Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom. Susan Mallery
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in every port. He didn’t even believe in love.
She straightened in her chair. He was wrong about love. It did exist. Unfortunately it wasn’t worth the pain it brought along, but it was definitely real.
“I don’t want this,” she murmured to herself. “I want my life to be normal, like everyone else’s.”
She suddenly remembered she was in the office. Talking to herself in the car was one thing, but in front of others, especially coworkers, was quite another.
This has gone on too long, she told herself firmly and silently. She had to pull herself together. She reached for the pad of paper she always kept by her phone and then grabbed a pen. She would make a list. List making always helped.
First, she would pretend the dream never happened. Every time she thought about it, she would push it to the back of her mind. Eventually she would forget. Second, she was going to act like the professional she was. No more personal conversations, no more freaking out because she saw a scar. She didn’t even want to imagine what Arizona must think of her.
“Professional,” she muttered. It was time to work on her article.
She glanced at the list she’d made, figured she could remember both items on her own and tossed the paper into the trash. Next, she reviewed the background material Nancy had left her. There were a couple of points that hadn’t been clear. Chloe picked up the phone and dialed the reporter’s home number.
When Nancy answered, Chloe introduced herself and politely asked about her pregnancy. They talked about work for a few minutes, then Nancy mentioned Arizona.
“I’ve been seeing the man everywhere on the local news. Is he as impressive in person?”
Chloe thought about her own reaction to Arizona and bit back a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The two women laughed.
“Gee, Mark and I have wanted children for a long time, but now I’m feeling a little left out of it. I’m getting stretch marks and a daily afternoon backache while you’re out playing with the new guy in town. It’s not fair.”
“But in a couple of months you’re going to have a baby, and all I’ll be left with is a story.” And a broken heart.
The last thought came without warning and Chloe firmly ignored it. She was not going to get involved enough to get her heart broken. In fact she wasn’t going to get involved at all.
“Speaking of the story,” she said. “I have a few questions on a couple of your sources.”
“I figured you would. My system of taking notes is tough for people to follow. You’d think after all this time I’d be more organized, but I’m not.”
Chloe went through her questions and wrote down Nancy’s replies. When they were finished she said, “From what I can tell you were angling your story toward telling about the man and his myths.”
“Right, but I was never happy with that. Have you thought of something better?”
“I don’t know if it’s better, but I have another idea. I’d like to write about the man behind the myths. Arizona has traveled all over the world. He has a strong belief in the mystical and spiritual. From what I’ve seen he has an image the media loves. But who is the man underneath? How does he decide what he’s going to pursue? What are his influences now and what were they in the past?”
“I like that,” Nancy said. “I think the readers will like it, too. Arizona is getting tons of media attention so there’s no point in rehashing old material. Everyone will be tired of it by then. But this is new and fresh. Have you run it by Jerry?”
Chloe glanced at her watch. “I have a meeting with him in a couple of hours.”
“He’s going to think it’s great.” She laughed. “Actually what you’re going to hear is a noncommittal grunt, which means he thinks it’s great. If he hates it, he tells you to your face.”
“I know that one firsthand. Okay, Nancy. Thanks for your help.” They said their goodbyes and hung up.
Chloe turned on her computer and prepared to type up her notes. Usually she could focus on her work, but today there was a voice nagging in the back of her mind.
“This is too ridiculous,” she said softly. “I won’t get a moment’s peace until I fix this.”
With that, she picked up the phone again, consulted a pad of paper and dialed.
“Room 308,” she told the receptionist. “The guest’s name is Arizona Smith.”
She waited while the call was connected. It was possible that he hadn’t gone back to the hotel yet. He might be out all day. If that was the case, she would leave him voice mail asking him to get in touch with her. No matter how long it took, she was going to have to talk to him and apologize for her behavior that morning. There was no point in trying to explain—she wasn’t about to tell him about her dream or the fact that she’d known about his scar even before he’d rolled up his sleeve. But she at least had to atone for her rudeness in running off.
The receiver was picked up, cutting off her train of thought.
“Smith,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Hi, it’s Chloe. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No bother.”
His voice sounded normal. She took that as a good sign. “I’m calling to apologize for what happened earlier today. I don’t know why I ran off like that.” She crossed the fingers of her free hand, hoping the superstitious gesture would make up for the small lie.
“I understand. Sometimes I have that effect on women. They lose control and rather than let me see how overcome they are, they run off.”
His voice was so calm and serious it took her a minute to figure out he was teasing. She chuckled. “Yeah, right, that was it exactly. Overcome by your substantial charms, I had to retreat to the relative sanctuary of my office so that I could recover.”
“Are you better now?” he asked.
“Much, thank you.” They laughed together, then she said, “I’m serious. I don’t know what came over me. It was terrible to leave like that. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“It better not. You won’t get much of a story if you keep running out on the interview.”
“Can I make it up to you? Would you please come over for dinner tonight?”
He hesitated. Chloe swallowed as her good humor disappeared like feathers sucked up into a tornado. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “You have other plans,” she said, making it a statement, not a question. Who was she, this other woman?
“Actually, I don’t. Yes, I would love to join you for dinner. However, your aunt already issued the invitation and I accepted.”
“Aunt Charity phoned?”
“First thing this morning.”
Chloe knew she shouldn’t be annoyed at her aunt. After all, Charity called the old Victorian mansion home, and she had every right to invite whomever she liked. But the tension was there all the same.
“That’s great,” Chloe told him. “I’ll see you then. This time I promise not to freak when you show off your scars.”
“If you’re very good I’ll even let you touch them.”
She thought about the one on his leg and couldn’t suppress a shudder of anticipation. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
CHLOE PULLED INTO the driveway. Mr. Withers, the seventy-year-old misogynist caretaker sat on his rider-mower, going back and forth on the front lawn.
“Evening, Mr. Withers,” Chloe called out as she