A Soft Place to Fall (43 page)

She heard Max's voice, crystal clear, inside
her head. "An hour with Riley McKendrick will change your life
forever." Max couldn't be right. She didn't want her life changed.
She liked her life the way it was. She had a home, she had a
family, she had memories of a man she'd loved once and would never
forget. So what if romance was a thing of the past. She could live
without romance.

At least she thought she could until
today.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead
against the car window. "Oh, Max," she murmured. "What have you
done to me?"

Riley McKendrick was everything she didn't
want in a man and she was afraid he was exactly what she
needed.

I Do, I Do . . . Again - a novella

Chapter One

They say a man never forgets his first love,
the first woman to claim his heart. Maybe that was why the sign in
the art gallery window caught Robert's eye on that sunny April
afternoon.
Grand Opening
,
it read
in bold deco print.
Sunny invites you to a wine-and-cheese Open
House to celebrate the opening of Gallery One.

Sunny
.

The name alone was enough to summon up the
memory of warm summer nights and youthful dreams. Lately he'd found
himself thinking about his ex-wife at the oddest times. The scent
of Shalimar...a woman with eyes the color of a green meadow...the
nagging feeling that if they'd tried harder or loved each other
more their marriage might have worked out.

The odds of bumping into her after so many
years were probably a million to one. There had to be more than one
woman named Sunny in the state of Pennsylvania, he reasoned as he
opened the door then stepped inside the gallery.

"Hi," said a middle-aged woman dressed in
white. "Help yourself to wine and cheese." He was about to thank
her when she gave him a closer look. "Are you the guy from the
bank? Mr. Daniels said he was--"

"That's what I get for wearing a suit to an
art gallery," he said with an easy laugh. "I'm just taking a look
around."

She shrugged. "Well, enjoy yourself. And make
sure you have some wine."

He glanced around the crowded gallery. The
women in the room were either too old, too young, too tall, or too
average to be Sunny.

He'd been looking for a curvy slip of a woman
with a fiery personality to match her wild mane of red curls. She
could be a blonde now. She could have tamed both her disposition
and her hair and turned into someone he wouldn't recognize without
a name tag. Nothing stayed the same, no matter how much you wished
it would.

The thought of Sunny trading in her dreams
for a stock portfolio was enough to ruin his day.

A man's first love was meant to live on in
his memory forever, beautiful and perfect, untouched by time. This
had been a lousy idea and the thing to do now was get out while the
getting was good and his memories were still intact.

And then he saw her.

He would have recognized her anywhere. She
was standing near a Chinese screen, looking as beautiful as she had
the last time he'd seen her. She wore a Spandex mini skirt, an
over-sized silver and gold sweater and sheer black stockings with
patent leather ankle boots. A Technicolor tumble of red curls fell
halfway to her waist and he wanted to plunge his hands into the
silky mass and--

Whoa.

Ex-wives weren't supposed to get a man's
heart pumping hard inside his chest. He had no business noticing
the way the glittery sweater clung to her rounded breasts or the
shapely length of leg revealed by her mini. He'd known her back
when breasts like that were a fervent dream, not a luscious
reality. He'd seen her with her hair in rollers, with makeup and
without. Happy, sad, and every mood in between.

A big guy with a shock of ice blond hair
whispered something in her ear and she laughed. Husky. Low. Sexy as
hell. He'd never heard her laugh like that before and the sound
sizzled its way to all of his major body parts. Who did that
schmuck think he was, whispering to her like that?
Back off,
Holland,
an inner voice warned.
That schmuck could be her
husband.

"No," he said out loud. "No way in hell."

She was his.

#

Sunny was still laughing at Vladimir's joke
when she saw him.

Was the one man she'd loved enough to marry
was about to step back into her life? It was impossible.

Absolutely, positively impossible.

"It's been a long time, Sunny." That voice.
Deep. Rich. Vibrant. The kind of voice that could talk a woman into
bed before she knew what was happening. Dear God, it was....

"Robert?" She stared at him, open-mouthed. He
was bigger than she'd remembered and older, but he was still the
most beautiful man she'd ever known and she wondered how it was
they had ever said goodbye. "Robby!" She threw herself into his
arms, tears and laughter erupting simultaneously. "My God! I can't
believe this!"

He swept her up into an exuberant bear hug
that lifted her from the ground and made her feel fragile and
feminine and infinitely desirable. He smelled faintly of soap and
his cheek was still warm from the sun. His thick dark brown hair
grazed his collar, same as it had years ago, and she found herself
wondering if it would feel as silky as it looked. He was broad
across the chest and still narrow of hip and he was still the
sexiest man she had ever seen.

He released her from his hug and she found
herself reluctant to let go. It had been so long since she'd been
close to him and, right or wrong, it had felt so wonderful in his
arms.

He gave her a long and appreciative look.
"Only you could get away with an outfit like that."

"This is one of my more conservative
outfits." She tugged at the tie that hung loosely about his neck.
"And only you could get away with this and still look sexy."

"You look great, Sunny."

"So do you." Age was always kind to men and
in this case, it had been extremely generous. Was it possible for a
man's eyes to grow bluer with time? She doubted it, but
still....

"When did you--"

"What brought you--"

They met each other's eyes and laughed
again.

"You first," he said. She felt as if she were
caught somewhere between the past and the present, suspended on a
cloud of bittersweet memory.

We can make it, Sunny, I know we can. I'll
work part-time at McDonald's and after the baby comes, you
can--

She shook her head to banish the memory.
"What on earth are you doing here?"

"Business meeting just outside of town. I was
hunting around for a place to grab some lunch."

"You're the last person I expected to
see."

"I'm kind of surprised myself."

She made a show of inspecting his attire.
"Judging by the suit, I'd say you became an attorney after
all."

He favored her with a wry smile. "Judging by
the gallery, I'd say you found your career in art."

"I'm not going to be the next Picasso, but
I'm happy."

"I'm glad."

She tilted her head, looking at him with open
and unabashed curiosity. "You're telling me you just happened to
walk by my gallery?"

He motioned toward the sign in the front
window. "I saw the poster. You know what a sucker I am for
wine-and-cheese parties."

"This from the man who once told me he'd
rather be trapped in a locked basement with Godzilla than go to a
party with my artsy friends?"

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" He
shook his head. "I was eighteen. I've mellowed."

Impulsively she reached out and took his
hand. "You don't know how wonderful it is to see you again. I'd
hoped to see you at our tenth reunion."
Idiot! Why don't you
just pin your heart to your sleeve and be done with it?
It
wasn't as if she'd spent the last fifteen years pining after her
ex-husband. She had a successful career, a happy life, friends and
family who loved her. She had no right to want more. "I mean, the
old gang really missed you."

An odd look drifted across his face and he
glanced away for a moment. Just long enough for her to sense the
gulf time had placed between them.

"You didn't miss much of anything," she
continued, trying to fill the silence with chatter about the last
reunion of the class of 1997. "Lisa was pregnant with her fourth
baby. John lost weight. Kenny is cornering the market on Rogaine
and Karen still loves Paul."

"And what about you?"
Who do you love,
Sunny? Who claimed your heart?

"Still a free spirit," she said, feeling
anything but. The sweet yoke of their common history tugged gently
at her heart. "Drifting through life, wondering what's around the
next corner."

"People who drift through life don't open
their own art galleries."

"Oh, I land from time to time," she said,
trying to figure out a way to release his hand without seeming
rude. "I'm not a total flake, Robby. I just look like one."

"I never said you were."

"That's right," she said softly, remembering.
"You never did." Everyone else had laughed at her dreams, told her
to put aside her visions of glory and study business like the rest
of them, but not Robert. He had been behind her all the way, even
though her dreams must have seemed as formless and bizarre as a
Dali painting to him.

"Excuse me." Her assistant bustled up to
them. "No more champagne. No more pate. No more crackers." Her
glance flickered to Robert then back to Sunny again. "What
now?"

"No more party, I suppose." She glanced at
her watch. "Actually we've run an hour later than I'd planned."

"The painters called and they're itching to
finish up in the back. Can I give them the go-ahead?"

"Another half-hour," said Sunny. "I'd hate to
give our guests the bum's rush."
Especially you
, she
thought, stealing a look at Robert. It had been so long--and there
was so much she wanted to know about him.

Her assistant hurried away to give the
painters the go-ahead and Sunny turned back to her ex-husband. She
had already noticed there was no ring on the appropriate finger,
but that in itself meant little. One of her most persistent
would-be suitors had been a ringless married man.

"Are you married?" asked Robert.

She blinked. "I was about to ask you the same
thing."

"So are you?"

"No." She took a shaky breath, remembering
something about a wife and children. "Are you?"

He shook his head. "Widowed."

"I'm sorry."

"And I have two kids."

She took another deep breath. "Two?"

"A six year old boy and a twelve year old
girl."

"Oh."

"Do you like kids?"

"I like them just fine." She'd given him
children, whoever his wife had been. A sharp stab of envy knifed at
her heart. "It must be difficult, being a single father and
all."

"I'm luckier than a lot of people," he said,
eyes locked with hers. "I can afford help at home. Mrs. Jennings
keeps us all on track."

She tried to imagine him driving a carpool or
fixing school lunches, but failed miserably. He had everything
they'd ever wanted...everything they'd ever dreamed they would one
day have together.

"Sunny!" Her assistant's voice rang out.
"Roscoe needs some help over here."

"Go help Roscoe," said Robert with an easy
smile. "I'll still be here when you're finished."

Her heart did a strange little dance inside
her chest. "You will?"

"I'm taking you to lunch."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Know where we can get some good food?"

"Oh yes," she said with a pleased smile. "I
know just the place."

#

She hadn't been his wife since Bill Clinton
was in office, yet the minute Robert stepped inside her house
overlooking the river, he instantly recognized her personal touch
in every corner of every room. From the floor-to-ceiling wall of
cuckoo clocks in the foyer to the lemon yellow hammock suspended
from the exposed beams in the living room, the place was pure
Sunny.

"Help yourself to some wine," she said,
heading toward the narrow staircase to the left of the foyer. "I'm
going to change into something more culinary."

"Nothing wrong with what you have on."
Covering up those legs of hers would be a capital offense.

To his amazement color flooded her cheeks as
if she had read his mind. "The glasses are in the kitchen. Second
cabinet to the left of the sink. Pour me some red," she said,
running a hand through her tousled curls with a quick, yet
graceful, motion. "I'll be right down."

He stood at the foot of the stairs, blatantly
watching her until she disappeared through the door at the top of
the landing. Her slender hips still swayed gently when she walked,
like a provocative metronome. It was nice to know some things
didn't change. He'd spent the better part of high school enjoying
the way the back pockets of her jeans moved to the syncopated
rhythm of her walk. You wouldn't think a man would remember
something like that after all this time. He'd finished law school,
remarried and fathered two children, but still the memory of Sunny
in her faded jeans lingered.