His Wedding. Muriel Jensen
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philosophically. She wasn’t getting the point.
“Well, the press will surely give the Abbotts’ double wedding front-page coverage. All that happy news. “‘The grooms were handsome,’” he pretended to quote, “‘the brides were radiant, the mother-of-the-grooms was so happy to have her daughter back serving as her brother and adopted sister’s maid of honor,’ yada yada. If I’m best man, it’ll end with ‘Brian Girard, best man, is the son of the first Mrs. Abbott, who ran off with the chauffeur after being impregnated by the neighbor and Nathan Abbott’s arch ene—’”
“I know, I know.” She nodded to cut him off.
“Then you can see why I don’t want to do that to them.”
“Forgive me,” she said, “but I can’t. That’ll probably end the story whether you’re at the wedding or not. And your refusal to be with them hurts them far more than any old sticks-and-stones reporting ever would.”
“Easy for you to say,” he argued. “It’s not your wedding.”
That accusation seemed to inflate her bad mood. “It’s my sister’s wedding. And it’s as important to me as mine would be. You said they brought up my broken engagement and the very newsworthy way it happened. Well, you don’t see me going into a decline over it.”
“Whoa!” He got a little indignant himself. “I’d hardly describe my reaction as a decline. And you’ve been cranky since you got here, over the photographer who followed you. So don’t go casting aspersions on me. My reasons for wanting to stay away are in consideration of the Abbotts!”
“Well, they want you there,” she said, then started off toward the Vespa she’d run him over with when she’d first arrived in Losthampton. It leaned against the No Vehicles Allowed sign. She stopped to turn to him and add, “At this point, I have little purpose at Shepherd’s Knoll but to try to contribute to the well-being of my family, who suffered so much while I was gone. And considering the way they’ve welcomed you into the bosom of the family, I’d think you’d feel the same. So I’m going to tell them you’ve changed your mind, and that you’ll be happy to be best man.” With a toss of her head, she strode off toward the bike.
He hurried to intercept her. “You may be able to order people around in L.A., Miss Grant Abbott, but this is my place. You don’t dictate what happens here.”
“We’re talking about my only sister’s wedding,” she retorted, yanking back out of his reach. “And you’re not going to…aagh!”
Whatever he was not going to do was drowned in salt water when she fell backward into the inlet.
Chapter Two
Her and her big mouth. The shriek Janet had been in the middle of when she felt herself falling had caused her to swallow water. As she sank into the cold Atlantic, she felt as though she’d also ingested one of the small boats—or at least, an oar.
The moment she got over the shock of her fall, she struggled upward, choking. She collided with the bottom of a boat and pulled herself around it, spotting sunlight. The light disappeared when the next boat bobbed against the first one. She groped her way back as she spotted sunlight in that direction. Her lungs were bursting as the shaft of sunlight disappeared again when the first boat now swung the other way.
Resisting panic, she followed it to its stern, but it drifted out with her to the end of its line.
Panic fought back. Had all this turmoil in her life, all this discovery, been intended simply to bring her to this point where she would…die?
It didn’t seem possible, and yet here she was, unable to find the surface, unable to—
Something grabbed the back of her shirt and she was thrust upward until her head and shoulders cleared the surface. She gasped for air, choking painfully, spewing water.
A hand swiped her clinging hair out of her face. “Janet? Are you all right?” Brian asked.
She tried to open her eyes, but all she could do was cough.
Brian swam a small distance, his arm hooked around her middle, taking her with him. Then he put one of her hands on something solid, his legs tucked under her like the seat of a chair to keep her in place.
“You have a hold of the ladder,” he said, placing her other hand beside the first. Just two rungs and you’ll be sitting on the pier. Come on. Up.”
She couldn’t coordinate the movement, then his hand, under her backside, pushed her up. Her feet found an underwater rung and she propelled herself over the top. She was on her hands and knees and beginning to drag in air.
Brian swung up beside her, putting a hand to her back as he squatted to look into her face. “Janet?”
“Yes.” She was embarrassed, but somehow her annoyance with him had fled. Nothing like immersion in cold water to stabilize a mood. “Yes, I’m still Janet. Did you think I couldn’t come up because I was having my name changed?”
He barked a laugh. “Your sense of humor has survived.” Then he lifted her up into his arms. “I’ve got a shower in the back of the shop.”
She held on to his neck as he strode up the steps. “I couldn’t find my way between the boats,” she said, unable to believe that had been so difficult. “Every time I went for the sunlight, the boats bumped together again.”
“My fault,” he replied, walking through the shop and into a small area in the rear. “I was pushing them apart, looking for you from the pier, so when your opening disappeared, it was probably me, shoving from the other side.”
“Nice guy.”
“What do you want from the son of Susannah Abbott and Corbin Gir—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “If you bring that up again,” she threatened, “I’ll have to bite your ear.” Her position in his arms made his ear an easy target.
He stopped in front of a half-open door. She glimpsed a shower stall and a medicine cabinet, but what really caught her attention were the lively depths of Brian’s blue eyes a mere inch from hers. Usually, they were so steady on her that they made her feel defensive. But today they made her feel…odd?
“And that would discourage me?” he asked with a half smile.
Her mouth fell open. Was he more interested in her than it appeared?
Before she could analyze that, he set her on her feet in the doorway and pointed to a small wicker rack of towels. “There’re soap and shampoo in the shower.”
“And…you can dry my clothes?”
“No, but I can give you something to change into. I’ve got matching T-shirts and shorts with the store name on them. Pink, green or yellow?”
“Yellow.”
He studied her. “Small? Medium?”
She folded her arms to hide a little shudder of that same sensation. “Medium.”
“I’ll leave them on the doorknob.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped into the bathroom, locked the door behind her and took the first good breath she’d had since he’d looked into her eyes and suggested that he wouldn’t mind if she bit his ear.
The bathroom was small and utilitarian, all in white tile with the same checkered curtains the shop windows sported.
She peeled off her wet things and climbed into the cubicle. The showerhead was powerful, with a pulsing adjustment that went a long way toward relaxing the tense muscles in her neck and back.
He had shampoo but no conditioner. And no blow-dryer. Her hair would dry flat, but at least it would be clean.
She stepped out of the shower,