Second Chance With the Rebel: Her Royal Wedding Wish

by Cara Colter

  Along Lakeshore Drive, boards would come off the windows of the summer houses. Power boats, canoes and the occasional plane would be tied up to the docks. The floats would be launched and quickly taken over by rowdy teenagers pushing and shoving and shouting. There would be the smell of barbecues and, later, sparks from bonfires would drift into a star-filled sky.

  “I’m unchanging. As incorrigible as ever.”

  “Can you ever be serious?”

  “I don’t see the point.”

  “I love this town,” she said, stubbornly staying on the topic of the town, instead of the topic of him. “How could anyone not love it?”

  Now, added to that abundance of charm that was Lindstrom Beach, Lucy had her dream, and it was woven into the peace and beauty and values of her town. The dream belonged here, even if Claudia Johnson didn’t think so!

  And so did she. Even if Claudia Johnson disapproved of her.

  “How could anyone not like it here?” She could have kicked herself as soon as it slipped out. It sounded suspiciously like she cared that he didn’t like it here.

  “How much you like Lindstrom Beach depends on your pedigree.” Suddenly he sounded very serious, indeed.

  She glanced at him. His mouth had a firm line to it, and he took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. She was pretty sure those sunglasses had been in the lake yesterday.

  “It does not.”

  “Spoken by the one with the pedigree. You have no idea what it was like to be a kid from the wrong side of the tracks in Lindstrom Beach.”

  This time the chill in the voice was hers. “That may be true, but it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.”

  Suddenly, the pain felt fresh between them, like fragile skin that had been burned only an hour or two before. He had been right. There was no point being so serious.

  If she could, she would have left things as they were, lived contentedly in the lie that she was all over that, the summer she had spent loving Mac nothing more than the foolish crush of a woman barely more than a girl. She’d only been seventeen, after all.

  He had teased her about it then. The perfect doctor’s daughter having her walk on the wild side. When she had first heard the name of his company, she had wondered if he was taunting her for what she had missed. But he had never asked her to go on that journey with him. And besides, that brief walk on the wild side had been a mistake.

  The repercussions had torn her oh-so-stable family apart. And then, there was the little place on a knoll behind the house, deeply shaded by hundred-year-old pines, that she went to, that reminded her what a mistake it had been.

  Leave it, a voice inside her ordered. But she was not at all sure that she could.

  “Macintyre Hudson,” Lucy said, her voice deliberately reprimanding, “you lived next door to me, not on the wrong side of the tracks.”

  But underneath the reprimand, was she still hoping she could draw something out of him? That she could do today what she had not been able to do all those years ago?

  Find out who he really was, what was just beneath the surface of the incorrigible facade he put on for the world?

  He snorted. “The wrong side of the tracks is not a physical division. Your father hated Mama’s old cottage, hardly more than a fishing shack, being right next door to his mansion. He hated it more that she brought children of questionable background there. His failures in life: he failed to have Mama’s place shut down, and he failed to bully her in to moving.”

  Mac didn’t know that, in the end, her father had considered her one of his failures, too.

  “But it looks like Claudia Johnson née Mitchell-Franks has taken over where he left off,” he said drily. And then he grinned, as if he didn’t care about any of it. “I think we should attend her little shindig on Friday night at the yacht club.”

  The grin back, she knew her efforts to get below the surface had been thwarted. Again. She should have known better than to try.

  “I wouldn’t go there on Friday night if my life depended on it,” she said.

  “Really? Why?”

  “First of all, I wasn’t invited.”

  “You need an invitation?”

  A little shock rippled through her. All those years ago, was it possible that he had never thought to invite her to go with him when he left Lindstrom Beach? That he had just thought if she wanted to go, she would have taken the initiative?

  Lucy did not want to be thinking about ancient history. She was not allowing herself to dwell on what might have been.

  But still, she said, “Yes, I need an invitation.”

  “Your grandfather built the damned place.”

  “I never renewed my membership when I came back.”

  “You’re going to allow Claudia to snub you? I’d go just to tick her off. It could be fun.”

  But Lucy felt something dive in the bottom of her stomach at the thought of going somewhere where she wasn’t wanted, all that old crowd looking at her as if she was the one who had most surprised them all, and not in a good way.

  Fun. His diversionary tactic when anything got too serious, when anything threatened the fortress that was him.

  “Well, showing up where I’m not wanted is not exactly my idea of a good time.”

  “I have a lot to teach you,” he said, then, “And here we are at the grocery store. Which is open at—” he glanced at his watch “—half past seven. Good grief.” He widened his eyes at her in pretended horror and whispered, “Lucy! Are they open Sunday?”

  “Since I’ve moved back, yes.”

  “I’ll bet there was a petition trying to make it close at five, claiming it would be a detriment to the town to have late-night and Sunday shopping. Ruin the other businesses, shut down the churches, corrupt the children.”

  She sighed. “Of course there was a petition.”

  The tense moment between them evaporated as he got out of the car and waited for her. “Come on, Lucy Lin, let’s go find the cumin. And just for fun, we have to buy one thing that neither of us has ever heard of before.”

  “Would you quit saying the word fun over and over as if you don’t think I know what it is? Besides, this is Lindstrom Beach, I don’t think you’ll find anything in this whole store that you’ve never heard of before.”

  “You’re already wrong, because I’d never heard of cumin. Would you like to make a bet?”

  Don’t let him suck you into his world of irreverence, she ordered herself sternly.

  “If I find something neither of us has ever heard of, you have to eat it, whatever it is,” he challenged her.

  “And if you don’t?”

  “You can pick something I have to eat.”

  It was utterly childish, of course. But, reluctantly she thought, it did seem like it might be fun. “Oh, goody. Pickled eggs for you.”

  “You remember that? That I hate those?”

  Unfortunately, she remembered everything.

  And suddenly it was there between them again, a history. An afternoon of canoeing, a picnic on an undeveloped beach on the far shore. Her laying out the picnic lunch she had packed with a kind of shy pride: basket, blanket, plates, cold chicken, drinks. And then the jar of eggs. Quail eggs, snitched from her mother’s always well-stocked party pantry.

  She had made him try one. He had made a big deal out of how awful it was. In fact, he had done a pantomime of gagging that surpassed the one she had done of Claudia yesterday. But, at that moment that he had started gagging on the egg, they had probably been going deeper, talking about something that mattered.

  “I’m not worried about having to eat pickled eggs,” he said. “I’m far too competitive to worry. I’ll find something you’ve never heard of before. Unlike you, who are somewhat vertically challenged, I am tall enough to see w
hat they tuck away on the top shelves.”

  As he grabbed a grocery cart, Lucy desperately wanted to snatch the list from him and just do it the way she had always done it. Inserting playfulness into everyday chores seemed like the type of thing that could make one look at one’s life afterwards and find it very mundane.

  And with Mac? There was going to be an afterward, because he was restless and he would never be content in a place like this.

  “Here’s something now,” he said, at the very first aisle. “Sasquatch Bread. I mean, really?”

  “It’s from a local bakery. It’s Mama’s favorite.”

  “We’ll get some, then. How about this?” He picked up a container. “Chapelure de blé?”

  “What?”

  “I knew it. Here less than thirty seconds, and I’ve already won.”

  She looked at what he was holding. “You’re reading the French side. It’s bread crumbs.”

  “Trust the French to make bread crumbs sound romantic. We’ll take some of these, too. You never know when you might need romantic bread crumbs.”

  She was not sure she wanted to be discussing romance with Mac, not even lightly, but the truth was he was hard to resist. Even complete strangers could see how irresistible he was. She did not miss the sidelong glance of a mother with a baby in her buggy or the cheeky smile of leggy woman in short shorts.

  But it seemed as if his world was only about her. He didn’t even seem to notice those other women, his focus so intent she could be giddy with it.

  If she didn’t know better than to steel herself.

  But even with steeling herself against his considerable charm, just like that the most ordinary of things, shopping for groceries, was fun! He scoured the store for oddities, blowing dust from obscure items on the top shelves.

  He thought he had her at quinoa, but when she said she made a really good salad with it, that went in the cart, too.

  The strangest thing was that she was in a grocery store that she had been in thousands of times. And it felt as if she was discovering a brand-new world.

  “Got it,” he finally said. He held out a large jar to her. “You have never heard of this!”

  “Rolliepops,” she read. “Pickled herring wrapped around a savory filling. Ugh!”

  “Gotcha!”

  He bought the largest size he could find, and they found the rest of the things on the list, plus items he deemed essential for movie night: popcorn, red licorice and chocolate-covered raisins.

  “You are really going to enjoy snacking on your Rolliepops during the movie,” he told her as they strolled out of the store with their laden cart.

  “I’d rather eat the bread crumbs.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have admitted you knew what they were. Retribution for the quail eggs all those years ago,” he said happily as he stowed all the things he had bought—most of them not on the list and completely impractical—in the trunk of her car.

  The video store was also fun as they wrangled over movies. This was the part of being with him that she had forgotten: it was easy.

  It had always astonished both of them what good friends they became and how quickly. They had thought they would be opposites. Instead, they made each other laugh. They thought their worlds would be miles apart, instead they were comfortable in the new world they created.

  And now it was as if seven years didn’t separate them at all. She felt as if she had seen him just yesterday.

  Finally, after much haggling, they settled on a romantic comedy.

  By the time they got back, it never even occurred to Lucy not to join him at Mama’s house for the movie and fresh strudel. They parked the car back in her driveway and walked over with the groceries.

  The strudel was excellent, the movie abysmal, Mama got up halfway through it and went to bed.

  Suddenly, they were alone. Too late, Lucy remembered what else had come so easily and naturally to them.

  When they were alone, an awareness of each other tingled in the air between them.

  Back then, they had explored it. She with guilt, he with hunger, both of them with a sense of incredible discovery. The memory of that made her ache with wanting.

  He was so close. She could smell the familiar, intoxicating scent of him. If she reached out, she could touch his arm.

  “I have to go,” she said, jumping up abruptly.

  “Something urgent to do? Feed your fish? Put up a new swatch of color?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “Don’t forget, you owe me. You still have to eat a Rolliepop.”

  She grimaced. “I think I’d have nightmares. Herring wrapped around something ‘savory’? Not my idea of a bedtime snack, but you know what? A bet is a bet.”

  “Yes, it is, but even though we had a deal, I’ll let you off the hook. For tonight. I’ll enjoy having something to hold over you.”

  He insisted on walking her back across the darkened lawns. A loon called on the lake and they both stopped to listen to its haunting cry.

  “I don’t like it that Mama was tired tonight,” she said as they stood there. “She always insists on watching every movie to the end, even if it’s awful. She told me once she always gives it a chance to redeem itself.”

  “People. Movies. She’s all about second chances, our Mama. I’m concerned she’s wearing herself out cooking for me. I told her to stop, but she won’t.”

  “What rhymes with stop?” Lucy asked.

  “Schnop,” he said, and they shared a quiet laugh, but grew serious again as they continued walking across the backyard.

  “I’m worried that it’s not cooking that’s wearing her out.”

  “Me, too.”

  It felt entirely too good to have someone to share these worries with.

  “Has she said anything? About her health?” Lucy asked.

  “No. I’ve been probing, too, but she says she’s fine. While repairing the bathroom, I looked through the medicine cabinet. There was a prescription bottle, but she doesn’t have internet, so I couldn’t check what it’s for.”

  “I can.”

  “I know, but it makes me feel guilty. Like I’m spying on her. It’s kind of an affront to her dignity. So, I’m just going to hang out and fix the house, and keep my eyes and ears open and see if she tells me.”

  He stopped on her back porch.

  “Good night, Lucy.”

  “Mac.” It seemed to her suddenly she was a long way from her goal of proving to herself that he had no power over her anymore.

  In fact, it felt like everything it had always felt like with him: as if the ordinary became extraordinary, as if she’d been sleeping and was coming awake, feeling the utter glory of life shimmering through her very pores.

  The moonlight and the call of the loons wrapped her in their spell.

  On an impulse she stepped in close to him. She needed to know.

  On an impulse she stood up on her tiptoes. She needed to know if that was the same.

  She wasn’t sure why she had to do this. Maybe because she felt he believed she was way too predictable, from her car to her loyalty to her little town to what he presumed was the lack of fun in her life.

  She had kissed other men since then. She had something to compare him to now. She had not back then. She would not be as easy to dazzle as that girl, a virgin whose only experiences with kisses had been spin-the-bottle at parties.

  Or maybe she just had something to prove to herself when she took his lips.

  That she could have the power. That she didn’t need to wait for other people to instigate.

  But whatever her intention was, it was lost the second their lips connected. He groaned and pulled her close to him, surrendered to her and claimed her at the very same time.


  Oh, no. It was the same.

  It was the same way as it had always been. She had never felt it before him, and never after, either. Certainly not with the man she had nearly married.

  Oh, God, had she picked James precisely because he didn’t make her feel like this? No wonder he had gone elsewhere for his passion!

  When Mac’s lips met hers, it was as if the world melted, as if the stars began to swirl in that dark sky, faster and faster until they melted right into it and everything became one. The stars, the sky, the loons, the lake, her, Mac.

  All one incredible, swirling energy that was life itself.

  How was it possible that she had convinced herself she could live without this?

  She could feel the danger of being sucked right into the vortex of all that energy. She could feel the danger of wanting to be sucked into it.

  Instead, she forced herself to yank away.

  “Damn it all to hell,” she said.

  “Whoa. Not the normal reaction when a woman kisses me.”

  Was that often? Of course it was! Look at the man!

  “You stud muffin, you,” she said to hide how rattled she was.

  “I have the feeling if we were on the dock, I’d be getting shoved in again. Why are you so angry with me, Lucy Lin?”

  “I’m not!” she said.

  And she wasn’t. That was the whole problem. She wasn’t angry with him at all. She loved it that he was making her laugh, and making ordinary things seem fun, and carrying the burden of Mama with her.

  She loved the taste of his lips and the way his arms closed around her. It felt like a homecoming for one who had wandered too long in foreign lands.

  She loved the way women looked at him in the grocery store, confirming what she always knew: Mac Hudson was about the most handsome man ever born.

  And she hated herself for loving all those things.

  She was angry with herself because she hadn’t proved what she wanted at all. In fact, the exact opposite was true!

  She had proved her life was empty and passionless, despite all her good causes!