’re hemorrhaging profits faster than I can apply a tourniquet. We need help or we’re going to find ourselves gobbled up.”

  “Darlin’, we’ve had ourselves slow times before and we’ll have slow times again after I’m gone. You get only one chance at this life and you’d make me real happy if I knew you understood that as well as you understand the bottom line.”

  There was no use talking to him when he was like this. Her father operated on a different plane, one that had nothing to do with reality. He’d always been a seat-of-his-pants kind of businessman, but since his heart attack, his approach to business had become even more idiosyncratic.

  “I want you to be happy,” he was saying again. “A husband, a family…is that too much to ask?”

  “You never managed to make it work, Daddy,” she pointed out. “We Wildes don’t seem to be too good at happy endings. Why should I be any different?” Her mother had just ended another marriage. Lucky had chalked up quite a few of them. Obviously, the gene that defined marital success had passed them by. “Fortunately, marriage doesn’t interest me. It never has and it never will.”

  He gestured toward Martie and Trask who were dancing together, bathed in a golden glow of happiness. “Miracles happen. One day you’ll come to me out of the blue and say you’ve found the right man and that’ll be the happiest day of my life.”

  She forced a laugh. “I don’t think you’re in danger of hearing that any time soon.”

  “Can’t blame an old man for hoping.”

  She patted his arm. “You worry too much,” she said lightly. “What you need is a good fishing holiday.”

  “Funny you should mention that, darlin’. Dr. Bob and I are heading north first thing in the morning.”

  Sam thanked her lucky stars as her father launched into one of his favorite fishing stories. All things considered, she’d rather talk about trout than marriage any day of the week.

  * * *

  “WHO IS SAMANTHA dancing with?” Duncan asked the woman standing beside him at the bar.

  The small red-haired matron squinted in the direction of the dance floor. “That’s Lucky,” she said, then looked at Duncan. “You don’t know the father of the bride?”

  “No,” said Duncan, “but I think it’s time I rectified that.”

  He put down his glass of champagne then strode across the dance floor toward Sam and her father. He stopped next to them.

  “Good evening,” he said, nodding in Lucky’s direction.

  Samantha glared daggers at him but he chose not to notice.

  “We were talking about you,” her father said. He stopped dancing with Sam and extended his right hand to Duncan. “I’m Lucky Wilde.”

  “Duncan Stewart.”

  The older man’s grip was strong and sure. “Glad you could join us,” he said cordially. “Sammy says you’re a pilot.”

  “I am.” This time he would tell the entire truth. “I’m also an artist.”

  Samantha stepped between the two men. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Stewart, my father owes me a waltz.”

  Lucky looked at his daughter and chuckled. “She doesn’t want to dance, Duncan, she wants to talk business.”

  “Daddy, that’s really not any of his concern.”

  “Can you believe it?” Lucky continued. “Her own sister’s wedding and my gal can’t keep her mind off business. You dance with her, young man. Maybe you can show her how to have fun.”

  Samantha’s eyes glittered with tears as she moved into Duncan’s arms. “What is it you want from me?” she whispered, ducking her head against his shoulder. She spoke so softly he could barely make out her words. “I already told you I’d pay the ten thousand dollars.”

  “I don’t want your money, Samantha.”

  “Then what do you want?” The catch in her voice made him feel like a bastard.

  “I don’t know that, either,” he said, “just that I needed to see you again.”

  * * *

  HIS WORDS took Sam’s breath away. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and let the tears fall onto the fabric of his jacket.

  “Why didn’t you stay in Scotland where you belong?” she managed finally. “I would have forgotten you eventually.”

  “Maybe that’s why I didn’t.”

  “What happened between us wasn’t real,” she said. “You must know that.”

  “Aye,” he said. “That’s what I’ve told myself a thousand times since that day but I can’t seem to make myself believe it.”

  “You should believe it,” she said, “because it’s true. That woman wasn’t me. I’m not passionate or spontaneous or any of those things you thought I was. I don’t have a romantic bone in my body.”

  “You don’t know yourself as well as you think, lassie. The woman I made love to was all those things and more.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, pulling away from him the second the music stopped. “You’re seeing what you want to see and not what’s really there.” She smoothed her hair with a nervous gesture. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this at all with you.” Or why she felt as if she was wearing her heart embroidered on her sleeve.

  “Everybody!” Estelle’s voice rang out over the din. “All you single gents come on over to the bandstand. It’s garter time!”

  Duncan refused to move from Sam’s side until Estelle, a strong-minded woman, threatened to make a scene if he didn’t join in the fun.

  “You get your fanny over there, honey,” Estelle said to him with a broad wink. “Catch the garter and you’ll be the next one to tie the knot.”

  Reluctantly Duncan joined the group of men on the dance floor while the groom led his bride to a chair at the edge of the bandstand.

  His only experience with American bridal rituals was what he’d seen in Hollywood movies, so he felt the odd man out.

  The bride coyly lifted the hem of her gown to expose her ankles and calves. The groom ran his hand over her instep, her ankle, then higher, higher, higher, until he looped his thumb around a frilly blue satin garter just above her knee. The men around him cheered lustily as the groom slid the garter from his bride’s leg then waved it overhead like a trophy in some medieval festival.

  Then, before Duncan knew what was happening, the groom flung the garter into the crowd of men. A raucous cry went up as grown men grabbed for the scrap of satin and elastic that spun past them and landed on Duncan’s head.

  The band launched into a funeral dirge while the good-natured Texans clapped Duncan on the back and made jokes about him being the next to walk the plank. What plank? he thought. And why a garter?

  As for Sam, she watched the proceedings with apprehension. It was all too neat, too pat, as if unseen hands were conspiring to tie their fates together, whether they wanted them tied together or not. She knew Martie would see to it that she caught the bouquet if she had to hand-deliver it right into Sam’s outstretched hands. The thing to do was leave. Just slip out the door be
hind the bar and make a run for freedom. She turned and was about to make a break for it when Martie called out, “Where are you going, Sammy? It’s time to toss the bouquet”

  Short of feigning her own death, there was no way out. She wouldn’t hurt Martie for the world, not on her wedding day. Sam lined up with the other single women as Martie glided to the top of the staircase and stopped right beneath the crystal chandelier so the photographer could snap another dozen pictures. Sam barely recognized her sister. The Martie she’d known was an eccentric artist who rarely did anything conventional. But there she was, in her lacy white wedding gown, tossing her bridal bouquet like millions of other brides before her.

  It must be love, Sam thought in bewilderment. Nothing else could explain the change in Martie.

  “Okay, ladies,” the new bride called out. “Get ready!” She winked broadly at Sam, who devoutly wished she could disappear. Sixty pairs of eager arms raised heavenward in anticipation. Sam clasped her hands behind her back. If Martie threw the bouquet in her direction, she’d duck.

  The emcee tapped the microphone. “Drumroll, please. On the count of one…two…three!”

  The bouquet tumbled through the air, ribbons streaming, and headed straight for Sam. Sam ducked. The bouquet lost altitude. Sam moved to the right. Perfect. It would whiz right on by her.

  Or it would have if one of the dopey bridesmaids hadn’t made a grab for it and somehow changed its trajectory, putting it on a collision course with Sam’s nose. She raised her hands to protect herself and caught the flowers instead.

  Sam looked across the room at Duncan, who was still clutching that foolish blue garter. She held up the flowers. He twirled the garter around his index finger. They looked like two prisoners trying to escape from Alcatraz.

  Years ago her cousin Bobby and a woman named Phyllis had caught the garter and the bouquet at Aunt Lula’s wedding. They’d thought it meant they had to get married to each other and so they eloped to Mexico that very night The hangover had lasted longer than the marriage. Thank God neither Sam nor Duncan were that dumb.

  The laughing horde of single women swarmed all over Sam and pushed her toward the center of the dance floor where a lone wooden chair waited for her. Duncan was being swept her way on a sea of bachelors. She noticed that he looked quite bewildered by this turn of events—and she also noticed that his bewilderment was quite appealing.