Doctors in the Wedding

Somewhat high-strung at the best of times, BiBi was a bundle of nerves and determination as the wedding she’d been planning for more than a year drew closer. Madison had already heard of a few tense moments between the bride and her wedding planner, the caterer, a couple of hotel employees and even BiBi’s long-suffering parents. As fond as Madison was of her friend, she was well aware that it would be a good idea to walk on eggshells that weekend, just to keep everything calm and comfortable.

“Well?” she asked, tucking her lip gloss into a hidden zippered pocket on her wide purple-waist sash, along with the key card to her room. “Ready to go show off how good we look?”

Corinna giggled and whirled away from the mirror, her chin lifted in determination. “Definitely.”

BiBi led the charge out of the suite, leaving Madison to close the door behind them.

The minute the friends stepped into the noisy, unconventionally decorated hotel ballroom, they were swept into a welcoming crowd of costumed revelers. BiBi hadn’t exaggerated about how many guests would be in attendance tonight. The room was packed, leaving only a smallish opening for a dance floor at one end near the DJ’s setup. BiBi and her bridesmaids were only a few minutes late arriving, but the festivities were already well under way. The music was loud, the booze free-flowing, the food plentiful and everyone seemed in the mood to have a great time. BiBi and Corinna were immediately absorbed into the crowd of their friends.

Someone pressed a mixed drink into Madison’s hand and she sipped it while surveying the creative mix of costumes in the room—at least, the ones she could see clearly. Some genius had decided that very dim lighting equaled Halloween atmosphere. Colored lights flickered around the dance area, which was still almost empty this early in the evening. The booming music required close proximity for individual conversations, blending into a cacophony of chatter and laughter.

Science fiction seemed to be the predominant theme of the evening. Na’vi, Vulcans, Jedi and assorted other recognizable sci-fi icons mingled among the more generic witches, vampires and pirates in the shadowy room. A very pregnant warrior princess waddled past, nodding to her with a smile. Hannah saw a group of friends and rushed off to speak to them, leaving Madison to fend for herself. Eyeing a nearby Borg flirting with a very busty Klingon woman, Madison chuckled as she lowered her glass after taking another swallow of the deceptively innocent-tasting brew.

“My parents would be right at home here,” she remarked to no one in particular.

“Seriously? Your parents would like this party?”

Surprised that anyone had even heard her amid the commotion, she turned in response to the male voice. A tall, lean man in a leather jacket, boots, khaki shirt and pants stood just behind her. A coiled whip dangled from his leather belt. His face was shadowed by a battered fedora, but she certainly recognized the costume. “Indiana Jones, I presume?”

Reaching up to nudge his hat with his thumb, he drawled, “At your service, ma’am.”

Oh, my. Turned out there was a very nice face hidden beneath the brim of that dashing fedora. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, white teeth, just a hint of a dint in a strong, square jaw. Yum.

Remembering that he had asked her a question, she silently cleared her throat before explaining, “My parents met at a sci-fi convention in the ‘70s. My late father was an avid Trekkie, and mom still likes science fiction.”

He chuckled, and she took another quick sip of her drink. He was even more attractive when he smiled. She couldn’t help noticing that the right side of his mouth tilted into a hint of a dimple just at the corner of his lips.

“And what about your costume?” He lowered his dark gaze from her face to study her revealing outfit. “Are you portraying a particular character?”

She felt a funny little quiver follow the path of his survey all the way down to her exposed leg. Taking another sip of her drink, she shook her head. “Just a generic gypsy fortune-teller.”

“You’re much too stunning to be described as generic,” he commented, his deep tone intensifying her quiver to a full-blown tingle.

“Thank you. You look quite dashing, yourself.” She took another long swallow of the drink, looking up at him through her heavily darkened lashes.

“That drink looks good.”

She lowered the now-empty glass. “It was. Very good.”

“There are some tempting snacks on those tables across the room. Would you like to join me on a food raid, Esmeralda?”

Amused by his wording, she lifted an eyebrow. “Esmeralda?”

With a chuckle, he shrugged. “Sounds like a gypsy fortune-teller name to me.”

She hesitated only a moment before setting her glass on a tray and tucked a hand beneath the arm he offered with a flourish. “I’d be delighted to accompany you on a food raid, Dr. Jones.”

“Maybe after we eat, you can read my fortune in the champagne glass.”

A little giggle escaped her. “That’s tea leaves. I don’t think they’re serving tea tonight.”

“Then you can read my palm.”

She rather liked the image of cradling his hand in hers. “Maybe I will.”

His arm flexed a little beneath her fingers, and she felt the strength there. Obviously this man stayed in very good physical condition. He carried himself with an athlete’s grace befitting his choice of costume.

She supposed they should get around to introducing themselves eventually. But at the moment, it was so much fun pretending he was a globe-trotting archeologist and she a mysterious gypsy. Threading their way through the milling partygoers, they approached the tables. He nodded familiarly to several of the people they passed, a few of whom did visible double takes upon recognizing him. Either they hadn’t expected to see him there, or this was not the costume they would have predicted from him.

“Dude. Looking sharp,” someone said, tipping her off that the latter guess was likely correct.

“So, Jones—see anything that looks good?” she asked, studying the almost-dizzying array of sweets and treats on the snacks tables.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He wasn’t looking at the food.

She savored the little ripple of sensual awareness that coursed down her spine in response to his tilted smile. It had definitely been too long since she’d spent an evening flirting with a charming stranger.

A colorful selection of more mixed drinks was displayed nearby. She plucked a tall, thin glass from the table and tasted the clear liquid appreciatively. “Mmm. Good. You should try this.”

He reached out to take the drink from her, holding her gaze with his when he lifted the glass to sip from exactly where her lips had just touched. “You’re right. That is good.”

The ripple of awareness turned into a tsunami. She snatched the glass back from him. He reached for a drink of his own. Their backs to the rest of the party, they stood close together while they filled their snack plates. It was necessary to stand that close, just so they could hear each other over the music.

Right.

She laughed when he slipped a pecan tart onto her already-full plate. “No more,” she insisted. “I can’t eat all of this.”

He eyed his own equally full plate with satisfaction. “I’m going to make a valiant effort.”

Turning away from the table, which was becoming crowded as other guests followed their example in helping themselves to the food, he peered into shadowy corners where seating had been arranged. “Where shall we take these?”

He was making the assumption that she would be eating with him. Fair enough. “Wherever we can find an empty space, I suppose. Not too close to the speakers, though. That music is really loud.”

“Werewolves of London” was the current selection, and every wailed “aaahoo” made her eardrums vibrate. She wished someone would turn down the volume a bit. And then she winced, deciding she was sounding old and stodgy again. She renewed her earlier vow to abandon herself to the party tonight. Starting with sharing decadent snacks with a handsome adventurer.

If he found her comment off-putting, he didn’t let it show, to her relief. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Happily, she thought, staying close behind him as he wound his way through the costumed revelers. She didn’t even hesitate when he slipped through a set of French doors that led out to a cobblestoned courtyard.

Beautifully landscaped and discreetly lighted, the courtyard was small and quiet, fenced with wrought-iron. There were no tables, but several iron benches lined the sides. A pretty little fountain in the center of the circular garden added the soothing sound of splashing water to the tableau.

Madison was a little surprised that they were the only ones outside on this nice autumn evening. October had been accompanied by very warm temperatures in Dallas this year, and while the air had cooled with sunset, she was comfortable even in her off-the-shoulder blouse. She supposed it was still early enough in the party that the others weren’t yet ready to escape; or maybe no one had yet spotted the doors hidden among the over-the-top decorations.

Her companion nodded in satisfaction. “We can eat in peace here, if you don’t mind balancing your plate on your knees.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“Maybe you can tell my fortune while we eat?”