Two Weddings And A Bride

has a varied background, including managing a theater, a bridal salon, and a constuction association, netting several marketing and communications awards along the way. In 1991 she joined the Romance Writers of America, later becoming a Golden Heart finalist, the winner of the Maggie Award, and, finally, a published author—her lifelong dream.

Anne and her engineer husband, Bill, live in Southeastern Michigan and share a family of five—two hers (Tim and Tom), two his (Erin and David), and one theirs (an adorable miniature dachshund, Punkin).

Dear Reader,

There you are! I’m glad I finally found you—and vice versa. After a lifetime of dreaming about sharing my stories with you, I decided we’d meet a lot quicker if I wrote them down. Last summer I visited New York and a clairvoyant named Zena told me if I applied myself, in 1996 I’d exceed my expectations. I didn’t want my friends and family thinking I was crazy plopping down cash for Zena or that she might be wrong, so I wrote like a banshee and voila, Two Weddings and a Bride won the coveted Maggie award and shortly after was snatched up by Silhouette Desire. Six weeks later Desire bought my second book, and I’m hard at work on a third. Now I find myself driving down the freeway engrossed in my stories, missing exits and, too often, nearly rear-ending the car in front of me.

The fact that Two Weddings and a Bride is part of Desire’s Celebration 1000 makes this debut experience a doubly exciting one for me. I hope the following pages bring a smile to your face, an occasional tear to your eye, the need for an oscillating fan.

My next story, You’re What?!, will take you on a Caribbean cruise where my heroine meets her Mr. Right— just hours after she’s artificially inseminated. Watch for You’re What?! late summer.

I’d love to hear from you, whether you’d like a little autographed something, or just to say hi. In the meantime, happy reading!

Warmest regards,

c/o Silhouette Desire

300 E. 42nd Street, 6th Floor

New York, NY 10018

One (#ulink_94ac393b-6b26-5e74-8a58-319dde677522)

The last place Jake Alley wanted to be on this hot, cloudless Saturday evening was in a hot, humorless chapel, watching some fool surrender his freedom.

His bumper sticker didn’t he. He’d rather be sailing. Or at the very least, downtown Detroit at Tiger Stadium for the twi-night doubleheader. Anywhere other than this highfalutin Birmingham wedding would be an improvement.

But there he sat beside Aunt Helen, his shirt stuck to his back, wondering if dark blotches were beginning to show through his new khaki suit. Why had he let himself get roped into this? He didn’t even know these people—Catherine something-or-other, the daughter of Aunt Helen’s boss, and the supposedly handsome hunk she had snared. Poor sap.

The organist struck a loud chord. Jake stood along with the others, fanned his opened jacket against his soggy shirt and started calculating how much longer before he could be on his way. He’d drive Aunt Helen to the reception, grab a brew or two and sit with her through dinner as promised. Sounded like at least three hours. Unless he could find her a ride…

Aunt Helen jabbed her elbow into his side and for a guilty second he thought she’d read his mind. She nodded her head toward the aisle. Behind him he heard the slow, rhythmic swishing of fabric skimming the surface of the white runner. The naturally rebellious part of him wanted to stare straight ahead and ignore convention, but with a resigned sigh he turned to the right and cast an aloof look up the aisle.

That’s when he saw her. The bride drew closer, almost in slow motion, the surreal moment isolating each frame. He stared shamelessly at her long, black lashes blinking over humongous baby blues. Flawless skin radiated a healthy glow. Another step and her smile widened, exposing perfect white teeth. Then, two rows from him, her eyes met his. And in that brief instant, behind the perfect facade, he saw a hint of what was to come. A chill shot down his damp shirt. He tried to get another read, but she drifted past him.

Jake focused on her silky black hair swaying below a cloud of puffy white netting, wishing he knew what to make of her expression and wondering if anyone else had seen it. He didn’t think it was wedding day jitters. He’d seen that look before. It was more like confusion bordering on panic—a feeling he could relate to this very moment.

Finally she reached the altar and turned to the tall man who had been waiting for her. Jake stiffened. It was as if someone were holding a photo in front of him asking “What’s wrong with this picture?” Zooming in for a closeup he noticed the groom’s possessive smile. Instantly Jake knew the answer. How he knew or why he cared, he wasn’t certain. But in his gut he knew he was right. This man was not right for this woman. And somewhere deep inside the bride knew it, too.

Jake stood there, mouth agape, until he realized everyone else had sat down. Quickly he dropped into the pew, reality trying to worm its way back in but not succeeding. As the vows rolled on he replayed the scene over and over. That face, those eyes…

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister’s words pierced Jake’s fog. He watched the pair smile at each other once again. “You may kiss the bride.”

The organist pounded out another earsplitting refrain. A beat slower than the others Jake stood, this time refusing to look beyond his hands gripping the pew in front of him. When their turn came to exit he took Aunt Helen’s elbow and shuffled out behind the excited crowd, feeling exhausted and emotionally spent.

A welcome July breeze greeted them as they walked down the church steps. Jake inhaled deeply and let out a long, hot breath, trying to find his old prehallucinatory self. He’d just about succeeded when a handful of something bounced off his chest and landed at his feet. He stared down at the tiny particles, expecting to find rice. Instead he saw bird seed.

“How appropriate!” he muttered under his breath. This whole scene was for the birds. He eyed the parking lot. His topless Jeep was sandwiched between two BMWs, reminding him this wasn’t his world and he was wasting his time trying to figure it out. Suddenly eager to move on to the reception and a cold beer, he looked down at Aunt Helen. She was still watching the maudlin parade, dabbing her cheeks with a lace-edged hankie. Jake turned and walked a few steps, hoping Aunt Helen would get the hint, but she didn’t budge. Patience exhausted he went back, hooked his arm in hers, and guided her to his Jeep.

Jake loosened his tie, fighting the urge to take it off and strangle his dear, sweet aunt. Thank God dinner was nearly over. How much longer could he pretend not to notice her meaningful glances—the ones that said “Why can’t you find a wonderful bride?”

Wonderful bride. Now there’s an oxymoron!

He rocked back in his chair and tried looking at the bright side. The chow had been better than usual and the drinks were free and plentiful. Best of all, he’d found a ride home for Aunt Helen. A few more polite minutes and he was out of here.

What on earth had come over him in that church tonight? he wondered, stealing another glimpse at Catherine what’s-her-new-name, then quickly looking away. The tinkling sound of silverware against glass meant Mr. Wrong would have his tongue halfway down her throat any second and he didn’t want to watch.

Musicians caught his eye in the far corner and he shifted in his chair for a better view. He folded his arms against his chest. This wasn’t at all like him. If anybody at a wedding deserved sympathy it was the poor, delusional groom, not the bride.

In spite of himself he looked back at the head table where the groom was kissing his way down the row of bridesmaids, lingering especially long with the all-too-eager buxom blonde on the far end. Catherine seemed to be taking it all in stride, smiling and sipping champagne. Tuxedoed waiters hustled around obstructing his view, but each time the path cleared, his focus returned to her full lips, playing at the edge of the crystal flute.

Before long, not remembering asking or accepting, Jake found himself waltzing with Aunt Helen and wondering why in the hell he hadn’t left yet. Two more beers and an hour later he was still asking that same question. He reminded himself his aunt had a ride home. Spotting her now halfway across the room, she seemed to be having the time of her life without his help. So what strange, masochistic impulse kept him in this place? It was too late to head down to Tiger Stadium. But that wasn’t it. For some unknown reason he wanted to see this through to the end.

After awhile he lost track of the newly weds and just went with the flow. Unattached males were in a minority so he found himself on the dance floor often, doing his basic clutch-and-shuffle, more than once with the tipsy blond bridesmaid who propped her Dolly Parton’s on his chest for balance.

About eleven Jake sat one out, idly wondering where Dolly had gone but not really caring. He glanced around and spotted Catherine gliding gracefully across the dance floor, sans hubby. The temptation was stronger than ever to ask her for a dance. Why not? Every other guy in the room had had a whirl. Instead Jake slouched in his chair. He didn’t trust himself. If he ever got her in his arms he’d tell her what a colossal mistake she was making—probably not what a bride wanted to hear on her wedding night. He continued to watch, unable to take his eyes off her as she approached the bandstand. The minister slowed her progress, but only momentarily. She snatched the paper he held in his hand, then moved purposefully to the microphone.

Slowly Catherine turned, the rosy glow in her cheeks all but gone. She motioned for the band to stop playing. “I want to thank you for coming.” She paused and sucked in air. “You’re all welcome to stay and enjoy yourselves for as long as you like…but I’m leaving.”

As the crowd quieted, the nervous bride seemed to be stretching herself taller, mustering courage. Jake straightened in his chair, sensing something had run amok.

Then it hit him.

She’d said I’m leaving, not we’re. Where was Studly? Quickly Jake scanned the room while the bride continued.

“If you brought a gift tonight, please take it home with you.” There was a collective intake of air from the hushed crowd. Jake abandoned his search and stared at Catherine incredulously. Seeming determined to finish what she had started, she rushed on. “Those who sent something to the house, I’ll see that your gifts are returned.”

Jake followed her nervous glance to the table at the edge of the dance floor. Catherine’s mother was clinging to her husband’s arm like a lifeline and the older woman with a corsage sitting next to her began to weep.

The bride averted her gaze from her loved ones to an anonymous spot on the opposite wall. “The reason I’m leaving is that my husband—” she spat out the word “—of three hours and twenty minutes—” she made a dramatic show of consulting her watch “—is out in the parking lot with one of my bridesmaids…starting the honeymoon without me.” On that note, with back straight and head high, she crumpled the paper in her hand and made for the nearest exit.

The door no sooner closed behind the bride when pandemonium reached ten on the Richter scale. While some openly cried and others expressed anger or shock, it was all Jake could do not to jump up and shout, “Bravo!”

It might have taken her awhile, but Catherine had finally discovered what he’d known from the first. The groom was a jerk. She deserved better.

A little voice inside added Yeah, someone better—like yourself. He drowned the nasty thought with a last swallow of beer and stood. He found Aunt Helen a few tables away, wide-eyed and excited, huddled with her ride home. Her hands were moving as fast as her lips and neither stopped when Jake approached. He bussed her cheek, then pushed his way through the confusion, feeling an urgency he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know what he was going to do or say but he had to find Catherine before anyone else did— this perfect and innocent creature—help her through this embarrassing ordeal, make her see the Fates had actually smiled on her.

It wasn’t hard to spot all that white in the middle of the clear, dark night. She was pivoting wildly between two rows of parked cars, fists clenched. He expected to see flames shooting from her nostrils any second. He approached cautiously, wondering if she was looking for hubby, though he hadn’t noticed any rocking vehicles, nor arms or legs protruding from unusual places. Then he understood the problem.

Where would a bride put car keys in a getup like that?

His role clearer now, he closed the space between them quickly, moving within a yard of her back before speaking. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

She spun around. “Who the hell are you?”

The sweet, innocent part of his fantasy launched itself to Pluto. This was clearly a woman capable of taking care of herself. Not to be deterred he held out his hand.

“Jake…Jake Alley.” His hand hung out there. Naked. Exposed. She stared at it but didn’t touch it. If she had he was certain it would blister. Slowly he slipped it into his pocket and tried to appear nonchalant. “I just thought under the circumstances you might need a lift.” She was still breathing rapidly. “Unless, of course, you have keys—” she seemed to waiver for a moment “—or you want to go back inside and find some.”