Jennifer Drew - One Bride Too Many - One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go

“Hey, will you help me?” a female voice called.

He heard the distress call before he saw the damsel.

“Please! It will only take a minute.”

He hurried down the row of cars, spotting a pink dress with big puffy sleeves and enough skirt for a circus tent. Only a bridesmaid would wear a Halloween costume in June. He spotted her problem as soon as he got close enough—her taffeta tail was caught in the trunk.

“My bow is stuck,” the voice said from behind a gift-wrapped box the size of a washing machine, “and I dropped my keys under the car.”

“Let me take that.”

He put the bulky but not heavy package on the ground.

The bridesmaid made a stab at twirling and trying to retrieve her keys with the toe of one pink satin shoe, but only succeeded in kicking them farther under the blue compact.

Cole bent to look under the car and felt around until he found her keys on one of those stretchy wrist things that she obviously hadn’t bothered to use. Retrieving her keys took a few seconds longer than necessary because he found the view from that angle pretty spectacular. If the rest of the woman’s legs matched her shapely ankles, it was criminal to dress her like a wad of cotton candy. Back in the days when he’d semiwillingly wasted half his weekends every summer going to weddings, he’d developed a theory about bridesmaids—their only real function was to look really bad so the bride looked better.

“Thanks, I really appreciate…You’re one of the Bailey twins!” she said, sounding more astonished than the situation merited.

He stood, trying to get a look at her face under a hat that was more awning than headgear.

“Cole Bailey?”

“Yes,” he agreed, wondering how she knew him and coming up blank.

“We went to high school together. Remember British lit?”

“My worst subject. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I needed one more English class to graduate.”

“I remember that.”

She whipped off the hat, revealing a mass of reddish brown hair tortured into sausage curls.

He still drew a blank.

“No wonder you don’t recognize me. This hairdo Lucinda dreamed up for her bridesmaids belongs in a nursery rhyme. I’m Tess Morgan. I helped you with Shakespeare.”

“Tess Morgan? No way!” He remembered pudgy little Tess. He and Zack used to tease her just to see her blush. Her cheeks would get flaming red.

“I guess I’ve changed some.”

“I guess!”

One thing hadn’t changed. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the comment he’d intended as a compliment. He remembered one of their nicknames for her—Miss Prim and Proper.

“I only tutored you because you promised never to tease me again if you passed the class.”

“Did I keep my promise?” He honestly didn’t remember.

“You graduated a year before I did, so I guess you more or less did. Anyway, would you please open the trunk? I feel like an idiot trapped by my own car.”

“Oh, sure.” He unlocked it and lifted out the wide ribbon of cloth.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He caught himself staring and had to remind himself that this was Tess Morgan, clueless Tess. In high school she’d been so naive and wholesome, the guys had called her Soapy.

“Let me tie it for you.” He surprised himself by offering.

“Oh, would you? I don’t know why they had to be long enough to go around a hippo.”

He felt clumsy trying to make a bow out of the slippery streamers, especially since the one that had been caught in the trunk had a black smear.

“Can you do it?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Sure, no problem.”

He fumbled with the thing, managing to turn the grease spot so it didn’t show. No need to make her self-conscious by mentioning it. The big bow did her slender waist a grave disservice, in his opinion.

“Is Lucinda a good friend of yours?” he asked. He now knew the bride’s name, but he had serious doubts about her character. What kind of woman made a friend show up in public looking like Little Bo Peep?

“We go way back.” She didn’t elaborate. “I’ve done this bit so many times, people are starting to think I’m a professional bridesmaid.”

“Can I carry that for you?” He nodded at the gift-wrapped box. Chivalry aside, the bulky package looked as if it could be a good ticket into the reception. Who would question a guy who came in with a bridesmaid and a really big present?

“Would you mind? It’s not heavy, but it’s bulky. Lucinda is into wicker, so I got her a chair at the import store. Unfortunately they don’t deliver.”

Not so unfortunate for him. “I’d be glad to.”

He hefted the box and walked beside her toward the clubhouse. How could one person change so much and so little at the same time? She had the same tentative smile, but he didn’t remember her lips being so lush, no thanks to the metallic pink lipstick that was probably supposed to match the dress. Her eyes were bluer than he recalled, but maybe ten years ago she hadn’t looked at him so directly. She had apple cheeks, part of the reason he and Zack had enjoyed making her blush, but there was nothing plump about any part of her now, including her face. She had golden-tan skin, a cute nose and arched brows, altogether a pretty package.

“I didn’t see you at the church,” she commented.

“I’m not big on weddings. It’s a bachelor phobia.”

“Oh, you’re still single?”

“You sound surprised.”

“A little. Girls liked you a lot in high school—more than Zack even, but I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“It’s my brother you shouldn’t tell. He thought he was quite a ladies’ man back then.”

Since winning the coin toss, Zack was the happy twin, free to continue playing the field. He was also the one who could get a date with a complete stranger anytime just by saying, “How about it?”

Cole wasn’t at all eager to begin wife-hunting, but he hoped to get a date or two at this reception. Zack would have too much fun trying to give him advice on how to get a woman if he struck out.

“Is Zack married?”

“No, we’re both lonely bachelors. What about you? Are you married?”

“No—and don’t pretend you’re surprised.”

He protested weakly, but he wasn’t at all surprised. As far as he knew, she hadn’t had a boyfriend in high school and probably still put men off with her wholesomeness. It had had nothing to do with looks. She’d always been too reserved, too self-contained—maybe too shy.

“Meeting the right person isn’t easy,” he said glumly, thinking of his grandfather’s unrealistic expectations. Maybe in Marsh’s day virgins panting for husbands were plentiful, but the old man needed a wake-up call. This was the twenty-first century! It was a lot easier to find a playmate than a longtime partner.

They climbed the steps at the main entrance of the imposing pseudo-Elizabethan clubhouse, its stucco walls gleaming white and the timbers freshly stained a deep mahogany brown. He’d lucked out in connecting with Tess and her big box. Private security was hovering like dark-suited ghosts, and when he saw the gift room off the foyer, it was pretty clear why. Besides wicker, the bride was obviously into silver and other pricey stuff. He didn’t need Tess’s prompting to carry her gift in with the others and put it in a corner.

TESS WAITED while Cole discreetly made her gift disappear in the treasure trove of Lucinda’s loot. He’d been a hunk in high school—she’d sighed over his picture in the yearbook for an embarrassingly long time—but he’d matured and lost his boyish cuteness. Now he was drop-dead gorgeous. His face was sun-bronzed, and a light crease line in his forehead made his dark brows and eyes even sexier.