Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) (34 page)

“C’mon, Mom. They’re waiting for us.” Judi gestured toward the French doors to the patio, where Grady, Michael, Paul and Bette waited with towels and tote bags.

“Just let me finish wrapping these, and then I’ll make some lemonade and put it in the big thermos.”

“You already did that, Mom. And Michael took it outside with him, remember?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Michael’s so considerate. Some woman’s going to be very lucky to snare him.”

“Damn straight.”

“Judi!”

“I was just agreeing with you, Mom. I’d take him in a second if I could ever get him to look at me as a woman. Though it’s not his consideration I’d be after.”

“Judi!”

Tris wanted to echo her aunt’s admonition. Contemplating the frank admiration on her cousin’s face as she looked out the door toward Michael and the others, Tris had the strangest sensation in her stomach, as if it had just dropped about three stories and she hadn’t caught up yet.

“I’m just saying he’s a hunk. Tris’ll back me up, won’t you, Tris? Don’t you think he’s a hunk?”

She looked at her cousin. “Hunk? Michael? Don’t you think Grady . . .”

“Grady?” Tris couldn’t mistake the dismissive note in Judi’s voice. “No. Michael’s much more of a hunk. Those wonderful eyes. And the hair always a little messed up, and that smile. Definitely Michael.”

“They’re all three very attractive young men,” said Aunt Nancy, with affection in her voice and face.

“I suppose,” said her daughter, sounding unconvinced. “But Michael’s the only one who makes me drool.”

“Judith Marie!”

“All right, all right.” Grinning, Judi soothed her outraged mother as she closed up one of the hampers and headed out, leaving the other for Tris to carry.

Tris looked out the doors to where Michael and Grady stood side by side. The sun brought out the golden glow of Grady’s handsomeness. But she saw that it also showed off the thick shine in Michael’s dark hair, outlined the strength of his facial structure and tucked shadows into those faint creases at the corners of his eyes. Michael. She found herself warming just at the sight of him.

“It’s hard for Judi to see that her own brother might be attractive,” said Aunt Nancy. “Or even Grady, since he’s been around the house all her life. He’s practically another big brother. I suppose it’s natural under the circumstances for her to see Michael differently.”

As she said goodbye and took the hamper, Tris wondered a little if there might be more to Judi’s feelings than Aunt Nancy’s explanation covered, but the thought disappeared as Michael came forward to take the hamper from her. She could understand Judi’s view of Grady. She might even have a similar blind spot herself where Michael was concerned, seeing him more as a big brother than as a man.

He looked down at her as they headed for the car, his eyes seeming to hold a special glow of warmth. Hastily, she amended that thought: Maybe she’d
had
a similar blind spot.

Michael turned his face into the wind and away from Grady and Tris laughing over a stubborn knot. He wished he had more to do. But once they’d gotten the boat launched from the community dock, Paul and Bette, with occasional help from Judi, had things well in hand. The soon-to-be-married couple worked well together, communicating with half sentences and sometimes just looks. The sort of communication he and Tris had always shared as friends, the sort that might be growing between Tris and Grady . . . not as friends.

Damn. Was this worth it? This could be a case where the cure ended up being worse than the affliction. What would be so terrible if he cut his losses and took off now?

He looked at his hands gripping the railing, the smooth wood biting into his skin from the pressure, but he didn’t really see them. He saw a little boy in bed, with his father sitting on the edge and his mother at the doorway. No tears, no screaming, no scene. Just some phrases about things not working out, the echoing word
divorce
and then that expression about cutting losses. In the telescoped way of memories, he heard the expression again, and again, in other conversations, with even less emotion.

He’d been taught young and often the meaning of cutting your losses, and he’d sworn that would never be his way. He’d see this week through, and he’d cure himself of Tris Donlin for good. Forever.

“Hey, how about something to eat for your captain?” Paul’s shout gave Michael a reprieve from his thoughts. “Why don’t you go get it yourself and I’ll take over at the wheel for a while?”

“Okay.” Paul let go of the wheel as Michael took hold. “I guess it's safe enough. We've got a rare wind, so you won’t need to do much tacking. Just remember, no right turns. No matter how tempting the sights.”

Since they were sailing south, parallel to the shore, a right turn would have taken them into Oak Street Beach.

Michael acknowledged the gibe with a grimace.

“I’ll keep him on the straight and narrow,” volunteered Judi. She ducked under his arm and came up in the small opening surrounded by his arms, his chest and the wheel. She twisted to give him a devilish, lash-fluttering look over her shoulder. “Best seat in the house.”

He chuckled. They’d been playing this flirting game for as long as he could remember. He figured he’d been the first of Paul’s friends to treat the then scrawny adolescent as something other than a kid sister, and a nuisance at that. She’d been honing her flirting skills on him ever since. He pitied the guys her own age.

“Are you commenting on the scenery or bragging, Judi Monroe?”

She leaned her back against his chest with a would-be sultry sigh. “I didn’t think you’d ever notice, Michael darling.” Then she giggled.

“Pretty good, kid. Except the giggle at the end rather ruins the mood.”

“Rats. I thought I might finally have gotten your attention.” This time her sigh was gusty. “Maybe I need a makeover—’Find the New You.’ You know, like an image consultant. They have those guys in politics, don’t they, Michael? You know anybody who specializes in sexy?”

“The old you is fine, Judi. And, no, I don’t know anyone who specializes in sexy. They’re usually more interested in creating illusions of things like reliability and integrity.”

“That sounds despicable. Why are you involved in politics when it’s like that?”

“Because not all politicians are like that, because some are trying to do good things.” He thought of Joan. Then, unexpectedly, he thought of Tris’s project. “But there are some hard, cold realities you have to deal with, too. It’s part of being grown-up.”

“Hey! Judi, come here and decipher Mom’s handwriting. We can’t figure out what’s in which wrapping without taking them all apart.”

Judi popped under his arm with a farewell grin, and left Michael alone with a few of his own realities. Like his lack of success as a ghost exorcist.

“Want a sandwich?”

His hands tightened on the wheel at his private ghost appearing, very real, at his elbow.

“Thanks. I’m starving.” He held the wheel steady with his hip before taking the sandwich from Tris and quickly consuming it.

“I’d have thought you’d ask Judi to bring you back something.”

If she sounded testy, he barely noticed. Sun caught the lighter streaks in her hair and the breeze tossed it around to lick at her forehead and cheeks. A stab in his gut accompanied the errant desire to push back the hair and explore her face with licks of another kind. Disgusted with himself, his answer was curt as he stared straight ahead. “We were talking about other things.”

“Oh, you weren’t discussing mutual hunger?”

Astounded, he turned to lock at her. An angry glitter in her eyes and a pink in her cheeks beyond what the sun had put there proved that he hadn’t imagined the edge in her tone.

“What are you talking about, Tris?” He knew the calm of his voice could be deceiving, and very useful in masking a lot of emotions. He’d used it successfully many times in political settings. Never before had it been incendiary.

Eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists, Tris snapped, “Don’t talk to me like I’m still seventeen years old or don’t have eyes in my head”

He felt his calm facade slip, felt the anger that had simmered underneath all week surge closer to the surface. “I don’t know what—”

“Don’t you think Judi’s just a little young for you? Taken to robbing the cradle these days, Michael?”

Anger spilled over the facade, swamping it and him. How dare she criticize him when she’d been practically falling all over Grady Roberts for four days—hell, more like twelve years! He’d had enough, more than enough. The hell with calm. The hell with being her friend, with being understanding, with being grown-up. The hell with Tris Donlin.

Wrapping one hand around her arm, he jerked her against him, so her slender body was wedged between the unyielding wheel and his own tense body. He lowered his head to glare into her eyes and snarl his words into her face.

“How about you, Tris? Isn’t that what this whole week is about—trying to pretend you’re still seventeen? Trying to live out your girlhood fantasies? It didn’t work with your marriage, but—”

“My marriage?” The confusion in her eyes couldn’t check his frustration—at her, at himself, at fate—that had accumulated over twelve years, piling up even when he’d thought he’d left it far behind.

“—now you can try it again with the real thing, can’t you? Having any luck? Is he worth the wait? Or are you finding the reality less enthralling than the dream? Is that why you keep running to old pal Michael?”

She tried to push free of him, but he pressed her more tightly against the wheel. Somewhere inside, he was aware of a sharp, tearing pleasure even now at the feel of her body against his, the slender length of it a brand through clothes and skin and muscle, right down to the bone.

“No, not my old pal Michael. You’re nothing like him. You’re—”

What might have been a stifled sob cut off the rest of her speech. Automatically lie eased back, and she wrenched her arm out of his grasp to push free of him. For an instant he thought she might slap him. He might have preferred that to the hurt he saw in her eyes before she turned on her heel.

The string of curses he muttered under his breath would have astonished most of the people who knew him. But not the one who came up next to him at the tail end of the self-directed tirade.

“About time to get things turned around, don’t you think, Dickinson? How about letting me take the helm a while?”

Michael looked at Paul blankly a moment, then focused on the shoreline. They’d come farther than they’d planned. Without a word he handed the wheel over to Paul to maneuver the boat for the return trip. But he didn’t move away. There wasn’t much space on the boat, and Tris already had staked out the opposite end of the deck.

When Paul finished bringing the boat about, he looked at Michael. “I meant what I said about it being time to get things turned around.”

“What do you mean?” Michael’s hope that the other occupants of the boat might not have noticed his exchange with Tris ended with Paul’s next words.

“You and Tris.”

“You heard?”

“No. But I could see. That was enough. I hate to see it. You two were always so close.”

Michael shrugged, the facade nearly in place again. “It happens. People grow apart. Friendships die.”

Even friendships with people you thought had given you a permanent corner of their heart—a small, platonic corner, but given forever. Even that could change.

“Bull.”

“You can’t expect to come back to reunions like this and have everything the same.” Lord knew he hadn’t expected his feelings to still be the same. He didn’t
want
them to be the same. He wanted to be perfectly happy with the friendship he and Tris had shared for so long. Now even that might be gone, maybe for good.

“Bull,” Paul repeated without heat. “Not all people grow apart. Don’t go judging everyone by your mother and father, Michael. I understood it when we were kids in school, but you know better now. There are plenty of people around who take a while to figure out exactly what’s right for them, but that doesn’t mean they necessarily jump from marriage to marriage.”

Perhaps he sensed Michael’s stiffening because Paul’s next words shifted the conversation’s course. “And it’s bull that all you’ve ever wanted from Tris was friendship.”

In the silence that followed, Michael wondered a little at his own lack of surprise. Maybe some part of him had suspected that Paul had known how he’d felt for Tris back in college. In some ways it was a relief to have it out, at least with one person.

“That obvious?” He managed a wryness he didn’t feel.

“Obvious? Yeah, you’ve been practically shouting it from the rooftops,” Paul said with heavy sarcasm. “So obvious that nobody else has even got a hint of it. That I— renowned for my acumen in. such matters as everyone knows—wasn’t really sure until . . .” He hesitated, then added in a very different tone. “Until Bette.”

Until he’d met Bette, and fallen in love himself—the message was clear. But Michael couldn’t accept what it said about his feelings. He met Paul’s eyes directly, and saw empathy and more than a hint of impatience, “Dammit, Paul, whatever you saw—thought you saw—it’s gone, if it ever existed at all. All that’s left is putting the ghost to rest, once and for all.”

“You can’t put to rest a ghost of something that’s not dead.”

Michael shook his head, trying to free it of Paul’s words and the stupid, crazy hope that the words bred. “There’s never been anything more than friendship between us, and now that’s hurting.”

“Maybe there hasn’t been anything more than friendship in the past, but maybe it’s time that changed. Maybe friendship isn’t right for the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he’d asked the question, and he didn’t have time to retract it before Paul was answering.

“You know another term for putting a ghost to rest?” He glanced over his shoulder to where Judi and Bette were heading for them and didn’t wait for Michael to shake his head.

“Laying a ghost.”