Sandra Marton - The Groom Said Maybe!

It was just that there was something about Stephanie. All that frost. Or maybe the heat. It was crazy. A woman couldn’t be hot and cold at the same time, she couldn’t look at a man as if she wanted to be in his arms one minute and wanted to slap him silly the next unless she was a tease, and instinct told him that whatever she was, she was not that.

What he ought to do was walk right on past the bar, out the door and to his car. Drive to the airport, catch the shuttle back to D.C....

David’s brows lifted. He began to smile.

“Chase?” he called.

There was no mistaking the set of shoulders in front of him. It was his old pal, Chase Cooper, the father of the bride.

Chase turned around, saw David, and held out his hand. “David,” he said, and then both men grinned and gave each other a quick bear hug. “How’re you doing, man?”

“Fine, fine. How about you?”

Chase lifted his glass to his lips and knocked back half of the whiskey in it in one swallow.

“Never been better. What’ll you have?”

“Scotch,” David said to the bartender. “A single malt, if you have it, on the rocks. And a glass of Chardonnay.”

Chase smiled. “Don’t tell me that you’re here with a lady. Has the love bug bitten you, too?”

“Me?” David laughed. “The wine’s for a lady at my table. The love bug already bit me, remember? Once bitten, twice shy. No, not me. Never again.”

“Yeah.” Chase nodded, and his smile flickered. “I agree. You marry a woman, she turns into somebody else after a couple of years.”

“You’ve got it,” David said. “Marriage is a female fantasy. Promise a guy anything to nab him, then look blank when he expects you to deliver.” The bartender set the Scotch in front of David, who lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. “Far as I’m concerned, a man’s got a housekeeper, a cook, and a good secretary, what more does he need?”

“Nothing,” Chase said a little too quickly, “not one thing.”

David glanced back across the ballroom. He could see Stephanie, sitting alone at the table. Annie had left, but she hadn’t bolted. It surprised him.

“Unfortunately,” he said, trying for a light touch, “there is one other thing a man needs, and it’s the thing that most often gets guys like you and me in trouble.”

“Yeah.” Chase followed his gaze, then lifted his glass and clinked it against David’s. “Well, you and I both know how to deal with that little problem. Bed ‘em and forget ’em, I say.”

David grinned. “I’ll drink to that.”

“To what? What are you guys up to, hidden away over here?”

Both men turned around. Dawn, radiant in white lace, and with Nick at her side, beamed at them.

“Daddy,” she said, kissing her father’s cheek. “And Mr. Chambers. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Hey.” David smiled. “What happened to ‘Uncle David’? I kind of liked the honorary title.” He held out his hand to Nicholas, said all the right things, and stood by politely until the bridal couple moved off.

Chase sighed. “That’s the only good thing comes of a marriage,” he said. “A kid of your own, you know?”

David nodded. “I agree. I’d always hoped...” He shrugged. “Hey, Cooper,” he said with a quick grin, “you stand around a bar long enough, you get maudlin. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Yes,” Chase said. “My attorney, five years ago when we got wasted after my divorce was finalized.”

The men smiled at each other, and then David slapped Chase lightly on the back.

“You ought to circulate, man. There’s a surprising assortment of good-looking single women here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“For a lawyer,” Chase said with a chuckle, “sometimes you manage to come up with some pretty decent suggestions. So, what’s with the brunette at your table? She spoken for?”

“She is,” David said gruffly. “For the present, at least.”

Chase grinned. “You dirty dog, you. Well, never mind. I’ll case the joint, see what’s available.”

“Yeah.” David grinned in return. “You do that.”

The men made their goodbyes. Chase set off in one direction, David in the other. The dance floor had grown crowded; the band had launched into a set of sixties’ standards that seemed to have brought out every couple in the room. David wove between them, his gaze fixed on Stephanie. He saw her turn and look in his direction. Their eyes met; he felt as if an electric current had run through his body.

“Whoops.” A woman jostled his elbow. “Sorry.”

David looked around, nodded impatiently as she apologized. The music ceased. The dancers applauded, and the crowd parted.

Table seven was just ahead. The Blums were there, and the Crowders.

But Stephanie Willingham was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

THE only thing worse than leaving Washington on a Friday was returning to it on a Monday.

Every politician and lobbyist who earned his or her living toiling in the bureaucratic fields of the District of Columbia flew home for the weekend. That was the way it seemed, anyway, and if Friday travel was a nightmare of clogged highways, jammed airports and overbooked flights, Mondays were all that and more. There was something about the start of the workweek that made for woefully short tempers.

David had made careful plans to avoid what he thought of as the Monday Morning Mess. He’d told his secretary to book him out of Hartford on a late Sunday flight and when that had turned out to be impossible. he’d considered how long it would be before he could make a polite exit from the Cooper wedding reception and instructed her to ticket him out of Boston. It was only another hour, hour and a half’s drive.

A simple enough plan, he had figured.

But nothing was simple, that Sunday.

By midafternoon, hours before he’d expected to leave Stratham, David was in his rented car, flooring the pedal as he flew down the highway. He was in a mood even he knew could best be described as grim.

Now what? He had hours to kill before his flight from Boston, and he had no wish whatsoever to sit around an airport, cooling his heels.

Not ever, but especially not now. Not when he was so annoyed he could have chewed a box of nails and spit them out as staples.

There was always the flight out of Hartford, the one he’d turned down as being scheduled too early. Yes. He’d head for Bradley Airport, buy a ticket on that flight instead.

Maybe he should phone, check to see if there was an available seat.

No. What for? Bradley was a small airport. It didn’t handle a lot of traffic. Why would a plane bound for D.C. on a Sunday afternoon be booked up?

David made a sharp right, skidded a little as he made up his mind, and took the ramp that led north toward the airport.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Why hang around this part of the world any longer than necessary?

“No reason,” he muttered through his teeth, “none at all.”

He glanced down, saw that the speedometer was edging over sixty. Was fifty-five the speed limit in Connecticut, or was it sixty-five? Back home—back in his real home, Wyoming—people drove at logical speeds, meaning you took a look at the road and the traffic and then, the sky was the limit.

But not here.

“Hell,” he said, and goosed the car up to sixty-five.

He’d done what had been required, even if he had left the reception early. He’d toasted the bride and groom, paid his respects to Annie, shaken Chase’s hand and had a drink with him. That was enough. If other people wanted to hang around, dance to a too loud band, tuck into too rich food, make a pretense of having a good time, that was their business.

Besides, he’d pretty much overstayed his welcome at table seven. David figured the Blums and the Crowders would make small talk for a month out of what had gone on between him and Stephanie, but they’d also probably cheered his defection.