Debbie Macomber - Summer Wedding Bells - Marriage Wanted / Lone Star Lovin'

Nash was stunned. She was right; he’d assumed she could cook as well as she seemed to manage everything else. Her shop was a testament to her talent, appealing to the eye in every respect. True, all those wedding gowns and satin pillows were aiding and abetting romance, but it had a homey, comfortable feel, as well. This wasn’t an easy thing to admit. A wedding shop was the last place on earth Nash ever thought he’d willingly visit.

“Are you ready to admit defeat?” he asked.

“Never, but before we get started I need to make a couple of phone calls. Do you mind?”

“Not in the least.” He was a patient man, and never more so than now. The longer they delayed, the better. It wasn’t likely that Paul would stay late, but Nash wanted to avoid introducing Savannah to him. More important, he wanted her to himself. The thought was unwelcome. This wasn’t a date and he had no romantic interest in Savannah Charles, he reminded himself.

Savannah reached for the phone and he wandered around the shop noticing small displays he’d missed on his prior visits. The first time he’d felt nervous; he didn’t know what to expect from a wedding coordinator, but certainly not the practical, gutsy woman he’d found.

He trained his ears not to listen in on her conversation, but the crisp, businesslike tone of her voice was surprisingly captivating.

It was happening again—that disturbing feeling was back, deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt it before, several years earlier, and it had nearly ruined his life. He was in trouble. Panic shot through his blood and he felt the overwhelming urge to turn and run in the opposite direction. The last time he’d had this feeling, he’d gotten married.

“I’m ready,” Savannah said, and stood.

Nash stared at her for a long moment as his brain processed what was going on.

“Nash?”

He gave himself a hard mental shake. He didn’t know if he was right about what had happened here, but he didn’t like it. “Do you mind riding with me?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.

“That’ll be fine.”

The drive back to his office building in downtown Seattle was spent in relative silence. Savannah seemed to sense his reflective mood. Another woman might have attempted to fill the space with idle chatter. Nash was grateful she didn’t.

After he’d parked, he led Savannah into his building and up the elevator to the law firm’s offices. She seemed impressed with the plush furnishings and the lavish view of Mount Rainier and Puget Sound from his twentieth-story window.

When she’d entered his office she’d walked directly to the window and set her purse on his polished oak credenza. “How do you manage to work with a view like this?” she asked, her voice soft with awe. She seemed mesmerized by the beauty that appeared before her.

After several years Nash had become immune to its splendor, but lately he’d begun to appreciate the solace he found there. The color of the sky reflected like a mirror on the water’s surface. On a gray and hazy morning, the water was a dull shade of steel. When the sun shone, Puget Sound was a deep, iridescent greenish blue. He enjoyed watching the ferries and other commercial and pleasure craft as they intersected the waterways. In the last while, he’d often stood in the same spot as Savannah and sorted through his thoughts.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she said, turning back to him. Hearing her give voice to his own feelings felt oddly comforting. The sooner he presented his argument, the better. The sooner he said what had to be said and put this woman out of his mind, the better.

“You ready?” he asked, flinging opening a file cabinet and withdrawing a handful of thick folders from the top drawer.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, taking a chair on the other side of his desk.

Nash slapped the files down on his credenza. “Let’s start with Adams versus Adams,” he muttered, flipping through the pages of the top folder. “Now, this was an interesting case. Married ten years, two sons. Then Martha learned that Bill was having an affair with a coworker, so she decided to have one herself, only she chose a nineteen-year-old boy. The child-custody battle lasted two months, destroyed them financially and ended so bitterly that Bill moved out of town and hasn’t been heard from since. Last I heard, Martha was clinically depressed and in and out of hospitals.”

Savannah gasped. “What about their sons?” she asked. “What happened to them?”

“Eventually they went to live with a relative. From what I understand, they’re both in counseling and have been for the last couple of years.”

“How very sad,” she whispered.

“Don’t kid yourself. This is only the beginning. I’m starting with the As and working my way through the file drawer. Let me know when you’ve had enough.” He reached for a second folder. “Anderson versus Anderson…Ah, yes, I remember this one. She attempted suicide three times, blackmailed him emotionally, used the children as weapons, wiped him out financially and then sued for divorce, claiming he was an unfit father.” His back was as stiff as his voice. He tossed aside that file and picked up the next.

“Allison versus Allison,” he continued crisply. “By the way, I’m changing the names to protect the guilty.”

“The guilty?”

“To my way of thinking, each participant in these cases is guilty of contributing to the disasters I’m telling you about. Each made a crucial mistake.”

“You’re about to suggest their first error was falling in love.”

“No,” he returned coldly, “it all started with the wedding vows. No two people should be expected to live up to that ideal. It isn’t humanly possible.”

“You’re wrong, Nash. People live up to those vows each and every day, in small ways and in large ones.”

Nash jabbed his finger against the stack of folders. “This says otherwise. Love isn’t meant to last. Couples are kidding themselves if they believe commitment lasts beyond the next morning. Life’s like that, and it’s time the rest of the world woke up and admitted it.”

“Oh, please!” Savannah cried, standing. She walked over to the window, her back to him, clenching and unclenching her fists. Nash wondered if she was aware of it, and doubted she was.

“Be honest, Savannah. Marriage doesn’t work anymore. Hasn’t in years. The institution is outdated. If you want to stick your head in the sand, then fine. But when others risk getting hurt, someone needs to tell the truth.” His voice rose with the heat of his argument.

Slowly she turned again and stared at him. An almost pitying look came over her.

“She must have hurt you very badly.” Savannah’s voice was so low, he had to strain to hear.

“Hurt me? What are you talking about?”

She shook her head as though she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “Your ex-wife.”

The anger that burned through Nash was like acid. “Who told you about Denise?” he demanded.

“No one,” she returned quickly.

He slammed the top file shut and stuffed the stack of folders back inside the drawer with little care and less concern. “How’d you know I was married?”

“I’m sorry, Nash, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Who told you?” The answer was obvious but he wanted her to say it.

“Susan mentioned it.…”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Just that it happened years ago.” Each word revealed her reluctance to drag his sister into the conversation. “She wasn’t breaking any confidences, if that’s what you think. I’m sure the only reason she brought it up was to explain your—”

“I know why she brought it up.”