Bridesmaid Says, ''I Do!''

Why the hell hadn’t he introduced himself to Zoe Weston as soon as he stepped up to help her? If he’d known who she was, he could have avoided those telling moments—those shocking spellbinding seconds when he’d felt drawn to her, as if a bizarre spell had been cast over him.

Chances were, he’d never have noticed her inexplicable appeal, that special something in her eyes, and in the sheen of her hair or the tilt of her smile—a quality that rocked his easy-going nature to its very foundations.

How crazy was that? He’d exchanged nothing more than a few glances with her.

Kent knew it was nothing more than an illusion. A mistake. It was more than likely that every man experienced a similar difficulty in his pre-wedding weeks. Commitment to one girl didn’t automatically stop a guy from noticing other girls. Learning to ignore their appeal was part of the adjustment to being engaged or married.

In Kent’s case, his commitment was binding on all kinds of levels, and there was no going back. No regrets. He was a man of his word.

Besides, if he was rational about this, there wasn’t even anything particularly special about Zoe Weston. Her brown hair and blue eyes and slim build were nice enough, but her looks were average. Surely?

The imagined attraction was merely a blip, and now he could put it behind him.

That settled, Kent took a deep, reassuring draft of beer, pleased to realise he’d been overreacting.

It wasn’t as easy as Zoe had hoped to relax while sitting beside Kent on his veranda. She found herself crossing and uncrossing her legs, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass, or sneaking sideways glances at her host’s stare-worthy profile. Hardly the behaviour of a perfect bridesmaid.

Desperate to stop this nonsense, she jumped to her feet and leaned on the veranda railing, looking out at the parklike sweep of gardens that stretched to a timber fence, and fields of golden crops and grazing animals.

Concentrate on the wedding—not the groom.

Casually, she asked, ‘Are you planning a garden wedding, Kent?’

He looked surprised, as if the question had caught him out, but he responded readily enough. ‘An outdoor ceremony would be great and the weather forecast is promising. What do you think?’

Rising from his chair, he joined her at the veranda’s edge, and once again Zoe was struggling to ignore his proximity. Now there was the tantalising whiff of his cologne to deal with as well.

She concentrated on the lawns and banks of shrubbery. ‘A garden wedding would be perfect. Would you hire a caterer?’

‘That’s one of the things we need to discuss this weekend. But Bella’s a bit … distracted.’

‘Yes, her dad’s health is a big worry for her.’

Kent nodded, then let out a heavy sigh.

‘You’re worried, too,’ Zoe said, seeing the sudden tension in his face.

‘I have to be careful what I say around Bella, but I’m angry with her dad.’ Kent sighed again. ‘Don’t get me wrong. Tom Shaw’s a wonderful guy. In many ways he’s been my hero. But his wife died eighteen months ago and he dropped his bundle. He started drinking heavily, and now he has the beginnings of heart failure.’

‘From drinking?’

‘From drinking and generally not looking after himself.’ Kent’s hand fisted against the railing. ‘Bella’s beside herself, of course.’

‘I hadn’t realised his health was so bad,’ Zoe said with concern. ‘Poor Bell.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Kent spoke quietly, but with unmistakable determination. ‘I’ll look after her. And I’m damned if I’ll let Tom kill himself.’

Wow, Zoe thought. Kent had sounded so—so noble; he really was Bella’s knight in shining armour.

And clearly he was happy in that role. He was turning to Zoe now with a smile. ‘Bella said you’re going to be a great help with the wedding.’

‘I—I’m certainly happy to do all I can to help.’

‘She claims you’re a fabulous organiser and list-maker.’

‘I suppose I can be. I’ve never organised a wedding, but I quite like planning our office Christmas party. A smallish wedding won’t be too different.’ To Zoe’s dismay, her cheeks had grown very hot. She shot a quick glance out to the expanse of lawn. ‘I imagine you’d need to hire tables and chairs.’

‘Yes, definitely.’

‘And table cloths, crockery, glassware et cetera.’

‘I dare say.’ Kent flashed a gorgeous crooked smile. ‘If you keep talking like that you’ll land yourself a job, Zoe.’

And if he kept smiling at her like that she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS late on Sunday night before the girls arrived back in Brisbane. As Zoe drove they discussed practical matters—the style of wedding gowns and invitations, and the things they needed to hire for the garden reception. They were both tired, however, and, to Zoe’s relief, they spent much of the journey in reflective silence.

She dropped Bella off at her flat in Red Hill, declining her invitation to come in for a drink with the excuse that they both had another Monday morning to face in less than ten hours.

‘Thanks for spending the weekend with me,’ Bella said as she kissed Zoe’s cheek. ‘And thanks for offering to help Kent with organising the reception. Well, you didn’t actually offer, but thanks for agreeing when I pleaded. We all know I can’t organise my way out of a paper bag.’

‘That’s OK,’ Zoe responded glibly, hoping that she sounded much calmer than she felt about ongoing communication with Bella’s fiancé—even if it was only via email or telephone.

‘And thanks for taking your car, Zoe. So much better than bumping along in the old bus.’

‘My pleasure.’ However, Zoe couldn’t possibly share Bella’s opinion on this matter. If she hadn’t taken her car, she wouldn’t have had a flat tyre and she wouldn’t have had a private meeting with Kent. And her weekend would have been a darned sight easier.

‘Thanks for inviting me, Bell. It was—wonderful. You’re going to have the most gorgeous wedding ever.’

‘I know. I’m so lucky.’ Bella’s green eyes took on a wistful shimmer. ‘You do like Kent, don’t you?’

Zoe’s heart took a dive, but she forced a bright smile. ‘Of course. What’s not to like? He’s lovely. Perfect husband material. You should have snapped him up years ago.’

Bella smiled, looking genuinely happy now, as if she’d needed this reassurance. Then she grabbed the straps of her overnight bag, slammed the door and called, ‘See you in the morning.’

Zoe watched as Bella hurried up her front steps, pale hair shining in the glow cast by a streetlight, then she drove on, feeling the last of her strength ebb away.

All weekend she’d held herself together—remaining upbeat and excited for Bella’s sake, while keeping a lid on her own private turmoil. Dropping any interest in Kent had proved much harder than she’d expected, and now the ordeal was over she was totally drained. She just wanted to crawl into her own little space and let go.

Finally, she reached her flat in Newmarket, let herself into the kitchen, dumped her bag in the corner.

She loved her little home. For the first time in her life she had a proper place to call home that had four walls instead of four wheels.

First she checked her goldfish—Brian, Ezekiel and Orange Juice. They’d survived beautifully without her. Then she dashed out onto her balcony to make sure her pot plants were still alive.

Zoe had always kept pot plants, even when they were in the bus. Her mum said she’d inherited Granny Weston’s green thumb, and Zoe saw it as a sign that she was meant to have her own plot of land.