“Ouch!”
“Son of a gun!”
“You tried to tear my dress!”
“I tried to get loose,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m getting married in a few minutes and I am not dragging you with me to the altar.”
“That’s good, because I can’t go with you.”
“Then get out your scissors.”
“Oh, right, like I carry a pair around in the pocket of whatever bridal gown I happen to be wearing. And even if I did, I wouldn’t use them on this dress. I told you I’d think of something and I will. I just need a little uninterrupted time to—”
The driver’s door opened, and thick, moist air rushed in, followed by Chuck, who dove behind the steering wheel and slammed the door, shutting the rain out and the humidity in. “Gawd Amighty!” he exclaimed. “Must be a freak storm. I watched the weather report at noon and the weatherman didn’t say one word about…” He looked over his shoulder. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? A runaway?”
Mack didn’t like Chuck’s tone or the predatory look in his eye. “Did you get the vest?” he asked.
“Yeah.” In one movement, the driver tossed it back and draped his arm across the top of the seat. “Hey, Mack, is this your woman?”
“No!”
“No!”
The denials collided like Roman candles, sparking Chuck’s delighted grin. “Well, now, isn’t this interesting? We got the bride. And we got the groom. But my question is…who’s got a million bucks?”
Mack heard his unwanted companion gasp. “What did Mrs. Pageatt tell you?” she asked.
“Me? Nothin’. She didn’t say nothin’ to me.” Chuck patted the seat back as he shifted his smile to Mack. “So what’s the plan, man? Are we stayin’? Or are we goin’?”
“There’s a hundred-dollar tip for you if you can get me to St. Patrick’s Church in five minutes or less.”
Chuck whistled. “A hundred buckareenos, huh? I guess that means we’re a-goin’.” He turned around and started the motor.
“No! Wait! I can’t go anywhere in this dress. I have to explain—”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Chuck interrupted. “But you’re gonna need to sit back, shut up and hold on.” He slammed the gearshift into drive, and the limousine shot out of the Marry We Go parking lot like a cannonball on a crash course with disaster.
Chapter 3
Eliza twisted in the seat as best she could and looked out the back window of the limousine. The police car was still double-parked in front of the boutique, its warning lights flashing across the rainy afternoon in a monotonous red-blue-red rotation. No one came running out of the shop to give chase to the escaping limousine. There wasn’t even anyone on the sidewalk to witness the getaway. But it didn’t matter. Eliza knew her goose was cooked.
“This is a disaster,” she murmured as she watched the boutique, the police car and her future melt into the persistent downpour. “A gigantic disaster.”
“Not yet,” Mack said dryly. “But it’s about to be. Have you got a pocketknife, Chuck?”
“Don’t answer that, Chuck.” Eliza twisted back around in a hurry. “Now, listen, Mr. Scissors-hap-py-”
“No, you listen. I’m cutting myself free. I’m sorry for whatever damage that causes to your dress, but it has to be done. Chuck? What about that knife?”
“Wait, please….” She tried to think of another option. “Maybe I can snip the button on your shirt or—or something.”
“There’s more involved than a snagged button. Look.” He pointed to the tangle, but kept his head back to avoid bumping into hers a second time. A cautious man, Eliza concluded. A man who wouldn’t burn his pancakes twice on the same griddle, as Auntie Gem would say. “Do you see how the lace of your sleeve is wrapped around the material of my sleeve?” he continued. “Cutting the button is not going to solve this problem.”
“I could take off the whole sleeve,” she suggested.
“That’s a start.”
“We’ll have to figure out how to get your jacket off first.”
“We’re not cutting off my sleeve.”
“Well, you can’t think I’d cut off my sleeve. I told you this dress cost a fortune and Mrs. P. already thinks I stole it, and how can I return it with one sleeve missing?”
The curve of his lips bore little resemblance to a smile, impatient or otherwise. “I’m late for my wedding because I didn’t want to show up with a stain on my vest. Do you honestly believe I’ll agree to show up without a shirtsleeve?”
“I suppose that depends on how much you want to show up.”
“Don’t start that again,” he snapped. “None of this is my fault. If you hadn’t jumped in my limo uninvited and gotten me ensnarled in your predicament, I’d be-”
“Still late,” she said, shrugging. “You really can’t blame me for that.”
“I can blame you for involving me in your petty theft, though, can’t I?”
“Petty? You call a million dollars petty?”
“Give me a break. That dress isn’t worth half that much…unless you’ve got diamonds sewn into the lining or something.”
She couldn’t believe he was being so obtuse. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m impossible? You’re the one who created this whole ludicrous situation and—”
Chuck’s voice sliced through the accusation. “You two may as well quit arguing, ‘cause I don’t carry a knife. Got a handgun in the glove box, but no knife.”
“Anything sharp will do.” Mack’s breathing was fast and agitated. His anger pulsed through his arm and shoulder, which just happened to be pressed so closely against Eliza’s that she could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat as if it were her own.
“Some Prince Charming you turned out to be,” she muttered under her breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
She ignored his curt remark. “Chuck? Turn this car around immediately and take me back to the bridal shop.”
“Turn this limo around and I’ll sue you and the rental company for ruining my wedding day.”
“That’s not fair,” she said. “Chuck had nothing to do with your being late.”
“He will if he takes you back downtown. We’re almost to the church now. After he drops me off, I don’t care where he drops you.”
She wiggled her trapped hand. “Where you go, I go. And believe me, it will be better in the long run to go back to the boutique and let me explain to Mrs. Pageatt. Then she can figure out a way to get us untangled without harming the dress or your tux.”
“It’s too late to go back.”
“But what about Mrs. Pageatt? She’ll never believe me if I don’t go right back there and tell her exactly what happened.”
“She’s not going to believe you, now or a week from now. Hell, if we weren’t trussed together like some overdressed Thanksgiving Day turkey, I wouldn’t believe it myself.”
“But I have to explain—”
“Not on my time, you don’t. Someone at the church will have scissors, and that’s where we’re going.”
“You’re not being reasonable! It will only take a few minutes to go back, and you’re already late—”
“Don’t say it,” he warned. “Chuck, that extra hundred is almost in your—”
Whump! Thump…thump…thump, thump, thump!
The noise was followed by a low, forceful string of colorful language from Chuck as he steered the limo to the curb and stopped. He turned to look over his shoulder. “We got ourselves a flat tire, folks. Got a spare in the back. Stay where you are and I’ll take care of it.” He opened the door and winked at Eliza. “We certainly want to keep that pretty dress out of the rain, now don’t we?”
She thought she heard the hint of a threat in his remark, but it had been a crazy afternoon and her imagination was in fine form. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said as he stepped outside.
“Oh, yes, you are.” Mack’s comment was clear enough, despite the pounding of the rai
n.
“I beg your pardon?”
“St. Patrick’s isn’t even a half a block from here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“Very funny.”
Mack looked at her, and somewhere deep in her heart, she trembled. “I’m not laughing,” he said. “Let’s go.”
With a defeated sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay.” She gulped. “Go ahead and break the lace.”
“I tried that already. It’s going to have to be cut. Now let’s go.” He scooted across the seat, pulling her with him.
“You don’t understand,” she protested, agitated at the thought of the million-dollar dress after a thorough drenching. “I can’t go out in this rain. That would be worse than trying to fix a few torn threads.”
He reached for the door handle. “We’ll run. On the count of three… one, two—”
The limo lurched and Eliza tumbled on top of Mack, knocking his hand from the door handle and flattening him between the door and the back seat. Pressed between their bodies, his hand splayed upward, one fingertip just brushing the beadwork that crisscrossed her breast, while her hand curved down toward the waistband of his trousers. An awkward blush infused her whole body, and she was grateful that the bodice of the dress was high necked and completely covered the telltale, red blotches she knew were forming across her shoulders and chest. Not that he could have seen them from this angle, anyway. Not with her chin practically resting on his lips. No, in all likelihood, his view of her was an unbecoming close-up of her nose.
She struggled to push herself up and encountered a hardness beneath her fingertips that made her pause. Maybe he wasn’t paying much attention to the view up her nose, after all.
“Get up, will you?” His voice was tense, terse, and she renewed her struggle for balance against the unsettling jerks of the limo as one side was pumped up…and up…and up.
“I’m not sure I can,” she said. “Not without your cooperation, anyway.”
His breath warmed the underside of her chin as he gave a long and desperate sigh. “All right, on the count of three, you pull back and I’ll push up. Got it?”
“Got it.” She nodded and clipped his lower lip.
He ran his tongue gingerly over the injury. “What is it with you, anyway? Did you just wake up this morning and decide that today would be a good day to ruin my life?”
“I didn’t even know you existed when I woke up this morning.” She placed her free hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed as hard as she could. The binding at her waist and wrist stretched taut, but didn’t break. “And in my humble opinion, you were well on your way to ruining this day without my assistance. It isn’t like I planned for any of this to happen, you know. And I can fix everything, if you’ll just give me a chance. I only need a little time to—”
“There is no…more…time.” He pushed upright—at least as upright as possible given the slant of the limousine—and Eliza had no option but to lean heavily against his shoulder as he bent forward and grasped the door handle.
“Don’t open the door.” She tried one last plea. “The rain will completely ruin…”
The door swung open and the rain stopped.
Mack stepped out of the car and drew her out. Expecting to be bombarded with raindrops at any moment, she looked curiously at the sky…and felt a ray of warmth as a solitary sunbeam peeped through a cloudbank. Not a single raindrop fell anywhere near her, either, as Mack gathered the satin skirt, looped the train across her shoulder and tucked the rest of it through the crook of his arm. Putting his other arm around her waist, he propelled her away from the limo, lifted her over a puddle and set her bare feet on the rain-slick sidewalk.
“Hey!” Chuck’s head popped up from behind the far left fender. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Damn, I forgot to leave the tip,” Mack muttered. “I’ll mail you the hundred!” he yelled over his shoulder as he kept on walking.
“Technically, he didn’t earn the hundred.” Eliza had to give a skip every third step just to keep up with Mack’s long strides, but the effort did help keep her from worrying that some small portion of her bridal train was trailing through the puddles after her. “He didn’t get you to the church in five minutes or less.”
Mack barely glanced at her. “I’m sure he didn’t plan a flat tire. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you plan. Some days disaster strikes even when you don’t plan on it.”
“Yes, and sometimes the rain stops for no apparent reason.”
He tossed her a frown and picked up the pace. “The church is just around the corner. We’re almost there.”
Her chest was beginning to hurt from breathing in so much of the moist, damp air, and she could only hope the corner wasn’t too far ahead. “I am sorry about this. I didn’t mean to ruin your wedding.”
“It isn’t ruined,” he replied with total confidence. “Simply delayed a half hour or so.”
He was right, of course. What was thirty minutes weighed against a lifetime of togetherness? She sighed. “She’s a lucky girl.”
“Who?”
“Your bride.”
“Oh. Leanne. Yes, I believe she thinks so, anyway.” He turned the corner and started up the steps of St. Patrick’s, Eliza close by his side.
“MacKenzie Cortland!” A voice bounced down the steps like a live grenade, meeting them halfway.
Eliza’s gaze skipped to the church’s imposing facade and landed on the tall woman in a flowing aquamarine chiffon dress who stood at the top of the stairs, like St. Peter guarding the gates of heaven.
“Where in God’s name have you been?” the woman said. “And who is that—that impersonator?”
“Good grief,” Mack muttered under his breath.
“Impersonator?” Eliza said. “Does she mean me?”
“Let me handle this.”
“I thought you said no one would notice that you’re late.”
“I said Leanne won’t ask. I didn’t say no one would notice.”
“Ah.” Eliza noticed that his pace had slowed considerably. “I think that woman up there is going to ask.”
“That woman is my future mother-in-law, so let me handle this.”
Eliza shrugged. “Okay, but in case you run into trouble, I’m pretty good at explaining…”
He shot her a sideways glance and stopped four steps below the aqua madonna. “Hello, Mother Bankston.”
Her answering nod was regal, but her gaze settled with disconcerting fury on Eliza. “What is the meaning of this, MacKenzie?”
Eliza had never been called a this before and certainly never in that tone of voice. She tipped up her chin to observe this paragon of outrage…and by accident or unconscious design, rested the back of her head against Mack’s shoulder.
Mother Bankston sucked in her breath. “I cannot believe you are so crass, MacKenzie, as to show up here holding hands with…that!”
Demoted to a that, Eliza became offended.
“Mother Bankston,” Mack said with tight control. “Let’s talk about this inside the church, please.”
“And further humiliate my daughter? I hardly think so! There are four hundred guests in there, MacKenzie, who have all been waiting for you to arrive and imagining some horrible accident.” Her chest expanded with the magnitude of the affront. “For you to show up here with that… that—”
“You are drawing the wrong conclusions.” Mack took another step up, all but carrying Eliza with him.
Mother Bankston moved to block any further progress toward the church doors. “You are not going inside until you take your hands off that woman.”
“Believe me, if I could take my hands off her, I would.”
“Mack!” A new voice crash-landed on the church steps, and Eliza watched with interest as a woman wearing a classy lavender silk walked from the sheltered entrance of St. Pat’s to join Mother Bankston at the top of the stairs. “Where have you been, Mack? How could you be late for your own wedding?” Her brown ey
es, very much like Mack’s, came to rest on Eliza. “And who is this?”
Eliza reminded herself that this was Mack’s family and Mack’s show. But if anyone else referred to her as a this or that, she was going to take charge of the explanation.
“It’s a long story,” Mack said. “And in front of the church is not the place to tell it. If we could all please go inside…?”
“Mackey, my boy!” A third voice, male, elderly and very loud, preceded a dapper, white-haired old man in a blue flannel jacket, who leaned heavily on a brass-and-black cane. “Bad manners to be late for your own wedding, Sonny.” His faded, but sprightly brown eyes, an older version of Mack’s, flipped to Eliza. “Very bad manners to bring along an extra bride.”
“I’m not an extra—” She abruptly clamped her lips together.
“Hello, Grandfather.” Mack raised his voice to a near yell and smiled politely, as if he hadn’t just pinched Eliza’s arm. “As I was telling Mother and Mother Bankston, I’d prefer to continue this discussion inside.”
“About time, too,” the old man exclaimed. “I told them you’d be here sooner or later. A Cortland never runs away from his obligations.”
“Mack?” The new voice was cool, feminine and possessive, belonging to the woman who glided past the church pillars in a layered sheath of meringue white. Her veil floated behind her like a vapor, and with the dark clouds overhead and the stark shadows of the church at her back, Eliza thought this bride could have posed for a portrait of an avenging angel. Graceful, blond and beautiful, she looked perfectly composed as she joined the others in looking two steps down at her fiance and Eliza. “Who is that?”
Before Mack could open his mouth, Eliza thrust out her unencumbered right hand. “You must be Leanne. I’m Eliza Richards and I am really glad to meet you.” Her proffered hand remained unclaimed, and she dropped it as she glanced in turn at the four unfriendly, frowning faces. “All of you,” she amended. “I’m really glad to meet all of you.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, as if the quartet on the steps had to grapple with the idea that she could talk. Four pairs of eyes stared at her, then the collective gaze swung to Mack. Eliza turned her head to look at him, too. “I thought you said they would understand.”
Million-Dollar Bride Page 3