A Bride by Summer

by Sandra Steffen

  She drew her hand out of his and hugged one of her old classmates the way women often did. It afforded him the perfect opportunity to look at her again.

  Whoa had been his first thought when he’d seen her practically flying toward him across the lobby a few minutes ago. Leave it to Ruby to wear white. Not black, not red, not silver or gold. White.

  Not a chaste white, either. In fact, it was far from that.

  He didn’t know a lot about fabric other than that he preferred to wear shirts made of fine cotton. Her dress was soft to the touch, whisper-thin and only slightly heavier than air. The neckline was a gentle sweep from shoulder to shoulder, collarbone to collarbone. It was low enough in the front to show off that delicate hollow at the base of her throat and a few inches of smooth, slightly freckled golden skin below it.

  In the back it dipped lower. He didn’t see a zipper; he didn’t see how she could have gotten into the dress without one. At her waist was a sash in every muted shade of blue and green imaginable. The skirt skimmed her hips, the fabric gathered so softly it flowed like water when she moved. The hem stopped above her knees, quite a few inches above her knees, actually, and on her feet she wore sandals the same color as the beads and shells and pearls stacked one on top of the other around her neck.

  Her hair waved loosely down her back. Way down her back. Without the tight curls it was longer than he’d realized. There were other attractive women here tonight. Ruby stole the show. And it wasn’t because the most popular guy in the class who’d done her wrong wanted her back, although that appeared to be on everybody’s mind. More than that, it was because she knew each and every one of these people. It seemed she’d tried and quit nearly every sport and club she’d joined. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him she had trouble making up her mind. She’d moved away and come back, fallen for the same guy two or three times and evidently had humiliated herself endearingly. She thought they were all rooting for Peter.

  Reed highly doubted that.

  She introduced him to her friends, which was practically everyone. Reed knew how to hold his own in any social setting. He smiled and agreed and disagreed when he could do so amicably, but for the most part, he remained at her side, a quiet presence, slightly in the background. This was her party, after all.

  There were the usual questions—How have you been? and Where are you living? and What do you do?—a lot of stories and much reminiscing about the good old days. He met her brother, Rusty; her BFF, Amanda; a heavyset friend named Evie and a very pregnant one called Violet.

  There was a doctor and a lawyer, a musician and a guy named Freddie who spoke slowly and smelled like weed. And always, Peter laughed a little too loudly and managed to stay a little closer to Ruby than Reed would have liked.

  Peter was waiting to make his move. Whether it was retaliation against Reed or an attempted reconciliation with Ruby was anybody’s guess.

  Leaving Ruby with a group of her friends, Reed waited his turn at the bar. Some guy named Todd talked tax laws with him and another one named Jason Harding looked especially crestfallen. Soon, Reed ordered a Sam Adams for himself and a margarita over crushed ice for Ruby.

  Someone to his right nudged him, hard. “You’re in my way.”

  Obviously Ruby’s old flame was proud of his shoulders. Taking his half out of the middle, he ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. Something told Reed that Peter worked hard for muscles like his and liked to show them off—arms, shoulders, chest, too, if the way he puffed it out was an accurate indication.

  Reed didn’t know if Ruby was watching from the other side of the room where he’d left her. He only knew he would have been hard-pressed to mimic Peter’s sneer. One thing was certain. The jerk meant to intimidate.

  Reed didn’t intimidate easily.

  “I don’t know who you think you are or what you’re doing here,” Peter began. “Rocky, is it?” As if he didn’t know Reed’s full name, where he lived, what he drove and how much he earned by now.

  Reed shrugged, as if bored. He may not have looked directly at him, but he knew enough from the bar fights he’d gotten caught up in with Noah that it was wise to keep one’s potential opponent in his peripheral vision at all times.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard I hurt her,” he said bitterly, swirling his whiskey in his glass.

  “Actually,” Reed finally said, “Ruby has told me very little about you.”

  The bartender smirked. And so did the CPA and the shorter guy with the spaniel eyes. Score one for Reed.

  “Yes, well,” Peter the Great said with his customary sneer. “It’s not surprising, given the fact that she only moved away two weeks ago. How well could you possibly know her?”

  It looked to everyone within hearing range that this point would go to Peter. Reed took a drink from his longneck bottle. “And yet I’m the one she’s with tonight.”

  Ha.

  Score another point for Reed.

  “You do not want to get in a pissing match with me, pal.”

  The pal rankled. Ruby had called him that more than once.

  “You’re right about that,” Reed said, his Sam Adams in one hand and Ruby’s margarita now in the other. “As far as I can see, there is no match. Skeeter, is it?”

  The unofficial score was three to zip by the time Reed returned to the spot where he’d left Ruby five minutes ago. She wasn’t there, though. In fact, he didn’t see her anywhere in the room, and Ruby O’Toole stood out in a crowd.

  A patient man, he stayed at the edge of the dance floor. Quietly nursing his beer, he waited for the belle of the ball to return.

  Chapter Ten

  The door swished shut quietly behind Ruby as she left the lounge. Someone had dimmed the lights in the hallway and in the adjoining banquet hall. Letting her eyes adjust, she paused for a moment and looked around. She didn’t see Reed anywhere.

  She’d planned only a quick visit to the ladies’ room to run a comb through her hair and reapply her lip gloss. She should have known better than to underestimate what hubs of social activity women’s restrooms could be, especially when there was an adjoining lounge with velvet settees and slipper chairs.

  Since almost no one was dancing, the only location boasting more activity right now was the bar. She didn’t see Reed there, either, though. Actually, she didn’t see him by the punch table or the hors d’oeuvres table or with the small group made up of guests who didn’t know anybody else. Maybe he was visiting the men’s room. For guys, those were always quick trips, just one of the many differences in the sexes.

  Wherever he was, she wondered if his ears had been ringing while she’d been gone. Funny, she’d expected everyone to ask about Peter. Instead, they were more curious about Reed.

  Many of their questions had easy answers, which she’d readily given. She’d met him her second day in Orchard Hill. Yes, he was tall. No, not six-five, more like six-three. Yes, he was good-looking, too.

  And okay, while they were on the subject, no, she hadn’t shrunk, she was still five-ten and three-quarters, and she hadn’t lost weight, either. No, she didn’t know where he bought his clothes. Yes, yes, yes, he wore them well.

  His shoes did look expensive, and no, she didn’t know his shoe size. He’d gone to Purdue, and she didn’t think he’d ever been married, and his eyes were dreamy, weren’t they?

  She’d hedged the more intimate queries, and at times she simply smiled. She couldn’t help it if there was a dreamy depth in her eyes and a secret knowledge in what she didn’t say. She was having a wonderful time, after all; she felt a glow deep inside, and it seemed to have started with that kiss.

  Here in the banquet hall, Peter was talking to two friends from the old football team, Chad Wilson and Tripp Donahue. Although she pretended she hadn’t noticed, she’d felt Peter looking at her much of the evening. His
impressive biceps and trim waist, all that dark whisker stubble and those smoldering cobalt eyes were impossible to miss. He’d been part of the raucous group who’d drunk to the winning touchdown, his, that had earned the team a trophy and a permanent place behind glass in the display case outside the cafeteria at school. Once or twice she’d returned his smile. She wondered if he realized yet that it didn’t mean anything.

  It was getting late; everyone had to vacate the premises by midnight, which wasn’t bad for a town that normally rolled up its sidewalks by nine. More guests were leaving all the time. Amanda was dancing with her fiancé, Todd; Violet and her husband had gone home a while ago. Evie, that little seductress, had ducked out with Max Hamilton, and Livia Holden was leaving this very minute with Jack Simon—or was that Lisa? Ruby never could tell those two apart. Rumor had it that Eric Gordon had sneaked out with someone else’s date.

  Abby and Chelsea had been right. Class reunions were major hookup fests.

  Ruby hadn’t given Peter his moment in the spotlight yet. She knew him, though, and any minute now he was going to take matters into his own hands.

  She saw a movement across the room. Brock Avery, Gale High’s former basketball center, and his girlfriend, a model named Fowler, just Fowler—that Brock always had been able to pick them—took a seat opposite the most-talked-about outsider here tonight.

  There sat Reed, looking interested in whatever Brock and Fowler were saying. His pale green shirt was still tucked in, the sleeves now rolled up a few times at his forearms, elbows on the table, feet apart, one leg stretched out comfortably, basically a naturally delicious slice of man.

  He laughed at something Fowler said, listened, said something in return. And so the exchange went. It looked as if he was drinking a Sam Adams, but it could have been a Bud Light for all she cared. It wasn’t his choice of beer that sent that interesting little flutter through her chest.

  The bottle was halfway to his mouth when he turned his head and saw her. She started toward him, and even though his table wasn’t far away, he was on his feet before she reached it. She wondered who’d instilled those incredible manners. Or were all Sullivans predisposed to fine conduct?

  The O’Tooles, not so much, which Ruby demonstrated upon reaching Reed’s side. Having already spoken to Brock and his gorgeous girlfriend, Ruby smiled in their general direction and looked up at Reed. “Is that margarita for me per chance?”

  His chin came down just a little, and so did his eyelids. It was a dreamy expression, one that made her think about dreamy activities, bedroom activities.

  “It’s yours,” he said, his voice low. “The ice melted. I can get you a fresh one if you’d like.”

  She shook her head and took a sip of the cool watery drink. “The place is clearing out. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  “Did you solve the nuclear crisis and discover a cure for the common cold?”

  She took another sip, and another. “We’re close, very close. Did you really call Peter Skeeter?”

  Taking the drink from her hand, he placed it on the table next to his and said, “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Do you hear that?”

  Nodding, she remembered when he’d told her his favorite music was anything by Springsteen. “Was this song a personal request?”

  “No, but I believe my patience is finally being rewarded.” He took her hand and drew her with him onto the dance floor.

  Stopping in a roomy spot, he faced her. They each took a step, meeting in the middle, her hand curling against his, his warm fingers lacing with her cool ones.

  She’d taken dance in college. She could waltz, rumba, tango, jitterbug, and yes, she could even do the Macarena. Reed may not have known all those dances, but he knew enough to move his feet. And he knew where to put his other hand.

  “You do realize,” she said, close to his ear, “your touch is below proprietary and only slightly above Neanderthal.”

  He tightened his hold at the small of her back and drew her slightly closer. “Exactly where every guy in this room would like to be.”

  His voice was a low rumble, a quiet vibration that found its way into her ear, spreading in every direction, rippling outward and inward, pausing in unconnected places beneath her collarbone and breastbone, below her navel, bubbling like a science experiment along the insides of her hip bones before finally reaching her very center. She was still relishing the possibilities when someone tapped Reed on the shoulder.

  Peter was cutting in.

  Reed stiffened. Ruby did, too, and glanced from one man to the other. One was dark, the other fair, one determined, the other reluctant.

  “It’s all right, Reed,” she said, and released her held breath. “Hello, Peter.”

  There was another moment’s awkwardness, and then, his mouth set in a firm line, Reed nodded at Ruby, stepped back and let her go. With an indecipherable smile, she went from Reed’s arms to Skeeter’s—er, Peter’s.

  * * *

  It was going to rain.

  Reed knew the weather. He recognized the different cloud patterns, felt the shifting air currents and understood atmospheric pressure. The wind was changing.

  Prophetic, perhaps.

  It was going to rain. He could smell it, feel it, taste it. He tasted blood, too, but that was from nearly biting through his cheek.

  He put a hand to the back of his neck. And forced himself to breathe.

  From the dance floor he’d come directly to the patio. He couldn’t claim to have refrained from looking back; but he’d looked back only once. Of the few dozen people still here, half had been watching him and all were probably wondering if they were going to get their promised scene, after all.

  Lover Boy had had all night to make his move. Yet he’d waited until the deejay with the impressive sound system finally, finally put on a song by Springsteen. That rankled to beat hell.

  Reed didn’t relish the picture in his mind of Ruby deep in conversation with Tall, Dark and Handsome, his hand on her lower back now. They looked a little too cozy. Intimate.

  Hell.

  She didn’t need Reed’s protection. It was the honest-to-God truth. She was independent, self-reliant and would know where to slam her knee should the need arise. Besides, every guy here would come to her aid, and half the women, too. Peter Powelson may have been their former football star, but Ruby was everyone’s friend.

  The party was almost over. Reed didn’t know how he felt about that.

  He hadn’t attended his ten-year class reunion five years ago. He didn’t remember what excuse he’d given. He hadn’t kept in close contact with most of the members of his graduating class. At the time, he’d been deep in negotiations to supply four varieties of fresh apples from Sullivans Orchard to the second-largest grocery chain in Michigan. Also there had been talk of an apple pickers’ strike, the cider house had been getting a new roof and, as always, there had been hiring and firing and renovations and expansion and upkeep on buildings and equipment. And, of course, Noah and Marsh and Madeline had needed tending to. The truth went a little deeper than work or family obligations. He hadn’t kept in close contact with members of his graduating class because he hadn’t wanted to have to try to explain why he wasn’t living in Miami or Seattle or, hell, Timbuktu. He hadn’t wanted their pity. So he’d never given them a chance to understand.

  Somehow, Ruby had figured it out. She’d put two and two together, and simply accepted that sometimes people’s lives changed, and sometimes their lives changed them. She didn’t pity him. She respected his choice, as he did, and that made him feel ten feet tall. Respect fed a man’s soul. Perhaps even more dangerous, it made him feel understood.

  He wondered what was happening on that dance floor. But she didn’t need any more of an audience, and he didn’t care to witness Peter’s heartfelt, heartrending, soul-baring
, deeply moving final play.

  So as “Born to Run” wound down—why the hell it had to be Springsteen, he didn’t know—as the last notes played, Reed stood on the patio overlooking an empty green and a meandering river, both lit by modernized antique gas lanterns on iron posts. He didn’t put on a superhero cape or pound his chest with his fists. Instead, he let the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, the kindest and funniest and most capable, too, decide if she wanted to give a man she’d once loved another chance.

  Reed fervently hoped she didn’t. He fervently hoped Lover Boy didn’t kiss her.

  He wanted to be the one doing that.

  * * *

  “Mmm. Smell that?” Ruby asked as she and Reed strolled to his Mustang at the far end of the parking lot.

  Finally, the reunion was over, and everyone except Sean Halstead, who was loading up his speakers, woofers, tweeters, microphones and the rest of his equipment this very minute, had already left. Not daring to let go of her dress for more than half a second in this wind, Ruby quickly waved to Amanda and Todd as they drove away.

  “Reed? I was just wondering if you smelled that,” she repeated.

  “Asphalt?” he asked.

  She nudged him with her elbow. The country club must have resurfaced the parking lot recently. It did smell of asphalt. That wasn’t what she meant. Rain was in the air, but that wasn’t what she meant, either. She was going to say it was the scent of happiness.

  This was the second time she’d walked across this parking lot since the reunion had wound down. The first time she’d agreed to come out here with Peter. By the time Peter had driven away and she’d gone back inside, Reed had been talking to Sean while he packed up his computer and speakers and other music paraphernalia.

  Since she’d ridden to the banquet hall with Amanda, Ruby had asked Reed earlier if he’d mind dropping her at her parents’. Although he’d said he’d be happy to, she hadn’t actually talked to him since their last dance.