The Man You'll Marry (2 page)

I
t had been one of those days.

One of those nightmarish days in which nothing had gone right. Nothing. Shelly Hansen told herself she should have seen the writing on the wall that morning when she tripped over the laces of her high-top purple running shoes as she hurried from the parking lot to her dinky office. She’d torn a hole in the knee of her brand-new pants and limped ingloriously into her building. The day had gone steadily downhill from there, with a package lost by the courier and—worst of all—the discovery that her bank account was overdrawn because a client’s check had bounced.

By the time she returned to her apartment that evening she was in a black mood. All she needed to make her day complete was to have her mother pop in unannounced with a man in tow, convinced she’d found the perfect mate for Shelly.

She could only hope that wouldn’t happen, but it was exactly the kind of thing Shelly had come to expect from her dear, sweet
desperate
mother. Shelly was twenty-eight now and still single, and her mother tended to view her unmarried status as a situation to be remedied. Since her father had decided not to retire, and her two brothers were both living out of state, Shelly had become the focus of her mother’s obsessions. Marriage, closely followed by grandchildren, were the first and second items on Faith Hansen’s agenda for her only daughter.

Never mind that Shelly felt content with her life just the way it was. Never mind that she wasn’t interested in marriage and children…at least not yet. That time would come, she was sure, not now, but someday soon—or rather, some
year
soon.

For the moment, Shelly was absorbed in her career. She was proud of her work as a video producer, although she continually suffered the cash-flow problems of the self-employed. Her relaxation DVDs—seascapes, mountain scenes, a flickering fire in a brick fireplace, all with a background of classical music—were selling well. Her cat-sitting DVD had recently caught the attention of a major distributor, and she couldn’t help believing she was on the brink of real success.

That was the good news.

Her mother hounding her to get married was the bad.

Tossing her woven Mexican bag and striped blue
jacket onto the sofa, Shelly ventured into the kitchen and sorted through the packages in her freezer until she found something that halfway appealed to her for dinner. The frozen entrée was in the microwave when the doorbell chimed.

Her mother. The way her day was going, it
had
to be her mother. Groaning inwardly, she decided she’d be polite but insistent. Friendly but determined, and if her mother began talking about husbands, Shelly would simply change the subject.

But it wasn’t Faith Hansen who stood outside her door. It was Elvira Livingston, the building manager, a warm, delightful but insatiably curious older woman.

“Good evening, dear,” Mrs. Livingston greeted her. She wore heavy gold earrings and a billowing, bright yellow dress, quite typical attire. She clutched a large box protectively in both hands. “The postman dropped this off. He asked if I’d give it to you.”

“For me, Mrs. L.?” Perhaps today wasn’t a total loss, after all.

Elvira nodded, holding the package as though she wasn’t entirely sure she should surrender it until she got every bit of relevant data. “The return address is California. Know anyone by the name of Millicent Bannister?”

“Aunt Milly?” Shelly hadn’t heard from her mother’s aunt in years.

“The package is insured,” Mrs. Livingston noted, shifting the box just enough to examine the label again.

Shelly held out her hands to receive the package, but her landlady apparently didn’t notice.

“I had to sign for it.” This, too, seemed to be of great importance. “And there’s a letter attached,” Mrs. Livingston added.

Shelly had the impression that the only way she’d ever get her hands on the parcel was to let Mrs. Livingston open it first.

“I certainly appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to,” Shelly said, gripping the sides of the box and giving a firm tug. Mrs. Livingston released the package reluctantly. “Uh, thanks, Mrs. L. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The older woman’s face fell with disappointment as Shelly began to close the door. Obviously, she was hoping for an invitation to stay. But Shelly wasn’t in the mood for company, especially not the meddlesome, if well-meaning, Elvira Livingston.

Shelly sighed. This was what she got for renting an apartment with “character.” She could be living in a modern town house with a sauna, pool and workout room in a suburban neighborhood. Instead she’d opted for a brick two-story apartment building in the heart of Seattle. The radiators hissed at all hours of the night in perfect harmony with the plumbing that groaned and creaked. But Shelly loved the polished hardwood floors, the high ceilings with their delicate crystal light fixtures and the bay windows that overlooked Puget Sound. She could do without the sauna and other amenities, even if it meant occasionally dealing with an eccentric busybody like Mrs. Livingston.

Eagerly she carried the package into the kitchen and set it on her table. Although she wondered what Aunt Milly had sent her, she carefully peeled the letter free, then just as carefully removed the plain brown wrapper.

The box was an old one, she noticed, the cardboard heavier than that currently used by stores. Shelly gently pried off the lid. She found layers of tissue paper wrapped around…a dress. Shelly pushed aside the paper and lifted the garment from its box. She gasped in surprise as the long white dress gracefully unfolded.

This wasn’t just any dress. It was a wedding dress, an exquisitely sewn lace-and-satin wedding dress.

Surely it couldn’t have been Aunt Milly’s…No, that couldn’t be…It wasn’t possible.

Anxious now, her heart racing, Shelly refolded the dress and placed it back in the box. She reached for the envelope and saw that her hands were trembling as she tore it open.

My Dearest Shelly,

I trust this letter finds you happy and well. You’ve frequently been in my thoughts the past few days. I suppose you could blame Dr. Phil for that. Though now that I think about it, it may have been Oprah. As you’ll have gathered, I often watch those talk shows these days. John would have disapproved, but he’s been gone eight years now. Of course, if I wanted to, I’d watch them if
he were still alive. John could disapprove all he wanted, but it wouldn’t do him a bit of good. Never did. He knew it and loved me, anyway.

I imagine you’re wondering why I’m mailing you my wedding dress and what Dr. Phil and Oprah have to do with it. (Yes, that is indeed my infamous wedding dress.) I suspect the sight of it has put the fear of God into you. I wish I could’ve been there to see your face when you realized what I was sending you. No doubt you’re familiar with the story; everyone in the family’s known about it for years. Since you’re fated to marry the first man you meet once the dress is in your hands, your instinct is probably to burn the thing immediately!

Now that I reconsider, I’m certain it was Dr. Phil. He had a show recently featuring pets as companions to the elderly, lifting their spirits and the like. The man being interviewed brought along a cute little Scottish terrier and that was when the old seamstress drifted into my mind. Her name was Mrs. McDonald—or was it McDonnell? At any rate, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew the six-o’clock news was on.

While I slept I had a dream about you. This was no ordinary dream, either. I saw you plain as day, standing beside a tall young man, your blue eyes bright and shining. You were so happy, so truly in love. But what astonished me was the wedding dress you were wearing.

Mine.

The very dress the old Scottish woman sewed for me all those years ago. It seemed to me I was receiving a message of some sort and that I’d best not ignore it. Neither should you! You’re about to embark on the grandest adventure of your life, my dear. Keep me informed!

Believe me, Shelly, I know what you’re thinking. I well remember my own thoughts the day that seamstress handed me the wedding dress. I’d ordered something completely different from her—a simple evening gown—so I was shocked to say the least. Marriage was the
last
thing on my mind! I had a career, back in the days when it was rare for a woman to attend college, let alone graduate from law school.

You and I are a great deal alike, Shelly. We value our independence. It takes a special kind of man to be married to women like us. And you, my dear niece, are about to meet that one special man just the way I did.

All my love,
Aunt Milly

P.S. You’re only the second person to wear the dress. Never before have I felt anything like this. Perhaps it’s the beginning a new tradition!

With hands that trembled even more fiercely now, Shelly folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the sweat beading her forehead.

The phone rang then, and more from instinct than any desire to talk, Shelly picked up the receiver.

“Hello.” It hadn’t dawned on her until that moment that the caller might be her mother, wanting to bring over a man for her to meet. Any man her mother introduced would only add to the growing nightmare, but—

“Shelly, it’s Jill. Are you all right? You sound…strange.”

“Jill.” Shelly was so relieved that her knees went weak. “Thank heaven it’s you.”

“What’s wrong?”

Shelly hardly knew where to begin. “My aunt Milly’s wedding dress just arrived. I realize that won’t mean anything to you unless you’ve heard the family legend about my aunt Milly and uncle John.”

“I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t, otherwise you’d understand what I’m going through,” Shelly snapped, then felt guilty for being short-tempered with her best friend. Making an effort to compose herself, she explained, “I’ve just been mailed a wedding dress—one that’s been in my family for over sixty years—with the clear understanding that I’ll be wearing it soon myself.”

“You didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone.” Jill hadn’t managed to disguise the hurt in her voice.

“I’m
not!
And I’m not getting married, either. If anyone should know that, it’s you.”

“Then your aunt intends you to wear it when you do get married.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Shelly cried. “Listen. Aunt Milly—who’s really my mother’s aunt, a few years older than my grandmother—became an attorney just after the Second World War. She worked hard to earn her law degree and had decided to dedicate her life to her career.”

“In other words, she’d planned never to marry.”

“Exactly.”

“But apparently she did.”

“Yes, and the story of how that happened has been in the family for years. It seems Aunt Milly had all her clothes professionally made. As the story goes, she took some lovely white material to an old Scottish woman who had a reputation as the best seamstress around. Milly needed an evening dress for some formal event that was coming up—business-related, of course. The woman took her measurements and told her the dress would be finished by the end of the week.”

“And?” Jill prompted when Shelly hesitated.

“And…when Milly returned for the dress the old woman sat her down with a cup of tea.”

“The dress wasn’t ready?”

“Oh, it was ready, all right, only it wasn’t the dress Aunt Milly had ordered. The Scottish woman said she was gifted with the ‘sight.’”

“She was clairvoyant?”

“So she claimed,” Shelly said, breathing in deeply.
“The old woman told my aunt that when she began the dress a vision came to her. A clear vision that involved Milly. This vision showed Milly getting married. The old woman was so convinced of it that she turned what was supposed to be a simple evening dress into an elaborate wedding gown, with layers of satin and lace and lots of pearls.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Jill said with a sigh.

“Of course it’s beautiful—but don’t you see?”

“See what?”

It was all Shelly could do not to groan with frustration. “The woman insisted my aunt Milly would marry within the year. It happened, too, just the way that seamstress said, right down to the last detail.”

Jill sighed again. “That’s the most romantic story I’ve heard in ages.”

“It isn’t romance,” Shelly argued, “it’s fate interrupting one’s life! It’s being a…pawn! It’s destiny whether you like it or not. I know that seems crazy, but I’ve grown up hearing this story. It was as though my aunt Milly didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

“And your aunt Milly mailed you the dress?”

“Yes,” Shelly wailed.
“Now
do you understand why I’m upset?”

“Frankly, no. Come on, Shelly, it’s just an old dress. You’re overreacting. You make it sound as if you’re going to marry the next man you meet.”

Shelly gasped audibly. “How’d you know?” she whispered.

“Know what?”

“That’s
exactly
what happened to Aunt Milly. That’s part of the legend. She tried to refuse the dress, but the seamstress wouldn’t take it back, nor would she accept payment. When Aunt Milly left the dress shop, she had car problems and needed a mechanic. My uncle John was that mechanic. And Aunt Milly married him. She married
the first man she met,
just like the seamstress said.”

“S
helly, that doesn’t mean
you’re
going to marry the next man you meet,” Jill stated calmly, far too calmly to suit Shelly.

Perhaps Jill didn’t recognize a crisis when she came across one. They were talking about fate here. Predestination. Okay, maybe, just maybe, she was being a bit melodramatic, but after the ghastly day she’d had, who could blame her?

“Aunt Milly came right out and said I’m going to get married soon,” Shelly said. “According to the family legend, the first man you meet when you get the dress is the man you’ll marry.”

“It’s just coincidence,” Jill reassured her. “Your aunt probably would’ve met her husband
without
the dress. It would’ve happened anyway. And don’t forget, she’s an old woman now,” Jill continued soothingly. “I know this wonderful old lady who comes into the pharmacy every few weeks and she always insists
I’m
going to get
married soon. I smile and nod and fill her prescription. She means well, and I’m sure your aunt Milly does, too. She just wants you to be happy, the way she was. But I think it’s silly to take any of this prediction nonsense seriously.”

Shelly exhaled sharply. Jill was right; Aunt Milly was a lovely woman who had Shelly’s happiness at heart. She’d had a long, blissful marriage herself and wanted the same for her great-niece. But Shelly had plans and goals, none of which included meeting and marrying a stranger.

The story of Aunt Milly’s wedding dress had been handed down through the family. Shelly had first heard it as a child and had loved it. She’d ranked the story of her aunt Milly and uncle John with her favorite fairy tales of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, barely able to distinguish truth from fantasy. However, she was an adult now. Her heart and her life weren’t going to be ruled by something as whimsical as a “magic” wedding dress or a fanciful legend.

“You’re absolutely right,” Shelly announced emphatically. “The whole thing is ridiculous. Just because this wedding dress supposedly conjured up a husband for my aunt Milly sixty-plus years ago doesn’t mean it’s going to do the same thing for me, no matter what she claims.”

“Well, thank goodness you’re finally being sensible about this.”

“No one bothered to ask me what I thought before shipping off a so-called magic wedding gown. I don’t
want to get married yet, so I certainly don’t need the dress. It was a nice gesture, but unnecessary.”

“Exactly,” Jill agreed.

“I’m not interested in playing déjà voodoo.” She paused to laugh at her own joke.

Jill chuckled, too. “I wouldn’t be, either.”

Shelly felt greatly relieved, and the tight muscles along the back of her neck began to relax. Jill was, as usual, full of practical advice. Aunt Milly was a wonderful old lady, and the legend was a delightful bit of family lore, but it would be laughable to take any of this seriously.

“How about meeting me for lunch tomorrow?” Jill suggested. “It’s been ages since we got together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shelly said. Although they’d been close friends since college, it took some effort on both their parts these days to make time in their hectic lives to see each other. “When and where?”

“How about the mall?” Jill asked. “That would be easiest for me since I’m scheduled to work tomorrow. I can get off a few minutes before twelve.”

“Great. I’ll see you at noon at Patrick’s,” Shelly promised. Meeting her friend for lunch was just the antidote she needed after her terrible day. But what did she expect on Friday, April thirteenth?

Shelly overslept, then got stuck in a traffic jam on her way to meet Jill the following morning. She detested being late, although she often was. Rather than fight for
a convenient parking spot in the vast lot that surrounded the mall, she took the first available space and rushed over to the nearest entrance. Patrick’s, a cozy, charming restaurant on the mall’s upper level, was deservedly popular for business lunches. Shelly had eaten there often and especially enjoyed the spinach-and-shrimp salad.

A glance at her watch told her it was already after twelve, and not wanting to keep Jill waiting, she hurried toward the escalator, weaving her way through the crowd.

Her mind must have been on the salad she intended to order instead of the escalator because the moment she placed her foot on the first tread, she lost her balance.

“Oh…oh!” Swinging both arms out in a futile attempt to remain upright, she groped at thin air. She tried frantically to catch herself as she fell backward.

Landing in someone’s arms shocked her as much as having lost her balance. Incredulous, she twisted around to thank her rescuer but this proved to be a mistake. Her action caught the man off guard, and before he could prevent it, they went crashing to the floor. Once again Shelly expected to experience pain. Instead, her waist was surrounded by arms that were surprisingly strong. His grip was firm but gentle, protective. As they fell, he maneuvered himself to take the brunt of the impact when they landed. Sprawled as she was above him, Shelly found herself staring down at the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Her heart thrummed. Her breath caught. Her body froze.

For a moment neither of them spoke. A crowd had
gathered around them before Shelly managed to speak. When she did, her voice was weak and breathless. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry…”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“Fine. I think.”

She lay cushioned by his solid chest, their faces mere inches apart. Shelly’s long hair fell forward, framing his face. He smelled of mint and some clean-scented soap. Her gaze wandered curiously over his features; at such close range she could see the tiny lines that fanned out from the edges of his sapphire-blue eyes, as well as the grooves that bracketed his mouth. His nose was classically straight, his mouth full and sensuous. At least his lower lip was. It didn’t take her long to recognize that this man was uncompromisingly male. His eyes held hers reluctantly, as if he, too, was caught in the same powerful trance.

Neither of them moved, and although Shelly was convinced the breathless sensation she felt was a result of the fall, she couldn’t seem to breathe properly even now.

“Miss, are you hurt?”

Reluctantly, Shelly looked up to find a security guard standing over her.

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“Sir?”

“I’m fine.”

The arms that were holding hers securely began to loosen.

“If we could have you both sit over here for a mo
ment,” the guard instructed, pointing at a bench. “We have an ambulance on the way.”

“An ambulance? But I told you I’m okay,” she said.

The guard helped Shelly to her feet. Her legs were shaky and her breathing still uncertain, but otherwise she was unhurt.

“Officer, there’s really no need,” the man who’d fallen with her protested.

“Mall policy,” the guard said. He hooked his thumbs into the wide leather belt and rocked back on his feet. “It’s standard procedure to have all accident victims checked immediately.”

“If you’re worried about a lawsuit—”

“I don’t make the rules,” the guard interrupted her rescuer. “I just see that they’re carried out. Now, if you’d sit over here, the medical team will arrive in a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Shelly insisted. “I’m meeting someone.” She glanced longingly at the upper level, wondering how she could get word of her delay to Jill. Needless to say, she’d forgotten her cell—could anything else go wrong? It didn’t reassure her to notice the number of people clustered by the railing, staring down at her. Her little escapade had attracted quite a bit of attention.

“I’ve got an appointment, as well,” the man said, looking pointedly at his watch.

The security guard ignored their protests. He removed a small notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “Your names, please.”

“Shelly Hansen.”

“Mark Brady.”

He wrote down the information and a brief account of how they happened to fall.

“I won’t have to go to the hospital, will I?” Shelly demanded.

“That depends,” the guard answered.

This whole thing was ridiculous. She was perfectly fine. A little shaken, true, but uninjured. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t thanked this man—Mark, was it?

“I’m terribly sorry about all this,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for catching me.”

“In the future, you might be more careful.” Mark glanced at his watch a second time.

“I will be. But if it ever happens again, might I suggest you just let me fall?” This delay was inconvenient, but that wasn’t any reason to be quick-tempered. She studied her rescuer and shook her head slightly, wondering why she’d been so impressed. He looked as if he’d stepped off Planet Nerd. Dark blue suit and tie, crisp white shirt, polished loafer-type shoes. This guy was as original as cooked oatmeal. About as personable, too.

If she was giving him the once-over, she discovered he was eyeing her, too. Apparently he was equally unimpressed. Her sweatshirt was a fluorescent orange and her jeans as tight as a second skin. Her ankle-high boots were black, her socks the same shade of orange as the sweatshirt. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders in a
layer of dark frothy curls. Mark was scowling in obvious disapproval.

The wide glass doors at the mall entrance opened, and two paramedics hurried inside. Seconds later, when the ambulance arrived, two more medical people entered the building. Shelly was mortified that such a minor accident would result in all this scrutiny.

The first paramedic knelt in front of her while the second concentrated on Mark. Before she completely understood what was happening, her shoe was off and the man was examining her ankle. Mark, too, was being examined, a stethoscope pressed over his heart. He didn’t seem to appreciate the procedures any more than she did.

It wasn’t until he stood up that she realized how tall he was. Close to six-five, she guessed. A good match for her own five feet ten inches, she thought automatically.

It hit her then. Bull’s-eye. Aunt Milly’s letter had mentioned her standing beside a tall young man. Mark Brady was tall. Very tall. Taller than just about any man she’d ever met.

Aunt Milly’s letter had also said something about Shelly’s blue eyes. She’d ignored it at the time, but her eyes weren’t blue. They were hazel. Mark had blue eyes, though. The kind of vivid blue eyes women generally found striking…Nor could she forget her initial reaction to him. She’d been attracted. Highly attracted. It’d been a long time since a man had interested her this much. Until he stood up, anyway. When she got a good look at him, she’d known immediately that they had
nothing in common. She’d bet he didn’t own a single article of clothing that wasn’t blue, black or tan. Mark Brady was clearly a man without imagination or flair.

On a sudden thought, she glanced worriedly at his left hand. No wedding ring. Closing her eyes, she sagged against the back of the bench and groaned.

“Miss?” The paramedic was studying her closely.

“Excuse me,” she said, straightening. She jerked impatiently on Mark’s suit jacket. He was involved in a conversation with the ambulance attendant who was interviewing him and didn’t turn around.

“Excuse me,” she said again, louder this time.

“Yes?” Mark turned to face her, frowning impatiently.

Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure she should continue. “This may seem like an odd question, but, uh…are you married?”

He frowned again. “No.”

“Oh, no,” Shelly moaned and slumped forward. “I was afraid of that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have a girlfriend? I mean, you’re a good-looking guy. There’s got to be someone important in your life. Anyone? Please, just think. Surely there’s someone?” She knew she was beginning to sound desperate, but she couldn’t help it. Aunt Milly’s letter was echoing in her mind, and last night’s logic had disappeared.

The four paramedics, as well as Mark, were staring at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the hospital and talk to a doctor?” one of them asked.

Shelly nodded. “I’m sure.” Then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a CPA,” he answered wearily.

“An accountant,” she muttered. She should’ve guessed. He was obviously as staid and conventional as he looked. And as boring. The kind of man who’d probably never even heard of DVDs for entertaining bored house cats. He probably wouldn’t be interested in purchasing one, either.

Her aunt Milly
couldn’t
have seen Mark and Shelly together in her dream. Not Mark Brady. The two of them were completely ill-suited. A relationship wouldn’t last five minutes! Abruptly she reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to be taking Milly’s prediction seriously.

“May I go?” she asked the paramedic. “I’m not even bruised.”

“Yes, but you’ll need to sign here.”

Shelly did so without bothering to read the statement. Mark, however, seemed to peruse every sentence. He would, of course.

“Uh, Mark…” Shelly hesitated, and Mark glanced in her direction.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“You’re welcome.”

Still she delayed leaving.

“Is there anything else?”

She didn’t know quite how to say this, but she felt the need too strongly to ignore it. “Don’t take offense—I’m sure you’re a really great guy—but I just want you to know I’m not interested in marriage right now.”