Here Comes The Groom: Special Forces #1

by Karina Bliss

  “You know, I sewed every bead on by hand. Hours and hours it took. I’ll never forget Graham’s face when he saw me.” In Nan’s face, Dan caught a glimpse of the young bride she’d once been. Jo nodded but tensed. How many times, he wondered, had she heard this story? He lifted his hands to her shoulders in silent support, all teasing gone.

  Rosemary was still talking. “His family never thought I was good enough but we were a great team. You two make a great team, too. I’ve always thought so.”

  Jo moved away from his hold. “Nan, we’re not getting married.”

  “And when she’s with you, Daniel, I never worry. Now…what was I…?” Her voice trailed off; her attention turned inward. Her hands fluttered around her apron as though searching for a hold; she looked down at the cherries printed on it and her face cleared. “I’m making jam today.”

  “The mandarins for the marmalade are in the pantry,” he reminded her.

  “Excellent.” Rosemary bustled into the larder. Dan returned to untangling Jo’s zip.

  “She was up in the night and wouldn’t settle until I tried it on,” said his bride defensively. “I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “I know I’m not going to like it.”

  He freed the last of the delicate fabric and pulled the zipper down slowly. “Your subconscious is on my side.” He brushed his lips along the bumps in her spine.

  Jo jumped and tried to tug away. “No, it’s not.”

  Holding the opened zip, Dan smiled at the goose bumps his kiss had raised. “And so is your body.” She bowed her head. “Jo?”

  Rosemary staggered out of the pantry with the bucket of citrus. Releasing the dress, Dan went to help. “Daniel, how nice of you to visit,” she exclaimed. “You knew I was making your favorite marmalade, didn’t you?”

  “I could never sneak anything past you, could I?” Taking the bucket, Dan turned to Jo.

  She was gone.

  * * *

  Jo stood at her bedroom window, watching Dan wield a chainsaw, slicing through the tangled hedge like it was a pat of soft butter. Why couldn’t he simply accept her refusal? Why did he have to persist with this ridiculous wedding deadline? She didn’t want to humiliate him.

  When she’d finally fallen asleep she’d dreamed of him standing in the church, waiting for her, his expression drawn and anxious. The congregation’s whispers becoming titters, then laughs until everyone howled. She’d woken up crying.

  In a stupid wedding dress.

  With a sigh, Jo returned it to storage, repacking it in tissue and laying the stalks of dried lavender through the folds to protect it. It was a battle of nerves and she had to win for the sake of a friendship neither of them could afford to lose.

  She glanced out the window again, this time at her grandmother, sitting in an armchair in the glass conservatory adjoining the kitchen where she was “supervising the work.” Rosemary had dozed off—God knows how with that racket—but she was sleeping so little at night now. Picking up a blanket, Jo went downstairs and laid it gently over her knees. Nan didn’t stir. In repose she looked like she always had.

  Polly poked her head in and Jo raised a finger to her lips. Closing the door gently behind her, Jo returned to the kitchen.

  “Tea?” suggested Polly.

  “Coffee please.” Jo yawned. Lately she existed on the stuff.

  While Polly set up the coffeemaker, Jo eyed the bucket of mandarins, then with a shrug found a couple of bowls and started slicing them.

  The chainsaw stopped. Glancing through the kitchen window, she saw Dan taking an armful of clippings to the compost heap behind the shed. He’d taken off his jacket and his damp navy T-shirt clung to the muscles of his back. She remembered the touch of his lips on her neck and shivered.

  “How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” Polly found clean cups in the dishwasher. The smell of fragrant coffee mingled pleasantly with sharp-sweet citrus.

  “He’ll give up eventually.”

  “I’m not talking about Dan,” said Polly, “I’m talking about Rosemary. How many nights this week has she been up?”

  Jo scraped a sliced mandarin into a bowl, then reached for another. “I’m coping.”

  “Are you?” Polly picked up her hand holding the knife. She was trembling with exhaustion. “How many, Jo?”

  She pulled her hand free. “A few,” she admitted and concentrated on slicing.

  Polly folded her arms, her expression set to charge nurse. “We talked about this.”

  “Let’s see how next week goes.” Her slices were getting thicker and thicker. “It could be a passing phase.”

  “You made a commitment,” Polly said quietly.

  The mandarin fell open; Jo gouged out the pips. “Look, I haven’t got the energy to discuss this now.” No, don’t reinforce Polly’s argument. “I mean, I’m too busy with the Chronicle.” She and Kev were spending hours analyzing CommLink’s annual reports and crosschecking profit forecasts with actual performance. Trying to work out whether CommLink was bluffing by a process of deduction. Because thanks to Dan, Kev no longer trusted Jo’s instincts. She’d begun to question them herself.

  “You promised me,” repeated Polly. “And more importantly, you promised Rosemary.”

  Something inside Jo snapped. She threw down the knife. “If you haven’t got the guts to see this through, Pol, then quit! I can do this alone.”

  “Ha,” the nurse retorted. “You’re so damn tired you’re delusional!”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Jo gripped the table edge. “You know I don’t mean it. You’re the best thing that happened to both of us.”

  “Then listen to my advice. You can’t continue like—”

  “What’s going on?” Dan said casually. Neither of them had heard the back door open. Stopping beside Jo, he glanced from one woman to the other. “I could hear you arguing from the garden.”

  Jo sent Polly a warning look. “We’re discussing the best way to make marmalade.”

  The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jo, but I need reinforcements.” She faced Dan. “When Rosemary was first diagnosed she chose a residential facility and had herself put on a waiting list for a place there when she needed full-time care.”

  “Polly, stop.” Jo tried to sound calm and authoritative but her heart hammered against her ribs.

  “When the time came, Jo increased my hours instead,” said the nurse. “I only found out when Pinehill phoned last month to see how things were progressing. Apparently Rosemary even made Jo promise to respect her wishes in front of the director.”

  Jo went to the sink and rinsed her juice-covered hands. “She’s not a burden,” she said to no one in particular.

  “When I challenged her, Jo talked me into another deadline.” Polly continued to look at Dan. “Once Rosemary was getting up through the night more than once a week, then Jo would accept the need for residential care. I suspect that’s been happening for some time.”

  “She raised me. I’m not abandoning her just because it’s getting harder.”

  “Someone needs to talk some sense into you before your health suffers,” Polly said to her.

  Jo concentrated on drying her hands but said fiercely, “I’m coping.”

  Polly picked up her bag. “We need more sugar from the store if we’re making this marmalade. Anything else you want me to pick up?”

  Yeah, a new caregiver. Jo bit her tongue against the sarcastic retort and shook her head. This betrayal was exactly why she kept her own counsel. She waited until Polly was out of earshot and snarled at Dan instead. “This is none of your business.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “Any chance of breakfast? I’m starving.”

  Surprised, Jo blinked at him. “There’s eggs…a loaf in the breadbox.”

  He opened the fridge, taking out the eggs, butter. “You eaten yet?”

  “Uh, no, not yet.” Has Nan? “I’ll be
back in a minute.”

  Rosemary was still sound asleep, her mouth slightly open like a child’s. Jo stood for a moment composing herself. After a few deep breaths the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach receded. She returned to the kitchen. Dan had already greased the skillet with butter and was mixing eggs in a bowl with a little milk.

  “There’s some cheese and tomatoes,” she said, “if you prefer an omelet.”

  “Scrambled’s fine. Got any parsley?”

  “Tons.” Jo went out to the overgrown garden. The parsley patch had rioted through summer; now in autumn it had gone to seed. She was mixing her seasons up as badly as Nan. But she found some spring onions that hadn’t been harvested and took them inside. Soon the pungent green onion mingled with the scent of buttery eggs. Jo realized she was hungry.

  “I’ll make toast,” she suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  She sent him a sidelong glance as she dropped two slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. Maybe he was biding his time, lulling her into a false sense of security.

  “Relax.” Dan stirred the eggs. “I’m not going to hassle you about Nan.” He turned off the element; found plates and cutlery. “Polly doesn’t know you like I do. Of course you know how to juggle multiple obligations, not to mention keeping yourself healthy.” Jo concentrated on the toast. “You still jogging?”

  “When I can fit it in.” Which is never. She resisted the urge to check her reflection in the toaster.

  “And Rosemary seemed fine when she let me in this morning. She was off for a walk but postponed it.”

  Jo’s head shot up. She must have forgotten to deadbolt the front door. The last time Nan had wandered they hadn’t found her for three hours.

  Dan glanced over. “Bread.”

  A wisp of smoke rose from the toaster. Jo rescued the toast and joined him at the table.

  Her stomach had started churning again.

  Dan picked up his knife and fork. “Mom asked Dad for a divorce last night.”

  “What!”

  “I guess my appetite should be affected but frankly after missing dinner, I’m starving.” He handed Jo her cutlery. “I told them I was sick and tired of acting as an intermediary and to sort out their own mess… That worked really well.”

  “Oh, Dan, I’m sorry.” Stunned, Jo started to eat. “I’m sure Pat regrets what she said this morning.”

  “Dad doesn’t.” Between mouthfuls, he related his conversation with his father.

  “Poor Herman. Yet I kind of understand where your mom’s coming from. Your dad started this by reneging on a promise…and don’t even try to bring this around to the promise I made to marry you. I was drunk.”

  Across the table, his eyes were very blue. “So both parties have to be sober for a promise to be binding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any other provisos?”

  Jo covered her bases. “And both have to be serious when they make it. It should be witnessed. And preferably on paper…a legal document.” That left out the beer mat.

  Dan looked thoughtful. “Dad never signed anything promising Mum he’d travel. Theirs was only a verbal agreement.”

  She frowned. “Is that how he’s trying to weasel out of it? No wonder Pat’s had enough.”

  He sat back in his chair. “You really think he’s bound by this; don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said hotly. “Your Mum trusted him and he’s betraying that—”

  Jo stopped, suddenly seeing the trap he’d laid for her. She put down her fork. “This isn’t about your parents…or us, is it?”

  Dan shook his head.

  Jo pushed to her feet. The chair toppled to the floor. Throat tight, she flung open the back door. “Out…get out. If you really knew me you’d understand how I feel about Nan.”

  He stood. “I do understand. You want to fix this and it’s driving you crazy that you can’t. Which leaves you torn between respecting her wishes and hanging on to her for all you’re worth.”

  She couldn’t speak or she’d burst into tears. Holding the door open she blinked hard at the old-fashioned clock hanging on the opposite wall.

  “Jo…” His tone was as gentle as a touch, “…you don’t have to do this alone.”

  The second hand jerked around the clock face. “If you really want to help then cancel the wedding.”

  “I…can’t. If I start letting you use delaying tactics we’ll be eighty before we sort this out.”

  Still she wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t lecture me on accepting reality until you can.”

  He stopped in front of her, narrowing her view down to one muscular shoulder and a cord of bicep under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with the fact I’m serious about getting married. It would be nice if that happened before the wedding.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dan quashed a feeling of futility as he waited in the coffee shop for Delwyn later that day. He should have kept his mouth shut this morning instead of wading in on Rosemary’s side but he couldn’t stand by when he could plainly see that the status quo wasn’t working. So he’d given his opinion and alienated the woman he wanted to marry in two and a half weeks.

  He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. Now even his wedding planner was standing him up. Lesser—or more intelligent—men would have taken that as a sign.

  He’d give Delwyn five more minutes. An incurable romantic, she’d reassured him that she wasn’t going to let Jo’s threat of reprisal prevent her from furthering the cause of true love. And she was a mine of useful information. Thanks to Delwyn, Dan knew what needed to be organized, when, and with whom.

  His cell beeped. To his relief it was a text from Jo. You were right. Book on dementia is good. Before he’d left, he’d told her she needed to read it. Nice to know she still gave him the benefit of the doubt in some areas. She’d got to it quickly, which only showed how desperate she was.

  He texted a reply. I’ll always be your friend, Jo.

  It took a few minutes to get a reply. Ditto.

  Dan couldn’t help pushing his luck. Picking wedding rings tomorrow. Want to come?

  Her reply was instantaneous. &*%#@

  Smiling, he repocketed his cell. Jo wanted a family. And she was a pragmatist, she had to see the advantage of what he was proposing, particularly since he’d proved they had a sexual attraction. He could help her care for Rosemary.

  Still he had the nagging feeling that he’d missed something in this puzzle. And time was running out.

  Across the street, Delwyn hurried out of Tim’s Auto Mechanics, her head down. Her fiancé worked there…what was his name? Skinny guy, hairy knuckles and a genius with diesel engines. Wayne.

  “About time,” Dan muttered, but instead of crossing the road, the plump sales rep turned left. She must have forgotten their meeting. As Dan went to the door to hail her, Wayne appeared at the garage doors in grease-stained overalls. Catching sight of Dan, he scowled and retreated into the gloom. What the hell was that about?

  “Delwyn!” She spun around and Dan saw her puffy eyes, her red-tipped nose and quivering, blubbering mouth.

  Uh-oh.

  Delwyn crossed the road, her face crumbling, and he experienced a manly impulse to run. Ten yards away, she started to sob. Dan folded his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wayne j-j-jilted meeee!”

  It was a good ten minutes before Delwyn pulled herself together and by then everyone in the coffee shop was glaring at Dan as though he were an ax murderer. Ignoring them, he poured her a glass of water and slid it across the table.

  “Okay, what happened?”

  Elbows planted in a growing mound of crumpled tissues, Delwyn took a noisy gulp of water and wiped her eyes. “Last night I told Wayne I’d organized a makeover magic package.” When he looked blank she waved an impatient hand. “That’s a manicure, pedicure, waxing and bronzing treatment.”

  “Maybe he’s worried about escalati
ng costs…your coach and horses weren’t cheap.” Dan repeated his diplomatic reason for turning her down when she’d suggested they negotiate a two-for-one deal.

  “Yeah, but I got a discount on the turtledoves,” she argued. “And anyway, you can’t cut corners on your appearance on your wedding day.” Delwyn sniffed. “The photos will be forever.”

  “I’m sure Wayne considers you beautiful as you are.”

  “It’s not for me, it’s for him!”

  “You want to wax and manicure Wayne?”

  “Don’t sound so judgmental. It’s only to get the grease out from under his fingernails, tidy his eyebrows and defuzz his back.” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. “It’s not like I’m suggesting a Brazilian for heaven’s sake… Well, okay, I did suggest it, but Bridal magazine said they’re getting popular with guys. Of course they don’t do it the same for men as for women. It’s more like putting shapes in the hair.” Delwyn’s mouth drooped. “And a heart would have been nice.”

  Dan shook his head to dislodge the mental pictures. “C’mon, the guy’s got a point.”

  “He didn’t have to be so mean about it.” she glowered. “Wayne said I’m a bridezilla who cares more about the wedding than about him. And that I’m no longer the carefree girl he fell in love with. But I am, Dan, I am!” She kicked the table leg.

  “Okay,” he said carefully. If he kept his mouth shut this time he wouldn’t get into trouble.

  Tears welled in her red eyes. “And Wayne said since he’s not good enough as he is, I should find someone who m-matches my perfect day.”

  The poor bastard. Dan forgot his resolution. “Look, you can fix this. Go over and apologize for trying to change him.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me, I’m the victim here.” Angrily, she wiped away her tears, “I’m the one who’s spent the past six months weighing everything I eat. And all for a guy so selfish that he won’t even try and improve. You know what? I’m glad I’m not marrying him.” Her lower lip quivered. “But my wedding, Dan,” she bawled, “my beautiful wedding.”

  Disgusted, he handed over another paper napkin and thanked God he wasn’t marrying for love.