An Unlikely Alliance (11 page)

With all the snot running down his face and
the tears, I find myself wondering what I ever saw in him. What's
wrong with me? Normally I'm not this stupid. I go for the jocks,
but because of bad experiences which we don't need to review, I
decided to go for the nerdy guy. Sensitivity might be a nice
change. Well, I got the sensitive part; not what I had in mind.

It would have been nice to know an important
little detail. The best friend, whose wedding I just inadvertently
destroyed, is a girl.

Furthermore, there was no way for me to know
this girl was the love of his life, and I was actually going to a
wedding to witness my date stand up in the middle of the ceremony –
God, mayor, and everyone else I have known since high school—and
say, "I object!"

I can't make this stuff up, not even if I
tried. Naturally, the groom was a little ticked off. You could tell
by the fact that his face and neck got so red his head looked like
it was going to pop right off his body. Next thing I know, my
ex-boyfriend was grabbing me, yes grabbing me, by my dress strap, I
might add, and tugging me to stand up with him. Sorry, but my
loyalty doesn't run that deep. I briefly contemplated slamming my
head against a wall.

You can imagine the ruckus he caused, since
the bride not only fainted, but took all six of her bridesmaids
down with her, simultaneously knocking over the giant candelabrum
which set part of the church on fire. The highlight of my day was
watching the incredibly muscular fireman put the small blaze out.
Sometimes my life is pathetic, I admit.

But back to my snotty-nosed ex-boyfriend,
maybe if I sneak away quietly he won't notice I'm gone. Gathering
my purse and coat, I walk toward the door. Sweet freedom. I can see
it. I can smell it. And I can feel it.

"Amanda?"

Ugh, I knew I was lying to myself. I never
made it out of my house in high school. Why would I be able to
sneak out now?

Defeated, I turn around to see who had said
my name and noticed an attractive firemen walking my way. Now I'm
curious, but I see the ex-boyfriend slowly look my way as well. Oh
no. This is not good. Doing what I do best, I smile at Mr.
Hot-Fireman, and say, "Hi."

"You don't remember me, do you?" The deep
voice sent shivers up my spine; it was like melted chocolate. The
ex-boyfriend has a crazed look in his eyes and suddenly sprints
toward me and Mr. Fireman. Next thing I know, Derek, still snot
faced and angry, is on top of the fireman throwing punches Ultimate
Fighter style at the back of his head.

"Derek! Get off of him, what are you
doing?"

"I'll fight for you, Amanda! Don't worry! I
love you!" Insert more crazy snot induced sobs here. Men.

The poor hot fireman didn't
even know what hit him. Lucky for him he was still wearing his
helmet which blocked part of the blow from Derek. The unfortunate
part was, although it did block the hit from Derek, the blow sent
the hat flying off of the fireman's head into the giant cake,
sending the bride, yet again, into hysterics and judgmental looks
my way. I feel the need to shout,
This is
not my fault
!

Derek is finally thrown off of the fireman,
and I escort him outside amidst the entire town shaking their heads
in disapproval. Thanks for the help guys! No one even bothered to
get up from their seats, rude.

"Derek, what the heck are you doing?" He
shoves his, now I realize, small hands into his pockets and sniffs,
"Well, I just thought maybe since things didn't go well, you know,
today, that we could try again."

Oh my goodness. This cannot be happening. He
is actually serious. This is not his joking face. Is he drunk? He
must be drunk off communion wine. It's the only explanation I can
come up with at this point.

"Derek," I try my stern voice, hoping he'll
get the hint without me having to slap him across the face. I don't
like criers. His tears must stop now. They must stop, I tell you!
Okay, calm down and tell him how it is. "You're an idiot."

Maybe that was too harsh, make it better.
"So, please stop crying! I won't try again with you when there was
nothing to try in the first place. You took me as a date to your
best friend's wedding, then tried to ditch me to hook up with the
bride. And now that it didn't work out as you planned, you want to
try with me?" The shrillness of my voice was elevating, and getting
louder, but I couldn't control myself. Tremulously, I try to
reclaim some shreds of dignity, so I add, "I'll have you know there
are guys who would kill for an opportunity to date me!" What, just
because they aren't lining up doesn't mean it's not true. "How dare
you think you can have a second chance with me. You're lucky you
had a first." My fists are clenched so tightly against my sides, I
know if I breathe one more word I'll release them all over his
face.

The sobbing baby turns suddenly into a
little monster and retorts, "Well, that's not what I hear. Did you
know they had to bribe me to even go out with you? I would be doing
you a favor!"

Where did that come from? Where is 'Mr. I
Cry All the Time and Have Feelings Too' man? My mouth drops open as
I'm rendered speechless. Then out of nowhere – like a flash of
lightning – Mr. Fireman storms up to us and punches Derek in the
nose.

"What?" I yell at the strange, hot man and I
lean down to see if Derek is okay. Wow, this guy is going to need
therapy after today.

"He's an idiot," the fireman states as he
rubs his large hands. Not even a scratch from that hit. Nice.

The claim is valid; there's no way to argue
that point. Nice to know I'm not the only sane one here at the
wedding.

"Thanks," I manage to mutter as I meet the
craziest green eyes I've ever seen in my entire life. Oh good, the
room is spinning now. Perfect. Maybe I'll pass out on top of Derek,
looking all kinds of inappropriate. The mayor would love that.

"You're welcome, Amanda." Mr. Fireman grins
cleverly before he turns around and walks back into the church.

"Who is that?" Derek is still pathetically
whimpering on the ground. I feel like kicking him, but I'm not the
violent type. I'm outside, so it's easy to make an escape. I'm sure
not going to wait around. On the way home, I keep wondering about
Mr. Mystery Fireman. He looked so familiar. Do I know him? How does
he know my name? Our town of Nampa, Idaho isn't very large, we only
boast enough people for two high schools. Then again, he could have
easily gone to school somewhere in Boise or Meridian. But he was
definitely a Nampa fireman.

****

Google is wonderful; which
could be construed as stalking, but my curiosity is eating me
alive. Yes! Found it, Nampa Firehouse,
click.

Oh be still my rapidly beating heart. They
have a calendar for a suggested donation of only ten dollars! Plus,
it's for charity! Who wouldn't buy the calendar? Of course, he's
Mr. December. Merry Christmas, Amanda. My strict Nazarene grandma
is probably rolling in her grave, not that I didn't give her enough
reasons to be in that grave while she was living. What with my
dancing and going to movies. She was a dear, sweet lady who I'm
thankful now, is with her Lord. I'm silently praying to God that He
is the only one who can actually hear my thoughts. Amen. And,
girls, if you can see this, A-M-E-N.

You could do laundry on his abs. Is he
airbrushed? How can abs look this way? His chest is perfectly
chiseled, like God cut him out of a mountain. Those green eyes
aren't even his best feature. His hair is so thick and glossy, it
should have its own Facebook page, and I would easily be the number
one fan.

I need to refocus. Where is his name? I
scroll down to the bottom of the page and see "staff". I click and
pray it will be the correct information. Moving down the page
again, I see his picture and click on it. They have stats right
next to the names. Wait. No. Well, I just almost swallowed my
tongue – didn't know it was possible, but here you see it
documented. It almost happened to a perfectly healthy twenty-seven
year old, and my parents would have found me in my apartment,
asphyxiated on the floor with my computer screen opened up to a hot
fireman. The shame would be unbearable. My poor parents would be
humiliated and have to lie to everyone about how they found me.

There's no way it could actually be him. The
irony would be too perfect. I have to look closer to confirm my
eyes aren't deceiving me. With a sinking feeling, I remember him
when he had braces, ugly sweater vests, and too thick glasses.

It's Preston, and the memories of egging his
house more than once during high school hit me full force. I
remember him holding my hand with those sweaty palms as he asked me
to prom in front of the entire school. Right now the only one with
sweaty palms is me! Oh, no. I turned him down. The sad part is, if
he'd ask me now, I'd say yes.

At the time, it was more important for me to
look cool. So I said, in front of everyone, "Thanks, but I'm
already going with my cousin, Brad". I don't even have a cousin
named Brad. Just wait. It gets worse. He showed up at prom with his
sister, saw me dancing and kissing another guy, and, I'm sure,
assumed I probably wasn't that close with my family.

Ladies, let this be a lesson. People always
say you need to be nice to nerds, because you might end up working
for them some day. The same goes for nerdy guys who ask you out.
You should be nice to them, because one day they might be smoking
hot.

Also by USA TODAY Bestselling Author Rachel
Van Dyken:

Prologue

"It's a
girl, my lady! A fine girl!" the midwife exclaimed, holding out the
small bundle in her hands. It seemed nearly impossible she had
given birth to such a small and perfect little gift. Obviously, the
midwife wanted her to take possession of the child she had
laboriously brought into the world.

Without
thought, she pulled the bundle to her chest and wept. The salty
tears slipped down her cheeks as she mourned all the love that
would be lost on her new baby and all the reasons she couldn't keep
her.

"Take
her away from me!" Her shriek seemed to bounce off the bare walls
of the room.

Hiding her face in her hands, she continued to weep,
knowing the situation was completely hopeless. Her aristocratic
parents wouldn't allow the scandal. She knew the only answer lay in
giving the child away to distant relatives. If the
ton
were to discover
why she had been sent into hiding, she would be ruined.

The father of
the child wanted nothing to do with the baby, even if she did.
Hopefully she could convince him to marry her when she went back
into London; the season would be starting soon. She closed her
heavy eyes and prayed the feeling of loss would leave her.

But it
didn't. There was no way to escape the choices she had made, except
to move on with life, and hope the Duke would still find her
attractive after a twenty-four hour childbirth. He hadn't even
contacted her—had he even cared for her health at all?

Although
young, she wasn't stupid. He was probably out getting foxed with
his friends, while she went through the worst pain
imaginable.

It was better
this way. Better the infant girl remain in the country. Better she
be raised far away from society.

"Her name, miss?" The maid urged softly,
looking at her with expectant eyes.

"Sara," she whispered. "Her name is
Sara."

Chapter
One

The English
Countryside

Miss Sara Ames
had no desire whatsoever to extend a greeting to her Aunt Tilda.
Greetings were natural assumptions of welcome, and Sara did not
want her aunt to get the wrong impression. She was most certainly
not welcome.

Soon enough
she would be encouraged to extend said welcome to her aunt, but
naturally, she was in no mood to rush the first step into the
inferno, as she so delicately thought of the situation. No. She
would greet her soon, but not too soon. Not until the time was
forced upon her—much like the current situation had been thrust
upon her.

At least
she could spend these last few hours in solitary lamentation,
mourning the life she once dreamed for herself. A life filled with
nights sitting by the fireside reading novels. After all, she
wasn't pretty enough for a debut, a fact of which she was reminded
daily by her sisters and her mother.

Debuts were reserved for comely, dewy-skinned girls; not
ugly girls, as her father had often so delicately put it. She
hadn't even been provided with a dowry. And according to her
father, the main reason for that being, "No man in his right mind
would take you, even if I offered him the blunt of the
ton
." He'd repeated such sentiments to neighbors on many
occasions as well, the first time on Sara's sixteenth birthday,
when during the middle of her party he drunkenly announced to all
her friends she was worthless.