by Raina Lynn
Instead of firing off a frosty comeback as he expected, she stared blankly into the distance, her expression trapped and very alone. Silence spun out, and Mason’s blood tingled in fearful anticipation. His child’s well-being lay in her hands, and there wasn’t one thing he could do to change it.
Finally, Jill drew in a ragged breath. “If I’m going to marry you, at least I won’t have to buy a new dress.” Even her voice sounded limp.
With the future looking satisfyingly under control—if emotionally grim—Mason savored the bitter victory as best he could. “What do you mean?”
“That thing I wore the other night is brand new. I’ll wear that.”
He felt his eyes widen. “You mean the black gown from the night of the symphony?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong with it?” she demanded. “Hippo or not, I looked pretty good. You said as much at the time.”
Mason drew in a calming breath. “Jill, you will not marry me while wearing black.”
“What difference does it make? It’s paid for. Sort of.”
“This isn’t a funeral, no matter how much you seem to view it as one.”
“Look, Bradshaw. We’re not having a grand production complete with rented limo and a catered dinner for half of Stafford.”
“Agreed, but this is the last time I plan on getting married, and I’d like it to be pleasant—no undertones.” .
She tilted her head, mocking him. “No regrets, either? How about misgivings?”
“Stop it, Jill,” he growled.
“How about no hits, no runs and no errors?” Her voice broke on the last, and he pulled her into his arms.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he murmured.
She didn’t answer, and Mason held her as she trembled in silence. The tension across her back and in her arms told him how desperately she was trying to regroup. If he had to guess, one of the cruelest things anyone could do to Jill would be to make her feel helpless—and he’d done an award-winning job just now. After a moment’s reflection, he kissed her hair in wordless apology.
She pulled away. “So, what do you expect me to get married in? My best maternity jeans? Wouldn’t that look good with your tux!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He shook his head. “I want you to wear something bright and cheerful. How about something you bought on your cruise last summer?” He hated being the villain in this scenario, but he had to take care of her and she’d left him no other avenue.
“Oh, a bikini with a maternity panel in it. You have a sick imagination, Bradshaw.”
He smiled. If she could crack jokes, then maybe she was pulling herself together a little. Then again, maybe not. “Just call it part of my fetish.”
Her lips parted in a return smile, but the effort fell flat. “We can’t afford another dress I’ll only wear once. I just did that.”
“You’ll have your dress if we have to eat beans every day for the next six months.”
A reluctant chuckle rolled softly from her throat. Then she interlaced her fingers with his. Tenderly, deliberately, Mason drew Jill into his arms again.
The wounds of his first marriage reared their heads in the defensive wall that went up around his heart. He cared for Jill, cared deeply, in fact. He made no effort to deny to himself he also found her sexually appealing. But love?
The mental image of Karen crawling all over her lover seemed particularly vivid at the moment, and the concept of ever trusting another person so completely repelled him to the depths of his soul.
Chapter 8
“Shopping for a wedding gown at a maternity shop has given me a whole new standard to define depression,” Jill muttered to Vicki, sliding another rejected dress down the rod. “Even so, I have to admit that the store’s new selection of formal wear has turned out to be a pleasant surprise.”
The gown that kept catching her eye was a floor-length, lavender satin with a lace overlay. With her creamy skin tones, she knew she’d look like a million. It would even go well with Mason’s tuxedo. Unfortunately, the dress cost two weeks’ salary—provided she still had one.
“You’re right. There’s some nice stuff here,” Vicki said. “By the way, how are you and Mason doing these days?”
“He’s still camped in my back pocket. I would have thought since he won, he’d give me some breathing room now, but he hasn’t.”
Vicki laughed. “You sound as if you lost a war and the enemy is lining you up as a prisoner for execution.”
Jill mulled that over. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” Then her acid humor took over. “I know! Rather than carrying a bouquet, maybe I ought to wear manacles made from concertina wire.”
“That’s really sick.”
“Or how about this?” she asked, a farcical lilt to her voice. “Instead of a flower girl tossing rose petals as she walks down the aisle, we can have her toss those little fortune cookie papers. On the backs will be the Articles of the Geneva Convention.”
Vicki closed her eyes and groaned. “You’ve been on your feet too long.”
Ignoring her, Jill raised her hand and swept it in a slow arc as if making a banner in the air. “The newspaper headline can read Masochistic Woman Marries Man Who Doesn’t Love Her—The Sequel.”
The baby moved. Suddenly even her defensive humor stopped being funny. Tears formed in her eyes.
“Girl, I’m taking you home. You’re punch drunk.”
Jill picked through the rest of the dresses in her size. “Nothing here I like. Let’s go.”
“No, you don’t.” Vicki reached past her and checked the price tag on the lavender one that Jill had been silently drooling over.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought her friend smothered a gag before lifting the hanger from the rod and handing her the dress.
“You’ve gone back to this one three times. Try it on.”
“My charge card will collapse from the weight.”
“It’s supposed to when you put a wedding dress on it. Now get your lily-white behind into that dressing room.”
In spite of herself, Jill laughed. “Vicki, you don’t understand. I just spent almost this much on a one-wear-only dress. My nervous system can’t do that twice in one month.”
Scowling, Vicki inspected the lace overlay. “Wilson would love to hear me worry about how much I spend on clothes, but that man knows better.” Vicki didn’t dress extravagantly, but she did dress well. The bills couldn’t be cheap.
“So, in other words, to put Mason off I should have gone through money like water since the day I met him?”
“No, that would be giving him ulcers about now, but I doubt it would have changed anything.” She glanced at Jill’s protruding abdomen. “Men don’t think beyond the immediate when they’re turned on.”
“I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” Vicki shoved the dress at her, forcing Jill to take a step backward to keep from touching it.
“Then why are you on Mason’s side?”
“I’m not.” A defiant grin split her face. “I’m just not taking sides now. I’m not keeping any more secrets, either.”
“That’s not the same as aiding and abetting the enemy—which you ought to be tarred and feathered for.”
Vicki’s expression hardened. The phrase “tough love” came to mind. “Girl, you can either try on this dress and see if it fits, or I’ll tell Mason about it. He can come down here and pick it up without you. If it doesn’t fit, too bad.”
The two stared at each other in an affectionate battle of wills. Then Jill snatched the hanger from Vicki’s fingers. “If he and I end up eating beans forever to pay for this thing, I’m going to remind you daily,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Fine with me,” Vicki laughed.
A moment later, with a quick look in the dressing room mirror, Jill groaned. The lavender gave her skin a radiant glow, and the silver threads in the lace twinkled with feminine splendor.
Glancing at the tag again, she grabbed the zipper. “That’s got to be an inventory code. Price tags don’t have that many numbers.”
“I want to see it,” came Vicki’s muffled but firm voice through the closed door.
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because if you say it looks horrible, I’ll know you’re not making excuses.”
Accepting the inevitable, she opened the door and stepped out.
“Ooooh,” Vicki chirped. A smile of appreciation lit her face. “That ought to make him sit up and take notice.”
Jill looked away. “That’s part of the problem. He doesn’t notice on his own. Watching him try to feel something for me hurts worse than you can imagine.” Clenching her jaw and blinking hard, she fought back another round of threatening tears.
“It’s going to be okay.” Vicki gave her a warm hug.
“I wish I could believe that.” Succumbing to the pregnancy maudlins embarrassed her, so Jill stiffened her spine and gave Vicki a fierce look. “I know! I’ll run away and join the circus! I’m a natural to play the fat lady.”
“I’ll tell Mason,” Vicki singsonged back.
“Spoilsport.”
Two days later on a Friday afternoon, Jill and Mason stood in the county courthouse, along with two other couples waiting for a marriage license. She’d spent the last forty-eight hours mulling over Vicki’s wisecrack in the maternity shop. The situation between her and Mason had been a war—one Jill knew she’d lost badly. Defeat weighed heavily on her. How could Mason expect a marriage like this to work?
The amused looks they received from people openly staring at her stomach set her temper on edge. How dare they assume this was some sort of shotgun wedding!
Then she glanced into Mason’s woodenly stoic face, an unwanted reminder of the full truth. Okay, it is. But it’s not just the groom who’d rather be somewhere else today.
Misgivings and memories of her first marriage’s heartaches closed around her. One-sided love—again. Life in emotional hell—again. Her self-respect balked, and she stepped away from him. “To thine own self be true, Bradshaw.”
Smoothly, Mason slipped his arm around her. The casual observer would never notice the iron in his grip. “It’s your choice, Jill,” he whispered into her hair. “As my wife, what little I have is yours. The alternative is a too-small welfare check.” Then, he added, “I wonder how well you’ll handle people glaring at you in grocery checkout lines when you whip out your food stamps.”
Bitter reality choked her. Both her financial survival and Mason’s depended on the success of a marriage neither wanted. Tears fell so quickly that her eyes hadn’t burned a warning first. “Just don’t gloat,” she gritted out between her teeth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He shifted his hold, tucking her head beneath his chin and tenderly rubbing her back. She swiped at her eyes, loving him so much she hurt from it, and not believing for one minute that she’d ever hold his heart.
The baby kicked, and Mason jumped, awe claiming his face. “Was that her?” he whispered.
The poignant wonder made her swallow hard. Only then did she realize he’d never felt their child moving within her. What right did she have to deny him this? Gamely, she smiled at him. “Sure was, Dad.”
He seemed to stop breathing as he gazed at her belly with melting affection.
Why can’t he look at me like that? Jill turned her back to him, leaned against his chest and guided his hands around her tummy as casually as if it were an everyday occurrence. The baby kicked again, this time clipping the inside of her ribs—hard. She winced. Mason chuckled, presumably unaware of how badly it hurt to have one’s body kicked apart from the inside. For the next few minutes, their daughter performed in utero gymnastics worthy of an Olympic athlete, and Mason softly kissed Jill’s hair. She wanted to cry.
By the time they’d paid the fee and signed on the dotted line, she had her emotions more under control. But not even the momentary closeness they’d shared eased her fears that she’d just signed up for a repeat performance of the same misery she’d known the first time around.
“I’m not Donald,” he whispered as they left.
She blushed, furious that he’d so accurately read her mind. No, Bradshaw, in many ways you’re worse. “Never doubted it for a minute,” she fired back, forcing an ornery grin. “Your tush is much cuter.”
A strangled cough spasmed from his throat. He took her arm and turned her to face him. His hands burned through her sleeves like liquid fire.
“Can I trust you to show up tomorrow?” he demanded. “Or are you planning more stall tactics?”
She knew what her answer would be, but that didn’t make her in that big of a hurry to answer. She took a moment to study him. The lines of his face were a bit too harsh for the classic ideal. The current strain didn’t help any. But his deep-set hazel eyes were flawless. Then again, maybe not. Shadows from lack of sleep made them look too miserable, too—
“Are you listening to me?”
That pulled her back to his original question. “Yes, I’ll be there. The circumstances haven’t offered any alternatives.”
“Good. Our rings are supposed to be ready this afternoon. Let’s go pick them up, then go out to dinner.”
At the jeweler’s, Mason placed the engagement ring on Jill’s finger and dutifully—it seemed to her—kissed her cheek.
At seven the next night, Vicki helped her into the lavender dress. Vicki and Wilson had graciously opened their home to the wedding. They’d built the ranch-style house themselves and had indulged in a massive stone fireplace that made the living room a perfect setting for celebrations.
Jill stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom and touched up her hair. For once, she had pulled her blond curls up into a stylized French knot at the crown of her head. It didn’t look bad, she decided.
Vicki wove in tiny rosebuds and baby’s breath as a finishing touch.
“I still think a lily in my navel is more appropriate.”
Vicki sighed heavily. “Girlfriend, you’re scared to death and saying anything that pops into your head that might give you some space.”
Jill blushed. “Am I being that bad?”
“No, but it could get away from you if you’re not careful.” Then her best friend pulled out the set of diamond earrings Wilson had bought her the previous Christmas. They were gorgeous. “Here’s your ‘something borrowed.’”
“I can’t wear these,” Jill gasped.
“Sure you can. They’re good luck. Wilson and I never squabble when I have them on.”
“Well, in that case....” Jill shyly put them in place. She’d never even tried on jewels like these. Between them and the gown, she felt a little like Cinderella.
After Vicki finished primping her to bridal perfection, Jill checked her reflection again. The lavender-and-lace gown swirled around her ankles with a soft rustle each time she moved. Her hair and the diamond earrings added an aura of elegance that she never dreamed she could pull off. Saying “thank you” seemed so trite, so inadequate. She hugged Vicki instead. “You’re a good friend.”
The other woman smiled, and the two held each other for a moment, strengthening the bonds between them.
Then Jill stole another peek in the mirror. “Think he’ll like it?” she ventured with uncharacteristic timidity.
“Unless he’s gone blind,” Vicki muttered, “he’ll be groveling at your feet.”
Jill snorted. “I’ll settle for some genuine affection, if you don’t mind.”
Vicki didn’t comment but the compassionate glint in her eyes told Jill she’d heard it and understood.
In the living room, nerves ate Mason alive, but he put on a calm facade as he milled with guests. Most of them were employees. The rest were people he’d met in Stafford during the ten months he’d lived here. Wilson poured him a glass of an excellent chardonnay. Unfortunately, like everything else he’d consumed during the last twenty-four hours,
it tasted like cardboard.
To give himself something to do, he took another sip. Then he heard a door open down the hall. Everyone—him included—turned toward the sound. Jill stepped into the room, chewing the lipstick off her lower lip.
My God, she looks just like Karen! He swallowed wrong, and then choked. He could have sworn the entire swallow went down his windpipe. Wilson slapped him on the back. It only made things worse. The wine burned like fire. Even as he fought for air, a distant thought acknowledged the abominable timing. All wedding guests want to see two things, their first glimpse of the bride and the groom’s face when he sees her. So what does he do? Choke to death.
“I’ll be right back,” he wheezed between rounds of gasping for breath. As he turned toward the kitchen, someone handed him a glass of water. He gratefully swallowed it, but that didn’t help, either. Before the next round of spasms overtook him, he actually inhaled half a breath. Then his throat locked up on him again, and the thought occurred to him that he might be in serious trouble.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had that effect on a man before,” Jill quipped. The assembly laughed, but as he left the room, he wondered if anyone but him heard the pain beneath it.
Jill watched him all but run to the kitchen. Somewhere deep down, she’d hoped to see his eyes light up as he saw her. Everyone has their little fantasies, she supposed. But having him choke on his wine hadn’t been part of it.
Nor had the glimpse of shocked horror just before he swallowed wrong. She remembered remarking to Vicki when Mason first bought the paper that he’d looked at her as if he’d expected one thing and gotten the Bride of Frankenstein, instead. Maybe he still thought so. She passionately wished she knew why.
The frequency and intensity of Mason’s coughing slowed after another minute or two. Sympathetic murmuring filled the air as Jill stood, bouquet in hand, waiting for her groom to recover.
When he returned to the living room, his face was flushed. “I’m so sorry, Jill.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bradshaw,” she said. “It’s not every bride who waits for the groom’s grand entrance.”