She took a deep breath, trying not to think of the women he’d had—the women he’d made love with the way he hadn’t wanted to with her.
“Probably not,” she whispered.
“Damn right, not. So why do you think I walked away this time?”
She raised her eyes to his, hurt mingled with an accusation. “You didn’t want me.”
How could she even think that? he wondered. “I wanted you too much. And it scared the hell out of me.” She doubted him, he could see it. This time, he was going to make her understand, make her believe him. “I told you I loved women. I do. But I have never loved a woman before. Never carried her around in my mind so that every single thought I had was scrambled. Never had her in my gut so that just the sound of her name, the hint of her scent had it tightening into a knot and cutting off my air supply. Never wanted her more than I wanted tomorrow.”
“And I’m this woman,” she said slowly, wanting so desperately to believe but at the same time being so desperately afraid to believe.
“You’re this woman,” he repeated.
It didn’t make sense to her. “Then why did it take you all this time to get here?”
“Self-preservation. I thought maybe it was just temporary insanity. Infatuation. Something I could outlast. Only it got worse. Each day that went by made me feel more like some nomad, set adrift on an ice cake.”
He had his geography confused. Why was that so endearing? she wondered, amused. “That’s an Inuit.”
“No, that’s me without you.” He took her into his arms, his heart swelling as he molded her body to his. “I’m asking you to marry me—again. This time, the traditional way, just like in my dream. In our dream,” he corrected.
He searched her face, looking for his answer. Had he come all this way, assuming too much? Hoping too much? “Unless you don’t feel the same way...”
The big dumb jerk. He couldn’t see his nose in front of him if he looked in the mirror, she thought. “Why do you think I said ‘yes’ to you in my hotel room? Because I was curious?” She wound her arms around his neck. He wanted her, really wanted her. Forever. Just the way she’d always dreamed. “Not likely. When you walked away from me, I thought I was going to die. I understood then what my mother must have felt years ago.”
She paused, considering. “One good thing came out of all that. It brought me together with my mother, for the first time. I was going to see her today.” She still wanted to—with Grant at her side. “Would you like to come along?”
“I’d like that very much. But am I coming as her future son-in-law or as her daughter’s friend?”
Her eyes teased him. “As her daughter’s friend.” And then she smiled broadly, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “And as a future son-in-law. I love you, Grant O’Hara. Very, very much. And yes, I will marry you. As many times as it takes to make it stick.”
“We get exclusive rights to the wedding photographs.” Stan’s voice rose up from behind the partition where unabashed curiosity had held him for the last few minutes.
Receiving no answer, Stan came around the partition to the front of the cubicle to see if they had heard him.
They obviously hadn’t. Wrapped up in a world of their own, Grant and Cheyenne were sealing their bargain the only way that mattered.
Stan sighed, walking away. He figured they’d be kissing for a long time—and he had a magazine to run. He’d catch them later. Under his breath, he began whistling “Happy Days Are Here Again.”
Epilogue
It hadn’t been easy, waiting, not making love with him—especially when she knew that Grant loved her and intended to many her. That, in point of fact, he was married to her, courtesy of a funny, squat little man and the mayhem at the Mardi Gras celebration.
But somehow, Cheyenne had managed to hold back.
No, she amended as she accepted the bouquet of pink and white carnations from her mother, Grant had held back. He had held back and hadn’t pressed the obvious advantage that he had, saying that the respect and love he felt for her was enough to make him wait until after they’d had their traditional wedding.
And then he had moved heaven and earth to speed things up so that the ceremony could take place in less time than it took to settle a union negotiation.
Cheyenne smiled to herself. Much less time.
Which brought her here, to this church filled with people who wished them well, and to this moment, that she would always cherish.
She stood before the closed inner doors of Our Lady Queen of Angels Church, calmer than she’d ever been in her whole life. And more certain than she’d ever been in her whole life that what she was about to do was right.
“You look beautiful,” Anita Tarantino whispered, dabbing at the tears trickling from her eyes. She fussed a little with the edge of the appliqué-trimmed veil, smoothing it out.
It was the gown that was beautiful, Cheyenne thought. Grant had turned two states upside down, looking for a gown that matched the description she’d given him. She was wearing the gown she’d worn in her dream.
The gown in their dream.
“Of course she looks beautiful,” Stan said matter-of-factly. “She gets her looks from you. Are you getting this, Malone?” He looked over his shoulder to make sure the photographer had taken a shot of the bride and her mother.
“Got it, Stan,” Malone assured him.
“Now, how about one with you?” Cheyenne coaxed, hooking her arm through Stan’s and nodding at Malone. “Otherwise, people are never going to believe that I got you out of that moth-eaten, wine-colored sweater of yours.” He was wearing a tuxedo, just like the other men in the wedding party. She laughed at the scowl on his face. “Say cheese.”
“Nuts,” Stan countered, then waved at Malone after the photograph was taken. “Okay, get to the front of the church. I want some of her walking down the aisle.”
Stan put out his elbow toward Anita just as an usher came to escort her inside. “I’ll take the lady to her seat,” he announced. “You’ve got yourself quite a daughter, Anita. Not every woman manages to help the New Orleans police apprehend four killers and gets herself married to one of the country’s most eligible bachelors, all in less than a month.” He looked at Cheyenne over his shoulder. “See you up front.”
She nodded, amused and heartened by what she had just witnessed. Stan Keller, paying attention to her mother. And her mother lighting up like a Christmas tree. Her heart warmed. Well, well, well, would wonders never cease? It looked as if the Tarantino women were finally off the market for good.
Yes, Stan, it has been one wildly incredible month, Cheyenne thought as she watched bridesmaids couple with ushers and begin the slow walk down the aisle. Not the least of it had been the fact that Detective Moreau’s men had actually apprehended the men involved in the murder of Councilman Phelps, a man who’d been blackmailing them for funds. It was a case that the police might not have solved without her photographs.
And if it hadn’t been for her photographs, and the men who pursued her, she wouldn’t be standing here right now, waiting to marry the man she’d been looking for all her life.
Absolutely incredible.
The strains of the wedding march swelled. That was her cue. It was happening, she thought, it was really happening. Just like in her dream.
Taking a deep breath, she began the long march toward the altar, toward the man she loved with all her heart, and toward the rest of her life. She knew now that what Grant had whispered in her ear last night was true.
The best was yet to be.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6632-2
SUDDENLY...MARRIAGE!
Copyright © 1998 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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