Going to the Chapel
Page 1
GOING TO THE CHAPEL
Debra Webb
Praise for Debra Webb:
"Breathtaking romantic suspense that grabs the reader from the beginning and doesn’t let up. Riveting." ~Allison Brennan, NYT bestselling author
"Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion." ~Publishers Weekly
"Outstanding reading. Take a deep breath and enjoy!" ~Romantic Times
"Impossible to put down." ~Romance Novel TV
"Bestselling author Debra Webb intrigues and tantalizes her readers from the first word." ~SingleTitles.com
"Masterful edge-of-your seat suspense." ~A Romance Review
"Romantic suspense at its best!" ~Erica Spindler NYT bestselling author
"Fast-paced, action-packed suspense, the way romantic suspense is supposed to be. Webb crafts a tight plot, a kick-butt heroine, a sexy hero with a past and a mystery as dark as the black water at night." ~Romantic Times
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011, WebbWorks, LLC
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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GOING TO THE CHAPEL
Debra Webb
Chapter one
“Damn,” Caroline grumbled.
Every Friday night it was the same. The neighbors hosted a blowout party, and one of the numerous party-animals parked their Jags or BMWs in Caroline’s space. At least tonight it wasn’t past midnight and she wasn’t bone tired. Tonight, for the first time in almost two years, Caroline Gregory had taken off early from the hospital. Mercy Hospital’s ER would just have to manage one Friday night without her.
Caroline parked her old Buick in an empty slot a dozen spaces down from hers and slid from behind the wheel. She took a deep breath and smoothed one hand over her sexy, short silk dress. She had never worn anything that could be described with so many daring adjectives, but tonight was special. A tingle of anticipation zipped through her. Tonight was her last night as a single woman. Tomorrow, after a first-class flight to Las Vegas, she would marry Dr. Tristan Rodgers.
With a contented sigh, Caroline reached back into her car and retrieved the bottle of champagne and the two elegant, crystal champagne flutes her co-workers had given her as a wedding present. Tonight she would prove to Tristan that work wasn’t all she cared about. Tonight he wouldn’t be able to accuse her of being preoccupied and distant.
Caroline smiled a secret smile as she strode up the walk toward their townhouse. Beneath the slinky black dress, she wore a matching set of sinfully decadent lingerie she would never in a million years have purchased for herself. Knowing that fact all too well, her girlfriends had surprised her with a serious lingerie shower. The lingerie had served as a catalyst for Caroline to take stock of the rest of her definitely out-of-style wardrobe. She certainly couldn’t pack her tired excuse for attire in the elegant new luggage Tristan had given her as an early wedding present.
A smile curled her lips upward. A brand new beginning required a new, more suitable look, didn’t it? To Caroline’s way of thinking it did. She had every intention of starting off the first day of the rest of her life in style. Several particularly feminine and undeniably fashionable new outfits were carefully packed in her suitcase in the trunk of Tristan’s car. Ready for tomorrow’s journey toward ever after.
Caroline was ready too. Ready for a night of quality time with her husband-to-be. Ready for a glamorous weekend in a glitzy city. And ready to take the next step in the relationship she and Tristan had nurtured for eighteen months.
She set her shoulders and refused to allow that little twinge of doubt to cloud her determination. Tristan was a good man, excellent marriage material. He had signed on with one of the largest, most elite reconstructive surgery clinics in St. Louis. Tristan had a bright future ahead of him, as did she.
Who needed earth-shaking passion? That kind of thing only happened in romance novels anyway. This, she told herself once more for good measure, was real life. Besides, she had her career as an ER physician, she didn’t need mind-boggling sex. Sex with Tristan was good...enough.
The annoyingly handsome image of another man flitted across Caroline’s mind before she could block it. He was the past, she reminded herself as she ruthlessly forced the memory away. Caroline would not look back. She had left him as well as her small town roots behind long ago. Besides, she didn’t need passion. She had position. Why worry about hot, throbbing sex? She had financial security.
Did that kind of needy, lust-arousing love even exist in anyone over the age of twenty-one?
Caroline shook her head. She doubted it. And even if it did, she and Tristan had no time for such nuisance. They were both too busy for anything other than a perfunctory physical relationship.
But tonight was going to be special. She squared her shoulders. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with proving that she could rally a storybook response to the man she was about to wed.
Nothing.
Her fiancé’s cherry-red Porsche glistened all sleek and sexy beneath the moonlight. Concern drew Caroline’s lips into a decline. It wasn’t like Tristan to leave the convertible top down. She glanced at the brilliant stars and equally bright moon. Even without any predictions of rain, he was usually very careful about his new toy. Leaving the top down was something she would do. She was forever forgetting something.
She shrugged and hurried up the walk to her front door. Crystal and glass clinked as she shifted the items she carried to one arm then reached to insert the key into the lock.
The door swung inward when she touched it. Adrenaline surged, prickling her skin. Caroline licked her lips nervously and stepped across the threshold, careful not to make even the slightest sound. If a burglar was in the house she didn’t want to alert him to her presence. Another shot of fear slammed into her at the thought that Tristan may have already done just that.
A Tiffany lamp lit the entry hall. Music from the party next door wafted through the walls, a slow, muffled staccato intended to stir the blood.
Silently she moved to the hall table and the telephone sitting next to the lamp. The answering machine’s message light blinked as if in warning. Her hand trembling, Caroline reached for the receiver. Before her fingers closed around the sleek black instrument, something in her peripheral vision brought her up short.
Clothes.
No, not just clothes. A trail of clothing littered the plush beige carpet gracing the staircase. Caroline walked cautiously to the bottom of the stairs. Her mind churning, grasping for comprehension, she frowned, then nudged aside Tristan’s gray pinstriped jacket with the toe of one shoe. This wasn’t right. Perfect order. It was one of Tristan’s pet peeves. Everything had to be in its place. Tidy, tidy, tidy. The man was obsessed with orderliness.
Caroline took three steps up and kicked aside a crisp, white dress shirt and a red silk tie. Her frown deepened. Four more steps brought her to haphazardly shucked lo
afers and gray trousers. Her eyes widened in disbelief when at the top of the stairs she found his silk paisley boxers. The ones she’d bought him for Christmas last year.
In morbid fascination, she stepped over one sock and then the other. Half way down the corridor leading to the master suite, a new trail of clothing began.
Female clothing.
Caroline’s heart stilled, then pounded fiercely. Her grip on the neck of the champagne bottle tightened. No, no, no, her mind screamed against the only feasible conclusion. There had to be some other, more acceptable explanation.
The door to the master bedroom stood wide open. Three paces before reaching it, Caroline paused. The bold burgundy of the sheets she had selected when they moved into the townhouse caught her eye first. She had marveled at how perfectly the color matched the small glass accent tiles in the master bath.
Knowing she could not deny her eyes any longer, Caroline lifted her gaze above the edge of the mattress to what she didn’t want to see. There, in the middle of the comfort-technology king size bed, was Tristan, her fiancé, tangled in a knot of arms and legs with his big-breasted, blonde receptionist, Heather.
Unable to speak, Caroline turned and quietly walked away.
~*~
Despite everything, the sun still rose the next morning.
Caroline yearned to stop and watch the splendor of that beautiful summer morning. To acknowledge that the world kept turning and that life marched on no matter that last night the entire future she had planned had shattered.
Besides, she didn’t know where in the hell she was. She desperately needed directions. She had driven all night. Memphis couldn’t be very far now, she had crossed the Tennessee state line a while back. But miles and miles of road construction and numerous detours had confused her. Sleep deprivation had evidently affected her sense of direction as well as her reactions. Finally, the dense woods that had formed an ominous canopy over the road for the past ten or so miles suddenly opened to reveal a pink streaked sky and flowing, grassy meadow.
“Oh...my...God.” Caroline slowed to a near stop in the middle of the deserted road to stare across the familiar landscape.
The chapel.
The wedding chapel.
She hadn’t realized that she was so near home.
Home.
Why did her subconscious still call Lucy’s Branch home? She hadn’t officially lived in the small Tennessee town in more than eight years. Hadn’t even visited, not once. Bittersweet memories flooded her weary mind as Caroline pulled the Porsche to the side of the country road that overlooked Garrett County’s legendary wedding chapel.
Even in the gray and pink hues of predawn light, she could clearly distinguish the charming features of the one-hundred-fifty-year old structure. The elegant stained glass, the wide, formal entrance. The ancient bell in its tower. Her mind instantly conjured the image of the polished oak floors that glistened beneath row after row of handcrafted wooden pews. Red carpet lined the aisle that people came from miles around to walk down on their wedding day. And a cathedral ceiling with heavy wooden beams reigned proudly over it all.
As a girl she had dreamed of going to that chapel on her wedding that. But that had been a lifetime ago.
Caroline swallowed something that felt entirely too much like self-pity. This was to have been her wedding day. She closed her eyes to block the beauty of the fairytale chapel. There would be no wedding bells tolling for her today. Not here as she had once dreamed, not anywhere. A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as she considered the local legend she had grown up hearing. All who took their vows within those chapel walls were destined to live happily ever after.
“Yeah, right.” She kicked off her shoes, reached down and rubbed her right foot. Her feet hurt. She rolled her head. Her neck ached, too. But neither annoyance kept her thoughts from straying to the past. Much longer ago than Caroline cared to admit, she had taken vows sitting on the front steps of that very chapel. She winced at the memory. She had been so young...and so much in love. Fat lot of good the legend had done her. Maybe it only worked if you were inside, she mused. What a joke.
The sun peeked above the horizon and Caroline released a fatigued sigh. The breathtaking beauty of nature in all its glory lay before her. Something that could be counted on regardless of the twists and turns life took. Something endless...eternal.
As an afterthought, she reached to the passenger-side floorboard and snatched up the warm bottle of champagne. No use letting it go to waste. When she unwrapped the cork, it burst from the bottle unassisted. Caroline squealed as the expensive wine overflowed onto the leather upholstery, and dripped down her arm from wrist to elbow. She snagged one stemmed glass and poured herself a generous serving. The sweet, warm liquid bubbled its way down her throat.
“Hmmm.” She lifted her glass to the pink and gold streaks cutting through the clouds and racing across the meadow, then toasted the rising sun. “To ever after,” she said aloud before downing the remaining liquid.
Leaning against her door, she propped her stocking-clad feet in the open window of the passenger side. She wiggled her toes. So much for slinky black stockings and lacy garters. Anger swirled in her belly. Men were scum. Perhaps her happily ever after wasn’t going to include a man.
Whatever. The breeze shifted her hair around her shoulders. She’d left the convertible top down all night. The cool night air had helped to keep her senses sharp. Right now every single one of those senses wanted more champagne. After pouring another glass, she relaxed fully, let the bubbly tickle her throat and the fresh air cleanse her soul.
Today was the first day of the rest of her life—just not the life she had expected.
Now was as good a time as any to do what had to be done. The longer she put it off the harder it would be. She set the bottle in the seat beside her and reached for her cell phone. The blasted thing had rung a dozen times in the last four or five hours, but she had ignored it. She hadn’t really intended to make the call until she arrived in Memphis and had a chance to properly lick her wounds. But, what the hell? She was feeling a little righteous now, and just a tad tipsy, she realized as she finished off her second glass.
He answered after only one ring. “Hello.”
Caroline heard the desperation in that one word. She smiled.
“Good morning, Tristan,” she said in her most chipper voice.
“Caroline! Thank God.” He paused, obviously to compose himself. “I’ve been so worried. They said you’d left work early and no one’s seen you since. My word, I thought you had been kidnapped or worse!” He made a strange keening sound. “And...and someone’s stolen the Porsche,” he stammered, almost choking on the words.
Before Caroline could respond, he went on. “We’ll have to delay our flight this morning, I can’t possibly leave until the police have all the information they might need on the Porsche. I mean, I just can’t believe it. We pay extra for security here. How could this happen?”
Caroline poured herself another glass while he talked. She took a fortifying sip. “Tristan, I have your car.”
“You do? Oh, thank God. Thank God!”
Caroline arched an eyebrow. The car rated two “thank Gods,” she noted, when she had rated only one. “Cancel our flight and our hotel reservations, Tristan,” she told him when he had stopped praising the Almighty for the safety of his car.
“Cancel? But why? We might not have another weekend off together for months,” he protested. “Everything has been arranged.”
“Tristan, I left work early last night so I could surprise you, but instead, you surprised me.” Caroline washed down the lump of emotion that crowded into her throat with a hefty swallow of the warm champagne.
“Oh, my God.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Tristan, but He can’t help you with this one. We’re finished. I’ll be in Memphis with Dianne until I make up my mind about the future.”
“But...but...but, Caroline—”
“No
buts, Tristan. It’s over. I’m just glad I found out the truth before I made the mistake of my life.” Caroline drained the rest of the liquid courage in her glass.
“But, what about my car?”
Caroline smiled. The bastard. The bottom line was his damned car. “Don’t worry, Tristan, I’ll take good care of it until I get it back to you. Meanwhile you can use the Buick.” Caroline flipped the phone closed and stared at the small black communicator. She shook her head slowly as she considered that with an instrument not much larger than the palm of her hand she had just undone eighteen months of hard work at a committed relationship.
As if on cue, the phone chirped and vibrated insistently. Knowing who it would be, she drew back her right arm and threw the damned plastic link to the recent past as far as she could down the grassy hillside.
Satisfied that she had done the right thing, she refilled her glass and relaxed fully into the soft leather upholstery. A moment’s regret washed over her. Though she hadn’t actually loved Tristan as she’d somehow felt she should, Caroline had convinced herself that she would be happy with him. But how could he have loved her and done what she had caught him doing? She shuddered at the thought.
No amount of analyzing would give her the answer she wanted. Tristan obviously hadn’t loved her at all. And if he would do this before they were married, what would he have done afterwards? Whenever the urge struck him? Another quake shook her. She sighed again. Well, at least, she still had her career.
Somewhere between St. Louis and the Tennessee state line, she had called Dianne. Memphis General always needed ER doctors with her qualifications and experience. And Dianne insisted that she would love a roommate. But Caroline simply wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Dianne would be leaving this morning for a medical conference in Nashville. She had told Caroline where to find her key. Had even offered to cancel her plans and wait for her. But Caroline needed some time alone. Time to think.