Two Weddings And A Bride

Startled, Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She looked into his mocking brown eyes, then quickly away. “I was just looking at what you were wearing. I knew you changed clothes when you stopped by your place, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

“Don’t you mean you were out cold when I got back to the Jeep?”

She could feel his stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I was catching a little catnap, that’s all,” she insisted, thinking she sounded a tad too defensive.

“Right.” The plane rolled to a stop and Jake stood into the aisle. He retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment, handing Catherine hers and positioning his duffel over one shoulder.

Catherine followed him down the portable steps, the hot wind billowing her pant legs, a length of hair blowing across her eyes. Before they reached the terminal she felt the moisture on her skin and the humidity curling the hair on her neck. They passed through immigration uneventfully and, having no baggage to claim, went directly to the row of shuttle buses.

The tags on their carryons identified their point of destination and a driver waved them in his direction.

“This is your lucky day,” he said in his lilting Jamaican patois as they boarded. “You are my only two passengers this morning…so we con go right away.” He settled into the driver’s seat, then looked back at them. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Miller, am I correct?”

Catherine didn’t want to see the expression on Jake’s face. She despised being called Mrs. Miller. Today of all days. She could imagine how Jake felt about being called Mr. Miller. “You have the right couple,” she said to the friendly driver, forcing a smile.

Satisfied, he started the van and made his way around haggard-looking travelers and a maze of buses and other vehicles until finally he pulled onto the narrow two-lane road heading west for Negril, their home for the next seven days.

And seven nights.

Nearly two hours later, when they inched their way around a last stray cow and turned into the circular driveway, the thought of sharing a room with this virtual stranger became more of a reality. Catherine eyed the entrance to their resort. A large flower-engulfed ceramic sign spelled out its name.

Decadence II.

What kind of place was called Decadence II? she thought as she stepped from the van. And what happened to Decadence I? She shook her legs and stretched, glad to be on solid ground again, though still reticent about her surroundings.

She’d let TJ make all the arrangements once they’d agreed on Jamaica. All she’d done was pick up the tickets. Now she wished she’d been less involved with her job and paid more attention to this trip. She paused under the large, open archway, then followed Jake inside.

They went through the business of registration, tolerating the “Mr. and Mrs. Miller” routine one more time, then wandered down the tropical, plant-lined path to their room. Catherine noticed scantily clad guests roaming the grounds and was instantly relieved. At least they were clothed. This wasn’t a nudist camp.

What started as a lark last night, felt more like a trip to the dentist chair by the time the porter deposited their bags inside the suite and left them alone, staring at the king-size bed. Her woozy stomach did another flip-flop. What on earth was she doing at a place like this with a man she barely knew? Maybe he really was Jake the Ripper. How did she know?

Catherine busied herself with her carryon, hoping to take her mind off the bed. It didn’t take long to unpack since she only had a swimsuit, sandals, one shorts set and toiletries. On the walk to the room she remembered passing a couple of boutiques. She debated whether now was a good time to go shopping. Truthfully she’d rather take a nap, but not with this man lurking around. Restless, she grabbed her shorts, went into the bathroom and locked the door.

When she emerged a few minutes later, hair pulled back and feeling cooler, she looked toward the open door wall. Jake was standing in the same spot, thumbs hooked in his back jeans pockets, studying the scenery. She decided to see what was so enthralling and moved beyond him, out onto the shaded patio.

A gentle breeze stirred coconut palms, the sound reminding her at once that she was truly on vacation. There was nothing as peaceful and soothing to a midwesterner, she thought, as the sights and sounds of palm trees. She let them work their magic, lifting her cheeks to the warm rays that peeked through overhead branches. Smiling, she gazed down the sprawling, sandy beach to the majestic Caribbean beyond. Colorful sails of vivid red, blue, orange and yellow tilted gently with the wind on the blue-green horizon. A few small whitecaps tumbled lazily toward shore and she could feel the tension starting to ebb with each new wave. Maybe she was being silly to worry. This Jake person seemed harmless enough.

Her vision narrowed as she watched a swimmer emerge from the water. His tanned, oil-slick body was young and firm and…naked. She gasped and turned away quickly, feeling a rush of heat on her face when she passed Jake. She ignored his devilish grin and went back inside, willing to bet anything he wouldn’t let the moment pass without some smart aleck remark. And she was right.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Never seen one of those before?”

She wanted to say “One of what?” but she knew exactly what he meant and wouldn’t dignify his question with an answer. Instead she turned and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun playing voyeur. I’m going shopping.” She grabbed a key off the dresser and left the room.

A nude beach. Just what she needed. If TJ were here, she’d ring his selfish neck. She adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse and headed for the Logo Shop, determined not to let it get to her. When it was time for the beach, she’d wear her bikini and ignore the exhibitionists, that’s all.

Jake watched Catherine stride down the path, her ponytail swinging behind her, and the uneasiness he felt last night returned. What was it about this woman that unnerved him so? He’d been with his share of beautiful women, so it wasn’t just her good looks. There was something more. That damnable little voice inside kept saying crazy things such as This is the one. Whose voice was that, anyway? Certainly not Jake Alley’s. He was far too cynical to believe in…in what? Love at first sight? He harrumphed and turned away from the door wall.

Why on earth was he here? What had possessed him to take off with a woman he didn’t even know? It wasn’t his job to protect her. Still, someone had to. She was bound and determined to come down here. After what she’d been through, he couldn’t let her take off to some faraway island by herself. Could he?

He pulled swim trunks out of his duffel and changed into them. It had been years since he’d had a real vacation and he’d certainly earned one, but the timing couldn’t be worse—what with Sally and her pin-striped lawyer leaning on him.

No, damn it. He wouldn’t let those vultures ruin a few days in the sun. The problem would just have to wait.

He turned and left the room. A good swim in the ocean would cool him off, in more ways than one.

A towel slung over his shoulder, he trotted barefoot down to the hot sand and found an empty chaise. One quick look around and he made his decision. He peeled off his trunks, walked several yards beyond the breakers and then dived into the tepid salt water, taking several long pulls before coming to the surface for air.

An hour later, Catherine flung her packages across the bed and kicked her sandals off, looking anxiously around the two rooms. He was nowhere in sight. Good. She shed her shorts and tank top and darted for the shower.

She rinsed quickly, toweled dry and returned to the bedroom, impatient for the feel of cool sheets against her warm skin. She removed her purchases from the bed thinking she’d put them away later, when suddenly the door opened behind her.

She swung around and glared at the familiar figure. “Next time, knock first,” she snapped, tugging at her skimpy towel.

“Next time, dress in the bathroom.” Jake sauntered in, also wrapped in a towel, and headed for the adjacent room, smiling broadly as he passed. That’s when she noticed he held his swim trunks in his left hand. It only took a second to figure out what he’d been up to. She stared at the parlor door after it closed between them.

Who was this man? And what had she gotten herself into now?

From behind the door, he called out to her. “The bartender at the beach said orientation is poolside at six. I’m going to catch a few zees till then.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “You can let go of your towel now…I’ll knock before I come out.”

Catherine looked down at the towel and her clenched fist and wished she could punch him with it. He seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment way too much—first, her disastrous wedding, then a bout of vomiting, now her nakedness, save for this scrap of terry cloth. Not to mention her hair was a mess and not a stitch of makeup remained. She glanced in the bureau mirror and grimaced.

Wait a minute. Why did she care what she looked like? He was only Jake the wanna-be cowboy. Jake whom she would never see again once they returned to Detroit.

Yes, sir. When she got home, things were going to be different. No man, especially the likes of Jake Alley, was ever going to get between her and her goals.

She turned and frowned. What goals? Before Saturday night she thought she knew exactly where she was headedmarried to a successful lawyer with political aspirations. How often she’d pictured herself at his side, fashionable, friendly and a dynamo at fund-raising. With TJ’s intelligence and charisma and her genuine interest in people and their plights, his rise could have been meteoric. Her shoulders sagged. Now it all seemed frivolous. Even her job. Buying trips to Paris, London and New York may have sounded glamorous and looked good on her resume, but in truth she hated it.

She eyed the connecting door, feeling frustrated and weary. Then she threw the towel to the floor, found a new knee-length T-shirt in one of the bags, pulled it over her head and jumped between the sheets. A little sleep and she’d feel much better. Then she’d start working on a plan for the future—one where her dreams and needs came first, not one where she was merely a fixture on some man’s arm.

But as much as her body was ready for rest, her mind wasn’t. Her lids were no sooner shut than she remembered TJ smiling down at her at the altar. TJ mouthing his lies of till death do us part. TJ with Mary Beth in the back seat of his Lincoln. How could he do such a thing? If he wasn’t ready to settle down, why did he go through with the wedding? And Mary Beth. They weren’t the closest of friends but they did work together well. She had seemed so eager to help when Catherine’s cousin became pregnant and bowed out of the bridal party. If there hadn’t been a substitution, would any of this have happened?

A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. TJ wasn’t worth her tears. Besides, who was she kidding? If it hadn’t happened last night, it would have later—maybe after children. She couldn’t wait to talk with her father and find out if she was really married to the jerk. She rolled over and punched the pillow and tried thinking of something else. Anything.

The first thing that came to mind was Alley Cat and a small chuckle released the tension in her throat. She thought of Sarge. Such a nice man. And Charlie…two-stepping, laughing. Had she actually had a good time at a place like that?

Then there was Jake. She felt her limbs start to mold to the mattress as she hummed a nameless country ballad. She was nestled against his chest, feeling light…and safe. .and cared for…

Jake woke with a start not certain where he was. Through a slit in the drapes a palm branch swayed. Then he remembered. He lay there a moment and thought about the impulsive decision he’d made at the restaurant this morning. Yesterday at this time he didn’t even know this woman named Catherine…Catherine…

He laughed aloud at his own folly. He didn’t even know her last name. If it wasn’t Miller, then what was it?

He threw his legs over the side of the hide-a-bed and arched his back. A week of this mattress and he’d be crawling to the beach. He’d have to check with the front desk and see about a room of his own, one with a real bed. He’d better call Alley Cat, too, and let them know he’d be gone all week.

He pushed off the bed and strolled to the window, parting the heavily lined drapes and letting the late-afternoon sun spill into the room. Regardless of how he ended up here he was long overdue for a vacation. And this was as good a place as any. Probably better than most he might have chosen. If he was going to spend the week watching over Catherine what’s-her-name, the least he could do was relax and enjoy himself.

A schooner, anchored a few hundred yards out, caught his eye and he wished he was on it. Eager to get a closer look, he found his binoculars in the duffel, donned a pair of cutoffs and a Detroit Tigers tank top, then rapped softly on the connecting door. No answer. He put an ear to it and listened. Nothing. He knocked again louder. Finally, assuming she had gone out, he turned the handle and strode in.

Catherine was curled on her side, covers kicked to the foot of the bed, her long legs golden brown against the stark white sheet. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, giving her an innocent, vulnerable look, a face no less appealing than the model-perfect one he’d first seen coming down the aisle. In fact, he thought he liked this one better. He was studying her long black lashes when they fluttered, then opened to the size of quarters. She sprang up, her shirt riding higher on her thighs. Jake couldn’t help but look.