Summer Wedding Bells: Marriage Wanted / Lone Star Lovin'. Debbie Macomber
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mood lightened considerably as he made his way through the heavy traffic to the wedding shop. He’d been looking forward to this all day.
He found a parking spot and climbed out of his car, then fed the meter. As he turned away he caught sight of Savannah in the shop window, talking to a customer. Her face was aglow with enthusiasm and even from this distance her eyes sparkled. For a reason unknown to him, his pulse accelerated as joy surged through him.
He was happy to be seeing Savannah. Any man would, knowing he was about to be proven right. But this was more than that. This happiness was rooted in the knowledge that he’d be spending time with her.
Savannah must have felt his scrutiny, because she glanced upward and their eyes met briefly before she reluctantly pulled hers away. Although she continued speaking to her customer, Nash sensed that she’d experienced the same intensity of feeling he had. It was at moments such as this that he wished he could be privy to a woman’s thoughts. He would gladly have forfeited their bet to know if she was as surprised and puzzled as he felt. Nash couldn’t identify the feeling precisely; all he knew was that it made him uncomfortable.
The customer was leaving just as Nash entered the shop. Savannah was sitting at her desk and intuitively he realized she needed to sit periodically because of her leg. She looked fragile and confused. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he was shocked by the strength of her smile.
“You’re right on time,” she said.
“You would be, too, if you were about to have home-cooked meals personally served to you for the next week.”
“Don’t count on it, Counselor.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve already got the menu picked out. We’ll start the first night with broiled New York sirloin, Caesar salad and a three-layer chocolate cake.”
“You certainly love to dream,” she said with an effortless laugh. “I find it amusing that you never stopped to ask if I could cook. It’ll probably come as a surprise to learn that not all women are proficient in the kitchen. If by some odd quirk of fate you do happen to win this wager, you’ll dine on boxed macaroni and cheese or microwave meals for seven days and like it.”
Nash was stunned. She was right; he’d assumed she could cook as well as she seemed to manage everything else. Her shop was a testament to her talent, appealing to the eye in every respect. True, all those wedding gowns and satin pillows were aiding and abetting romance, but it had a homey, comfortable feel, as well. This wasn’t an easy thing to admit. A wedding shop was the last place on earth Nash ever thought he’d willingly visit.
“Are you ready to admit defeat?” he asked.
“Never, but before we get started I need to make a couple of phone calls. Do you mind?”
“Not in the least.” He was a patient man, and never more so than now. The longer they delayed, the better. It wasn’t likely that Paul would stay late, but Nash wanted to avoid introducing Savannah to him. More important, he wanted her to himself. The thought was unwelcome. This wasn’t a date and he had no romantic interest in Savannah Charles, he reminded himself.
Savannah reached for the phone and he wandered around the shop noticing small displays he’d missed on his prior visits. The first time he’d felt nervous; he didn’t know what to expect from a wedding coordinator, but certainly not the practical, gutsy woman he’d found.
He trained his ears not to listen in on her conversation, but the crisp, businesslike tone of her voice was surprisingly captivating.
It was happening again—that disturbing feeling was back, deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt it before, several years earlier, and it had nearly ruined his life. He was in trouble. Panic shot through his blood and he felt the overwhelming urge to turn and run in the opposite direction. The last time he’d had this feeling, he’d gotten married.
“I’m ready,” Savannah said, and stood.
Nash stared at her for a long moment as his brain processed what was going on.
“Nash?”
He gave himself a hard mental shake. He didn’t know if he was right about what had happened here, but he didn’t like it. “Do you mind riding with me?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.
“That’ll be fine.”
The drive back to his office building in downtown Seattle was spent in relative silence. Savannah seemed to sense his reflective mood. Another woman might have attempted to fill the space with idle chatter. Nash was grateful she didn’t.
After he’d parked, he led Savannah into his building and up the elevator to the law firm’s offices. She seemed impressed with the plush furnishings and the lavish view of Mount Rainier and Puget Sound from his twentieth-story window.
When she’d entered his office she’d walked directly to the window and set her purse on his polished oak credenza. “How do you manage to work with a view like this?” she asked, her voice soft with awe. She seemed mesmerized by the beauty that appeared before her.
After several years Nash had become immune to its splendor, but lately he’d begun to appreciate the solace he found there. The color of the sky reflected like a mirror on the water’s surface. On a gray and hazy morning, the water was a dull shade of steel. When the sun shone, Puget Sound was a deep, iridescent greenish blue. He enjoyed watching the ferries and other commercial and pleasure craft as they intersected the waterways. In the last while, he’d often stood in the same spot as Savannah and sorted through his thoughts.
“It’s all so beautiful,” she said, turning back to him. Hearing her give voice to his own feelings felt oddly comforting. The sooner he presented his argument, the better. The sooner he said what had to be said and put this woman out of his mind, the better.
“You ready?” he asked, flinging opening a file cabinet and withdrawing a handful of thick folders from the top drawer.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, taking a chair on the other side of his desk.
Nash slapped the files down on his credenza. “Let’s start with Adams versus Adams,” he muttered, flipping through the pages of the top folder. “Now, this was an interesting case. Married ten years, two sons. Then Martha learned that Bill was having an affair with a coworker, so she decided to have one herself, only she chose a nineteen-year-old boy. The child-custody battle lasted two months, destroyed them financially and ended so bitterly that Bill moved out of town and hasn’t been heard from since. Last I heard, Martha was clinically depressed and in and out of hospitals.”
Savannah gasped. “What about their sons?” she asked. “What happened to them?”
“Eventually they went to live with a relative. From what I understand, they’re both in counseling and have been for the last couple of years.”
“How very sad,” she whispered.
“Don’t kid yourself. This is only the beginning. I’m starting with the As and working my way through the file drawer. Let me know when you’ve had enough.” He reached for a second folder. “Anderson versus Anderson…Ah, yes, I remember this one. She attempted suicide three times, blackmailed him emotionally, used the children as weapons, wiped him out financially and then sued for divorce, claiming he was an unfit father.” His back was as stiff as his voice. He tossed aside that file and picked up the next.
“Allison versus Allison,” he continued crisply. “By the way, I’m changing the names to protect the guilty.”
“The guilty?”
“To my way of thinking, each participant in these cases is guilty of contributing to the disasters I’m telling you about. Each made a crucial mistake.”
“You’re about to suggest their first error was falling in love.”
“No,” he returned coldly, “it all started with the wedding vows. No two people should