A Christmas Bride (18 page)

He was gone.

She closed her eyes. What an idiot. Of course he'd run.

She remembered the words she'd whispered to him in the immediate afterglow last night. Stuff about how he was sort of a hero for rescuing her from jail, representing Dusty for nothing, and standing up for Jeff. “You better watch out,” she'd teased. “Your bah humbug is slipping.” Yeah, that's what she'd said. It was almost the truth, because she'd already started thinking about him as a hero. That's how beautiful and moving the sex had been.

Right, Willow, nothing like leading with your heart and then following with your chin.
He might be her hero, but she was wise enough to know that a happily-ever-after with Prince David just wasn't in the cards. In the real world, commoners like her never got the royalty on a permanent basis.

The best they could hope for was a tumble in the hay. The rain had fallen on her hayride, but she wasn't complaining. A night of love in the Churchill Suite was more than all right. It was a fantasy come true—with the emphasis on the word “fantasy.”

She checked her watch. It was almost seven thirty. She should get up and shower. There was a ton of work to do today. The manor had to be decorated for Christmas, and the bride and her bridesmaids were scheduled for final fittings today at A Stitch in Time.

With the wedding only ten days away, there were so many wedding details to nail down that she didn't have time to get all emotional about her fling with David. She would tuck the memory away and savor it.

She had just pushed herself up in the bed when the door opened. She snatched up the sheet and said “eek,” just as David strolled in bearing a big tray filled with something that looked like coffee and breakfast.

In his shirtless state, with beard shadowing his jaw and his hair all tousled, he looked like one of those guys in the local fireman's calendar. Forget breakfast and one-time flings. She wanted to eat
him
. Plus her heart surrendered when she saw the tray he carried. He hadn't run away from the things she'd said last night.

“Hi,” he said, his ears an adorable shade of red. He stood there with the morning sun lighting him up like a Greek god.

“Hi,” she said, completely unable to hide the smile that tugged her lips.

“You look stunning.”

Her turn to blush. She ran her hands through her hair. “I'm sure I look well used.”

“Yeah, you do. That's part of the attraction.” He came forward and put the tray on the bed. Then he leaned in and kissed her. Thoroughly.

“Let's forget about breakfast,” she whispered.

He pushed her back. “No, I think we should eat. And we need to talk.”

We need to talk?
Whoa. Those were the very last words she ever expected to hear from David's mouth. He was not a big talker.

“About what?” she asked.

He handed her a cup of coffee made exactly the way she liked it. “I'm afraid someone on the SFPD took a picture of us last night, together, kissing. It's on the front page of the
Winchester Daily
. There's also a photo of you being led off in handcuffs and a snotty headline that pissed me off.”

She sagged back against the big feather pillows. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She'd been worried about this. Apparently he hadn't given one thought to it. If he had, he'd never have bailed her out last night. She took a deep swallow of her coffee and, thus fortified, squared her shoulders. “Well, it was fun while it lasted, huh?”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it was fun, but, you know, that's it.”

He blinked at her. “Is that how you feel?”

Oh, boy, how did she feel? For starters, she was falling in love with him and that was ridiculous. Mom was absolutely right about some things. Willow would never be accepted by his family. She was the wrong kind of wife for a man pursuing a political career. She was neither the sweet, adoring wife type, nor the hard, political operator. She was, in a word, trouble, with a capital
T
.

“How did you expect me to feel?” she asked.

“I don't know. You said some things last night that made me think…”

She put her coffee down on the bedside table and then snaked her arms around his neck. “David, last night was amazing. I enjoyed every minute of it. And I mean it when I say that I was really, really thankful when you bailed me out of jail. I don't ever want to be arrested again. So thanks for that. And for making me breakfast. That's so sweet of you. But I know this can't be permanent. And now that the press has latched on, it's going to get ugly.

“So it's okay. I'm good with it. It wasn't ever going to be real, you know. I'm just your bridge to get over Shelly.”

He picked up the tray and put it down on the rug. “Come here,” he commanded, as he reached for her. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Let's get something clear here. If you think I'm done with you just because of some stupid article in the newspaper, then you need to think again.”

“But—”

He ran his hand through her hair, his touch breaking her insides. “I'm so crappy at talking about stuff like this. I get so tongue-tied. I've never been encouraged to talk about my feelings. You know?”

“Uh, if you don't want to, it's—”

He put his fingers over her mouth. “Just give me a minute to stumble through this, okay? I can see you've got this idea that you being Linda Petersen's daughter is more than I can handle. But you're wrong. I don't care whose daughter you are. I don't care what Restero or the
Winchester Daily
says about you. I don't care about any of that. I care about you. That's it.”

His thumb caressed her cheek, and it was all she could do not to break down in tears. Her chin started to tremble and she couldn't make it stop. If he kept talking like this, it would destroy her. “Please, David, I—”

“You don't believe me, do you? I guess that's natural, given the way people in this town have always treated you because of your mother. I know how that stuff works. I know very well how it works.”

His words settled down deep inside of her where her heart was so hungry for them. “I love my mom,” she said on a shaky voice, “but I hate it when everyone compares me to her. I'm not like her. At all. But everyone expects me to make trouble, even when I'm always trying to be on my best behavior. I'm sorry, David. You should never have rescued me last night.”

“Nonsense,” he said, brushing away a tear that leaked from her eye. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. “I'm a really reserved and private person, you know? But even so, I think maybe this newspaper article is a blessing. Now everyone knows about us, and we don't have to hide what's happening between us. We can just let it happen right out loud.”

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. His body was so hard, and strong, and male. Could she dare to hope that happily-ever-after was possible?

No, maybe it was better not to get that far ahead in her thinking, because his formidable family would never accept the two of them together. But then again, she wasn't falling in love with his family; she was falling in love with him.

Wasn't that the point he was trying to make?

She tipped her head up and kissed his jaw. It wasn't enough. She wanted to drink him in like her morning coffee. She wanted to eat him up for breakfast. And maybe then the hunger at her core would finally be satisfied.

W
illow had come down from the clouds by the time two o'clock rolled around. The words David said this morning would forever be pressed between the pages of her memory. But it didn't take long for storybook endings to fall apart.

His cell phone started buzzing a little after eight, cutting short their breakfast in bed. His plans for staying home and hanging holly evaporated with the morning mist.

The Lyndons—all of them, including Senator Mark Lyndon himself—had called a family meeting in order to deal with the latest media crisis. David's attendance was mandatory, and even though he'd told her not to worry, she wasn't an idiot. She knew how this would turn out.

So she wasn't in the best frame of mind when she picked up Natalie at Daniel Morgan Elementary. But Natalie, bless her sweet, young heart, was so excited about trying on her new green dress that by the time Willow pulled into the parking lot at A Stitch in Time, her mood had improved.

A Stitch in Time was one of half a dozen businesses located in a nineteenth-century Victorian house that had been converted for commercial use. Reva Daraji owned the business, and according to Yelp, she was the best seamstress in all of Jefferson County. Willow hoped the ratings were real, because every dress she'd ordered was the wrong size. Maybe if she'd had months to plan this wedding she could have gotten dresses closer to the mark, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The bridal gown had come from a shop in Houston. One of the bridesmaids' dresses had come from San Francisco, the other from Chicago, and Natalie's dress had come from New York. It had taken hundreds of phone calls to locate the dresses Melissa and Courtney wanted.

If Deva Daraji could make them fit, all would be well. Otherwise Willow was prepared for tears and tantrums. According to the wedding dress disaster stories she'd studied on the Internet, that's what she could expect.

She was prepared for the worst, but not for the smirks, sly looks, and goofy grins she got from Melissa, Courtney, Arwen, and even Mrs. Daraji herself when she strolled through the seamstress's front door.

“Good afternoon,” Mrs. Daraji said, her brown eyes twinkling. “I am thinking you were having a busy, busy day, no?”

Courtney snickered and slapped her hand across her mouth.

“Yes. Very busy,” Willow said, glaring at Courtney.

“Yes. Just so.” Mrs. Daraji nodded. “And we are all here, no? Who will be coming in first?”

“Can I go, please?” Natalie jumped up and down.

Mrs. Daraji gave the child a wide smile. “Yes, you can, but when we are finishing with you, you will have to be good and patient while I am finishing with the bride and bridesmaids.”

Natalie nodded. “I'll be good.”

“Come, then, I will help you try on your dress. We will be coming out so everyone can see.” She ushered Natalie into a fitting room.

“So,” Courtney whispered once they were gone. “What the heck is going on?”

Willow's face flamed. “I was arrested, and he bailed me out. I showed my gratitude.”

“Uh-huh. The entire world can see just how grateful you were.”

Willow sank into one of the straight-back chairs in the seamstress's front room.

“So?” Courtney said in a wheedling tone.

“So, what?”

“So, did you, you know…”

“That's none of your—”

“Judging by the crisis mode at LL&K this morning, I think we can all assume that you and David went all the way last night,” Arwen said. “And you don't have to confirm that. I can see it in the beard burn on your face.”

“Look, ladies, can we not—”

“No,” Melissa said, folding her arms. “No, we're not going to shut up. Because we're your friends. I know this comes as a surprise to you, Willow, but we've all come to care for you. And, take it from me, you don't want to get involved with a Lyndon unless you've decided you can't live without him.”

“Geez, Melissa, you don't have to be so blunt,” Courtney said.

“Yeah, I do.” Melissa got up, crossed the room, and sat in the chair next to Willow. “Honey,” she said, taking Willow's hand in hers. “Do you love him?”

Crap. She didn't want to talk about this. To anyone. It was too new, too fresh, and besides, talking about it would mean she'd have to admit what a stupid idiot she was for falling for Shelly's husband.

“Do you?”

“I…” She shrugged.

Melissa got right up in her face. “Do you?”

“I don't know if it's a forever kind of love,” she finally said, “or just a right now kind of love. And don't lecture me. I've already gotten the lecture from Mom and everyone else about how dumb it is to go falling for a person like David. And, please, guys, don't heap a boatload of guilt on me either. I know it all. He's my best friend's husband, for goodness' sake.”

“And he's Pam Lyndon's son. So I'm just saying.” Melissa squeezed her hand.

Right then something snapped, and David's words from the morning came back at her. “So?” she said, sitting up in her chair. “Why does that change anything? I mean, to hear people talk, it's like the Montagues and the Capulets or something.”

“Yeah,” Arwen said, “and that worked out so well for Romeo and Juliet.”

Melissa put an arm around her. “I can see why you might be falling for him. He's been a prince these last few weeks. But he's not like Jeff. I mean, Jeff wasn't raised as part of the Lyndon family. He doesn't care what they think. He's given up trying to please his father. And he tolerates his mother's friendship with Pam, but he definitely draws the line when Pam starts interfering.”

“David isn't like that,” Courtney said.

“I know.”

“Be careful, hon,” Melissa said.

“Yeah,” Arwen echoed. “Those people will eat you alive if it serves their political purposes. And—”

“Lookit, lookit,” Natalie said in a bright happy voice as she emerged from the back room wearing the most adorable green velvet dress with a matching hooded cloak. The dress was at least one size too big for her, and the hem was dragging the floor, but it didn't matter. The joyous look on Natalie's face was enough to make everyone smile.

And the subject of Willow's relationship with David Lyndon was mercifully dropped. At least for a while.

They were waiting for him—Mother, Dad, and Heather—in the den at Charlotte's Grove. The room was filled with comfortable furniture, and no effort had been made to decorate the room in keeping with the two-hundred-year-old house. This was the family space. It always had been.

There were other rooms at Charlotte's Grove with antiques that had been in the house for generations, but it struck David as he strode onto the dark beige carpet that, although Mother was a stalwart member of the Jefferson County Historical Society, she had never once tried to turn her home into a museum.

Quite unlike Shelly. But then Shelly had always been trying to keep up with Mother. Hadn't that been part of the problem?

“How could you?” Mother said as he entered the room. “Really, David, it's bad enough that you've decided to represent Dusty McNeil, but to bail that woman out of jail, and…” She threw up her arms in a gesture of complete exasperation.

“Sit down, Pam,” Dad said, and Mother sat, turning her gaze out the large windows. “You too.” Dad pointed at the wing chair facing Mother's.

David sat down, but he didn't relax.

“I have to say, I'm a little disappointed,” Dad said. “You do realize this woman has a reputation?”

“Yes, I do. She blew the whistle on a case of major Medicare fraud. I'd say that's a pretty brave thing for someone to do.”

“Come on, you don't actually believe—” Mother started to speak, but Dad put up his hand, and she stopped.

“I do believe her,” David said.

“Well, I suppose we can spin it that way,” Dad said, turning toward Heather. “What do you think?”

“I think Bill Cummins is going to challenge us to a primary. And I wouldn't be surprised if he used his connections with Chief LaRue to have a raid mounted on Linda Petersen's farm.”

“What are you talking about?” David asked.

“Oh my God, you're so naive. Everyone knows she's growing marijuana out there,” Mother said on a sniff.

“Mother, I admit that I've heard the rumors running around town for years, but there's a huge difference between gossip and truth. Paul LaRue is a good, honest man. I have a relationship with him too. He's not going to go raid Linda's farm unless he has probable cause. Not if he knows he's being used as part of a dirty campaign trick.”

“You don't think so?” Dad asked. “Who do you think took the picture that was in the paper?”

“I have no idea. There were four members of the SFPD in the room when I bailed Willow out.”

“Well,” Dad said on a cough, “whatever. I'll give Paul a call and make sure there aren't any drug raids. But even if there isn't any pot growing out there, the perception is the reality anyway. People think Linda is a pothead, so naturally you being involved with her daughter is unacceptable.”

“You must drop her,” Mother said. “She must be fired right away. You can't risk the gossip. Not when we're so close to announcing your candidacy.”

“I won't fire her.”

“David, be reasonable. The wedding is in just a few days. Melissa can muddle through on her own.”

“No.”

David got up from his chair even though he knew his parents weren't finished reading him the riot act. But he was finished listening to it. This hysteria was no more and no less than what Willow had predicted.

He didn't know where this thing with Willow was going, but he wouldn't throw it away because of politics.

“I'll take what you have to say under advisement. But if you'll excuse me, I have a busy evening planned. We're putting up a Christmas tree at the inn, and I promised Willow and Natalie that I would help decorate it.”

He hurried from the room, but Heather followed him. She caught up to him in the lobby.

“I don't want to hear it, Heather,” he said, pulling on his overcoat.

“I wasn't going to tell you to drop Willow, if that's what you think.”

“No?”

Heather shook her head. “You've taken off your wedding ring, so naturally I want to know the truth, the whole truth. Was it just a kiss, or is there more?”

“I told you I'm not in a mood to chat.”

“So you've slept with her, then?”

He gave her his bulldog stare, but it backfired.

Heather gave his arm a squeeze. “Look, I think it's terrific that you're moving on. But I'm your sister first and a potential constituent second. Let me confer with Hale tonight and see what he thinks. I'll call you in the morning and set up a meeting, okay? And in the meantime, I'll try to make Mother stand down.”

Willow had put Dusty in charge of securing Christmas trees for the inn. He came through in spades, showing up with no fewer than three, all of which were freshly cut at the Snicker's Gap Tree Farm in Blumont.

The largest of these trees was set up by the grand staircase that wound its way down to the lobby. Dusty took care of getting the tree in its stand and pruning a few of the wayward branches. Now it was up to Willow to make it beautiful.

She had several boxes of vintage ornaments, plus a few dozen boxes of new decorations that she'd bought from a warehouse that shipped in Christmas decorations from Asia on the cheap. She'd never had much of a budget for this, but she'd stretched it as far as it could go.

When she and Natalie returned from the dress fittings, they got to work opening ornament boxes while Mrs. M made hot chocolate. The mood was pretty festive, but it turned almost jolly when David came home from his family powwow early and went to work doing the manly job of stringing lights on the fifteen-foot monster.

Mrs. M punched up classic Christmas carols on the inn's sound system. And for a while Willow felt as if she'd truly come home. Natalie was happy. David was happy. Even Mrs. M was happy.

And then the doorbell rang.

Since David and Natalie were busy looking through an old box of ornaments that Shelly had once treasured, Willow answered the door. Pam Lyndon swept into the foyer with a Cruella de Vil frown on her face.

“Hello, Mrs. Lyndon,” she said in her best good-girl voice. “We're trimming the tree. I'm sure Natalie would love to have some help from her grandmother.”

The scowl on Pam's face deepened. “Don't try to appeal to my better angels. I know what you're doing, and I have no intention of joining your pack of volunteers. You know very well that I disapprove of you and this ridiculous wedding reception you've roped David into hosting. Where is my son?”

She breezed past Willow without even taking off her coat and marched right up to David. “We need to finish our discussion,” she said. “You left before things were settled.” Mrs. Lyndon gave Willow a killing glance.

“I'm busy, Mother.”

“David, do not defy me.”

David let go of a long-suffering sigh. “All right, you've got five minutes.” He gave Natalie a hug. “I won't be long. I promise. And then we'll hang some of these ornaments. Especially this one.” He held up a heart that said “Baby's First Christmas.”

He stood up, glanced at Willow and then Mrs. M, and said, “I'll be back.” Then he ushered his mother into the library and shut the pocket doors—something that was rarely ever done.

“Should we eavesdrop?” Mrs. M asked.

Willow shook her head, but it didn't matter, because no sooner had the doors closed than Pam Lyndon's voice rose in anger. “You let me think that you and that woman hadn't done anything more than kiss in public, but Heather says there's more. David, since when do you lie to me?”