Kate Little - The Determined Groom

“I would love to see you tomorrow,” Laurel said finally in a velvety, hushed voice. Her words and the way she gently squeezed his hand made his soul sing.

But just as she agreed to grant his heart’s desire, Phillip appeared out of nowhere. “Better call it a night, Laurel. Don’t you remember, you and Todd promised to come sailing tomorrow with me and Liza and her folks. Liza will be around to pick us up at seven, sharp. You won’t be able to get up in time if you don’t get some sleep,” he whined.

“Oh, that’s right.” Laurel shook her head regretfully. “I do have plans, I guess. Maybe we won’t be back that late though,” she added hopefully.

Before Connor could reply, Phillip cut in again. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Liza’s father plans on sailing to some friends’ house on the Vineyard.”

Sounded as if they wouldn’t get home until late tomorrow night. Especially if Phillip had anything to say about it. He was hovering over Laurel right now like a guard dog. Todd Parson’s guard dog, Connor surmised. Those two probably got along well, cut from the same cloth.

“Well, some other time then,” Connor said. He stared down at Laurel, his gaze conveying so much more than his polite words.

“Yes, some other time,” she agreed, the regretful note in her voice cutting at his heart. “I’ll be in the city soon. Maybe we can have lunch.”

“Sure thing.” Connor nodded. He swallowed back his disappointment. “Your father knows how to get in touch with me.”

It was the polite thing to say, he knew. But it would never happen. Even if it did, by the time their next meeting came about, Laurel would most likely be Mrs. Todd Parson—and beyond his reach. Connor knew it would hurt too much to see her again after she married.

“Well, looks like it’s hello and goodbye,” Phillip said to Connor. “Bet it brought back memories for you, coming here.”

“It did,” Connor replied evenly. Though not all of them pleasant, he did not add. “Good night, Phillip,” he said.

Then turning to Laurel, he gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for our dance,” he said in a voice for her alone. She smiled at him, but before she could reply, he leaned down and quickly, lightly kissed her cheek. “Good luck, Laurel. I’m sorry I didn’t come home to visit sooner,” he added. “I would have given Parson a run for his money.”

“Good night, Connor….” He felt Laurel’s fleeting touch and heard her voice trail off as he continued to move away from her.

He strode across the patio with determined steps, weaving his way around the hired help who were now busily cleaning up the party debris. Finally, he was away from the bright lights, on a path through the garden that led to the front grounds, where he had parked his car.

The darkness and sudden quiet offered some comfort. He felt numb and empty. He felt as if his heart was breaking. How could he leave her? How could he just go without letting her know how he felt? This was his last chance. His only chance.

Still, he did not see that there was anything more he could do.

Maybe it was all for the best, Connor thought as he saw the lights at the end of the path. She didn’t feel the same. The thought stung painfully, and yet, it had to be true.

If she did feel the same—if she felt even half of what he felt for her right now—she would have given him some sign. She would have figured out some way to see him again. Even if she had to sail to the Vineyard tomorrow.

Even if she had to sail to China.

Was he fooling himself? Did he merely want what he couldn’t have? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t that way about women usually. He wouldn’t be that way about Laurel.

Laurel. Just as he’d come to realize what she meant to him, she was snatched out of reach. God, it hurt so much.

How long would he feel like this? Months, probably. Years, maybe.

Forever?

Connor found his car, one of the few left at the end of the long curving driveway. Even the valets, hired for the night, had gone home by now. His vision blurred, he fumbled in his pocket for the keys, then dropped his key ring on the gravel. Damn, he wasn’t actually crying, was he? He hadn’t cried since…he couldn’t remember when.

He brushed his hand across the back of his damp eyes and took a deep, calming breath. He had to get away from here. He had to get off the Cape tomorrow, as early as possible. Maybe he’d pack up the car when he got home, rest a few hours and leave at dawn. Before Laurel even met up with her sailing party.

Deep in thought, Connor did not hear the light footsteps running down the driveway toward him. He didn’t notice a sound until Laurel stood just steps away.

“Connor…wait,” she called to him in a breathless, urgent whisper.

He turned and saw her, running toward him. He moved to meet her and instinctively opened his arms, his hands coming to rest on her slim waist. She stepped into his embrace, placing her hands on his broad chest and, for a moment, as she caught her breath, leaned her head down so that it fit just under his chin. He felt his lips and cheek brush against her silky hair before she lifted her head again. Thankfully, she did not move away.

“Laurel, what it is? What’s the matter?”

“Thank goodness I caught you.” She was winded from running, and holding her so close, he suddenly felt breathless, too. “I couldn’t let you just go like that, Connor. It felt so…final,” she tried to explain. “Too final,” she added.

He nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. There was no need to explain. “I think we should talk. How about down at the beach?”

“But I’m busy tomorrow. That stupid sailing date with Phillip’s future in-laws,” she reminded him.

“Not tomorrow, tonight.” His hands moved up to grip her smooth shoulders. “Right now,” he said urgently.

As she gazed at him, he could read the flux and flow of indecision in her beautiful face—anticipation, desire, hesitation and guilt all flashed before his eyes. Her wide azure eyes studied him. Could she see that he’d been crying? God, he hoped not.

Finally, she nodded. “Wait for me by the dock. I’ll be there in a little while.”

He said nothing, just stared down at her as inexpressible feelings washed over him—relief, gratitude and then, a sweet rising wave of anticipation. She tenderly cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. Then an instant later, she turned and ran back up the driveway toward the dark shadow of the Sutherland mansion.

Connor made his way to the beach on a sandy path overgrown with bramble and vines. If he hadn’t known the path existed, he would have never found it.

It was slow going. Luckily, a full moon had risen high in the clear night sky and the moonlight illuminated his steps. Finally, he came out at the Sutherlands’ stretch of private beach. He slipped off his jacket and shoes and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers. He spotted a long driftwood log and sat on it, staring out at the sea, as good a place as any to wait. The waves moved toward the shore in a smooth, regular rhythm, the blue-black water rippling in the distance like a skein of satin.

He’d often come down here after dark with Laurel when they were young. They’d build a fire and tell spooky stories. More often than not, Charles Sutherland would come looking for Laurel and sit with them, telling stories of his own. He had some good ones. And just as they’d never given a thought to the future back then, right now, Connor could think of nothing but the past. A simpler time. A time when the golden summer days seemed to stretch on endlessly, without beginning or end, and every day was a new adventure.

And along with the images of the cloudless blue skies and long sunny days, always came the image of Laurel. Laurel, laughing, joking, confiding her secrets, her troubles, her dreams. Her tanned, slender arms and legs gracefully swinging as she strolled beside him on the smooth wet sand, her golden hair waving behind her like a flag, her turquoise-blue eyes sparkling, the way the sun danced on the waves. Her wide, warm smile so accepting, so understanding. So loving.