Dream Wedding

by Susan Mallery

  The receiver was picked up, cutting off her train of thought.

  “Smith,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “Hi, it’s Chloe. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother.”

  His voice sounded normal. She took that as a good sign. “I’m calling to apologize for what happened earlier today. I don’t know why I ran off like that.” She crossed the fingers of her free hand, hoping the superstitious gesture would make up for the small lie.

  “I understand. Sometimes I have that effect on women. They lose control and rather than let me see how overcome they are, they run off.”

  His voice was so calm and serious it took her a minute to figure out he was teasing. She chuckled. “Yeah, right, that was it exactly. Overcome by your substantial charms, I had to retreat to the relative sanctuary of my office so that I could recover.”

  “Are you better now?” he asked.

  “Much, thank you.” They laughed together, then she said, “I’m serious. I don’t know what came over me. It was terrible to leave like that. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “It better not. You won’t get much of a story if you keep running out on the interview.”

  “Can I make it up to you? Would you please come over for dinner tonight?”

  He hesitated. Chloe swallowed as her good humor disappeared like feathers sucked up into a tornado. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “You have other plans,” she said, making it a statement, not a question. Who was she, this other woman?

  “Actually, I don’t. Yes, I would love to join you for dinner. However, your aunt already issued the invitation and I accepted.”

  “Aunt Charity phoned?”

  “First thing this morning.”

  Chloe knew she shouldn’t be annoyed at her aunt. After all, Charity called the old Victorian mansion home, and she had every right to invite whomever she liked. But the tension was there all the same.

  “That’s great,” Chloe told him. “I’ll see you then. This time I promise not to freak when you show off your scars.”

  “If you’re very good I’ll even let you touch them.”

  She thought about the one on his leg and couldn’t suppress a shudder of anticipation. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  * * *

  CHLOE PULLED INTO the driveway. Mr. Withers, the seventy-year-old misogynist caretaker sat on his rider-mower, going back and forth on the front lawn.

  “Evening, Mr. Withers,” Chloe called out as she stepped up to the front porch.

  Mr. Withers offered a wave that was more dismissal than greeting and muttered something under his breath. Probably something mildly offensive, Chloe thought with a grin. The old man had been around since long before her mother had been born. He’d always taken care of the house. If either of the sisters dared to try to engage him in conversation they risked being called mindless ninnies. Chloe had always wanted to ask what other kind of ninnies existed—didn’t the definition of the insult imply a mindlessness? But she didn’t think Mr. Withers would appreciate her humor.

  “Have a nice night,” she told him as she stepped into the house and was rewarded with another grunt.

  She shut the front door behind him, effectively cutting off most of the noise from the power mower. “I’m home,” she yelled in the direction of the kitchen.

  “It’s Chloe!” Cassie came racing down the hall and slipped to a stop in front of her. “I want to hear everything, but so does Aunt Charity so you have to wait until we’re all together. But plan on spilling lots and lots of details. Oh, and he’s coming to dinner. Isn’t that great?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He is so amazingly cool and good-looking. How can you stand it? I mean, spending the day with him. Did he look into your eyes and say something wonderful? Don’t you think he’s just incredibly interesting?”

  Chloe put down her briefcase and slipped out of her linen jacket. After linking her arm with her sister’s she led them both to the kitchen. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted. “I swear, Cassie, sometimes you act like you’re barely sixteen instead of nearly twenty-five.”

  Cassie tossed her head, making her short dark hair dance around her face. “I’m blessed with an enthusiastic nature,” she said, not the least bit insulted by her sister’s comment. “I enjoy life and all that it has to offer. Arizona Smith is a very interesting man and I’m enjoying his company. We can’t all be jaded reporters. I’d rather be the romantic dreamer I am any day.”

  They reached the kitchen. Cassie stepped away and got them each a soda from the refrigerator. Chloe settled at the kitchen table. “Where’s Aunt Charity?” she asked.

  “Taking a shower. The spaghetti sauce has been simmering for hours.” She pointed to a pot on a back burner. She plopped down opposite her sister. “Tell me everything.”

  Chloe obliged, telling her sister about the gem exhibit and recounting Arizona’s stories.

  Cassie sighed. “It’s so romantic. What a great way to spend the morning. But you probably just sat there taking notes, not even noticing the man. You’re hopeless.” Cassie tucked her short hair behind her ear. “I swear, when I have my twenty-fifth birthday and I get to wear the nightgown, I’m not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity dreaming about nothing! I plan to have a wonderfully romantic dream.”

  Chloe smiled as her sister talked. She was glad they were back together again. The three years they’d spent apart in high school had been difficult for them both. She fought against a familiar flash of anger. Their parents should have planned better, she thought for the thousandth time. If they had, the two sisters wouldn’t have been separated and put into different foster homes.

  She shook off the old memories and concentrated on the evening ahead. She’d promised herself that she would act like a real professional, that she wouldn’t let thoughts of the dream interfere.

  “What time is Arizona coming over?” she asked.

  Cassie glanced at the clock above the stove. “In about an hour.”

  “I’d better get changed.”

  Cassie followed her up the stairs. “Are you all right? Is something bothering you? You got a funny look on your face a second ago.”

  “I’m fine.” They reached her bedroom first and both women entered. They sat on the bed facing each other. “I was just thinking that I’m glad we’re back together. High school was hard.”

  Cassie’s good humor faded a little. “I know. I hated that the courts forced us to live apart. But we’re together now—at least until you run off to the big city to write for one of those New York magazines.” Cassie held up her hand. “Don’t even say it. I know the drill. This is what you want and you have every right to pursue your dreams. But I’ll miss you.”

  Chloe leaned toward her. “You could come with me. We could rent an apartment together.”

  Cassie shook her head. “No. I don’t want to leave Bradley. I like it here. I adore my job.”

  “You’re a nursery school teacher.”

  “Exactly, and I love it. The kids are great. I know you don’t understand—you want more for me. But this is what I want and you have to remember to respect that.”

  “I know.” Chloe sighed. It was a familiar discussion. One she’d never won. “I just think you could do so much more with your life.”

  “And I think working with children is the most important thing I can do. Besides, even if I was tempted to run off to New York with you, which I’m not, I couldn’t. What about Joel?”

  Chloe forced her expression to remain pleasant and her hands still, when all she wanted to do was grab her sister by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

  Joel and Cassie had been dating since high school. They had an “understanding” that they would become engaged and then marry.

 
It was all a quirk of fate, Chloe thought grimly. While she had been sent away to another city when their parents had died and the two girls had been put into foster care, Cassie had stayed in town. She’d gone to the local high school and had started seeing Joel.

  “If you can’t say something nice,” Cassie warned.

  “Joel is the most boring man on the planet.”

  “That’s hardly nice.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say. It’s a real improvement.”

  “Oh, Chloe, we can’t all be like you. I think it’s great that you want to leave Bradley and make something of yourself. That’s your life and you’re going to be wonderful. But it’s not my life. I want to stay here. I want to have a family. Joel wants to marry me. I love him. I’ve been dating him for nearly nine years and he makes me happy. Let it go.”

  Chloe bit her tongue and nodded her agreement. There wasn’t anything else she could say. Cassie was right—they each had to live their own lives.

  Her sister stood up. “I have to go make myself beautiful for our guest and I suggest you do the same.” She paused in the doorway and leaned back dramatically, the back of one hand pressed against her forehead. “Maybe he’ll tell us about the time he saved the virgin from the angry volcano by single-handedly fighting off a dozen hostile natives with his bare hands.”

  “I’m sure that will be the first story to cross his lips.”

  “I knew it.” Cassie waggled her fingers and left.

  Chloe stared after her. The two sisters couldn’t be more different. Part of the reason, she knew, was because they weren’t related by blood. When her mother had had trouble conceiving, her parents had gone on a long waiting list for adoption. As sometimes happened, Amanda Wright had later found out she was pregnant. The doctors had warned her she was unlikely to have another baby, so they hadn’t pulled their application. Seven months after Chloe had been born the Wrights received a call telling them there was a one-month-old girl available, if they wanted her.

  Growing up, Chloe couldn’t remember a time when Cassie hadn’t been around. The girls had been inseparable. That had made those three years apart even more difficult.

  She stood up and walked to the closet, not sure what she was going to wear tonight. Something pretty, but professional. She was going to ask Arizona questions to make up for her lapse earlier that day. As she studied her wardrobe, she heard Cassie’s enthusiastic but off-key singing drifting down the hall. She smiled. Cassie was one of those rare people who absolutely believed the best in everyone and always told the truth. She led with her chin and sometimes she got hurt. But that never changed her feelings about herself or the world.

  Chloe wondered what it would be like to have that much faith. She was too cynical to believe in people. Especially those she didn’t know well. That’s why she was a decent journalist. The thing was if she wanted anyone else to believe that, she was going to have to write a dynamite article. Arizona Smith and the secrets of his life were her ticket out of Bradley.

  * * *

  ARIZONA SWALLOWED A drink of beer and wondered why the sight of an attractive young woman cooing over the scar on his arm didn’t do a thing for him. Cassie bent over him and made tsking noises.

  “I can see where they first stitched you up in the field,” she said. “There are still a few puncture wounds.”

  Her fingers were cool and smooth as she stroked his skin. He waited, hoping to feeling a tingle or a flicker of interest. Nothing. Less than nothing. He was restless.

  Cassie straightened and smiled. “Any other scars?”

  She’d noticed the mark on his arm the second he’d walked into the house. As near as he could figure, the sight of it had sent Chloe screaming out of his presence. Funny, he’d never thought it was that scary looking, but then he was a guy. Maybe Chloe was squeamish.

  Cassie’s gaze was filled with curiosity and good humor. She reminded him of the little sister he’d never had. He couldn’t help teasing her a little. “I do have another scar on my leg. I’d show it to you, but I’d have to take my pants off to do it.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Cassie said quickly.

  Arizona watched her, but there was no guile in her expression. Had she really meant what she’d said?

  Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and all the attraction that had been missing when Cassie had touched him slammed into him with the subtlety of an aircraft carrier taking out a forty-foot yacht.

  Chloe stood just inside the kitchen. She wore a sleeveless dress in pale peach. The soft-looking fabric clung to her curves in a way designed to make a man forget to breathe. Her long hair had been pulled back into a braid. His fingers itched to tug the curls free.

  “You might want to rethink your comment, Cassie,” Chloe said to her sister. “I believe you just told Arizona you wanted him to take his pants off.”

  “I do.” Suddenly, Cassie seemed to realize the implications of what she’d just said. She blanched, then color flooded her face. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean— That is to say, he has a scar and—” She glanced from him to Chloe and back. “I didn’t mean anything else. We were talking and—”

  Chloe chuckled. “We know what you meant. Just be careful. Not every strange man is going to understand you’re not issuing an invitation.”

  Cassie nodded.

  Arizona leaned close to her. “I won’t take offense if you’ll explain to your sister that I’m not really strange.”

  Chloe took the seat opposite him. “Yes, you are, and I’ll thank you not to corrupt my little sister.”

  “Little by how much?” he asked. “Charity told me you’re about the same age.”

  “Chloe is six months older,” Cassie told him. “I was adopted.”

  “So I heard.” He looked from one to the other.

  Charity came into the room and walked to the stove. “The sauce is nearly ready,” she said, lifting the cover and stirring. Instantly a spicy tomato aroma filled the room.

  “I’ll do the garlic bread,” Chloe said.

  “I’ll take care of the salad.” Cassie headed for the refrigerator.

  “Should I offer to help or will I be told to just stay out of the way?”

  “The latter, of course,” Charity told him, her eyes twinkling at him as she glanced over her shoulder.

  He leaned back in his chair. It didn’t matter how many cultures he visited, or where he traveled in the world. Some customs remained the same. The ritual dance of women preparing a meal was one.

  Whether the women were barefoot by an open fire, in a log house, a stone kitchen or a Victorian mansion, they moved with a grace and rhythm that was as old as the species. Conversation ebbed and flowed as they performed their magic. He supposed he enjoyed watching because no one did this for him very often. He was a frequent guest, but never a member of the family.

  He caught Chloe’s eye and they shared a moment of connection across the kitchen. The rest of the room disappeared until she was the only one left. Then Cassie touched her arm and she turned away from him. He was again on the outside. He envied her the place she held in this special world.

  * * *

  THE DINNER DISHES had been pushed to the center of the table, but no one was in a hurry to pick them up. Arizona tore apart the last piece of garlic bread as Cassie raised her hands in frustration.

  “How can you say it’s not true?” she asked. “The nightgown has been in the Bradley family for generations.”

  “It’s just a nightgown,” Chloe insisted. “How can you say it has magic powers? As I’ve said before, there is no such thing as magic or destiny. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Aunt Charity, you talk to her.”

  “She won’t listen to me,” the older woman said. “Arizona, you have a go at it. Chloe is our residen
t cynic.”

  “I’ll try.” He leaned forward and stared at the beautiful woman sitting across from him. He would rather carry her up to bed, but that hadn’t been offered as one of the options, so he thought about the various feats of magic he’d experienced personally.

  “Several years ago I was in India,” he began. “A boy had been mauled by a tiger stalking the village. The cat nearly took off his leg. Although the bone wasn’t broken, he lost a lot of blood.”

  He tried not to notice the way her eyes darkened as her pupils widened with the storytelling. He tried to ignore the scent of her body, the slender curves beneath her dress or the way he knew how great it would be between them, almost as if they’d been lovers before.

  “If he’d been near a hospital, he might have had a chance,” he continued. “But the village didn’t even have a nurse, let alone medical facilities. My grandfather and I knew the boy was going to die and we could only offer painkillers to ease his passing.”

  He paused, remembering his own fear from that night. He’d been thirteen or fourteen, and he could relate to the screams of fear and pain from the injured child.

  “That night the village performed an old ceremony of sacrifice and worship. They came together to heal one of their own. I wasn’t allowed to attend—I was considered too young. But I heard it. The singing and chanting. I smelled the incense. I don’t know what they did but it worked. When I went to visit him the next morning, I was afraid he would already be dead. Instead, I found him sitting up. His wound had nearly healed. He was talking and laughing because the pain was gone. Within a week, it was as if it had never happened. Since then, I’ve witnessed many things I can’t explain.”

  “Wow,” Cassie breathed. “That is so cool.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Every supermarket tabloid has a story about people being abducted by aliens. Do you believe that, too?”

  So she was a doubter. Somehow that made the challenge more interesting. “I saw the boy. When I see aliens abducting people from cornfields, I’ll believe that as well.”