Country Bride. Debbie Macomber
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Kate.
A clean white handkerchief was thrust into her hand by Luke Rivers, her father’s foreman. Kate knew he’d been waiting for this moment, convinced she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.
She declined the use of his handkerchief by gently shaking her head.
“I’m here,” he whispered in her ear.
“So is half of Nightingale,” she returned wryly. Luke seemed determined to rescue her from this pain—as if that was possible. All she wanted was to survive this day with her dignity intact, and his open sympathy threatened the composure she’d painfully mustered.
“You’re doing fine.”
“Luke,” she muttered, “stop making a fuss over me. Please.” She’d managed to get through the ceremony without breaking down. The last thing she needed now was to have Luke calling attention to her.
It was ironic that Kate had been the one responsible for bringing Clay and Rorie together. She should be feeling noble and jubilant and honorable. But the only emotion she felt was a deep, abiding sense of loss.
Rorie and Clay walked down the center aisle, and from somewhere deep inside her, Kate found the strength to raise her head and smile blindly in their direction. Luke’s hands gripped her shoulders as though to lend her strength. His concern should have been a comfort, but it wasn’t.
“I’ll walk you to the reception hall,” Luke said, slipping his arm through hers.
“I’m perfectly capable of making it there on my own,” she snapped, not wanting his pity. She would’ve argued more, but since they were sitting near the front of the church, they were among the first to be ushered out. Holding her head high, Kate walked past her friends and neighbors, doing her best to appear cheerful and serene.
At least she looked her best; Kate had made certain of that. She’d curled her thick blond hair until it lightly brushed her shoulders. The style emphasized her blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones. She’d shopped long and hard for the perfect dress and had found one that enhanced her slender waist and outlined her trim figure. The minute she’d tried on the soft blue silk and viewed herself in the mirror, Kate had known this was the dress. Although the lines were simple, the look was both classic and sophisticated, a look she’d never bothered to cultivate before. Too often in the past, she’d been mistaken for a teenager, mostly, she supposed, because she dressed the part. But she was a woman now and she had the broken heart to prove it.
Kate paused in the church vestibule, waiting for her father. Devin was sitting with Dorothea Murphy, his widow friend. Her father’s interest in the older woman was something of a mystery to Kate. Tall and plump and outspoken, she was completely unlike Kate’s late mother, who’d been delicate and reserved. Kate sometimes wondered what it was about Dorothea that attracted her father. They’d been seeing a lot of each other in recent weeks, but the possibility of their contemplating marriage filled Kate with a sudden, overwhelming sense of alarm. Kate pushed the thought from her mind. Losing Clay was all she could deal with right now.
“Are you all right, Princess?” Devin asked when he joined her.
“I wish everyone would stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” It wasn’t the truth, but Kate was well aware that she had to put on a breezy, unconcerned front. At least for the next few hours.
Her father patted her hand. “I know how hard this is for you. Do you want to go to the reception or would you prefer to head home?” His eyes were warm and sympathetic, and Kate felt a rush of love for him. A part of her longed to slip away unnoticed, but she couldn’t and she knew it.
“Kate’s already agreed to accompany me,” Luke inserted, daring her to contradict him.
Indignation rose inside her. Instead of helping, Luke was making everything worse. The pain of watching Clay pledge his life to another woman was difficult enough, without Luke’s unsought demands.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Devin Logan said, clearly relieved. He smiled as he slipped his arm around Dorothea’s waist. “Mrs. Murphy invited me to sit with her and, frankly, I was looking forward to doing that.” He released Kate’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, then strolled nonchalantly away.
“Shall we?” Grinning, Luke reached for Kate’s limp hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. As if they’d been a couple for years, he casually led her out of the church.
The early evening air was crisp and clear. Autumn had crested on an October tide of bronze and gold leaves, huge pumpkins and early twilights. Normally, this time of year invigorated Kate. If she hadn’t been fortifying herself against Clay’s wedding, she could have appreciated the season more.
The walk across the parking lot to the reception hall was a short one. Kate didn’t say another word to Luke, mentally preparing herself for the coming encounter with Clay and his bride. With each step her heart grew heavier. Rorie had asked her to be a bridesmaid, and although Kate was honored by the request, she’d declined. Rorie understood and hadn’t pressured her. Despite the fact that they both loved the same man, Rorie and Kate had become close. Their friendship made everything more difficult for Kate, yet somehow easier, too.
By the time they arrived at the old brick building, Kate’s pulse was so loud it echoed like a drum in her ear. Just outside the double doors leading into the hall, she stopped abruptly.
“I can’t go in there,” she told Luke. Panic had worked its way into her voice, which was low and trembling. “I can’t face them and pretend... I just can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“How could you possibly know what I can and can’t do?” she demanded, wanting to bury her face in her hands and weep. These past few hours had taken their toll and she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer. Luke gazed down on her and for the briefest of moments his eyes registered sympathy and regret.
“You can go in there and you will,” he repeated.
Kate saw determination in his serious dark eyes and swallowed an angry retort, knowing he was right.
At six feet, Luke towered over her, and the hard set of his mouth did more than hint at determination and a will of iron. “If you don’t attend the reception, everyone in Nightingale will talk. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” she cried, then lowered her head, battling down wave after wave of depression and self-pity. “No,” she said reluctantly, loath to agree with him.
“I’m here for you, Kate. Lean on me for once in your life, and let me help you through the next few hours.”
“I’m doing fine. I—”
He wouldn’t allow her to finish. “Quit fighting me. I’m your friend, remember?”
His words, hushed and tender, brought a burning to her eyes. Her fingers tightened around his arm and she nodded, calling upon a reserve of strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Just don’t be so bossy with me. Please. I can bear almost anything but that.” She’d made it through the wedding ceremony on her own. Now she needed someone at her side to help her appear strong and steady, in control of her emotions, when she felt as though the entire universe was pitching and heaving.
“Anything you say, Princess.”
Although she’d objected earlier, she felt comforted by his strong arm against her. She heard his voice, as if from a distance, too preoccupied with her own pain to respond to his concern. But his presence restored her determination to acquit herself well during the long evening ahead.
“Only Daddy calls me Princess,” she said distractedly.
“You mind?”
“I don’t know... I suppose it’s all right.”
“Good.” His fingers intertwined with hers as he guided her into the brightly decorated reception hall.
The next half hour was a blur. Drawing upon Luke’s