Susan Crosby - The Groom's Revenge

Mollie would be free of money problems.

Gray would be free. Free.

People would be hurt—like he’d been hurt. But he had recovered and moved on. So would they..

Mollie peeled the tape from Gray’s newspaper photo then slid the yellowing scrap into a folder of invoices hand-stamped Paid. The thought of his picture nestled within her uncomputerized paperwork appealed to her. Before she shut the folder she leaned her elbows on the counter and studied him, so elegant in his stylish tuxedo. He wasn’t even wearing a bow tie, but one of those collarless shirts not requiring a tie at all.

Something about him made her mouth water. Maybe it was his posture, which was perfect. Perhaps it was his hair, which invited a woman’s caress. Or his jaw, strong and oh, so masculine. He was infinitely touchable.

Unfolding the paper to reveal the half she usually kept turned to the back, she examined the whole photograph. Maybe what she liked most was the way he seemed to totally ignore the woman whose arm was tucked through his as if she owned him, whose breast pressed against him like an engraved invitation. Mollie hated her—Samantha Simeon, the caption said, someone whose path would not likely cross Mollie’s.

But then, she wouldn’t have imagined her path crossing Gray McGuire’s, either.

With a sigh she put away the folder, then locked the front and back doors before turning out the lights and climbing the stairs to her apartment above the shop. Her quiet, lonely apartment.

She’d lived there all her life, had never had the slightest interest in finding her own place after she graduated from high school. Her mother, Karen, had been her best friend as well as the only family she had. Their lives had been completely intertwined, and Mollie missed her desperately.

Maybe she should have developed more friendships through the years, but she’d been happy in her mother’s company—and Karen hadn’t pushed. She’d even seemed to encourage Mollie to stay home rather than going out much.

Which made Karen’s unexpected death so much harder to take. The only good thing to happen since was Kelly’s marriage to Mac Fortune, which gave Mollie a connection with the illustrious Fortune family that she’d never dared to dream about, although that relationship was more business than social, so far.

Into this rather bewildering new life had come Gray McGuire. Not by accident, either, but because he had a business proposition for her. What in the world could he possibly want?

She should call Kelly. Maybe Mac knew what Gray wanted. Perhaps he had even recommended her shop. Of course! That was it. Mac or one of the other Fortunes had recommended her for...for... something.

Mollie stared into her refrigerator and saw nothing that interested her, so she tucked her keys and a few dollars into her pocket then skipped down the stairs to enjoy the summer evening before the sun went down.

She stopped to buy a peach frozen yogurt then continued down the block to a park where she’d played as a child. Settling on a bench, she savored her dessert-for-dinner treat as children played. The familiarity inevitably brought back memories.

It was in this park that she’d learned of her mother’s dark, painful secrets. If Karen had lived longer, would she have confided in her daughter about her life before Mollie was born—and her controlling, eventually abusive husband?

Karen had kept that part of her life secret, writing the details in her journals, instead, which Mollie found soon after her death. Mollie had taken the treasures with her to this very park to read her mother’s life story, expecting an entertaining tale, discovering tragedy instead.

And triumph. Karen had shielded her—perhaps too much—because of her past and because she’d had to be mother and father, nurturer and provider.

Mollie scraped the last of the yogurt from the cup, scraping the memories away, as well. If Karen were there, she would tell her daughter that she’d mourned long enough. That life was short. That when an interesting man like Gray McGuire appeared out of nowhere—and could drop out of sight just as easily—she shouldn’t wait for him to make all the moves.

Except—what did Mollie know about “moves”? And interesting men? Regardless of the fact Minneapolis wasn’t a small town, she was a small-town girl with uncomplicated needs.

But, ever hopeful, Mollie figured tomorrow she would wear that pretty lilac dress she’d found last week marked down for the third time, bringing it into her price range. She could dust on some powder, add a dab or two of matching perfume. Perhaps even a little mascara. No blush, though. He brought color to her cheeks easily enough already.

It was a business proposition, after all, no matter what her hormones were singing in multipart harmony to the contrary.

Two

Although her heart rate zoomed from a waltz tempo to a thundering hard-rock beat, Mollie continued to fill a round vase with summer flowers as she watched Gray approach her shop around noon the next day. Daisy petals quivered as she slid the bloom amongst the others, her hands shaking. Last night she’d prowled her apartment until midnight, watched an old movie that made her cry, then finally fell asleep on the sofa. Her normally hazy, romantic dreams of Gray had been replaced with sharp, vivid images of him in the flesh.

He crossed the threshold, eyeing Yarg as he entered. His blue jeans showed off narrow hips and long legs. His baby blue T-shirt didn’t fit like a second skin, but didn’t mask his muscular torso, either. She pursed her lips, trapping an admiring sigh.

“Good day, Miss Shaw,” he said as he reached the counter.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye!”

Mollie’s gaze flickered to the screeching leprechaun. “And from Yarg and myself, Mr. McGuire.”

“Is there a volume control on that thing?”

“Just an on-off switch. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.” She wondered whether Gray’s real-life kissing technique would do justice to her dreams. Could anyone compete with a dream? “I hope you’ve come to put me out of my misery.”

“Did the suspense get to you?”

“I’m not too good at delayed gratification,” she said, openly flirting with him, trying to get a response. Instead he walked to the front window and stared outside, ignoring her.

Chagrined, she held her ground. Late last night she’d reread all the articles she’d saved about him. While he spoke freely about his work and vision, his personal life was apparently taboo. Speculation abounded, fueled only by brief quotes from women he’d allegedly dated. Some called him distracted and distinctly unromantic, one woman went so far as to brand him as “cold.”

Which apparently hadn’t stopped the woman from dating him more than once. Mollie wouldn’t call him cold. Steady, perhaps. Not given to mood swings. And the allegation about not being romantic... was probably true. She figured his mind was a minicomputer in which he probably maintained a mental agenda. Mollie was apparently an item on that list, and he would get to her in his own time.

He seemed to jar himself back into awareness as a dark-haired man wearing a brown delivery uniform breezed into the shop carrying a large box. “Hey, Mollie. I see you’ve joined the twentieth century just in time for the twenty-first.”

“What kind of riddle is that, Mike?”

He set the package on the floor beside the counter. “Your computer.”

“Computer? Me? I didn’t—” She narrowed her eyes at Gray, who leaned an elbow against the countertop and watched her impassively. “There’s been a mistake. You can load it right back on the truck.”

“There’s no mistake. I’ll be back with the rest of the stuff in a minute. You’ll need to sign for ’em.”