A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing. Teresa Southwick
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One
No man had a right to look so good in a pair of worn blue jeans and a brown leather jacket that had seen much better days.
And no woman about to get married should notice, Rosie Marchetti told herself. She should especially not notice through the chapel window as she waited for her bridegroom.
What was he doing here?
Steve Schafer.
Her heart gave a medium-size lurch before she could stop it. How did he always do that to her? When would she learn not to let him?
She watched him look around the parking lot, then her hands began to shake when he headed her way. She wouldn’t have noticed him out there if he was just any man. But her luck wasn’t that good.
Steve Schafer stood six-feet-two-inches, one-hundred-and-ninety-pounds of swaggering sex appeal. Not just any man had his shade of sandy-blond hair, or mocking eyes that color of dark blue, or a jaw so square and hard it could have been chiseled from stone.
There was something about Steve. A masculinity that reached out to women—even ones about to get married—daring them to flaunt their femininity and force him to take notice. Rosie was no exception. It was her cross to bear. For as long as she could remember she had been searching for the antidote to his particular strain of seductive charm.
Every single time he hadn’t noticed her, she prayed for a cure that never came. She winced at the thought, angry at herself for still caring—even a little.
So what was her brother’s best friend doing here, at her secret wedding?
Then she knew. She’d been half expecting something; if not an act of God, or a natural disaster, at the very least some form of interference from the meddling Marchettis. She pressed a hand to her stomach as the bad feeling she’d been fighting while waiting for her overdue groom to show up got worse.
Just last night she’d phoned home in Los Angeles about her plan to marry Wayne. Her mother had asked her to postpone so that she and her father could give their only daughter a big church wedding. Rosie explained that she and Wayne were madly in love with each other and couldn’t wait. She was pleased that only half of that statement was a lie. Florence Evelyn Marchetti could spot a whopper a mile away. Rosie figured she’d had a fifty-fifty chance that her mother would buy the story. When they’d hung up, she’d thought her mother had accepted her plan to marry. If she’d thought right, it could mean that Steve was here with bad news that had nothing to do with the wedding.
Clutching her bridal bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath, she rushed toward the man now standing in the chapel vestibule staring at her.
“Oh, God, Steve. Is my mother all right? She didn’t have another heart attack did she?”
He removed his aviator sunglasses, but that didn’t help her to read his expression. “Your mom’s fine, Ro.”
“Thank God,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.
She would never have forgiven herself if her announcement had brought on a relapse. Florence Marchetti’s heart attack three months earlier had traumatized the whole family. It was like seeing a crack in the Rock of Gibraltar and watching helplessly while the indestructible stone crumbled. The doctor had told them that she was extremely lucky, there was no damage to the heart muscle. She would recover nicely. It was a blessing in disguise, a wake-up call for a healthier life-style.
So if Steve wasn’t here about her mother, he was here because of the wedding. She shot him a suspicious look. “Mother sent you to talk me out of getting married.”
He didn’t deny it. He just glanced around the chapel with its abundance of plastic, the primary decorating motif. Plastic flowers exploded from plastic vases beside flimsy white plastic chairs that looked as if they wouldn’t hold the weight of a pixie. If his expression betrayed his feelings, she couldn’t tell. But she knew what he was thinking. She wasn’t crazy about the ambiance, either. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
“This isn’t your style.” His voice was hard as he echoed her thoughts. Worse, there was censure in his eyes.
How would he know what her style was? He’d never given her the time of day, not since she was a child. For Pete’s sake. Why did his indifference still bother her? She pushed that thought aside. She should be mad about why he was here. And she was.
Her parents had a right to disapprove of her decision. They didn’t have a right to interfere—or send a proxy to do it for them.
She knew they weren’t keen on Wayne. The Marchettis had made no secret of the fact that they thought their only daughter could do better. But they found something wrong with every man she brought home. Wayne wasn’t a doctor, a lawyer, or a teacher. In fact, she wasn’t exactly sure how he supported himself. But she liked him. Besides, he had one qualification they didn’t know about. If her luck wasn’t completely down the tubes, they never would.
“I’m getting married. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” she finally said, annoyed when the words came out defensively instead of in the cool, dismissive tone she’d been shooting for.
“You’re making a mistake.” He took her arm. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and we can discuss this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She stared at his long, strong fingers curved around her upper arm. When she zinged him a look, he dropped his hand. “Wayne will be here any minute. He had some things to do. One of those errands was a surprise for me. He’s such a sweet, thoughtful man.” She wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince Steve or herself.
“No comment.”
She’d certainly bowled him over with Wayne’s good P.R. “You’d better go, Steve. No one’s supposed to know about the wedding, and I’ve no idea how I’m going to explain your presence.” The truth was she just didn’t want him there when she took her vows.
“If you leave with me, you won’t have to explain anything to anyone.”
Her stomach clenched and she was instantly and forcefully reminded of why she was there. “I couldn’t do that.”
His eyes hardened with anger. “Wayne’s a creep, Rosie. You deserve better.”
“You sound like my parents.” Her fingers curled around her bouquet until her knuckles turned as white as the roses. “They don’t know Wayne the way I do. And neither do you.”
“You got that right.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
No matter that just a few minutes before she had been having thoughts about Steve that no bride about to marry another man should have. Rosie felt obligated to defend her fiancé. She’d had a lifetime of family disapproval and the buttinskis had better get used to the fact that she was calling the shots. She was a grown woman; she knew exactly what she was doing. Steve Schafer had no right to stick his nose in and spoil everything.
“Wayne is not a creep. He’s a wonderful man. He’s thoughtful and kind and generous. And smart. And very good-looking. I’m going to marry him and you can’t talk me out of it,” she finished desperately.
“I was afraid you’d be stubborn.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
Even as she demanded to be told the truth, a bad feeling settled over her. Wayne was way overdue and getting later by the minute.
There was a weary, disgusted look in Steve’s eyes. Deep creases carved his face beside his nose and mouth. Something told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Wayne’s not coming.” His voice was flat.
She couldn’t have heard him right. “I—” She stopped and swallowed hard. Numb. That’s what she was. She couldn’t feel anything and there was a part of her desperately grateful for that. “I don’t believe you. H-he said he would meet me here