Three Brides, No Groom

  “To the airport?” Josh suggested.

  “I…Roger’s mother has my ticket. I’d originally planned to spend a week with her putting the finishing touches on our wedding plans.”

  Josh glared at her. “You’re not going to ask for that creep’s ring back, are you?”

  “No.” And she meant it. Despite all the time and energy—and emotion—that had gone into the wedding plans, she could not accept what he’d done. One part of her had wanted to look past his infidelity and pretend everything would eventually be all right. But the other part knew their relationship would never be the same again. If Roger was unfaithful before they were married, she could never trust him after the wedding. He was nowhere near ready to be a husband.

  “Good,” Josh said. “You deserve better.”

  “Could you take me to Mary Ann Seawright’s?” she asked. Mary Ann was a friend who lived nearby. Gretchen could stay there until her parents returned from British Columbia. Of course, she could always contact Mrs. Lockheart about her airline ticket, but she preferred not to. She feared Roger’s mother would attempt to change her mind, and Gretchen lacked the emotional energy to lock horns with the woman. If anyone was forced to deal with her, it should be Roger. Gretchen preferred to sever all ties.

  “Does Roger know Mary Ann?” Josh asked.

  “Yes. She goes out with his friend Bill Beckett. The four of us often double-dated.” Of course, she realized, that meant Roger would soon know exactly where she’d gone.

  “Where’s home?” Josh asked next.

  She bit her lower lip. Home had never seemed so far away. “San Francisco, but my parents are on vacation. They won’t be back for several days.” Not until then did she realize she had no means of getting home, anyway. Unlike so many other parents, hers had never chosen to give her an all-purpose credit card, and she had run her bank balance down to nearly nothing in preparation for setting up a new joint account with Roger.

  That cocky half grin of Josh’s slid into place. “As it happens, I’m headed in that direction. You can ride along with me, if you want. I’ll drop you off in Frisco and continue on my way.” He paused as if to read her reaction to his offer. “Fact is, I’d welcome the company.”

  Gretchen wasn’t sure how to answer. While it was true that he was offering her a way out of a tricky situation, she didn’t really know Josh Morrow. His reputation would be enough to turn her mother’s hair prematurely white.

  His eyes glinted with challenge, and it seemed he was waiting for her to reject his generosity.

  “I appreciate it, but…” She stalled, unsure and a little afraid.

  “But?”

  “I don’t have much cash with me. Fifty dollars at the most, although I do have a gasoline credit card.”

  “Hey, we’re in fat city,” Josh teased. “I’ve only got a little more than a hundred bucks myself.”

  She grinned. “OK, I accept.” She’d never done anything more impulsive in her life. She might not know Josh very well, but she trusted him. Of course, she’d also trusted Roger. But she was her own woman, and despite the bad-boy tag Josh wore like a badge of honor, she would rather ride home with him on the back of a Harley than deal with Roger, or his family, ever again.

  “I’m sure my father would be more than happy to reimburse you for any expenses,” she said.

  “We’ll discuss that later. What will you need to take with you?”

  “Not much,” she promised, knowing he wouldn’t have room for more than the essentials.

  Once he checked to be sure Roger was nowhere in sight, Josh dropped her off at the sorority house with a promise to return within the hour.

  Mrs. Vance, the housemother, regarded her anxiously when Gretchen walked in the front door.

  “Thank goodness you’re back,” the middle-aged woman said with a heavy sigh. “Roger Lockheart was here no more than five minutes ago, looking for you. He’s such a nice young man, and he’s worried sick about you taking off with Josh Morrow that way. I never did trust a man on a motorcycle.”

  Gretchen bit her tongue to keep from saying that she trusted Josh far more than she did Roger. It wouldn’t do any good to argue, and she didn’t have time to waste.

  “Give Roger a call, why don’t you?” Mrs. Vance called as Gretchen raced up the stairs. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a lovers’ spat.”

  Ignoring the suggestion, Gretchen hurried to her room, where her two large suitcases rested undisturbed. She quickly sorted through what she’d packed, scooped up what she truly needed and stuffed it into a small tote bag. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, went through her purse and counted her cash. Fifty-five dollars. Afraid that if she lingered much longer Roger would return, she raced down the stairs, pulling out her cell phone on the way.

  Luckily Mary Ann was home. “I need you to do something for me,” Gretchen said without preamble.

  Her longtime friend must have heard the urgency in her voice. “Of course. What do you need?”

  “I’m leaving my suitcases with Mrs. Vance. Could you come and get them for me?”

  “Uh, sure, but why in heaven’s name do you need me to—”

  “I don’t have time to explain now,” Gretchen broke in. “I’ve broken my engagement to Roger.”

  Mary Ann gasped. “Gretchen, for the love of heaven, what happened?”

  “I’ll call and tell you everything once I’m home.”

  “Home? But how are you going to get to San Francisco?”

  Gretchen heard the unmistakable roar of Josh’s Harley outside. “I can’t tell you now. I’ll phone soon, I promise.”

  “But…but…”

  Gretchen severed the connection. She reached for her purse and the tote bag, and discovered Mrs. Vance standing in front of the living-room window. The woman was holding the curtain to one side and glaring, her mouth twisted in disapproval.

  “I wonder what that Morrow boy is doing here?” she muttered.

  “He’s here for me,” Gretchen announced, enjoying the pure shock value of the statement.

  The housemother gasped and swiveled to stare at her. “But you—”

  Gretchen interrupted her. “I’m going with him.” Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she longed for her home and her family. “Goodbye, Mrs. Vance.”

  “Gretchen…Gretchen, I must insist—”

  “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” She raced out the front door and bounded down the steps. Josh handed her a second helmet, and while she placed it on her head and fastened the strap, he tucked the tote bag into one of the leather bags draped over the back of the bike. He climbed on, and she positioned herself behind him.

  Before they roared away, Gretchen turned back to find Mrs. Vance standing on the porch, her fingertips to her mouth as if she wasn’t sure what she should do.

  Gretchen, however, had never been more confident. Only a few hours earlier her heart had been breaking. Now, on the back of Josh Morrow’s Harley, with the wind in her face and her arms securely wrapped around his muscular torso, she was free. Truly free.

  Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last. Before long, questions and doubts were buzzing through her head like mosquitoes over a stagnant pond. The wedding invitations had been engraved, and her wedding dress ordered from an exclusive boutique. Her parents had booked the ballroom of a five-star hotel for the reception. All that money and effort, all the planning and dreaming, had been wasted. Her face burned with humiliation, knowing she was the one who would have to deal with the cancellations. But what was the use in dwelling on the negative? The only important thing was that she couldn’t marry Roger.

  After some time on the road, the deafening sound of the Harley vibrating in her ears, she shifted on the seat, both physically and mentally miserable. What had seemed daring and exciting a few hours earlier appeared exceedingly foolish now. Her back ached from holding herself upright and not leaning against Josh. Her legs felt as if they were locked into position, and she was certain her c
alves would soon cramp up on her. To top everything off, Josh apparently had the bladder of a camel.

  When at last he did stop, she was afraid he would need to pry her off the bike with a crowbar. She looked around and realized they were at the ocean. Huge rolling waves crashed against the shore, then lovingly stroked a frothy trail across the sand. Large gray-and-white gulls circled overhead, and the scent of the sea lingered in the moist air. The sun was a brilliant orange disk on the horizon, ready to slip out of sight. Already dusk was settling in.

  “Where are we?” she asked, easing first one leg and then the other away from the motorcycle. Josh lent her a hand, which she gratefully accepted.

  “Cannon Beach, Oregon,” he replied.

  Vaguely she recalled crossing the Columbia River at Astoria. She’d actually kept her eyes closed most of the time, needing to think. At this rate, she should be home within two days, three at the most.

  With his hands braced on his hips, Josh surveyed the sky. “I don’t think it’ll rain.” He left her and walked toward the beach. She looked longingly at the public rest room but followed him, wanting to know where he intended to spend the night. It went without saying that they wouldn’t be sharing a room.

  Her shoes quickly filled with sand, and she found keeping pace with him difficult.

  “We’ll bed down here for the night,” he announced.

  “Here?” she asked, looking around. All she saw was barren sand. “The beach?”

  “Do you have any better ideas?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the long row of oceanfront hotels.

  “For seventy-five bucks you’ll get a room the size of refrigerator,” he said, his gaze trained on the ocean.

  She squared her shoulders. “Well, then, the beach it is.”

  He grinned as if to say he admired her adventurous spirit. “There’s a shower in the public rest room, if you want to take one.”

  Gretchen did. She was afraid to look in a mirror, certain there must be bugs glued to her teeth. Her clothes felt plastered to her body.

  She took what she needed from the saddlebag—a towel, washcloth and her cosmetic case—and headed for the rest room. It smelled of urine and ocean, but looked clean enough. The shower stall, minus the curtain, was in one corner. She stripped off her clothes and stood under the spray. Despite the lukewarm temperature, it felt luxurious.

  As she turned her face into the water, the ache returned to the pit of her stomach. She leaned against the back of the open stall and cradled her middle. That morning she’d awakened thinking all was right with the world. She had her business degree and within weeks would be wed to Roger. And now, in the space of a few hours, her reality had changed completely.

  When the water turned from lukewarm to chilly, she reached for the towel. Once she was dressed, she felt better. It was when she combed out her long blond hair in front of the metal mirror that she made the decision. She stared at her distorted reflection, the comb halfway down the side of her head.

  She had only herself to please now, not Roger. Her fingers trembled as she dug through her cosmetic bag until she found a small pair of scissors. Seizing the pale tresses, she snipped at the sides with erratic, disjointed motions. She hacked and cut until the long strands of hair lay at her feet like discarded remnants of spun gold. Despite the distorted reflection, she knew she’d brutalized her once lovely hair. Breathing hard, she waited several minutes before she gathered up the courage to go back outside.

  By the time she left the rest room, the sun had completely set. A full moon cast a golden glow across the beach. Josh had spread out a blanket and lit a small driftwood fire, and was now working his pocket knife against a stick, whittling it to a point. He glanced up as she approached. He said nothing about her mutilated hair.

  “There’s a grocery store not far from here,” he said. “I got us wieners and buns.”

  Gretchen nodded, then self-consciously sat down on the end of a log and started to shake. Exhaling harshly, she raised her fingers to her head to investigate the damage. It wouldn’t have hurt to wait, she realized. In a couple of days she would be home, and a trained professional could have cut it. She could only guess how horrible she looked. Tears stung the back of her eyes.

  “Give me the scissors,” Josh said gently.

  She still had them clenched in her fist. He took them from her and sighed as he ran his fingers through the uneven tresses, his touch strangely intimate.

  She swallowed tightly. “Roger insisted I keep it long,” she whispered. Cutting it had been an act of defiance, a way of casting her former fiancé from her life, but in doing so she’d only hurt herself.

  Josh took his time clipping away here and there. At last he stood back to admire his handiwork. “Not bad,” he said with a slow smile. “Even if I do say so myself.”

  Gretchen reached for her compact and flipped it open. With the light from the fire and the moon, she could see that his touch had been masterful. She barely recognized herself. She now wore a short pixielike cut that flattered her cheekbones and deep blue eyes.

  Her gaze returned to Josh. “You’re a man of many talents. Thank you,” she murmured.

  Her words appeared to please him. He reached for his knife and the stick he’d been sharpening earlier. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  Gretchen couldn’t have eaten if her life depended on it. She sat with her chin resting on her knees and studied the fire. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

  They sat side by side, surrounded by the sound of the ocean and the crackle of the fire as he cooked himself a wiener.

  “Is it true what Roger said?” she wondered aloud. “About your father being in prison?” She wasn’t sure what had prompted the question. Probably she should never have asked.

  Josh stilled. “Yes.” But he didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t question him further. Although he claimed to be hungry, he didn’t eat more than one hot dog. For a long time afterward he sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d brought, staring into the flames as though hypnotized.

  “Josh,” she whispered, after the uncomfortable silence grew too long to bear. He didn’t look at her right away. She waited until he grudgingly gave her his attention. “I’m sorry. I had no business asking you about your father.”

  Without acknowledging her apology, he rose to his feet and disappeared into the darkness. She watched him go, resisting the urge to go after him and apologize again. Angry with herself, she pressed her forehead against her knees and wondered how she could have been so insensitive to a man who’d been nothing but kind and helpful.

  After the tumultuous events of the day, she was convinced she would never be able to sleep. She stretched out on the blanket, covered herself with a thick sweater and tucked her head against her bent arm. She was asleep almost immediately, only to jerk awake a moment later. That happened several more times before the physical demands of her body won out over the emotional trauma of the day.

  Gretchen wasn’t sure at what point during the night Josh joined her. Her eyes fluttered open to see that the fire had died down to glimmering coals. She was on her back, and all she could see was the dense spattering of stars above. She rolled her head to one side and found Josh asleep on the other side of the blanket. Relieved that he was back, she rolled onto her side and tucked her sweater more closely about her shoulders.

  The next thing she was aware of was the loud discordant cry of a seagull. She opened her eyes to gray light. To her surprise, she felt warm and cozy, although the fire had long since died out. She soon realized the source of her comfort. Josh had placed his leather jacket over her shoulders. He sat nearby, his hair apparently wet from a shower.

  “What time is it?” she asked, lazily stretching her arms above her head and yawning.

  He grinned. “Morning.”

  “That much I guessed.” Raising herself on one elbow, she strained to see her watch.

  “About five-thirty or six, I’d guess,” he said, lookin
g toward the water.

  She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then realized she was famished. Her stomach growled loudly. “Oh, dear,” she said, and flattened her hand against her abdomen.

  “Looks like we’d best scrounge up something to eat,” he said. He stood and extended his hand to her. It took them a while to pack up everything. While he loaded up the Harley, she brushed her teeth in the rest room, put on some lip gloss and combed her hair, amazed again at the transformation the haircut made in her appearance. She doubted that Roger would even recognize her now.

  When they rode into town and parked the Harley at a curb, another question came to mind, one she had a feeling Josh could answer. Needing someone to hold on to, she slipped her hand into his.

  “How well do you know Didi Wilson?” she asked. She’d often seen Didi with Josh. She knew it was none of her concern. Nevertheless she needed to know.

  His gaze narrowed, and his steps slowed. “How much did Didi tell you about her and Roger?”

  She frowned, her hand still in his. “Just that…that she was at the fraternity party with him.”

  Josh’s fingers tightened around hers.

  “I don’t hate Didi,” she said, although it was difficult to regard the other woman with kindness. In many ways Didi had done her a favor, though it was difficult to think of it in those terms at that moment.

  Josh heaved a deep sigh, and his hand tightened around hers. “Didi’s pregnant.”

  “How can she know so soon?” Gretchen asked indignantly, and then it hit her. Hard. Square between the eyes. Roger hadn’t been with Didi Wilson just that one time but several. She closed her eyes and swayed with both shock and anger.

  “How long have they been lovers?” she demanded. When he hesitated, she asked again, steeling herself for the answer. “Tell me, Josh. I have a right to know.”

  “Six months, maybe more.”

  She grimaced and clenched her free hand into a fist at her side. The entire time she’d been engaged to Roger, he’d been physically involved with Didi. It was enough to make her ill. She recalled all those afternoons he’d been late to meet her. It got to be a big joke between them. All the nights when he’d claimed he was studying. She should have known, should have realized. What about her friends? Her face burned with the realization that others must have known and yet no one had bothered to tell her.