The Sometime Bride

by Baird, Ginny

  “Carrie,” he said, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing the side of her clothing. “I’m so sorry about your dress. I forgot all about --”

  “That’s alright,” she said, giving his chin an affectionate nuzzle. “I did, too. And, no worries. The dress will wash." And, if it didn’t, she could always get another. But Carrie was as certain it wouldn’t be so easy to replace Mike Davis. “Think they’re still any good?”

  “Of course! A little soggy, maybe,” he said, pulling the soppy package from its dripping bag. “But edible, nonetheless. How about it?”

  “I’d love one." Carrie smiled. “Mint chocolate is my absolute favorite. How on earth did you know?”

  “Wild guess,” Mike said, grinning naughtily. “And, your Grandma Russell told me.”

  “Cheater!” Carrie said, swatting him playfully across the chest. “You just wait till I corner some of those old high school chums of yours and get the dirt on you!”

  “So, you’re not disappointed then?”

  Carrie warned herself to proceed with caution. “In...?”

  “The ice cream. I mean, it may not be the rare vintage you were --”

  “I love the ice cream. I don’t think any man has surprised me with ice cream before." Much less, spread it on my thigh, she heard herself thinking, but thank God didn’t say. All of a sudden Carrie was developing lots of innovative ideas about what she and Mike could do with ice cream. But not here, not now, not in the middle of somebody else’s vineyard.

  “What is this place?” Carrie asked, taking a bite out of her dripping sandwich and delighting in its fresh minty taste. Nightfall was almost upon them, shadows stretching long over the vineyard. The top third of the mountains had already faded to black. If they didn’t head back soon, they might have difficulty finding the car in the darkness.

  “Just a place I stumbled on long ago.”

  “It’s yours?!” Carrie asked, surprise and delight firing her eyes. “I should have known you were a vintner! Now, it all makes perfect --”

  “Carrie,” Mike answered, crestfallen. “It’s not mine." He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he’d only worked here as a hired hand during his high school summers. That his background was much more modest that hers ever was. He and his Dad never had a nice home -- of any size -- to call their own. They had rented and lived out of trailers. His graduation from Ashton had been thanks to a full athletic scholarship.

  “Maybe you should buy it, then?” she continued, seeming happily excited by the notion. “It would make a wonderful investment!”

  “Investment?" Mike had never been able to invest in anything beyond his next month’s rent.

  Carrie appeared to pick up on his mood and halted. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, wadding up her ice cream sandwich wrapper and balling it in her fist. “It wasn’t my place at all to suggest that.”

  And why, indeed, would she suggest it? Just as breezily as if wishing could make it so. Did Carrie St. John actually have that sort of money herself? “Would you invest it, Carrie?” Mike pressed, wanting to know if his hunch was accurate.

  Crimminy. Carrie had really pinned herself into a corner this time. Here she’d been all this time not wanting to let on she had money, and then she goes and says a stupid, unthinking thing like that. “Why, no. No." Carrie felt herself growing warm in the chill of the evening. “Just making conversation, that’s all,” she lied, scrambling to her feet. “You know, it’s getting late...”

  “I know,” Mike said, looking deep in her eyes as if trying to discern something.

  “Think you could drive me back to the inn so I can collect my car and get on home? I have to work tomorrow and I’m sure --”

  “No problem,” Mike said, scooping their litter off the ground, and trying to decipher what she was hiding. Mike weighed the dichotomy of her simple small town roots against the exceedingly preferential treatment Carrie had been afforded by Charles Gilpatrick back at the inn. Was Carrie St. John filthy rich, someone famous to be reckoned with?

  “Who are you, Carrie St. John?” Mike asked, as the breath of night threaded silken silence between them.

  “Just a simple old girl from Virginia,” she said, needing him desperately to believe it.

  ****

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie made the forty-five minute drive from the country inn to her country bungalow with her top down. The nippy evening air lit up her senses and helped her focus her attention on the issues as hand, as weaving wind whipped fingers through her long loose hair. At least she’d had her wits about her when Mike had dropped her back and the parking area and had been able to concoct that missing earring story that had allowed her to duck back inside. She’d watched out the window of the inn until a few minutes after Mike had driven away. Though he’d been insistent about staying and seeing her to her car, she’d fabricated an excuse about also having to settle some business arrangements with Mr. Gilpatrick that might take a while.

  Though, in looking at his watch, he’d seemed dubious, Mike had finally acquiesced and settled for a formal goodbye on the steps of the inn. The same stone steps where Carrie had first beheld him in his dripping wet near-naked glory on that fated night they’d met.

  Carrie’s throat went dry at the recollection as she sailed through the yellow light. Carrie quickly checked her review mirror, but saw, with relief, that even the cops in this sleepy berg were already in bed tonight. Carrie felt the spreading heat at her collar bone and inhaled deeply, fighting off the thought of anything that put Mike Davis and beds together in her mind. She was falling for him. Falling badly. And there didn’t appear to be a darn thing she could do about it except for trying to keep this silly illusion from blowing up smack in her face.

  How long did Carrie really believe she could go on like this? A week, a month? In the outstanding event their relationship endured beyond Mike’s reunion, sooner or later he was bound to start asking questions. Already had started asking questions, Carrie reminded herself.

  Crimminy.

  Carried ran a hand along the back of her stiff neck as she wheeled her car onto the exit ramp that led to the isolated country route that would take her home.

  Oh what a tangled weave...

  Carrie slowly shook her head.

  All she’d really wanted was for Mike to like her for herself. But now she wondered precisely what that was. A liar? A manipulator? Someone with just as little integrity as Mike’s old fiancée Alexia?

  Carrie blinked hard as the hot tears pounding with biting force from her bleary eyes. It was no wonder she’d never found a man. There, without even trying, she’d gone and done it again. Screwed her love life all to heck and back. Love life, ha!, she thought, laughing bitterly into the wind. As if she’d ever truly known the meaning of the phrase.

  Mike scurried around his apartment tossing empty aluminum cans into the recycle bin. Holy cow! He didn’t know why he had so much nervous energy. But whatever the reason, might as well put it to good use.

  Mike paused in the threshold to his bedroom, mentally trying to calculate when he’d last changed the sheets. Well, if he couldn’t remember, then the likelihood was they needed changing again.

  Mike tugged back the fitted sheet, trying to recall the last time he’d actually had a woman in the place. Alexia, neat-nick that she was, had always insisted he come to hers. Alexia had always insisted on a lot of things, like her pleasure first, for example. Not that Mike minded giving a woman pleasure. That aspect, in fact, excited him. But when it was that woman’s pleasure to the exclusion of everything else in the world, including the presence of her partner...

  Mike shook his head and carried the pile of sheets to the washer. He was quite certain Carrie wouldn’t be like that. Carrie was a warm and sensuous woman. Inviting yet giving all at once. It was there in the way she kissed, the way she teased and beckoned with her eyes. The way her tantalizingly womanly curves ached for a masculine touch...all...over...her body...

&nb
sp; Christ.

  Mike looked down at his boxers realizing he was going to need another cold shower. His second since he’d dropped Carrie off at the inn and come home. And, for crying out loud, their parting kiss had been nothing if not chaste.

  Maybe that’s what it was. She was driving him to distraction by holding back. Though, when he was being honest, Mike had to admit that Carrie wasn’t the only one who seemed adept at putting the brakes on their relationship. While their mutual attraction was too strong to deny, there was something else holding each of them back. Mike couldn’t put his finger on it exactly. But his gut told him it had to do with more than just the faux fiancé game going on between them.

  Mike heaved a heavy sigh and flipped on the cold water. What was it about Carrie St. John that always left him all wet?

  Carrie rolled over in bed and lazily lifted her cell. “Hello?”

  “A dillar, a dollar...”

  “Grandma Russell?” Carrie asked, her head pounding. She squinted against the bright light streaming in through the titled Venetian blinds.

  “Lands sakes, child, did I wake you? I thought you investment types were up catching worms well before dawn!”

  Carrie reached out her free hand and angled her clock radio toward her so she could read the time. Ten thirty. She’d missed her nine-thirty appointment. Carrie’s head fell back against her pillow with a thunk.

  “No, Grandma." She held aside the receiver and yawned. “Been up for hours.”

  “Well, sweetheart, you’re not really sounding too chipper.”

  “Just a stress headache,” Carrie said, massaging her throbbing temple. “It will get better.” Already, Carrie was making a mental list of all the conference calls she’d have to rearranged. Mondays! What a mess!

  She must have been exhausted. Totally wiped out from her weekend experiences. And, it was all Mike Davis’ fault.

  “Well, maybe my cheery bit of news will leave you feeling better... That fiancé of yours --”

  Carrie sat bolt upright in bed, not knowing quite what to expect.

  “--is such a doll. You’ll never believe what that Wilson did!”

  “No, I probably wouldn’t,” Carrie said, meaning it absolutely.

  “He sent the sweetest note -- with the flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  “Yes, indeed, perfectly gorgeous arrangement. Must have cost the man a fortune, but, of course, like you’ve told us the man is dirty rich so it really is the thought that counts.”

  Carrie’s temples constricted and pounded anew. “Filthy, Grandma. The term is fil --”

  “Well now, sweetie, you may call the man a dirty rascal if you want to for out-foxing you with this sweet surprise, but I wouldn’t go as far as to insult his personal hygiene. In fact, he looked exceptionally well-groomed to me!”

  Carries head thumped back against the headboard, ramrod ding the base of her skull with another lightning bolt of pain. Flowers? He’d sent flowers?! How in the world would she ever explain breaking off an engagement to a wonderfully thoughtful man like him now! Her grandmother was totally smitten! “It was a very sweet gesture, but I’d caution you against taking anything he said too much to heart.”

  “To heart?!” Grandmother Russell shot back. “The man has a heart the size of Nebraska! Looking forward to being a part of your beautiful family, was what he said. Brought tears to Nellie’s eyes it did. Real tears, not just the ones she sometimes puts on during confession.”

  Carrie sighed and squeezed shut her eyes wondering how on earth she was going to get out of this mess, while her grandmother continued to wax poetic on ‘Wilson’s’ attributes.

  “Wasn’t that just the most eloquent...”

  Carrie could practically feel the steam blowing out of her ears. Nice job, Mike Davis! Playing the perfect gentleman and leaving poor Carrie holding the bag. The time for beating herself up over her own duplicity had ended. Now Mike was the one with the answering to do. And Carrie was going to see to it personally he did some talking.

  Mike was just going out to get his mail when Carrie roared into his apartment’s parking lot like storm cloud on the wings of -- holy cow -- a new model BMW convertible. She did have money. And lots of it.

  That wasn’t the only thing, Mike saw, backing up a step as she leapt from her car and made for him like a thunderbolt. “You!”

  Mike inched back toward the mail box. He’d never seen a woman so positively incensed. Not even any of the several who’d dumped him.

  “Hi, Carrie,” he offered lamely, as she walked right up to his chin, then poked him in the chest.

  “Thanks...one...whole...heck...of a...lot!” she said, emphasizing each word with the pressure of her pointy finger. “You, Mike Davis, have single-handedly ruined my existence!”

  “Hey, whoa..." He tried to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder, but backed off when the look in her eye told him she just might bite it off.

  “What right,” she asked, again with the pointy finger, that -- dammit -- was starting to hurt. “Do you have...sending flowers...to my grandmother?!”

  Mike gripped his hand around the offending digit and held it in place.

  “Let me go!” Carried charged.

  “Only if you promise to stop poking.”

  Carrie glared at him and pulled back her hand, massaging its aching joints. Poking into his chest had been painful for her as well, though she didn’t dare let him know it. It had taken her over three hours to find him. She’d gone through six other Michael Davises in Redfields before she’d finally happened upon this place here. And now, he owed her some answers.

  “Like some iced tea?” Mike asked, pinned to the mail box, his eyes darting furiously between Carrie’s still idling car and the woman in front of him.

  Carrie ran a frustrated hand through her tangled hair. “Well, for heaven’s sake,” she said, her shoulders sagging just a tad so their positioning didn’t look quite so combative. “I’m not a bee that’s going to sting you.”

  “Tea?” Mike repeated, his voice coming out an octave higher than intended. Okay Mike, he told himself, now would be a good time to think up the reason you did that. She obviously wants an explanation. But do you understand it first?

  All he knew was that when he’d awakened that morning feeling sunny, sending flowers seemed the perfect thing to do. Gracious. Thoughtful. And the truth was, he adored Carrie’s grandmother-- along with the rest of her extended family.

  Carrie set a hand on her hip and shook her head. “Alright, I’ll come in for tea, but under one condition. You promise to be completely honest with me.”

  “That cuts two ways, Carrie,” Mike called as she walked back to her car and yanked her keys from the ignition.

  Crimminy. She hadn’t even considered that.

  Carrie sat across from Mike at his kitchen table in his tiny but tidy efficiency apartment. Carrie looked around somehow finding all the cleanliness disheartening. More undeniable proof of just how highly unsuited to each other the two of them were. What had she been thinking?

  “Well,” Carrie asked, setting down her glass. “I’m waiting.”

  Mike was waiting, too. Waiting for something brilliant to occur to him. But all he could come up with was the very embarrassing truth: he’d wanted to impress Carrie’s family.

  “It wasn’t meant in malice, Carrie,” he began tentatively, pushing aside his tea glass.

  “Well, of course, I know that!”

  “Well, then...” he asked, gently pacing his words, lest her ice tea glass wind up on his head. “Why are you so darned mad?”

  “I’m mad because...Because...” Carrie faltered. She was so furious she could barely form her words. But what, in truth, drove her anger was even beyond her comprehension. All she knew was it had something to do with Mike inserting himself deeper in her life that he had a right to go.

  “We made a deal, you and I.”

  “That was ages ago.”

  “Three days,” she corrected without
blinking.

  “Well, it seems like ages, Carrie. It seems impossible I’ve only known you that long. The two of us, we...”

  “What?” she demanded, looking him square in the eye.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too?”

  Carrie pushed back from the table and stood. “No way. No way, Mike, are you turning the tables back on me. We are not here to discuss my feelings!”

  “Okay,” Mike said, taking a lingering sip of tea. “Shall we discuss mine, then?”

  Panic gripped Carrie by the throat. What was happening here? No! She was here to confront him. She was furious! And there he was looking -- what? Humble? Self-effacing? Forgivable?

  Carrie bit into her bottom lip and dropped back down into her chair. “What do you mean by that?”

  “What I mean,” he said, looking right through her with earnest green eyes, “is that you said you wanted honesty. I’m prepared to fess up, if you are.”

  Carrie gulped and grabbed for her tea glass, which was empty.

  “Refill?” she asked weakly.

  “In a moment,” he said reaching across the table and encircling the hand that gripped her glass with both of his. “First, we talk flowers.”

  Carrie tried to steady her resolve, remind herself of just how infuriated she was. But when she looked at him, really looked at him, Carrie knew in her heart Mike was telling the truth. He hadn’t sent those flowers to upset her. Or anybody else for that matter.

  “So, why?” she asked, the still air settling around them, as Mike released his grip on her hands and laid his palms on the table.

  “I can’t tell you what it felt like, Carrie. Being there in that room of people -- with your family. I felt so included. Really a part of things. I didn’t mean to make anything harder on you. Truly, I didn’t. I just wanted to say, thank you.”