Blind Luck Bride. Laura Marie Altom
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her riding off into the night with this virtual stranger wasn’t one of her brighter ideas. It didn’t matter that she and Dallas had talked via e-mail for the better part of a month. His not remembering his own mother’s favorite recording artist concerned her. Where was the man who bragged of having a photographic memory? The man who cited countless statistics on the reasons why arranged marriages were infinitely better than the real thing?
The whisker-stubbled, bona fide stud seated before her surely didn’t give a flip about dry statistics, and he looked as if he’d be far more comfortable listening to a Garth Brooks song than to Aida, his supposedly favorite opera.
Should she ask to see his driver’s license?
No. Too direct. Yes, she needed to verify he was who he said he was, but surely she could think of a less combatant way. She cleared her throat. “I, ah, realize this may sound a tad off the subject, but could you please tell me what my favorite food is?”
His eyes narrowed, and he took a long time before saying in a sexy twang, “Aw, now, angel, you already know that I know what your favorite food is.” He reached for her left hand and rolled down the cuff of her satin glove, exposing the frantically beating pulse on her inner wrist. “Why don’t you ask me something a little tougher….”
Oh my gosh! He was actually drawing her wrist to his mouth! He was—oh no. Oh no, he did not just kiss her on the wrist. As an employee of Tree House Books, she read a lot, but in her favorite novel of all time, Whispered Winds, the hero, Duncan, kissed his bride’s wrist at their third wedding. True, it had taken them three times to get their relationship right, but oh, how right it had finally been. Favorite food be damned. The fact that Dallas remembered how much she adored that scene proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was not only who he claimed to be, but that first and foremost, he was the man destined to be her husband.
Closing her eyes, Lilly surrendered to the hot-cold champagne bubbles zinging through her body.
The white-haired woman keeping bar interrupted Lilly’s almost-wedded bliss. “S’cuse me,” she said to Dallas, “but what in tarnation do you think you’re doin’?”
“Mind your own business, Lu, this is my future bride.”
“Isn’t one bride per day enough for you, Fi—”
“That’s it. We’ve gotta go.” Finn nearly fell off his bar stool trying to slip his hand beneath his bride-to-be’s elbow while at the same time shooting Lu a would-you-please-hush look of desperation. By God, if she went and ruined this for him, he’d take her to court to cover the small fortune in cash and pride he’d have to fork over to Mitch. He might be able to handle a lot of bad situations, but voluntarily losing a bet to ornery old Mitch Mulligan wasn’t one of them. He knew it wasn’t neighborly, but he just plain despised the man, and he’d do anything to get the better of him. Even if it meant marrying this loco filly in the morning only to up and divorce her the next afternoon.
While all that sounded real good in theory, a pang of confusion rippled through Finn at the all-too-fresh memory of how badly Vivian had hurt him.
All his life he’d only wanted one thing—to once again be part of a family. So sure, by going through with this marriage, he’d make Mitch look like the fool he was, but in doing that, he’d also be making a mockery of his heart’s lifelong ambition. Was that wise?
A whiff of pretty-as-a-spring-meadow perfume wove its way like a love potion through Finn’s senses. He took one look at the vision in bridal white standing before him and decided what the heck?
He needed to lighten up.
Besides, what was the worst that could happen on a trip to Vegas?
Chapter Two
“Ready, darlin’?” Finn said, low enough so that hopefully Lu wouldn’t hear.
“I sure am.” Lilly waved to the still-gaping older woman. “Bye-bye.”
Lu might have been willing to let the whole incident slide if only Finn’s bride hadn’t—from out of nowhere—burst into tears.
“Now, now,” Lu crooned, zipping around the corner of the bar. “What’s the matter?”
“I—I’m so ha-ha-happy,” Lilly blurted in the same kind of hormonal, nonsensical, downright blithering sobs that had taken over Matt’s sister the day after she found out she was pregnant. “But I’ve waited so long for my wedding day, and Dallas, you’re even more of a gentleman than I’d imagined, but…I just remembered I locked my keys in my car, and…”
Lu’s eagle eyes bored into Finn’s forehead like twin laser beams. After pulling Lilly in close for a hug, she said, “Now, honey, ’round here folks lock themselves out of all sorts of things. Don’t you worry. Your groom knows just what to do.”
Never had Finn wished harder that he lived in a less nosy town.
After a few more minutes of what Finn considered award-winning acting, Lilly calmed down, her smile shining brighter than the chrome on Vivian’s boyfriend’s motorcycle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t kn-know what came over me, especially when you had such great news about the keys.”
“Emotions’ll do that to a body,” Lu said, lapping up this rare opportunity to cluck over one of her patrons. “How about you visit the little girl’s room. Freshen up while your, ah, groom gets started on your car—if he’s sober enough.”
“That’d be great,” Lilly said through a watery smile. She looked Finn’s way. “You don’t mind the short delay, do you?”
Mind? Hell, yes, he minded. Not only didn’t he like the idea of spending the next hour or so outside with a coat hanger and flashlight, but once he got this human tear-bucket into her car, did that imply driving it and her all the way to Vegas? It was on the tip of his tongue to call off this whole charade when he caught sight of those wide-open skies his bride called eyes. Never had he seen eyes more blue. On manly autopilot, he said, “Ah, sure, I don’t mind. You go on and do whatever you need to and I’ll just be outside.”
“You remember what I drive?” she asked, her voice all breathy, as if his knowing such a fact guaranteed theirs would be a lifelong love.
“Sure, darlin’.” Simple logic tells me it’ll be the only spit-shined sedan in the lot.
More to prove to Lu that he had the woman’s best interests at heart than to satisfy his own blazing curiosity as to the feel of her petal-soft lips, he slipped his free hand about Lilly’s waist and kissed her hard—not too hard—just hard enough to let her know she was in the company of a real man. Mitch Mulligan might be signing her paycheck, but Finn Reilly was calling the shots.
When she seemed good and dazed by his prowess, with a quick pat to her satin-covered behind, he sent her in the direction of the ladies’ room.
But just as he was growing accustomed to the sight of his bride-to-be’s backside, Lu grabbed him by the ear and yanked for all she was worth—not an easy feat considering he was well over a foot taller than she. “You low-life, back-stabbin’, pitiful excuse for a yellow-bellied—”
“Ouch!” he complained, backing out of her reach. “That hurts.”
“Damn straight, it hurts. Almost as much as that alley cat Vivian hurt you this afternoon. Don’t you see what you’re doin’?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Look, son, and make no mistake, over the years you’ve been comin’ in here, I’ve grown to think of you as my own son. What you could end up doin’ to this girl is the same thing Vivian did to you. You’re gonna lead her on, then dump her. Only at least Vivian dumped you for love. You, on the other hand, will be freein’ yourself up for a truck named Abigail.”
“Slow down, Lu, you don’t know the half of what’s going