Anne Eames - Two Weddings And A Bride

“Where we going?” she asked, not sounding as if she really cared.

“Toot’s Diner. I need some chow and you need some coffee.”

Another mile and he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, hopped out and ran to the other side before his passenger could fall on her face trying to maneuver on her own. She accepted his hand with a teasing smile and fell against him.

“Oops!” She giggled and righted herself.

When they slid into the booth nearest the door a minute later, Jake saw a waitress eyeing him. She came over with a pair of menus and shot him a judgmental look. Why is it all women assume the guy is some lech ready to pounce on some poor, helpless female? This female was hardly helpless. And by the looks of everything, not poor, either. He shoved the menus aside and ignored them along with the waitress’s scowl.

“We’ll have a couple orders of eggs, ham and toast. Make mine overeasy with rye.” He looked at Catherine. Her eyes were at half-mast; she seemed dazed. “How do you want yours?”

“Scrambled. Whole wheat,” she said in a monotone.

The waitress started to leave. Jake called after her. “And lots of coffee, please…soon.” She looked back, her lips a hard, straight line. Jake winked and flashed a toothy smile.

Catherine didn’t say a word. She slumped deeper in the booth, the back of her head pressed against the cushion, a cheek resting on her shoulder. Jake watched her doze, wondering if he should wake her and force some coffee down, or let her sleep. When the aroma of hot food and the noise of sliding plates didn’t budge her, he decided he had to say something.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Chow time.” He drank his coffee and watched her come around. She looked ghastly. Her complexion matched the pale green upholstery. He’d seen the signs often enough to know what was coming. Sure enough, she struggled to an upright position and moaned aloud, clasping her head with both hands. She took one whiff of the food, then slid quickly from the booth.

Jake pointed. “Down that hall, on the right.” He watched her snake a path to the ladies’ room and debated whether he should follow. Nah. There were some things a person preferred doing in private.

Ten minutes later Jake was just about to send the waitress in after her when Catherine emerged. Her mascara was smudged, her face wet and pale, but she walked straighter than when she’d left. It’d been years since he’d pulled such a stunt, but he remembered the feeling all too well.

She avoided his eyes when she slid back into the booth and reached for her water. She took a sip, then looked at him sheepishly. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

“Not quite.” Jake dipped the corner of a napkin into his water glass. He leaned across and started wiping away the black from beneath her lashes. She inched forward, staring back at him with such a soulful look that he wanted to slide in beside her, crush her against him and never let her go. Now he wished he’d gone back and taught Studly a lesson he’d never forget. How could any man throw away a woman like this?

When he tossed the napkin aside, Catherine grasped his hand with both of hers. For the first time he saw a hint of moisture pooling above her lower lashes. He watched, certain tears would spill any second, but they didn’t.

She raised her chin and blinked them back, then spoke in a barely audible whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She picked up a piece of toast and started nibbling at it, testing the waters. When that worked she had some coffee and a little more toast, then more coffee. Eventually she looked at him and caught his smile. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Come on. What were you thinking?” She smiled a weary smile, leaning heavily on her left elbow.

“I was thinking ‘She’s probably still drunk, but at least she’s a wide-awake drunk.’”

“Very funny.”

“You asked.”

“So…where do we go now?”

He liked the sound of the word we. “I was just going to ask you that question.”

She fell silent a moment, looking as if she hadn’t the foggiest notion. “I don’t want to go home, that’s for sure.” She pushed her plate aside, eggs untouched, and nursed her coffee. The waitress dropped the check on the table and scurried off. Catherine reached it first. Jake tugged at it but she wouldn’t let go.

“No. I insist,” she said, challenging him with an unexpected show of energy. She pulled it to her chest, then began rooting around inside her purse. A bulging envelope blocked her path. Annoyed, she slapped it on the table and continued foraging until she found some bills. She was about to return the envelope to her purse when she stopped, a look of inspiration spreading across her face. Then she tossed the opened envelope in front of Jake, encouraging him to read the contents with a wave of her hand.

“That’s where we’re going!” Seeming pleased with herself, she slid from the booth and headed for the cashier. Jake read enough to satisfy his curiosity, then scrambled to catch up with her. She’d already paid the tab and was on the way out the door. Without breaking stride she called over her shoulder, “What time is it?”

“Almost three-thirty.”

“We have to be at the airport at five-thirty.” She stopped alongside the Jeep and spun around, loosing her balance momentarily. Looking panicky, she studied his features. “Hair’s a little lighter and longer, but it’ll work.” She breathed a sigh of relief and jumped into the passenger seat.

Caught up in her enthusiasm Jake hustled to the other side and slid in.

“Do you live close by?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, but…”

She turned and faced him squarely, folding her arms in a mix of impatience and determination. “Look, Jake,” she started, looking angry. “It’s too late to change the name on everything. TJ’s birth certificate and photo ID are in the envelope. All you have to do is memorize his birth date and address. How difficult can that be?”

Nonplussed, Jake stared at her.

She relaxed her hands in her lap and smiled at him imploringly. “Well? Do you want to go to Jamaica with me or not?”

Jake turned the key in the ignition.

“Mommm…” Catherine rolled her eyes at Jake, who was leaning against the wall next to the airport pay phone, grinning. “Please stop crying. I’m okay. Really.” She looked down at her feet, feeling guilty for her mother’s pain.

“I know how humiliating it must have been for you and Daddy, but…” She wanted to say It was no picnic for me, either, but she let her mother prattle on, not wanting to say anything that would prolong the conversation. After listening to a long litany of who said what to whom following her hasty departure, she finally interrupted. “I need to speak with Daddy…yes, Mom. I love you, too.”

Catherine extracted the wadded paper from her purse and began smoothing out the wrinkles until she heard her father’s worried voice. She tolerated a few more platitudes, then heaved a sigh and asked her question. “I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you call your lawyer and ask him something for me?” Quickly she explained the unsigned marriage license in her hand and agreed to call him back in a couple of days for the answer.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He began again in what sounded like a long lecture and Catherine shot Jake another exasperated look.

“Sorry, Daddy, they’re boarding my plane…have to run. We’ll have a nice long talk when I get back.” A moment later she hung up the phone and exhaled a loud sigh.

Jake hadn’t moved. His arms were folded and he had that same silly grin plastered on his face.

“Now what’s so funny?”

He pushed off the wall. “Nothing at all. This kind of thing happens to me all the time. How ‘bout you?”

Catherine couldn’t help but smile. “I guess this is a little bizarre,” she said, picking up her carryon and walking toward the gate. “I wonder how many brides have gone on their honeymoon with someone besides the groom?”

Jake walked close behind her and whispered discreetly over her shoulder. “Probably the same number as men who went with brides that weren’t their own.”

Catherine swallowed a chuckle, suddenly feeling wicked and, much to her surprise, a little excited. Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, she mused. Besides, there was a good chance she wasn’t anybody’s “bride,” that she was actually a free woman. As long as Jake remembered this was a platonic vacation, maybe Jamaica could be more than a convenient escape. Maybe it could actually be fun.

An hour and a half after takeoff Catherine picked at her second breakfast of the morning, still feeling queasy, when the practical side of her took over. Using the most businesslike tone she could muster, she began laying out the ground rules to her traveling companion. They’d come and go as they pleased without checking with each other, taking meals together as the mood moved them, but with no obligations. Strictly a business arrangement. No hanky-panky.

“There’s a master bedroom and a parlor with a hide-abed.” She nibbled at her dry toast and thought about offering Jake the bed, but reconsidered. After all, she’d paid for this whole trip, thanks to her offer to pay for everything by credit card and get reimbursed from TJ later. The least she could do for herself now was take the bed. Besides, as nice as Jake had been so far, he was still a man, and men were on her lower-than-slime list today.

When she fell silent Jake took the lead. “I’ll use the hide-a-bed. You can have the bed.” He’d polished off his eggs and sausage with ease. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and returned the no-nonsense look she’d been giving him for the last ten minutes. “I have no problem with your conditions, but I have one of my own.”

She waited, curious what it might be.

“I insist on paying half of all expenses.”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Even a bartender had his pride. It wasn’t her problem how he’d come up with the money. She held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Jake clasped it and shook it firmly just as the flight attendant retrieved their trays. He released his grip in time to salvage his coffee. “I’d like more when you get a chance.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead whose eyes betrayed a more than passing interest. The woman lingered in the aisle making small talk.

Catherine felt a twinge of something resembling jealousy. Quickly she shook herself and found a paperback in her bag. Before she finished the first paragraph of her new Janet Dailey novel, the flight attendant was back refilling Jake’s cup.

After she left, Catherine watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He slurped from his steaming cup, then reached for the Wall Street Journal tucked in the seat pocket in front of him. Catherine bit her top lip to keep from laughing. Who was he kidding? She’d bet her grandmother’s pearls that he didn’t know the difference between junk bonds and junk mail. This trip was going to be fun.

Three hours into the flight, when they ran into turbulence, Catherine’s stomach lurched and any idea of fun vanished.

God! How she’d be glad when this ride was over. Motion sickness had never been a problem before. But then she’d never had so much alcohol before, either. Another thing she could thank TJ for—if she ever spoke to him again.

TJ. She’d refused to dwell on him since leaving the reception, but now her mind drifted in that direction, the book on her lap long forgotten. She leaned back in the seat and felt the cool air on her face, not ready to deal with the past, but unable to put it out of her head.