Have Gown, Need Groom

by Rita Herron

  A streak of surprise lit his sleepy, bedroom eyes. “That’s too bad.”

  She arched a brow at him. He didn’t sound as if he thought it was bad at all. And he was a stranger; she didn’t owe him an explanation.

  “I’m sure my dad will come by to thank you for your heroics,” she said, reverting back to their earlier conversation.

  A brooding expression tightened the lines at the corner of his mouth. She’d run out on a good, stable man because she’d dreamt of this stranger?

  Forget hormone pills. She should call the men in the little white coats to come and haul her away. Maybe she needed to see a psychiatrist. Except Seth was the best psychiatrist in town and she had a feeling he wouldn’t be sympathetic.

  She suddenly felt dizzy again.

  “Tell your dad he doesn’t need to come by,” Jake mumbled in a low voice.

  “What?”

  “I’m no hero, Dr. Hartwell. Catching that guy was a freak thing.”

  Hannah frowned, confused by the intensity of his words. She needed to get away from this man, and fast. Something deep and troubled lurked in the depths of his eyes. Something dangerous and dark that called out to her.

  Something that scared the life out of her.

  “I need to see those other patients now.” Without waiting for a reply, she backed toward the door, fighting the urge to touch the man’s broad shoulders and remind him he was a hero. But the memory of the erotic dream floated around her, the warmth in her belly sending a sliver of uneasiness up her spine. She must have seen Jake before, probably at her father’s dealership. Subconsciously she’d found him physically attractive and conjured him in her dream. Simple.

  End of story.

  The dream wouldn’t come true. Even though the man was sexy as homemade sin, she’d never ever in a cajillion years become involved with a used-car salesman. Especially one who worked for her lovable but notoriously outlandish father.

  JAKE GROANED, his brain foggy from the sedatives the nurses had administered, his thoughts registering the fact that Hannah Hartwell had canceled her wedding. There had to be a story there; one Wiley would probably embellish when he dropped by to visit. Had the woman’s poor fiancé cheated on her or done something equally heinous to make her dump him? If so, Wiley would be ticked.

  Like a vision, she glided out the door. Her lithe figure disappeared just as a plan formulated in his mind. Wiley had boasted about Hannah’s intelligence, and Joey DeLito, Wiley’s top salesman, commented that she’d helped him with his books a few times. Perhaps she knew something about her father’s business that could aid his investigation. He’d been searching for a way to embed himself in the Hartwell family. Her sister Mimi was dating Joey, so he couldn’t move in on her. And her youngest sister was too young for him. But Hannah wasn’t married now or engaged; he’d use Hannah to find out more about Wiley.

  Exhausted, he closed his eyes, deciding his plan to see her had nothing to do with the fact that lying face-down with a bullet hole in his backside and an IV in his arm he was rock-hard from wanting the woman.

  No, it had everything to do with his job. And he’d do anything he could, use anyone he had to, to solve the case and get out of this little sleepy backwards town. He had to get transferred back to the city where he belonged. Where he could get lost in the endless crowds. Where he could simply exist as a number. Where he could live in peace and die the same way, without having to explain himself to anyone. He was a loner. And he always would be.

  Hell, he’d learned the hard way about untrustworthy females. And obviously Hannah Hartwell fitted that description well—she’d just jilted her fiancé at the altar. He’d rather take another bullet than get personally involved with a woman like her.

  Chapter Four

  She must be losing her mind.

  It was the only plausible reason for her to have such intense feelings about a silly dream—and such a strong attraction toward a strange man who differed so drastically from the men she normally dated.

  Hannah Hartwell had always been predictable and cautious and rational—she never did anything erratic or spontaneous or…or emotional.

  Until that dream.

  She’d let that silly legend destroy her sensibleness and dictate her choice in marriage. Which meant she either needed to see a shrink or to find out if some cursed psychic power she didn’t know existed ran in her family.

  The answer lay with Grammy Rose.

  Hannah’s fingers trembled as she punched in her grandmother’s phone number. Please let her be there, she prayed, her stomach lurching when the phone rang at least a half-dozen times.

  Finally, on the seventh ring, her grandmother answered. “Hello.”

  “Grammy?”

  “I said hello. Speak up now, my left ear’s full of dust. Herman Whitewall’s been plowing up my garden and I can’t see three feet in front of me or hear my own self think.”

  Hannah laughed. Her grandmother must be getting senile. Herman Whitewall had passed away three years ago. “Grammy, it’s me, Hannah.”

  “Oh, hello, dear. How was the wedding? I wanted to be there so badly but the doctor made me stay in bed with that cold, ’fraid I’d get pneumonia. I told him nothing could get this old lady down.”

  “I didn’t exactly get married, Grams.”

  “Really?” Her grandmother’s tone held a hint of amusement, but not surprise.

  “No. I…I called off the wedding at the last minute.”

  “Decided Simon didn’t light your torch, huh?”

  Hannah smiled. “No. And his name is Seth, Grammy.”

  “Seth, smeth. I didn’t think that man was right for you.”

  “You didn’t?” Hannah’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Why not?”

  Her grandmother made a chortling sound. “Woman ought to light up when the man she’s going to marry walks in the room, and frankly, honey, you didn’t. But don’t worry, you’ll make a beautiful bride some day. When the right man comes along, of course.”

  Hannah twisted the phone cord in her fingers. “Grammy, I appreciate the hope chest you sent me and all the nice things. Your gown was beautiful, but I have to know—are you psychic?”

  “Heavens, no.” Her grandmother chuckled. “I wish I was. I’d win the lottery and buy myself a fancy cane and some new teeth.”

  Hannah smiled, mentally adding the cane to her Christmas list. She took a deep breath, and her gaze automatically landed on the pearl ring. “If you aren’t psychic then, I need to ask you about the ring—”

  “What did you want to know, dear?”

  “Did you wear the ring and dream about Grandpa the night before your wedding?”

  Grammy Rose’s soft laughter echoed over the line. “Lordy, did I? Honey, it was X-rated. I woke up in such a sweat I had to go out and buy new bloomers.”

  Heat climbed Hannah’s neck. Her father had definitely inherited his outrageousness from Gram—maybe senility and eccentricity ran in the same gene pool. “Really?”

  “It’s the truth or my name ain’t Rose Hartwell.” Her grandmother paused, lowering her voice as if inviting Hannah to share her confidence. “Did you dream about somebody, Hannah?”

  Hannah’s throat clogged. “Uh…yes.”

  “The man in your dream wasn’t Seth, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Destiny.”

  Destiny? “I don’t think so. He’s totally wrong for me.”

  A shriek of laughter burst through the phone. “Heavens, honey, you can’t fight it. Now tell me about this man. How did you two meet?”

  Hannah relayed the episode at the hospital, describing Jake’s injury and her fainting spell. Her grandmother listened, occasionally mumbling, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Actually I think I must have seen him at the car lot before, but we weren’t introduced. His face must have gotten stuck in my mind and he suddenly appeared in my dream.”

  “Love at first sight.”

  “No,” Hannah said
emphatically. “If I saw him, I barely even noticed him.”

  “When do I get to meet your new young man?” Grammy asked as if she hadn’t heard Hannah’s protests.

  Hannah rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s enthusiastic tone. “He’s not my new young man. He’s a used-car salesman who works for Dad. And he’s all wrong for me.” But Grammy Rose continued to ask her questions, and Hannah continued to deny her attraction to Jake. A half hour later, Grammy Rose hung up, sounding as smug and satisfied as if she’d just played matchmaker. Hannah stared at the ring, more confused than ever. She must be losing her mind—her grandmother’s exuberance had almost swayed her into believing the legend might be true.

  Ridiculous.

  She tugged off the ring and laid it on the table, the diamonds glittering beneath the light. Silly folktales didn’t come true. And she wouldn’t allow it to affect her rational judgment any more than it already had.

  She should wear the ring, she thought, with a twinge of nerves gnawing at her. She’d never been a defiant person, but she’d defy the legend.

  Determination filling her, she picked up the ring and slid it back on her left hand. There. The room didn’t spin, dishes didn’t start flying off the shelves, no genies suddenly appeared from any bottles.

  Feeling relieved, she decided she must be having some kind of temporary meltdown. She’d heard residents, especially ER physicians, suffered from stress. The doorbell rang, and Hannah jumped, confirming her diagnosis.

  Mimi rushed in. “Dad’s on his way. I just thought I’d warn you.”

  Hannah gripped the door. “Thanks. Was he upset?”

  “Not upset, really. Just worried about you, sis. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Hannah’s mind reeled with all the miscellaneous wedding details she’d left for her father to straighten out. How could she have been so irresponsible? Not that she thought she’d made the wrong decision in calling off her wedding, but why couldn’t she have seen the truth sooner? “What…what did Dad do about all the food, the cake…”

  “You know Dad,” Mimi said with a light laugh. “He invited all the guests to have refreshments anyway.”

  “Oh, God. What did Seth’s parents do?”

  “They left in a huff,” Mimi said. “Dad said he planned to take the rest of the cake and punch to the car dealership for a commercial, then serve it to his customers. The reporters loved the idea. Josephine—that lady from the Gazette—promised she’d stop by and grab some pictures.”

  Hannah laughed in spite of her misery. “Leave it to Dad to find an advertising venue for wedding cake.”

  “I suggested he freeze some of the leftovers for Thanksgiving.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It would save us some cooking,” Mimi said, her tone serious.

  “I’d rather have one of your specialty desserts from the coffee shop, Mimi. I don’t think I want reminders of today’s events on Thanksgiving. Hey, did you take Alison back to school?”

  “I just got back. She—”

  The doorbell rang and Hannah tensed. “That’s probably Dad.”

  “Good luck, Hannah.” Mimi paused. “And, sis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing today. You and Seth…well, he seems like a nice guy, but you two just didn’t seem suited.”

  Hannah brushed a tear from her cheek, thanked her sister, then followed her to the door. She honestly thought she’d done the right thing, too. For both her and Seth.

  So why did her spontaneity and newfound freedom suddenly scare the bejeebies out of her? And why had her grandmother sounded so confident, as if the legend was bound to come true?

  JAKE CLUTCHED the covers in his fist as he awakened, the sharp sting of his nightmares still fresh on his mind. The drugs maybe?

  No. Not this time.

  Darkness draped the hospital room in a cloak of loneliness.

  He fought off the familiar anger, focusing on the present. Why had the dreams returned from his childhood to haunt him now? Because he was alone?

  Hell, he’d always been alone. He liked being alone.

  Jake Tippins was a die-hard cop who didn’t need anyone. He’d been on his own since he’d turned fourteen and his father had stalked off in a drunken fit and never returned. Oh, his mother hadn’t been too devastated. She’d been a beautiful blond temptress who hadn’t gotten her kicks from raising a kid. And she didn’t like to be alone.

  Ever.

  She’d entertained one man after another until Jake had grown sick of being invisible and abandoned and had found his own way—into a life of crime. Stealing cars.

  How ironic—now he was a cop assigned to uncover a major car-theft ring, probably based at Wiley Hartwell’s used-car lot. And Wiley’s daughter, the woman he’d decided to use to speed up his investigation, was a beautiful blond princess.

  No, not a princess. A beautiful blond temptress. Hell, the woman was sexy enough to make him want to strip off his clothes, with or without a medical exam.

  She’d jilted one man today—would she move on to another target tomorrow? The answer had better be yes or his plan would fail.

  Jake grimaced as he recalled Wiley’s earlier visit. His boss had stopped by to thank him for being a hero, but Jake had pretended to fall asleep while the man expounded on his heroics. He didn’t want thanks for doing his job, especially when he lied to the man repeatedly. Not only lied, but investigated him.

  Sometimes undercover work sucked.

  He rolled to his side, groaning, half in pain, half in frustration as he remembered the gentle way Wiley’s daughter had tended to his wounds, the sweet honeyed scent of her shampoo, those pale gold eyelashes fluttering like a curtain over her remarkable blue eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt a nudge of something like hope stir to life.

  If everything Wiley Hartwell said about his daughter proved true, her sprint from the altar today had been out of character. He half hoped the good doctor would prove the rest of his theory wrong too, about her and her father. But he knew she helped her father with his books sometimes, giving her the perfect opportunity to manipulate the numbers. And her sister Mimi was so tight with Joey, she might be his accomplice.

  If he discovered Wiley was running a car-theft ring, he’d have to arrest him. And if Wiley’s beautiful daughter Hannah or her sister Mimi were involved…

  HANNAH STIRRED sugar into her father’s coffee and handed him the mug, aware he’d been watching her ever since he’d walked through the door. She only wished he’d changed from his garish gray tux. Simply looking at his pink ruffled shirt and white patent leather shoes reminded her of her earlier debacle. He’d even managed a manicure, she noted, spying a thin coat of clear polish on his blunt nails.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” Wiley studied her intently over the rim of his cup.

  “I’m fine, Dad. So, please stop staring at me like I’m going to break apart any minute.”

  Wiley shoved stubby fingers through his curly brown hair, sending the unmanageable strands into disarray. His hair gel had no doubt worn off hours ago, a sign he’d repeatedly done the gesture several times today, a testament to the stress she’d inflicted on him.

  Hannah sipped her own hot tea and perched on the armchair beside the fire, wondering if she should take off for a couple of weeks and let publicity die down. Only, with Wiley’s latest statewide ads and her wedding disaster airing on TV, she wouldn’t be able to escape the notoriety of being Wiley’s daughter anywhere she went.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Unaccustomed as she was to sharing her personal feelings with her father, she couldn’t offer an explanation.

  He frowned. “You want to talk about the breakup?”

  She shook her head.

  “Honey, I…” Her father stared into his mug as if the rich dark coffee held the answers. “I know you don’t like to confide in me. I’m not sure why….”
<
br />   The anguish in his voice startled her. “Dad—”

  He held up his hand. “It’s okay, Hannah. I’m not trying to pressure you. And you didn’t embarrass me.” He rubbed at his trouser leg awkwardly. “Heaven knows though, that I embarrass you sometimes, but I don’t mean to. I love you girls. I always have.”

  “I know that, Dad.” Tears burned Hannah’s eyes. If only all the kids she’d grown up with could have seen the real man beneath her father’s showy exterior, not the flamboyant TV salesman, maybe they wouldn’t have teased her unmercifully. And if only she could forget the fact that his stunts had embarrassed her, that her mother had deserted the family because of them…

  He sipped his coffee, his voice deep and husky. “Just tell me one thing—did Broadhurst hurt you?”

  A smile curved Hannah’s mouth. She ached to walk over and wrap her arms around her father, assure him she was okay, but for some reason, she found herself holding back, exactly as she always did when he tried to get too close. “No, Dad. I’m the one who called off the wedding.”

  He clenched his hand around his knee as if he wanted to reach for her but knew she wouldn’t be receptive. Hannah had never been the cuddly, affectionate one—that had been Mimi. “You want to talk about it?”

  Hannah sighed. “I simply realized we weren’t right for each other, Dad, and I didn’t want to make a mistake.”

  “Like I did with your mother?”

  The pain-filled words hung between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts. “Dad—”

  He gently took her hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m not trying to make things worse here. I’m behind you, no matter what you decide, honey.”

  Guilt suffused Hannah. She wished she knew something to say to alleviate the hurt in her father’s eyes, but they had never been able to talk about her mother.

  “I’m sorry I left you to handle all the details,” she finally said.

  Wiley shrugged. “No problem. I’m going to try to make good use of the cake,” Wiley said, easing the tension his usual way, with a joke.