Missing: One Bride

“How? You don’t have a car.”

“You’re right. If you leave me here I’ll be stranded.”

“Call a cab,” he said as he put the key in the ignition.

She held up both empty hands. “How? I don’t have a penny on me.”

He shoved a hand in his pocket, then swore. “Neither do I,” he said.

“Listen, my feet are killing me and this bickering is just wasting time.”

He stared at her again, as though seeing her for the first time, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. “You’re right, it is. Okay. Just get in.”

Alex once again folded herself into the little car. She didn’t stop to wonder why she was foisting herself upon this poor man; she only knew that she felt compelled to accompany him.

After all, I’m the maid of honor, she mused, though she was pretty sure no etiquette book counted among the official duties hunting the bride down like one would a rabid dog.

“Fasten your seat belt,” Thorn told her as he drove the car through the winding streets.

She did as he asked—no mean feat, given that the dress increased her girth threefold—and said, “Where are we going?”

He shot her a quick glance with eyes that now brimmed with life. Alex realized he was a man used to taking action, used to dealing with a crisis by controlling it.

“Otter Point. Where else?” he said briskly.

Where else indeed?

Chapter Two (#ulink_23fb92d3-f91e-5fdb-8cdd-05b69d4bbf88)

Thorn made himself obey the speed limits, though every fiber of his body urged him to press the accelerator pedal right through the floor. When he’d checked his pockets for a quarter to give Alex to call a taxi, he’d realized he’d left the house not only without any loose change, but without his wallet. With no driver’s license in his possession, all he needed now was a cop with a quota to fill.

He stole another sidelong look at the woman seated beside him. She was staring straight ahead, her hair still partly piled on top of her head, her profile as distinct as a cameo. He had noticed her in the flower shop, had even wondered about her a little as she seemed so wrapped up in her work, her fingers deft, her concentration complete. But truth of the matter was, he’d been so centered on Natalie that this young woman had been little more than an attractive fixture in among the blossoms. She was as pretty as her flowers, he now noted, her skin as translucent as a petal, her lips full, her lashes black and long, her eyes a startling.shade of dusky blue.

She seemed to sense him staring at her and turned her head slightly, shooting him a quick nervous smile as she attempted to brush windblown strands of glossy dark hair away from her eyes. He guessed she was suffering second thoughts about the wisdom of accompanying him on this fool’s errand.

“There’s a scarf in the glove compartment,” he said.

Alexandra nodded slightly and retrieved the scarf. It was Natalie’s, of course—white and filmy, the stuff wedding gowns were made of. Thorn felt a small knot form in his throat as Natalie’s perfume hit his nostrils and then was gone. In his mind’s eye, he saw the crumpled dress in Natalie’s closet, the one she’d refused to let him see before the ceremony—hell, the one she’d bought with his money!

Maple and alder branches intertwined, forming canopies above the winding road that led from Cottage Grove to the Oregon coast. The river ran beside the road in places, and Thorn caught glimpses of people leading ordinary lives on this clear Saturday afternoon—swimming in the river, fishing, boating, picnicking.

“How could she do this to me?” he asked, not realizing until he heard Alexandra answer that he’d said it aloud.

“You’re assuming she’s done something wrong,” she said.

“Yes, I am. Humor me.”

“I don’t know the answer,” she mumbled.

“I’ve given that woman everything she wanted.”

“Well—”

“And she has wanted a lot, trust, me,” he added. He shook his head and glanced briefly at Alexandra. “You didn’t know about this other guy?”

“No,” she answered. “If there is another guy.”

“There’s another guy.”

“Assuming there is,” she said cautiously, “didn’t you suspect something was wrong?”

He shook his head again and then found himself pondering the question. The truth of the matter was that he and Natalie had never really talked much—it hadn’t seemed necessary. Words were for other people, for family and friends and business associates, not lovers. At least, that’s what he’d always thought, and Natalie had seemed to be in perfect harmony with this ideology.

“I know you were anxious to get married,” his passenger continued, “but maybe you should have given her more time. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. Now you’ll have a chance to really talk to each other about how you feel—Yikes, Thorn, you’re awfully close to that bumper up ahead!”

He eased off the accelerator. “What do you mean, you know I was anxious to get married?”

“Natalie told me.”

“Natalie told you what!”

“That she wanted to wait a few months, but you insisted on a June wedding. She thought it was very romantic. Actually, everyone in the shop thought it was romantic.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. A subconscious thought surfaced like a dead guppy in a fishbowl. Did he really know Natalie Dupree at all?

The closer they got to the ocean, the chillier it became. Determined not to add to Thorn’s concerns, Alex shivered in her flimsy dress and didn’t ask him to put up the top of the car. The scarf helped keep her head moderately warm, and she found that she could half bury her bare arms in the voluptuous folds of her skirt.

At least her feet didn’t hurt anymore. She’d flicked off her shoes as soon as she got in the car and now she wiggled sore toes against the plush carpet, suspecting there was no way on earth she was ever going to get those pointed instruments of torture back on her feet.

It was early evening by the time they broke onto the coastal road and turned north. Alex knew it would take at least another hour of steady driving to reach their destination, and she clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering. Thorn was driving at a much more moderate speed than she would have predicted. In a way, she wished he would speed up and get this drive over with.

For the first time, she began to wonder what exactly would happen when they reached Otter Point. Should she trail behind Thorn as he looked for his wayward bride, or should they separate and cover twice as much ground? No, she’d better stay close to him, at least close enough to act as a buffer so that Natalie didn’t have to face Thorn alone.

Actually, what she really wanted to do was to plant herself in the hotel lobby, preferably near a functioning heater vent. Maybe she should broach this subject now and together they could settle on a plan of action.

One short peek at Thorn quelled that notion. His features were set in a frown that suggested whatever events he was mentally reviewing weren’t happy ones. She decided she had no desire to interrupt his thoughts and looked ahead instead, anxious only to get this over with.

After a long, slow curve, the road straightened out and ran beside the beach. Only a few determined walkers and people throwing sticks for frantic dogs were visible. The promontory on the north end of the beach was called Otter Point, and even from a distance of two miles, Alex could make out the hotel, which appeared to cling to the rocks with the tenacious grip of a limpet. The tiers of decks jutting from the main structure were outlined in twinkling white lights, while the interior of the hotel glowed yellow in the gathering dusk.

“We’re almost there,” she said.

Thorn spared her half a glance but said nothing.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?” Alex persisted.

“No.”

She took the hint—the man did not want to talk, at least not to her.