A Bride In Waiting. Sally Carleen
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his hair. He might as well tell Herb the truth and get it over with. Briar Creek was a small town. If, by chance, there was one person here that he didn’t know, Analise’s family did. Soon everybody would know about Analise’s latest escapade.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks. I could use a ride to the Methodist church over on Grand.”
“Getting ready for that big wedding, huh? I just saw Analise walking down Wyandotte.”
“What?”
Herb chuckled. “Reckon she’s gonna be late to your shindig, like she’s late to everything else. That’s our Analise.”
Lucas grabbed Herb’s arm. “Just now? You saw her just now?”
“Well, as long ago as it took me to drive one block. I wasn’t driving very fast, of course. I’m not in any hurry.”
“Which direction was she going?” .
Herb pointed up the street. “That way.”
Lucas whirled and charged in the direction Herb indicated. “Thanks!” he said over his shoulder.
“You still need that ride?”
“I’ll get Analise to take me.” After I kill her.
As he strode along the sidewalk, Lucas forced himself to smile and greet everybody he met, pretend nothing was wrong. He turned at the corner and went toward Wyandotte, the next street over, resisting the impulse to run, to catch his flaky fiancée quickly before she did something else crazy.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Greene. How’s Willie’s rheumatism?”
“Better, Lucas. Nice to see you. Tell Analise I said hello.”
He turned onto Wyandotte and there she was, staring into the window of Fulton’s Antiques.
Lucas clenched his teeth as he strode toward her., What kind of game was she playing, sending him a note telling him she was leaving town, then putting on those frumpy clothes, pulling her hair back in that braid and going downtown? Did she think she was disguised? Tall and willowy with that red hair and those distinctive features—large eyes, wide forehead and straight, patrician nose—it would take more than a change of clothes and hairstyle to disguise Analise Brewster.
She didn’t even look up as he approached.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Sara Martin flinched at the angry tone in the man’s voice, but he couldn’t be talking to her. Someone else was in trouble this time.
She turned her back to the sound and started to continue down the street, anxious to avoid whatever scene was about to occur.
The man grabbed her arm. “Analise!”
She gasped, whirling to face her attacker, automatically bringing her knee up to his groin then smashing her heel into his instep. The heel of her hand went toward his nose, but she stopped herself as he released her, gave a strangled groan and sank to his knees on the sidewalk.
She gaped at the man in shock. “Omigosh! It worked!” She reached toward him to help him up, then recalled herself and stepped backward.
She’d always thought her mother was a little paranoid the way she constantly forced her to practice self-defense techniques, to be prepared to get away from a potential attacker and run. But now she’d actually been attacked, and she’d freed herself and she was standing on the sidewalk of a strange town, thinking she ought to help her attacker instead of running for her life. She had the actions right, but the attitude had gotten off track somewhere.
The man didn’t look dangerous. However, in his khaki slacks and white knit shirt with a little animal embroidered on one side, his black hair immaculately cut and styled, he did look exactly like the kind of man her mother had always taught her to fear—sophisticated, worldly, possibly wealthy.
Even so, the exasperated expression mingling with the pain in his brown eyes kept her rooted in place. That and the equally exasperated tone in his voice when he once again called her by the name of her favorite childhood doll as he struggled to his feet.
“Damn it, Analise, why’d you do that? What in heaven’s name are you up to? Did you think wearing that frumpy dress and pulling your hair back would disguise you? Have you gone completely nuts?”
Frumpy? She’d made this dress herself. Maybe she ought to kick him again.
Taking a couple more steps backward, she fumbled in her purse then withdrew her pepper spray. “Look, mister, either you’re the one who’s nuts, or you’ve mistaken me for somebody else. My name is not Analise. It’s—” She hesitated, the old fears surfacing, fears her mother had drilled into her head all her life. Never talk to strangers. Never tell anyone your name or my name or where we live. She pointed the spray at him. “It’s not Analise,” she finished. “I’m leaving now, and you’d better not try to stop me, or I’ll use this.”
The tendons stood out on the man’s neck, and the muscles clenched in his tanned, square jaw, a jaw out of sync with the perfect clothes and hairstyle. “Analise, this isn’t funny.”
A small, birdlike woman with curly blue hair came up from behind the man, stopped, smiled and wagged a finger. “Why, Analise and Lucas! What are you two naughty. lovebirds doing here when you’re supposed to be at your wedding rehearsal?”
Either the whole town was crazy, or she really did look like this Analise. Which could mean—
Her heart skipped a beat then went into an erratic rhythm as she thought of the implications of another woman looking so much like her.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” the man said smoothly. “I guess we just lost track of time. We’re on our way right now.”
No, it couldn’t be. If Analise was her biological mother, she’d be too old to be marrying this Lucas person. Unless he liked older women. Or her mother had had a face-lift.
“I can’t wait to see that wedding gown, Analise. Eleanor told me it’s the prettiest thing she ever made.” She looked at Sara’s loose cotton dress and frowned, then changed it back to a smile. “Of course, you look beautiful in anything. Even with your hair pulled back like that. Though I like it better all loose and curly. Don’t you, Lucas?”
The man she called Lucas lifted the long braid off her back and stared at it curiously. “Yes, I do,” he said, his hand moving along the length of the braid then up to her head, his touch exploratory and surprisingly gentle.
Sara sucked in her breath, fighting fear and confusion. She wanted to bolt away from these two people who called her by the name of a doll, from this man who shouldn’t be touching her so familiarly and from her own unexpected pleasure at that touch.
“You kids get on to the church now, you hear?”
“We will, Mrs. Wilson.” Lucas’s voice was strangely subdued, the anger and exasperation in his dark eyes replaced by confusion as he spoke to Mrs. Wilson but looked directly at Sara.
“How did you get this thing attached so good?” he asked as Mrs. Wilson walked away.
“What thing? My hair?”
He continued to hold the braid with one hand. “It can’t be your hair. Yesterday your hair was only shoulder length.”
Sara swallowed hard and gripped the pepper spray tighter. Just in case. “I’m not your Analise,” she said, the words coming out barely above a whisper. “I came to town this morning. I’m looking for...relatives. If your Analise looks so much like me, maybe she’s my... relative.”
Lucas said nothing, but his narrowed gaze and raised eyebrow showed his skepticism.
“Turn loose of my braid,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll take it down and show you how long my hair is. It comes to my waist. It’s never been cut, never been shoulder length.”
He