by Lori Wilde
When Delaney said it, Tish could almost believe it. But there was a small ugly voice inside her that kept whispering, Who do you think you are? Daring to dream big dreams? You don’t stand a chance. You’re just like your mother. Every time you get something good you ruin it.
Like your credit rating.
Like Shane.
Two years later and the pain still washed over her, fresh as the day he’d walked out—the day she’d let him go forever. It was the biggest mistake of her life. She knew it now and she’d known it as she was letting him slip away. Something in her weird psyche kept thinking that if he loved her, he would understand her. That she shouldn’t have to say anything. He should just know what she was feeling. But he hadn’t known and he’d left because she could not tell him how much he meant to her. And she could not forgive him for not being there when she needed him the most.
Delaney jangled her car keys. “The Acura’s yours for as long as you need it.”
Swallow your stupid pride for once. Take her up on this.
She’d been unable to fix her marriage, but maybe she could fix her career. Humbled, Tish held out her palm, and closed her fingers around the keys. What else could she do? “Thank you.”
“There’s more, isn’t there? Something else is bothering you.”
Tish felt strange talking about the wedding veil, about the odd vision she’d seen and her irrational fear that Shane was in some kind of trouble. Two weeks had passed and she still couldn’t forget what she’d viewed in the mirror. She’d been too afraid of what she would see to put the veil back on again.
“It’s safe. You can tell me anything.”
“Do you really think your wedding veil has magical powers?” Tish whispered. “Do you really believe in all that wish fulfillment nonsense?”
“You had a vision.” It was a statement, not a question.
“How did you know?”
“It’s what happened to me in Claire Kelley’s consignment shop, the first time I touched the veil.”
“How come you never said anything?”
Delaney shrugged. “How do you admit something like that?”
“Point taken.” Tish stared across the mall unseeingly, thinking about her disturbing vision.
“You saw the face of your true love, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“No?” Delaney arched an eyebrow.
“I saw Shane. And I got the awful feeling he was in trouble. Tell me I’m just being silly. It’s stupid to think the veil has some kind of magical power, right?”
Delaney shifted on the bench. She looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure how to answer that. In my vision I saw Nick and then when I met him in person I knew instantly he was the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, even though I was engaged to Evan at the time.”
“No fantasy man for me. Just Shane.”
“Do you think your mind could have created the vision as a smoke screen for your problems? That you’re projecting your fears onto Shane so you don’t have to face what’s going on in your own life?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s time to let go of Shane.” Delaney’s eyes were kind. “You’ve been holding on to the possibility that he would come back. It’s been two years. He’s not coming back, Tish.”
“I know,” she whispered. “We were too different. The maverick wild child and the stalwart soldier. But the deal is, whenever we were good together, we were really, really good. Shane connected me to a part of myself I didn’t even know existed. He grounded me. Made me feel secure in a way I never felt before or since. When I was around him I felt like more. You know?”
Delaney smiled with understanding. “I do know.”
“I screwed it all up, Delaney.” Tish’s breath hitched.
“There are two sides to every story, Tish, and it seems to me that Shane doesn’t know how to forgive. And if he couldn’t forgive you for being human, how could he have truly loved you unconditionally? We all make mistakes. Shane’s mistake was letting his anger rule his heart.”
Tish wanted to cry, but she’d learned a long time ago tears were a weakness she couldn’t afford. Delaney was right.
It was time to let go.
The next time Shane surfaced things seemed brighter, lighter. Was that sun on his face? Had someone opened a window?
A soft touch squeezed the fingers of his left hand. A woman’s hand. His heart leaped with hope.
“Tish,” he whispered, barely able to push his wife’s name across his dry, cracked lips.
“It’s Elysee.” Her voice was quiet, reassuring.
Disappointment locked him in a stone fist. It wasn’t Tish. “Elysee?”
“I’m here. Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me.”
He wanted to look at her, but it wasn’t as easy as she made it sound. His eyelids lay heavy as gold medallions. Stubborn. Hanging on to the darkness.
Slowly, he managed to force them open and he saw Elysee Benedict sitting at his bedside, her fingers clasped around his. There was a forlorn expression in her gentle blue eyes that he’d never seen before.
He noticed something else. His right hand was bandaged like a mummy, his whole arm cradled in a sling that slipped over his neck, and it hurt. Throbbing, blinding pain blunted from his fingertips, up through his wrist. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to ignore the pain. He was Secret Service. He knew how to accomplish it.
Elysee sucked in a breath through the cute little gap in her front teeth. “I’m afraid that I have bad news.”
“Wh…?” His mouth was so damned dry, his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
He tried to shake his head, but movement hurt too much. “No.”
“The groundbreaking at the University of Texas?”
His memory was foggy. He frowned, trying to call up the scene.
“You saved my life.” The smile on her face was wistful, but warm. The sight of it caught him low in the gut. He felt as if he’d stumbled in from a frigid blizzard and she was a hot, crackling fire welcoming him home.
“I did?”
“You did. And I’ve been here with you ever since.”
“How long?” Shane tried to moisten his lips with an arid tongue.
“Thirteen days.”
“Thirteen days?” It seemed impossible. How could he have checked out for so long?
“Almost fourteen, actually.”
The news flattened him. He felt at once both restless and leaden. “You’ve been here with me for two weeks? But you have duties, appointments, and responsibilities.”
“All canceled. Nothing is as important to me as your recovery.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Shane, you’re not only my bodyguard, but my friend. I’m staying.”
She looked so fiercely loyal that he had to smile even if it hurt.
“You gave us quite a scare in the beginning,” she went on. “When the backhoe bucket hit you, it caused your brain to bleed. You had surgery.”
Her voice went softer and he could tell by the tears swimming in her eyes that he’d been close to death. The realization didn’t frighten him, but her emotional reaction did.
“Surgery?”
“They shaved your head. All that beautiful dark hair.” She sighed.
He reached up a hand to touch his scalp. It was prickly with hair stubble. He’d been burred before. In the Air Force. In boot camp. He didn’t care about the hair. His fingers crept to his right temple, the spot that ached, and he found the raw seam of stitches four fingers long.
“I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but that’s not everything.” She smoothed the bedcovers with her fingers, and she couldn’t meet his gaze.
He laughed. He didn’t mean to laugh at her. It just came out. “No?”
“Your hand.”
His chest tightened. She didn’t have to say it. He guessed. “Yeah?”
He couldn’t absorb that information. Not now. Not yet. To hear the news that he could no longer be a Secret Service agent on protective detail was more than he could handle at the moment. So he refused to acknowledge it. If he didn’t acknowledge it, then how could it be true?
“How are you?” He tightened the fingers of his good hand around hers. “Are you doing all right?”
“Unscathed except for skinned knees when you knocked me down and a little worn out from this bedside vigil. Otherwise A-okay.” She canted her head, smiled wryly.
His memory finally flashed and he saw himself pushing Elysee to the platform as the backhoe bucket descended. “And the backhoe operator?”
“He’s fine, too.”
“No,” Shane said. “I mean why was the bastard trying to kill you?”
Elysee gave a gentle laugh. “He wasn’t trying to kill me. He’d been up all night because his wife had been giving birth to their first child, but he didn’t tell his boss he was sleep-deprived because he wanted to be at the groundbreaking to meet me. He just made a mistake. Pushed the wrong levers, then panicked and kept pushing them.”
“You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t, because of you.”
The tenderness in her eyes separated his heart from his chest. He felt it free-falling straight to his feet.
“You saved my life,” Elysee whispered, her cheeks pinking. “You saved me, Shane. At great personal cost to your own safety.”
He’d done his job. Elysee was safe. That’s all that mattered.
“I called your parents,” she said. “I thought they should know.”
“Are they here? In Austin?” His parents were supposed to be on an around-the-world cruise celebrating his father’s retirement. They’d been looking forward to this trip their entire lives. He hated to think that they’d been forced to cut their travels short because of him.
“No, I downplayed your injuries. I hope that’s okay.” Elysee looked anxious. “I remembered you told me how important this trip was to them and I knew you’d hate being responsible for ruining it. I felt a little guilty myself. If you hadn’t been rescuing me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“You did good,” he said. “Thank you.”
In that moment, in that serious exchange of glances, he felt as if he’d known her his entire life. Her calm energy was as comforting as a kitten’s purr. He already knew her so well. She was predictable, safe. He liked that about her. With Tish things had always been exciting and electric, but keeping up with her boundless energy had taken constant effort. Elysee was effortless.
“Thank you.” Her eyes glistened.
His ego inflated. To think she was looking at him, a scarred war dog, with such adoration and respect. Heady stuff. Was their friendship growing into something more?
It was a scary thought. This wasn’t smart, these budding feelings he was having for her—he hadn’t been involved with anyone since Tish. Right now, he was feeling pretty damned vulnerable.
Shane thought of Tish again. Wild and rebellious and passionate. Never a dull moment. Life with her had often mimicked an episode of I Love Lucy. Madcap, adventuresome, filled with irrepressible spirit. She’d been like a lit firecracker in his hand. Sizzling hot and ready to detonate.
And explode she had.
Their marriage had been the collateral damage.
Shane had learned the hard way that blistering passion was bound to blow up in your face. He’d followed his heart and not his head and it had nearly ruined him.
Elysee was Tish’s polar opposite. Not a risk taker at all. It had made guarding her easy and being friends with her even easier. Being married to a woman like her would be serene. And right now, nothing seemed more appealing than serenity.
Shane closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. Waking up, jogging his memory, learning that his skull had been cracked and his hand had been shattered had taken a toll.
He felt the gentle brush of Elysee’s lips against his cheek. “That’s right, darling,” she whispered. “Sleep.”
Darling?
The word befuddled him, but he was already sliding away, unable to make sense of why the President’s daughter was kissing him and speaking in terms of endearment.
Chapter 4
Tish usually got over the blues by going shopping, but this time, shopping had caused her blues. How was she going to get over that?
At ten o’clock in the morning, she sat in Delaney’s Acura outside the Galleria. She wanted to go in and buy a new outfit to cheer herself up, but she was broke. Completely tapped out. Ninety-seven dollars and fifty cents was all she had left in her savings account; there were no groceries in the house and no new wedding gigs in sight.
October was a slow month for weddings. She’d planned to make ends meet by taking the gray tweed suit back and living on her credit card until she had another wedding to photograph. But the suit had been ruined, her credit cards ruthlessly massacred, and her car repossessed.
Unless she could manage to sell a few of her used clothes on e-bay, she was royally screwed. And seriously regretting having closed out her Macy’s account after paying it off with the money she’d earned from videotaping Delaney’s wedding.
Go in. Go shopping. With ninety-seven fifty you could buy an accessory, or an autumn blouse, or a new pair of jeans.
E-bay. She’d do it tonight. In the meantime, the mall beckoned.
Tish opened the car door and swung her legs to the asphalt.
She poised there, half in, half out of the car, taking stock of her life and the mess she’d made of it.
Stop thinking. Just go shopping. Remember what Mom always taught you. Affluence attracts affluence. You wouldn’t have met Delaney if you hadn’t been following Mom’s hard-and-fast rule.
Tish had met her best friend during college when she’d pledged Phi Beta Kappa at Rice University and had blown her entire IRS refund on a new wardrobe to look the part, with money originally earmarked for tuition.
She and Delaney had ended up rooming together, and if it hadn’t been for Delaney feeding her and sharing her textbooks, Tish wouldn’t have made it through. Even with Delaney’s help, a night job, and the scholarships she’d received, Tish had barely finished college.
Promising herself that she was only going to window-shop, Tish climbed out of the car and headed inside the mall. Nordstrom’s was having a sale. She felt the immediate squeeze of excitement. This wasn’t just any sale, it was a fire sale—everything except new arrivals was listed at the lowest prices of the year.
Adrenaline streamed her down the aisles. Fossil watches normally priced at seventy-five dollars and up were marked thirty percent off.
Her heart beat faster.
Lingerie was slashed forty percent. Since she had no one to wear sexy lingerie for, Tish skipped over to the next department.
Shoes. Omigosh, shoes!
Sixty percent off! Designer names. Stilettos and pumps and sandals and boots. Red and blue and black and tan.
Blood rushed through her ears. She felt breathless, faint. A sixty-percent-off sale on expensive designer shoes, and she was dead broke.
Not dead broke. You have ninety-seven fifty.
Tish paused. It wouldn’t hurt just to try on a few pairs. Sixty percent off for great shoes. How often did one find a deal like that?
But you have no money and no credit cards.
She walked into the shoe department. Women were grabbing shoes, elbowing each other out of the way. The display racks were a mess. Shoes and shoeboxes were scattered everywhere. Harried salespeople ran to and fro, trying to find missing slippers for disgruntled Cinderellas. After circling the area a few times, Tish found an adorable pair of red Stuart Weitzman sandals.
And they were in her size.
Hands shaking, she took the sandals, sat down in an out-of-the-way area, and slipped them on her feet. They fit like a dream. She got up and walked around. Like walking on whipped cream. She was already halfway in love and she had the perfect red cocktail dress to go with them.
She went back to her seat and nervously lifted the box. They were regularly two hundred and fifteen dollars. She was lousy at math, but she thought she might just have enough.
Clutching the shoes to her chest, she waited in line for the cashier.
Put them back, Tish; this is insane.
She turned to get out of line, but then she thought of the shoes, how cute her feet looked in them. How they made her feel like a princess.
You’ve got six boxes of Ramen noodles in your pantry. You can hit a couple of happy-hour free buffets. Maybe you can call up an old boyfriend or two and see if you can finagle dinner. The shoes are worth it.
She thought of how it had felt when the waiter chopped up her credit cards, when Mrs. James walked out on her, when she’d discovered her car had been repossessed.
“Next,” the cashier called out and Tish realized the woman was talking to her.
She hesitated.
Go ahead. You can always return them.
Tish stepped up and slid the shoes across the counter. She’d let fate decide. If the total came to more than ninety-seven fifty, well, it was out of her hands.
“Ninety-three seventy-two,” the cashier said.
Feeling as if she’d just won the lottery, Tish grinned and ran her debit card through the card reader. But just as she punched in her debit code and the machine accepted it, the cahier said, “All sales are final. Absolutely no refunds.”
Panic gripped her. She had shoes she did not need and less than four dollars in her checking account.
That’s when she knew she’d hit rock bottom.
Hello, my name is Tish Gallagher and I’m a shopaholic.
Every night he was in the hospital, Shane dreamed of Tish. Whether it was the painkillers or his head injury or the combination of both he didn’t know, but he just couldn’t seem to peel his ex-wife off his subconscious mind.
He dreamed of the way she’d looked when he’d walked out the door, her mouth pressed into an unyielding line unable to say the words he needed to hear. Her jaw clenched, but her eyes begging him to forgive her, begging him to understand, begging him to stay.