A Bride Until Midnight / Something Unexpected. Wendy Warren
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A Bride Until Midnight
Sandra Steffen
Something Unexpected
Wendy Warren
MILLS & BOON
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A Bride Until Midnight
Sandra Steffen
Dear Reader,
As I write this letter, a song about going home again is playing on the radio. the lyrics call to me, for a few years ago my childhood home was nearly destroyed in a fire. By some lovely miracle, my parents got out alive.
Recently I had the pleasure of watching them as they celebrated a milestone anniversary. When asked to share the secret for such a long and successful marriage, my soft-spoken mother said, “divorce, never. Murder, maybe.”
Ah, the stuff of good old fairytales. It’s safe to say I came by my sense of humor and my determination naturally.
My parents couldn’t go home again after the fire, but I invite you to step into that feeling of homecoming with me as you begin my new series, Round-the-Clock Brides. Turn the page to read A Bride Until Midnight …
I hope you love every word.
Welcome home,
Sandra Steffen
About the Author
SANDRA STEFFEN has always been a storyteller. She began nurturing this hidden talent by concocting adventures for her brothers and sisters, even though the boys were more interested in her ability to hit a baseball over the barn—an automatic homerun. She didn’t begin her pursuit of publication until she was a young wife and mother of four sons. Since her thrilling debut as a published author in 1992, more than thirty-five of her novels have graced bookshelves across the country.
This winner of a RITA® Award, a Wish Award, and a national readers’ choice Award enjoys traveling with her husband. Usually their destinations are settings for her upcoming books. They are empty nesters these days. Who knew it could be so much fun? Please visit her at www.sandrasteffen.com.
For Denis & Mary Lou Rademacher,
two of the finest role models and
well-loved parents in the world.
Chapter One
Sheet lightning flirted with the treetops on the horizon as Innkeeper Summer Matthews started up the sidewalk of her inn. For a few seconds she could see the bridge over the river and the steeple of the tallest church in Orchard Hill. An instant later the starless sky was black again.
Directly ahead of her, The Orchard Inn beckoned. Nestled on a hill overlooking the river, the inn was just inside the Orchard Hill city limits. Built of sandstone and river rock, it was tall and angular and had a roof that looked like a top hat from here. The large windows, wide front walkway and ornate portico were welcoming. A single antique lamp glowed in the bay window on the first floor. Upstairs the flicker of laptops and televisions, modern technology in a 120-year-old inn, cast a blue haze on the wavy window panes.
Only one window remained dark.
Summer went in through the front door, the purling of the bell blending with the lively voices of her friends who were watching the front desk in her absence. She listened at the stairs for guests and checked the registration book on her way by. K. Miller, the last member of the restoration crew scheduled to begin work on the train depot first thing in the morning, still hadn’t checked in. Wondering what was keeping him, she followed her friends’ voices to her private quarters.
“You’re home early.” Madeline Sullivan, whose surprise engagement to Riley Merrick was the reason for tonight’s emergency wedding-planning session, was the first to notice Summer. Madeline’s blue eyes shone with newfound joy.
Chelsea Reynolds looked up from her laptop, and Abby Fitzpatrick turned in her chair.
Giving Summer a quick once over from head to toe, Abby said, “I saw the new veterinarian getting into his truck with roses and a bottle of wine. And you wore a dress, which means you shaved your legs. What are you doing home already?”
Summer went to the refrigerator for a Diet Coke before joining the others at her table. “Did you know that goats, when born, land on only three feet?”
There was a moment of silence while the others searched for the relevance in that little pearl of wisdom.
“Goats,” Abby repeated as Chelsea deftly plucked a blade of straw from Summer’s light brown hair.
“Do you have experience birthing goats?” Madeline asked.
“I do now.” She popped the top of her soda can and poured the cold beverage into a glass. “Nathan’s service called during dinner. One of the Jenkins’s goats was struggling to deliver. I went along on the emergency house call. The twins are fine, and the mother is resting, but I definitely shaved my legs for nothing.”
Madeline was a nurse whose blond hair and blue eyes gave her an angelic appearance. Blond, too, Abby wore her hair in a short, wispy style that suited her petite frame but camouflaged an IQ that rivaled Einstein’s. Chelsea had dark brown hair, a curvy build and a no-nonsense attitude. All three of her friends burst out laughing, and Summer couldn’t help joining in.
Looking at these women sitting around her table on this quiet Tuesday night, it occurred to her that when she’d arrived in Orchard Hill six years ago at the tender age of twenty-three, she’d been as fragile and wobbly as one of the Jenkins’s newborn goats. Madeline, Chelsea and Abby had befriended her, and in doing so, they’d held her up until she’d gotten both feet firmly underneath her. A year and a half ago, they’d all done the same for Madeline when her fiancé was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident. Now Madeline was standing on her own again, about to be married to the man who’d received Aaron’s heart.
“How are the wedding plans coming?” Summer asked.
“Amazing,” Abby said. “In ten days the most miraculous wedding of the century will go down in history right here in Orchard Hill.”
Summer wished Abby hadn’t worded it exactly that way. She wanted Madeline’s wedding to be a dream come true—nobody deserved this happiness more—but a wedding that went down in history would undoubtedly be high profile. The thought of that sent dread to the pit of her stomach.
She reminded herself that most people harbored a profound desire to be remembered for something, to leave their mark on the world. At the very least they wanted their elusive five minutes of fame.
Not Summer.
She’d already made her splash and a messy one at that. Not that anyone