NEVER TOO LATE FOR LOVE
Marie Ferrarella
McCloud: Like Mother, Like Daughter – Book 2
Are you the mother of the bride...
Globe-trotting Margo McCloud had only come home for her daughter’s wedding. But after meeting the groom's handsome, widowed father. Margo felt like a jittery bride herself. Bruce Reed’s chivalry breathed freshness into her world-weary soul. And for one brief moment this single mum wondered if her daughter didn’t know best about love.
Or the bride?
CEO Bruce Reed thought his life was full--until he met the flirtatious mother of the bride. Her sultry voice permeated his dreams, and soon he wanted her to be more than just his in-law. But could he convince stubborn Margo that it was never too late for love?
"You're just trying to distract me,"
Margo teasingly complained.
"Why not?" Bruce asked. "Turnaround is fair play and you certainly distract me. Lean forward," he said, his eyes on hers.
She did as requested but asked. "Why?"
Ever so lightly he traced the outline of her lips with his index finger and succeeded in getting them both excited. He’d forgotten what it felt like, to feel this way around a woman.
His pulse accelerating to double time. he touched his mouth to hers. All it took was a touch. and he felt himself intoxicated. There was no doubt about it, she made his head spin. Not a good way to go if he had work to do.
Bruce drew his head back, fighting off the temptation to kiss her again. "You do make everything taste better."
MARIE FERRARELLA
lives in Southern California. She describes herself as the tired mother of two over energetic children and the contented wife of one wonderful mane The RITA Award-winning author is thrilled to be following her dream of writing full-time.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Like a hot summer wind rolling across the desert in August. Margo McCloud burst through the doors of St. Michael’s Church in Bedford. The sound of the cab pulling away from the entrance faded into the background as she struggled to juggle a suitcase in one hand, a garment bag with her newly purchased gown in the other.
"Damn traffic," she muttered under her breath, swallowing the more vehement sentiments occurring to her in deference to where she was. She hated arriving anywhere late, even if it wasn’t her fault. A big rig, suffering a blowout, had overturned on the freeway, transforming a forty-mile trip from the LA airport into a three-hour ordeal. On top of that, she was still suffering from jet lag. Her point of departure had been Athens, Greece.
This definitely wasn’t her finest moment, or her steadiest, especially when she collided with the six-foot-four-inch frame of a man who’d chosen that exact moment to stand on the other side of the door. The resulting impact would have sent her sprawling to the floor if, at the last moment, two very large, very capable arms hadn’t closed around Margo, catching her.
Focusing, Margo drew back some of the air that had just been knocked out of her.
The stranger raised his dark brown brows in amused surprise and smiled.
"Margo?"
It didn’t really surprise Margo that the man who had just collided with her knew her name, even though she didn’t have a clue who he was. She'd met a world of people in her time. She was bound to forget a few now and then. ‘
Though, she amended as she straightened, slowly leaving the protective hold of the man’s arms, it wasn’t likely that she would have forgotten him very easily. The man was nothing short of gorgeous, in a warrior-hunter sort of way. If warrior-hunters were given to wearing tuxedos.
Where had he ever found one to accommodate such broad shoulders?
"Yes, I’m Margo." And then a sliver of concern slipped through. Had she gotten her time confused on top of everything else? Distress crept into her voice. "I didn’t miss it, did I?"
Bruce Reed was immediately struck by the energy that swirled around the woman. Must run in the family. Looks certainly did. He could easily see the resemblance to her daughter. It was there. around the eyes and the mouth. And, of course, there was the hair color. Both women had hair the color of wheat in the bright morning sun. Melanie wore hers long, while this woman’s hair was done up, showing off a very delicate neck that contrasted quite nicely with her very strong chin.
The sign of a fighter, Bruce thought.
Mother and daughter, eh? He wondered if this was what his son was going to be up against in another fifteen years or so. At least the view was nice.
"No, you didn’t miss it," he assured her.
With a nod of his head, Bruce indicated the double wooden doors leading to the inside of the church. The last time he’d looked, it was crammed full of people, including his very nervous son, all of whom were waiting on Margo’s arrival.
"Melanie insisted that they delay the wedding. She refuses to get married without you. I’m the lookout." Aptly named, he decided, because the line, "Look out, here she comes," occurred to him as soon as he set eyes on Melanie’s mother.
His eyes slid down the slender, athletic frame. There, too, the women resembled each other. Small-boned, well proportioned. He couldn’t help wondering if he was being out of step with the times, noticing that. Probably. He’d lost track of what was acceptable behavior and terminology between men and women these past fourteen years.
"This way. please." He took her arm, relieving her of her suitcase. "Melanie’s quite a girl, um, I mean woman," he corrected himself.
"She’s both," Margo said, laughing softly. "Most of our species are."
Since he didn’t know her, Bruce thought it safer not to comment. Instead, he led her to a side room where Melanie was waiting. Knocking once, he tried the doorknob. It gave easily.
The tiny room required the occupancy of only two people to be crowded, and it already had that. Three almost stretched it beyond the legal limit. To keep from being smothered by a combination of satin, lace and the press of three female bodies, Bruce Reed chose to stand outside the threshold.
He smiled broadly at the young woman he’d known for a very short time and had come to love like the daughter he’d never been blessed with.
"Melanie, I think I have something that belongs to you."
"Mama!" Whirling around from the mirror, Melanie McCloud exhaled as dramatically as any of the overtrained actresses she’d watched while growing up on various movie soundstages. "I knew you’d make it."
Though it wasn’t easy, she managed to throw her arms around her mother. The garment bag fell, landing on the edge of Melanie’s gown. Melanie wasn’t given to worrying, but as the last few hours had ticked away, she had begun to fear that her mother wouldn’t arrive in time for the wedding.
Margo blinked back what felt like a tear. Now? She hadn’t cried in years. Years. Now was a ridiculous time to begin. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Knowing there was little time, Margo still allowed herself a moment to absorb the embrace.
"Of course I made it. It’s not every day that my girl gets married." Releasing Melanie, she stepped back to get a good look at her. When had she turned into this beautiful young woman, this little girl who had looked up at her with worshipful eyes? "I’d’ve come a lot sooner if someone had thought to either stop pumping people into Orange County or build enough roads to accommodate them."
The rest of the diatribe on her lips eva
porated as the sun suddenly shone full force through the bit of colored beveled glass that served as a tiny window. The rays of light seemed to form a spotlight, with Melanie as its target.
Margo’s breath was stolen away. "Oh, God, let me look at you."
Her mother was finally here. Everything was perfect now, Melanie thought.
Pleased. she tried to hold out the wedding gown’s skirt for her mother’s perusal. It wasn’t easy. Joyce Freeman, her maid of honor, attempted to make her five-seven frame as small as possible as she pressed against the wall to give Melanie more room.
"It’s a beautiful dress, isn’t it?" The moment she’d seen it, Melanie had known she had to have it, had to wear it as she pledged her heart and her eternal love to Lance. That it lit like a dream was merely a bonus.
"The dress is pretty, you are beautiful," the deep voice behind Margo corrected.
She’d almost forgotten about him, Margo thought, looking over her shoulder at her escort. "I think I’m going to like this man." She drew her brows together as she realized that she hadn’t asked his name. She was slipping. "Who are you?"
Extending his hand to her, he shook it. Margo’s hand was swallowed up in his. For just the tiniest second, she had the overwhelming feeling of well-being. Had to be the occasion, she thought.
"I’m Bruce Reed," he told her. When no immediate recognition surfaced in the flawless face before him, he added, "The groom’s father."
"Oh." Figured, the best ones were always taken. Nonetheless. she radiated a smile at him. "Nice to meet you."
When Joyce caught Melanie’s eye and tapped her watch, butterflies were instantly back on the runway in takeoff position. "I hate to break this up," Melanie said, drawing her mother around to face her, "but I’ve got a wedding waiting to start." She glanced at the garment bag that was still on the floor. "Mama, are you going to change into something else, or are you just planning to take that garment bag with you to the pew?"
Margo laughed, brushing her lips against Melanie’s cheek. "Always had a smart mouth, didn’t you, pet?"
Melanie’s eyes crinkled in response. "Matches the rest of me."
Lips pursed thoughtfully, Bruce shook his head. "I’d say it’s a little too crowded in here to change. Maybe you’d like to use the rest room?"
Margo waved away his suggestion, narrowly avoiding hitting Joyce. "Don’t worry about me. I can manage just fine anywhere."
The limited space presented no challenge to her. There had been a time--a very short time, mercifully-right after Melanie had been born, when she’d shared a tiny Las Vegas dressing room with thirty other women. She’d learned how to change quickly, with a minimum of movement.
With a smile, Margo shut the door in his face and then turned around.
"lf the groom looks anything like his father," she said to Melanie, quickly stripping off her jacket and shirt, "you have found yourself one devil of a good-looking man, sweetheart. I compliment you on your taste."
Melanie found it impossible to think of Lance without a wave of happiness rippling through her. "There’s a resemblance."
Shedding her skirt in one fluid motion, Margo wiggled into her dress of soft, shimmering blue, chosen to bring out her eyes as well as the figure she was proud of. "How old is he, anyway?"
Glancing one last time in the mirror, Melanie adjusted the braided gold chain around her neck. A wedding present from Lance. "Lance is thirty."
Margo deftly slipped into the pumps she’d packed in the bottom of the garment bag. "Not him, his father." She turned her back to Joyce. "Joy, do the honors, will you?"
From her cramped position behind the full-length mirror, Joyce reached out and managed to zip Margo’s dress up for her. The whole incident, so typically Margo, made her smile. Joyce had grown up living next door to Melanie, her mother and her great-aunt, Elaine. There wasn’t a day during that time that she hadn’t envied her best friend. Bohemian, unorthodox Margo McCloud had seemed so vital, so dynamic, a box of endless surprises, while her own parents had seemed so mundane and humdrum in comparison.
The fondness had never abated, even after she had become a grown woman.
"Bruce?" Melanie asked in surprise. She paused, thinking. "I don’t know."
Glancing in the mirror to make certain everything was in place, Margo retreated, satisfied with her appearance. "He looks more like an older brother than the father of a thirty-year-old man."
Was that a glimmer of interest she saw in her mother’s eye? Probably, Melanie decided. There wasn’t a man alive Margo McCloud didn’t like for one reason or another. The feeling was always returned. Margo made it clear that she enjoyed men’s company, enjoyed getting to know them. Not a one of them ever left a relationship with her without becoming a lifelong friend.
She wondered if her mother was just being curious or if there was more to it. "His father was married at a very young age. He and Lance’s mother were very much in love. Nature took its course, and Lance’s imminent appearance kind of hurried along marriage plans."
She could relate to that, Margo thought. Except that in her case, the result had most definitely not been marriage. Melanie’s father had performed his first and last magic trick by making himself disappear out of her life when he learned about her pending appearance.
His loss. Margo thought, looking at her daughter.
"Very romantic. A pity." She stepped out of the room. "There, I’m ready." She turned around quickly for Melanie’s inspection. "Fast enough for you?"
"Yes, thank you." Melanie took her mother’s arm and started to walk toward the entrance. She saw Joyce signal someone inside. Music began being played in earnest. "What do you mean, it’s a pity?"
Margo shrugged carelessly. "That Bruce is married."
Melanie stopped just shy of the double doors. "Oh, but he’s not. He’s a widower. His wife died in a plane crash years ago."
That put a completely different light on the matter. So good-looking, and free, too. "Hmm."
Melanie didn’t know whether to be pleased or ever so slightly concerned. "I know that look." A well-timed warning might be in order. "I think Dad’s a wee bit too conservative for you."
The word stopped Margo in her tracks. She stared at Melanie. "Dad?"
It was Melanie’s turn to shrug. She’d felt a little awkward about it in the beginning, although secretly it had pleased her.
"Bruce wants me to call him that. I’m trying it on for size." She couldn’t help the smile that came. "I have to admit it’s nice having someone to call Dad." She’d never had the opportunity to before. There was a time that had bothered her. Perhaps, in a small way, it still did, just a little.
A pang squeezed Margo’s heart. "l know it is, baby." It hadn’t been easy for her daughter, Margo thought in sympathy, never having had a father to turn to. That had been her fault, though no one had been more surprised than she when Jack had walked out on her. Still she should have known that someone like Jack would never have wanted to be tied down. never have wanted to have a wife, much less a family.
She’d tried her best to make up for it. Maybe she hadn’t succeeded as well as she’d thought.
"Hey," Melanie chided. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d been able to read her mother the way no one else could. "Don’t look like that. I’m just saying that it’s nice, after all these years, to have a father, even if I am sharing him." She gave her mother a quick hug. "But I never had to share you with anyone for long, and you were the very best part of my life."
Carefully, because she suddenly needed something to do with her hands, Margo adjusted Melanie’s veil about her face. "And you were the best part of mine, baby. The best part of me." The music took on a louder tempo. Joyce popped her head out into the hall, wondering what was keeping them. "I think the natives are getting restless."
"One second." Without looking in Joyce’s direction, Margo held up a single finger. "I would have had more time if the cabdriver had driven the way they do in the movies." A sense
of urgency struck Margo, and she took Melanie’s hands in hers. A kaleidoscope of memories suddenly flipped over in her mind forming a collage of colors and events, sounds and smells. She loved Melanie more than anyone or anything in this world. Her daughter’s happiness was of supreme importance to her. "Do you love him, honey?"
Was that all she wanted to know? The answer was easy. "So much, it hurts."
Margo’s eyes held Melanie’s. "And does he love you?" Before her daughter could answer, Margo upbraided herself for letting her career get in the way of what was the most important part of her world. "Oh, I wish I’d had time to come sooner. look him over..." Her voice trailed off.
Melanie shook her head, negating the small surge of guilt. She knew her mother couldn’t just pick up and leave for a weekend visit. For the last year, she’d been in Greece, hardly a hop, skip and a jump from California. "There’s nothing to look over, Mother. He’s terrific. And yes, he loves me."
Never Too Late For Love Page 1