Ellen James - The Goodbye Groom

She would’ve laughed if she could. Yesterday she’d been a joyful bride-to-be. Today she was a certifiable wreck. But at last her ridiculous shakiness passed. The haze in front of her eyes cleared, and she saw a swimming pool off to her right with a flagstone patio curving around the back of the rambling shingled mansion. A glass of iced tea appeared before her. She sipped gratefully and focused on her rescuer. He was a man of considerable height, obliging her to crane her neck a bit.

Dark hair curling over a stern forehead. Aloof blue eyes. A Mediterranean heritage suggested by strong cheekbones and a deliberate jaw. A dash of France and Italy, a hint of Spain. Something exotic and dangerous. Something forbidding….

Jamie took another sip of the cold, spicy tea. She felt oddly disturbed by the man, unable to glance away from him. He gazed back at her assessingly, not saying a word.

“I’m looking for Shawn,” she volunteered at last.

“Hmm… Shawn’s not here,” the man said.

A stab of disappointment went through her. “The ferry captain—he said Mr. Sinclair was in residence—”

“I suppose he meant me. I’m Eric Sinclair. Shawn’s brother.”

All Jamie could do was stare at him. “But he never said anything about a brother. I just assumed…” Her voice trailed off. One more thing she hadn’t known about her fiancé. He’d seemed so open and giving yet ultimately had shared so little. And she’d done her best to ignore all her doubts about his reticence. She’d been in love…was still in love.

As she considered Eric Sinclair, she could see only a slight family resemblance. Perhaps the determined shape of the nose. And the confident stance—she recognized that. But this Sinclair had a gravity, a formal demeanor, even a certain grimness.

She sighed. “I’m Jamie Williams. Shawn and I—well, we were supposed to be on our honeymoon right about now.”

The expression on Eric Sinclair’s face was skeptical as he sat down across from her. His attire was more suited for a corporate boardroom than an island retreat. He wore a richly shaded charcoal suit and a silk tie slightly loosened. Almost unconsciously Jamie smoothed a wrinkle from her cotton skirt. Her rumpled condition, however, was the least of her worries.

“It seems your brother neglected a few items. Such as inviting you to the wedding…or bothering to show up at the altar.”

Eric’s look remained doubtful.

“He left a message for me,” Jamie went on stubbornly. “He was sorry, he said. That’s all—he was sorry. I don’t even know what he meant. Is he sorry he ever met me? Sorry that he’s hurt me? I need an explanation. I deserve an explanation. When two people make promises to each other…that has to count for something. It might even be worth fighting for. Some things are worth the fight.”

Eric loosened his tie a little more, as if preparing for a long story, yet there wasn’t much left to tell.

“Your brother seems to have vanished from New Mexico, Mr. Sinclair. He’d told me about growing up on this island—I took a chance he’d be here.” She paused. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“Ms. Williams, in the past I’ve cleaned up a fair share of my brother’s messes. Swore I wouldn’t do it again.”

“I’m not somebody’s mess.”

Eric passed a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t know where he is.”

“You probably wouldn’t tell me even if you did know,” Jamie stated flatly. “There’s something you’re not saying. Just come out with it, please.”

“All right,” he said in a beleaguered tone. “My brother has a habit of…attracting attention. Sometimes it’s the family name, family wealth, whatever—”

He didn’t need to spell it out. Jamie thumped her glass down on the poolside table. She stood, pushing her chair back so quickly it almost toppled over. “I understand,” she said tightly. “You think I’m a—a gold digger. That’s the term, isn’t it? Let me tell you the truth. I don’t give a damn about your family money, your family position, whatever. I just want your blasted brother to face me and tell me what’s going on. And then I can tell him to go to…go to—” She couldn’t finish. Blinded by foolish tears, she turned and began striding away. Her dignity wasn’t helped when she stubbed her toe on a stone planter full of begonias.

Eric Sinclair came to the rescue again. He followed her, took hold of her arm and steered her back to one of the patio chairs. She grabbed a napkin from the table and impatiently swiped at her eyes. Eric stood in front of her, arms folded, looking more formidable than ever.

“I haven’t accused you of anything, Ms. Williams,” he said in a carefully expressionless voice. “Obviously you’re upset. My brother has that effect on women, too.”

She glared at him. “Shawn loves me. In spite of everything—I’m sure of that much. And that’s why I’m really here.”

Eric gave her a long, considering look. “You actually sound like you mean it. Maybe Shawn’s done it this time.”

“Done what?” she asked irritably.

He didn’t answer her question, merely went on looking at her with a distracted frown. He gave the clear impression that he had other matters on his mind and she was an unwelcome nuisance. At last, though, he gave a shrug.

“There isn’t another ferry until tomorrow at nine. I suppose you’ll have to stay here for the night, get yourself sorted out.”

She was used to being in control of her life, not someone who needed sorting out. “I’ve already registered at the hotel by the pier,” she said stiffly.

He gave just a hint of a mirthless smile. “It’s optimistic to call the Sand Castle a hotel. No…you’ll stay here. Mrs. Braddock will take you to one of the guest rooms.” He’d scarcely glanced toward the house when a sixtyish woman popped out a side door. She wore her graying hair in a ponytail, giving her a youthful appearance in spite of the fine lines etched into her face. Stepping closer, she treated Jamie to a frank perusal.

“You could do with a snack and then a rest before dinner,” she pronounced.

It sounded like exactly what Jamie needed, but she didn’t want to be managed—not by Eric Sinclair and not by this woman.

“I’ll be fine at the hotel,” she said. “My luggage is there already—”

“We’ll see that it’s delivered here,” said Mrs. Braddock. “You don’t want to stay at the Sand Castle.”

Eric almost gave a genuine smile this time. “Resistance is useless. She’s been running this family for years.”

“Someone has to,” the woman said crisply. She turned back to Jamie. “Come along, dear. I’ve made a blueberry pie.”

The prospect of having a piece of that pie weakened Jamie’s resolve—she hadn’t eaten all day. But she stayed where she was, watching Eric Sinclair. He sat down at the table, unsnapped an expensive but clearly well-used briefcase and took out some files. He immersed himself in them, seeming to have dismissed her entirely.

The incongruity of the scene was too much. A man who could devote himself to business papers when the shimmering turquoise water of the pool beckoned from only a few yards away. Not to mention all the rest of it. The engagingly rustic house and the hills forested with pine, sweeping down to Puget Sound. Breathtaking. Yet there he sat, ignoring this gorgeous summer day as effectively as he ignored her. So unlike his brother Shawn, who took advantage of every opportunity to indulge…

“This way, miss,” said Mrs. Braddock firmly. And Jamie, against her better judgment, ended up following.

SOME THINGS ARE WORTH the fight.

Those words wouldn’t leave Eric in peace. Cursing under his breath, he tossed yet another report on the table. He’d been staring at these same numbers for fifteen minutes. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the kink in his neck. Shawn’s latest escapade was already proving too much of a distraction.