A Wedding on Bluebird Way

by Lori Wilde

The twins were gone.

  Chapter Two

  Chance sat at the end of the bar, watching the wedding guests load their plates at the buffet and carry them to the decorated tables. A few couples were dancing to the music of the jazz quartet. Most of them, including his own relatives, seemed to be pretending he was invisible—maybe because they didn’t know what to say to him.

  “Will you be all right, Chance? If you need to talk, honey, I’m here.”

  The sultry voice at Chance’s elbow was all too familiar. He should have known that Mavis Clemson, Savannah’s older cousin on her mother’s side, would show up to console him. Years ago, when Savannah was still in high school, he and Mavis had enjoyed a brief but very hot fling. It had ended when Chance had discovered that Mavis had a fiancé in another town. Now divorced, she was on the prowl again—and something told him he’d just become fair game.

  He turned on the bar stool to face her. Mavis had always been pretty. In the years since he’d last seen her, some very good—and no doubt expensive—plastic surgery had turned her into a flame-haired goddess.

  “Mind if I join you?” She took the stool next to him, crossing her legs to inch up the clinging teal-blue sheath that showed every curve of her spectacular body.

  “Suit yourself.” Chance was hardly in the mood for company, but at least, with Mavis at his side, nobody was going to feel sorry for him.

  “Savannah didn’t deserve you,” she said. “She was always the spoiled baby of the family. All she had to do was stamp her little foot and everything she wanted, including you, would fall right into her lap.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chance sipped his brandy. Actually, he’d never thought of Savannah that way. She was a smart, spirited girl with the courage to extricate herself from a situation that wasn’t right for her. Mavis had it wrong. Savannah deserved a better match than he would have been.

  “And she was too young for you.” Mavis’s hand, with its long, manicured nails, came to rest on his knee, gently stroking and massaging, creeping subtly upward. “You’re old enough to appreciate a woman with some experience.” She leaned closer, her breath warming his ear. “I’ve got a room upstairs,” she whispered. “Nobody will miss us.”

  Chance felt a responding tingle—he was only human, after all. But this wasn’t the time or place. Sneaking off to bed with an old girlfriend would be little more than cheap revenge. And even Mavis deserved better than that—especially since he could tell she’d had too much to drink.

  Gently he lifted her hand off his knee. “Thanks for the offer, but you’d soon figure out that I was using you. I guarantee we wouldn’t like ourselves—or each other—in the morning.”

  “You always did have an easy way of letting a girl down, honey.” She stood, teetering on her high heels, her face flushed. “Listen, they’re playing ‘Misty.’” She hummed a few measures along with the band. “Dance with me, Chance, for old times’ sake.”

  “Something tells me you might not make it around the floor.” He stood, guided her to an empty table, and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. “Can I bring you something from the buffet? A sandwich, or maybe some punch?”

  She shook her head. “Food doesn’t sound that good to me right now.”

  “You’re not sick, are you?” He brushed the back of his hand across her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”

  She laughed. “I’m fine, Doc. Nothing that a good shot of bourbon wouldn’t cure—unless you want to take me upstairs and tuck me into bed.” She gave him a wink.

  Chance ignored the invitation. “You’ve already had too much to drink. How about some coffee? It’ll perk you up and make you feel better. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Okay. Maybe then we can dance.”

  “Stay here. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chance checked the buffet table on the way to the kitchen. As he’d expected, there was no coffee. But he did find a pitcher of ice water. He filled a glass and carried it to the table. “Try this,” he said. “It’ll keep you hydrated while I check the kitchen for some coffee.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Her reply was tinged with sarcasm. Chance realized he’d just offered her the equivalent of a cold shower. Sensitivity had never been his strong point. Maybe that was one of the reasons Savannah had left him at the altar.

  As Chance made his way across the floor, headed for the kitchen, he found himself glancing around for that gorgeous dark-haired wedding planner. He’d felt a distinct spark when their eyes had met across the distance earlier. If there was any chance of teasing that spark to a flame . . .

  But what was he thinking? He’d just been deserted by one woman, been propositioned by another, and was looking around for a third. By rights, he should be ready to swear off women for the next six months.

  Earlier, the four-tiered wedding cake, a spectacular work of art, had been sitting in the middle of the pavilion, on a small, covered table, waiting to be carved. Now the cake had been wheeled to a corner. Somebody with a twisted sense of humor had plucked the miniature bride figure off the top, leaving the groom to stand alone.

  Chance paused as he passed the cake on the way out. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to cut it and pass out slices to the guests. Since Savannah’s family had paid for the cake, what to do with it was their problem.

  He was about to move on when he glimpsed something odd—a few scattered crumbs and dabs of icing on the white tablecloth. Moving to one side for a better look, he saw that on the back of the cake, which faced the corner, the buttercream icing had been raked off in tiny furrows. The bottom layers looked as if a horde of gremlins had been secretly feasting on them. The cake looked fine from the front, but the back had been destroyed.

  What was going on here?

  A white linen cloth covered the table and hid the legs and casters. Now Chance saw it move slightly. Had a stray breeze stirred the cloth, or was something hiding under the table? An animal, maybe. A stray dog or cat, or even a coyote. After the crazy day he’d had so far, nothing could surprise him.

  Ready for anything, Chance dropped to a crouch and, mindful of his hands, lifted the hem of the tablecloth.

  He heard giggles. Two small faces, smeared with icing, emerged from the shadows. Chance saw identical pairs of dark eyes and identical mops of dark curls—two little girls, as alike as peas in a pod.

  “Hi,” one of them said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Worthington.” Chance felt as if he’d fallen through the rabbit hole. “What are you two doing here?”

  Another giggle. “Hiding.”

  “And eating cake.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Chance said. “Isn’t somebody supposed to be taking care of you? Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s busy. Everybody’s busy.”

  “Are you a real doctor? Where’s your white coat?” Both children were talking, but since they looked exactly alike, Chance couldn’t tell who was saying what.

  “I don’t wear my white coat to weddings,” Chance said. “Right now, I need to find your mother. What’s her name?”

  “Mommy.”

  Chance sighed. He should have expected that. “I know that’s what you call her,” he said. “What do other people, like your daddy, call her?”

  “We don’t have a daddy. He went away.”

  “Well, what do your mom’s friends call her?”

  There was a brief, murmured consultation between the two.

  “They call her Harper.”

  “Harper. Got it,” Chance said. “Now, can you two stay right here while I go and find her?”

  The twins nodded.

  “No more cake, all right?”

  Nods again, this time with disappointed faces. Chance had weighed the option of taking them along, but he didn’t relish the idea of trailing the grounds with two sticky little imps in tow. He’d already raised enough gossip today.

  “You’ll stay here and be quiet. Promise?”

  “Uh-huh.” />
  Chance lowered the cloth and rose to his feet. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he strode off toward the kitchen.

  Harper. There couldn’t be many women by that name. Maybe she was one of the catering staff. At least someone in the kitchen should know who she was and have some idea where to find her. Once he knew the twins were safe, he would get Mavis her coffee, then slip away and leave.

  Outside of office hours, Chance tended to avoid children. As a pediatrician, his work was an endless parade of crying, whining kids. He’d been kicked, bitten, peed on, pooped on, upchucked on—and also hit on by some of the moms. At the end of most days, all he wanted was to go home to his clean, quiet townhouse and put his feet up, or maybe go out to dinner for some adult conversation.

  And then there were the times when he’d had to tell parents their child had a life-threatening condition. After witnessing that kind of heartbreak, he couldn’t imagine going through it with a child of his own—and he’d seen it happen far too many times to dismiss the odds.

  He and Savannah hadn’t discussed having children, but he knew she’d sensed his reluctance. He could handle being a husband. But being a father was something that would take a lot of getting used to.

  He found the way to the kitchen—a paved walk, screened from the festivities by a tall hedge. He was approaching the door when it swung open, almost hitting him in the face. A dark-haired woman in a peach-colored pantsuit came rushing out and slammed right into him. The impact knocked them both off balance. He staggered back, caught himself, and reached out a hand to steady her.

  “Sorry,” she muttered in a husky voice that pushed all his fantasy buttons. “Are you all right?”

  Chance tried not to ogle. The wedding planner was even more spectacular up close than she’d been at a distance. A halo of dark curls framed a sensual face with big, dark eyes, a pert nose, and soft, full Angelina Jolie lips. And he hadn’t even started on her body—much as he would like to.

  His first thought was how he might parlay this awkward beginning into a dinner invitation. But then he realized something was wrong. She looked flustered, even scared.

  “I’m the one who should be asking,” he said. “How about you? Are you all right?”

  “Oh—” There was a tearful catch in her voice. “You didn’t hurt me. But no, I’m not all right. I had to bring my daughters to work, and now I can’t find them. If something’s happened—” She’d begun to tremble. “I don’t know if I should call the police or make an announcement, or—”

  Chance stifled a curse as the truth sank home. The dark hair and eyes—blast it, he should have guessed that those little rascals were hers.

  “I take it your name is Harper,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. “Yes. What—?”

  “Relax. I know where your daughters are. They’re fine. Come on, I’ll take you to them.”

  As he guided her with a light hand at her elbow, the subtle fragrance of her hair teased his nostrils. Maybe this was some kind of karmic joke, he thought. After being left at the altar, he’d met someone who fit the description of his dream woman and found out she had baggage—double baggage.

  Over the years, he’d made a rule against dating women with children—too many complications. Assuming Harper would even go out with him, could he break that rule? Or would he be better off reuniting her with her children and walking away?

  As they entered the pavilion, he glanced toward the table where he’d left Mavis. To his relief, she was gone. With luck, she’d found a more willing conquest than he’d turned out to be. Now he could focus on helping lovely Harper, and maybe talk her into having dinner somewhere.

  Was he even thinking straight? He’d been ready to say “I do” to another woman. Now he was rebounding like a Ping-Pong ball. Maybe he should back off and give himself some solo time.

  But what were the odds that a woman like Harper would ever walk into his life again?

  * * *

  Harper felt a tingle where Chance Worthington’s hand touched her elbow. At close range, he was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. She could feel the sizzling current that flowed between them. When she glanced back and their eyes met, she could tell he felt it, too.

  But she’d be crazy to follow his lead. The man had just been left at the altar. Was he in denial about his runaway bride? Was he in the grip of rebound fever? Was he out for revenge? Or had her first impression been right, when she’d dismissed him as cynical and unfeeling?

  One thing was certain. When it came to handsome, charming men who couldn’t resist chasing every pretty thing in a skirt, she’d been there and done that. Where Chance Worthington was concerned, she’d be a fool not to keep her distance.

  Her migraine had faded, but she was worn out and worried sick. After this train wreck of a wedding, the reputation of the Bluebird Inn was bound to suffer, as was her own. And she had yet to send the Lovings her final bill. What if they refused to pay on the grounds that the wedding had never taken place? Right now, all she wanted to do was collect her girls, go home, and bury her head in a pillow.

  “Over here. I told them to stay put.” Chance was guiding her toward the wedding cake, which had been moved to a corner of the pavilion. It was a spectacular cake, festooned with swirls and rosettes of icing and adorned with miniature roses. “Take a close look at this cake,” Chance said.

  What was going on here? Where were her twins?

  Then she saw the destruction on the back side of the four-tiered confection and heard the giggles. Two small, sticky faces peeked out from under the tablecloth.

  She lifted the cloth, revealing her two little girls covered in crumbs and icing. This was a disaster. With nothing else to say, she fell back on formality. “Dr. Worthington, I’d like to present my daughters, Jenny and Jessy,” she said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to shake hands.”

  “Ladies.” Chance gave them a courtly nod.

  “Hi, Mom!” Jenny’s face was a smear of white fondant and chocolate cake.

  “You found us!” Jessy’s hands left sticky fingerprints as the twins crawled out from under the table. A buttercream rose was stuck on the end of her nose.

  Dizzy with relief, Harper sank to her knees. Her precious girls were safe. But she had to make them understand what they’d done.

  “Are you mad, Mommy?” Jenny asked. Behind her, Harper heard Chance chuckle.

  “I’m glad you two are okay,” she said. “But yes, I am mad. Look at that beautiful cake! It isn’t pretty anymore. You’ve spoiled it. That’s a terrible thing to do.”

  “We’re sorry.” Jenny looked up with her sad puppydog expression.

  “We were hungry,” said Jessy.

  “And the cake looked so yummy, we just wanted a taste.” Jenny finished her sister’s sentence.

  “But it wasn’t your cake,” Harper said. “It was made for the wedding. It cost a lot of money, and now it’s ruined. I’ll have to tell Mrs. Loving what happened and offer to pay for it.”

  “How much money? A dollar?”

  “More dollars than that.” Eight or nine hundred, at least, Harper calculated—more than the money she’d set aside for new tires on her sport wagon. But if the story got out that she’d brought her children to a wedding, they’d ruined the cake, and she hadn’t made good on the damage, no one would ever hire her again.

  Her headache was coming back.

  Chance had disappeared. Now he was back, with several cloth napkins and a pitcher of water. “I thought these two could use some cleaning up,” he said. “If you need another pair of hands, I’d be happy to help you.”

  Ordinarily Harper wouldn’t have let a stranger near her children. But this man was a doctor—a pediatrician. Her girls seemed to trust him, and she really did have her hands full right now.

  He sensed her brief hesitation. “If you’d rather I didn’t—”

  “No, I appreciate the help. Jessy, would you like the doctor to wash your hands and face?”

 
; “Uh-huh.” Jessy, the bolder of the two, scampered over to Chance and held out her sticky hands. Her icing-smeared face wore an impish grin. Evidently Dr. Chance Worthington had a way with females of all ages.

  They used the wet napkins to wipe down the twins as best they could. Harper usually packed a change of clothes for them in her car, but this morning she’d been too rushed to take care of that small detail. Their sponged-off shorts and T-shirts were stained, but they would have to do until she could get them home.

  Unfortunately, she still had a job to do. She couldn’t leave until the pergola, the other wedding décor, the food and dishes, the chairs and tables, and the rented pavilion had been cleaned up and put away or removed from the premises of the Bluebird Inn.

  But she’d have to keep a close eye on her daughters. She’d faced enough disasters today.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing something,” Chance said, as they piled the wet napkins to be picked up with the laundry. “Were you telling your daughters that you planned to go to Mrs. Loving, tell her what happened to the cake, and offer to pay for it?”

  “What else can I do?” Harper asked. “What happened is my fault. If I can’t be honest and cover the damage, I don’t belong in the wedding business.”

  “Look at it this way,” he said. “If the wedding had gone as planned, the cake would’ve been cut and eaten by now. It would never have been moved to that corner.”

  “You’re saying it’s the bride’s fault?”

  “No, just that it’s not yours.”

  “I don’t agree. If I hadn’t brought my daughters, they wouldn’t have ruined the cake. It’s my fault.”

  “Whatever you think, you shouldn’t have to pay, and I’m going to make sure you don’t.” Chance rose, stepped behind the cake table, and began pushing it back toward the center of the pavilion.

  “What are you doing?” Harper clutched her girls to keep them from scampering after him.

  “You’ll see.” As he moved the cake forward, people were turning to look. “Hey, everybody,” he said, loud enough to be clearly heard. “We mustn’t let this cake go to waste.”