Have Husband, Need Honeymoon. Rita Herron
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But his best friend had died right next to him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover.
Because he was partly at fault.
“Just promise me you won’t tell Mom I’m coming. I don’t want her making a big deal out of my arrival. We’re going to focus on your wedding.”
“All right, all right. As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to see the wedding coordinator now. I’m so glad you’ll be here to run interference between me and Mom.”
“How is she?”
“Being her usual self.” Vivica sighed. “She means well, but I want a simple wedding and I’m afraid she’ll let things get out of hand.”
Their mother could be pushy. After their father’s funeral, she’d pressured Brady to take over his father’s print shop, not join the Air Force. But he’d refused because he’d been gung ho to be a fighter pilot like his dad had been in his early years.
Now Brady didn’t know what he was going to do with his life.
Vivica was chattering away about her wedding plans, something about whether or not to invite their great-aunt Bernadette, who had a penchant for pick-pocketing, and he tried to focus. He was glad Vivica had found happiness.
“I can’t wait to meet this guy,” Brady said. “He’d better be good to you. I’d hate to have to beat him up. I learned some pretty good moves in training.” Only he was too out of shape to use them.
Vivica laughed and assured him he’d like Joe. Then Brady hung up. He had to get some sleep. He just prayed that this time when he fell asleep, the nightmares of the accident wouldn’t return to haunt him.
ALISON SLOWLY UNFASTENED the latch to the hope chest and peeked inside. A pale gold envelope sat on top of mounds of gold tissue. She pulled out the stationery and smiled at her grandmother’s loopy handwriting.
My sweet, darling Alison,
You’ve always been a special granddaughter to me because you are the last link to our past, the last link to our future. Endings are usually sad, but you taught us that endings can also be a joy.
You readily accepted the broken toys, the hand-me-down clothes, the hectic life and schedule of a single father. You were always sensitive to others, the peacemaker between your sisters during their turbulent years, always the one to hold the family together. You have the rare gift of knowing when to listen as well as talk, and you touch everything in life with wisdom and kindness. When we tried to baby you, you fought for independence and won. But even when your hair turns gray like mine and your children grow taller than you, you will still be my baby.
I hope you learn to speak your mind, to sometimes rock the boat without worrying about what others might think. I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who will be your equal and bring you all the joy a partner can.
Love you always,
Grammy Rose
Alison wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and removed the top layer of tissue paper, her breath catching at the sight of her grandmother’s bridal veil. She recognized it from Grammy Rose’s wedding pictures; the narrow tiara with ivory porcelain roses and pearl-and-rhinestone accents gave way to yards and yards of sheer white netting that would cascade down the bride’s back in exquisite, billowing folds. Excited, Alison pulled away more tissue and discovered a new pair of white satin gloves, beaded with pearls and rhinestones almost identical to the ones on the veil. A lacy blue garter lay beside it. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.
Digging deeper, she uncovered an envelope and an eight-by-ten, ivory porcelain picture frame with wedding bells etched on the side. Then she flipped the frame over and gasped. A picture of her and Brady stared back at her—the photo of the two of them the night they’d gotten married.
The memory of that crazy wonderful night and the three months before flashed back in painful clarity.
On prom night, they’d been hot in love, hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. One thing led to another and they’d given in to their passion and made love out by the lake. Their feelings had escalated over the summer. Brady had promised he’d love her forever, and had begged her to marry him. In a frenzy of emotions, mostly desperation that they would soon be parting, they’d sneaked away and gotten a marriage license. The night before he was to leave for the Air Force, they’d woken up a local preacher and had married at midnight in the little chapel by the lake.
Alison shivered as she remembered how wonderful it had been to lie in Brady’s arms all night long. But her father had discovered them at dawn and insisted on annulling the hasty marriage. He and Brady had had a major fight, but Alison had finally given in to her father’s demand, although the incident had caused a rift between them for months. Brady had kissed her and promised her the paper didn’t make a difference, that he would forever be married to her in his heart.
And he had been for the first three years he was in the service. Then he’d suddenly stopped writing. She’d tried to contact him, to find out what was wrong, had sent him dozens of letters a week, but he never replied. Finally, when he started sending her letters back unopened, Alison had given up and forced herself to accept the fact that Brady’s love for her had died, that he’d probably found someone else.
She swallowed back emotions as she ran a finger over the outline of his bad-boy face. Dammit. Why did just the sight of his chiseled features, that thick, jet-black hair, his wide jaw, that nose that had been broken in a teenage fight—why did that face still cause her insides to purr with desire?
And why had Grammy Rose included the photo in Alison’s hope chest, especially now, when another man had proposed to her?
Maybe the photo was to remind her of her spontaneous marriage, the veil a hint to marry in a traditional ceremony this time. Expecting a note of explanation inside the envelope, she hurriedly opened it, but she sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the contents—her marriage certificate and the annulment papers that had ended her marriage to Brady.
Only Wiley and Grammy knew about the short marriage; she’d never even told her sisters. They’d both been away at college, each with their own problems. Did Grammy think Alison needed the papers to get a license to marry Thomas?
She quickly scanned the pages, the blank lines for their signatures, the blank line for the notary… The blank lines? Dear heavens, the papers had never been signed. She skimmed the note from her grandmother. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Wiley asked me to file these, but I suppose I forgot.” Alison’s heart pounded as she realized the implications.
She was still married to Brady Broussard.
Chapter Two
Alison’s head was still reeling the next morning as she headed to the Fourth of July parade. She wiped perspiration from her forehead, half hoping it would rain to alleviate the drought they’d been having. But of course, rain would ruin the day’s festivities.
Making matters worse, yesterday Vivica had shown up to talk about her wedding arrangements, and had informed her Brady was on his way home. Alison hadn’t had time to recover from seeing the annulment papers; now she’d have to face Brady and tell him they were still married.
He hadn’t been home since he’d left for the Air Force.
Could he possibly be returning to see her?
No, he was obviously coming for Vivica’s wedding. He hadn’t contacted Alison in almost a year—ten months and eleven days, to be exact. Not that she’d counted.
Hurt squeezed at her chest again, followed by confusion. All these years apart, she and Brady had both thought their marriage had ended, that they were free to go on and find someone else. Had Brady done that?
The memory of his kiss on her lips, his promise to love her forever brought a fresh wave of pain. But he hadn’t loved her forever. He’d cut her out of his life without an explanation. And she’d given him her heart and