Ellen James - The Goodbye Groom

“I saw Shawn today, Jamie.”

The front tire of her bicycle wobbled dangerously. Jamie had to focus on the road ahead for a few minutes before she was able to talk again.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“He showed up at my office, wanted to talk about…things. I thought it was the right opportunity to make Shawn really take notice. You remember how we talked about turning up the heat—”

“Eric, are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Well… I just happened to mention to Shawn that…you and I are engaged.”

“You what?!”

Dear Reader,

I’m somewhat of an expert on prewedding jitters. Cold feet preventing me from walking down the aisle, I balked on my wedding date not once, but twice—causing my future mother-in-law to throw up her hands in despair. But then I looked into my fiancé’s eyes and reaffirmed what I’d known, deep down, all along: he truly was the perfect man for me, and we would have a wonderful life together navigating all the unknowns ahead. On a beautiful spring day I finally exchanged vows with him, and it’s a decision I’ve never once regretted.

I’ve always wondered, though, what happens when regrets do get the better of “happily ever after.” For example, when the groom changes his mind and ditches his bride, right at the altar…what’s the bride to do? I had a great deal of fun exploring that question in The Goodbye Groom. After Jamie Williams is left holding the bridal bouquet, she decides to take matters into her own hands. Along comes Eric Sinclair, the groom’s sexy brother….

I hope you enjoy reading Jamie and Eric’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Ellen James

The Goodbye Groom

Ellen James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Ellen James lives in New Mexico, “the land of enchantment,” where she met the man of her dreams, and where she began her dream career—writing romance novels for Harlequin Books. Ellen shares a passion for history and the outdoors with her husband. The two of them are usually found poking around ghost towns, antique stores and classic auto shows, as well as hiking the gorgeous mountains of the southwestern United States.

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

822—THE MAINE MAN

869—THE RESCUER

953—CHRISTMAS BABIES

1014—MY MONTANA HOME

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

He’ll be here.

If she just kept repeating those words, they would be true. They had to be true.

Behind her, she heard scraps of whispers.

“…minister wants to know…”

“Should the organist play that again…?”

“Hasn’t someone called him…?”

Then, at last, she heard the door to the bridal suite shutting and her mother coming to sit beside her. “I just knew he wouldn’t show.”

Jamie forced words past the tightness in her throat. “Mother, please. He’ll be here.”

“But…he’s not here, Jamie. That’s just the point. No groom…no word…no show…”

Jamie stood suddenly, the skirt of her wedding gown swirling around her. “He’s late, that’s all. You know how Shawn is. Can’t keep time to save his life.”

“Actually, I don’t know. I mean, what do either one of us really know about him?”

Jamie clenched her hands, then realized she was crushing her bouquet of pink roses and starflowers. Everything was perfect for her wedding day: the plaster-white walls of the old adobe church, the golden New Mexico sun streaming through the window, the dazzling blue of the sky. Only one ingredient was missing. The groom.

“If he’s going to break your heart, best he do it now. Not wait until you’ve been married ten years—”

“Mother, stop, please.” Jamie’s throat ached now. “Don’t make this about you and Dad.”

Beyond the closed door, the sound of the organ came again, a forced march. How long could the woman play without the main event?

Jamie sank back down into her chair. She gazed at her mother, saw the lines of pride and bitterness etched into her face. Pride because Caroline Williams had managed to live almost twenty years without a man. Bitterness because she had never forgiven Jamie’s father for walking out on her.

It won’t happen to me. He’ll be here.

“We have to do something, Jamie. This is becoming ridiculous.”

She could no longer deny that much. Her fingers trembling just the slightest bit, Jamie punched the number of his cell phone. No response. Then his apartment number. The usual debonair “Shawn here” message on his answering machine had been replaced by another recording. “I’m sorry, Jamie.” Just that, his voice subdued. I’m sorry, Jamie.

Very carefully she set down the phone. “Well,” she said, surprised at the absolute calmness in her own voice. “At least we can tell that poor, wretched woman to stop playing her music.” A deep breath. “There isn’t going to be any wedding after all.”

JAMIE COULD JUST imagine the headlines in the local newspaper: “Woman Arrested at Ex-Fiancé’s Home.” Of course, she didn’t know if, strictly speaking, Shawn was her ex; his phone message had been so maddeningly obscure. And she wasn’t exactly breaking into the house. She’d knocked at the door, then given in to the temptation to poke her head through a half-open window.

Why did she feel like such an intruder, then? Why did she know so little about the man she loved?

Jamie rested her arms wearily on the sill. Over the past twenty-four hours her usual levelheadedness had deserted her. Operating solely on emotion, she’d flown over a thousand miles to end up here at Saint-Anne—a tiny, unfamiliar island off the Washington mainland. Never chase after a man, her mother had warned her. Maybe Mom had been right.

Then again, Mom had been lonely most of her life.

“See anything you like?” asked a voice behind Jamie.

She started, straightening up so suddenly that she banged her head against the window frame. In all her twenty-eight years Jamie had never had so much as a dizzy spell. Not once during her tomboy days of bumps and bruises and broken bones. Not once during her years of flying. But now she was done in by a combination of hunger, exhaustion and the jolt to her head. The sky seemed to tilt, the ground to shift. Nothing steady remained. Even her stomach churned, a cold, sick sweat flushing her skin.

A hand caught her by the elbow. She found herself led along a pathway for a short distance and then lowered into a chair.

“Deep breaths,” commanded the masculine voice. Strong fingers deftly probed the bump on her head. It was, admittedly, a rather pleasant sensation.