Blind-Date Bride

“I get it. You’re a guy who doesn’t believe in commitment, right?”

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re leaping fast to all the wrong conclusions about me.”

“Am I?” She folded a stray strand of light blond hair behind her ear. She had an elegant way of moving, and he liked the combination of casual elegance and nice, hometown girl. Not that he believed in appearances, not with his job. As a detective, he had learned the hard way that no one is what they seemed to be. But he liked thinking it was possible to find a truly sweet woman who was as nice and as guileless as her smile. Not that he believed it.

“I’m one of the good guys. Or I try to be.” That was the truth. He tried as hard as he knew how to walk that narrow straight line. Not easy in this world. “Anyway, I’m with my buddy, his wife and her best friend and I’m on my best behavior. Trying to be suave, you know, impress the lady.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope. Talking and walking was beyond me that day. I ran into a garbage can, a utility pole, miscalculated in the crowd and stepped on the back of my date’s shoe, pitching her forward into the sheep tent.”

“Was she okay? How did the sheep handle it?”

“I didn’t know something harmless and innocent could ram a gate so hard. I got her out of the way just in time, but she had sprained her ankle and cut her hand.” He shook his head. Why was he admitting this? “See, we all have bad dates. But I recovered.”

“Oh, so she forgave you and went on a second date?”

“No, no second dates yet, but I keep hoping.”

“You told me a story to make me feel better, didn’t you? That didn’t really happen. I can’t see it.” Her gaze raked over him, as if she were sizing him up and making her own judgments on his character. “I’m sure women fall at your feet.”

“Only unless I trip them accidentally.” He rolled his eyes. “To be fair, I haven’t done that before or since, but I use it as a yardstick to measure my long string of date failures against. No matter how bad things are, it’s nowhere near as bad as that date turned out.”

“Turned out? You mean there’s more to the story?” She leaned forward expectantly.

Call him a fool, but he couldn’t resist making her smile a little more. She was striking, not just beautiful, and totally wholesome. Maybe it was the soft pink sweater she wore. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she looked like a storybook princess. Not that he was searching for that, but a guy liked to believe somewhere there was goodness in the world, that someone somewhere was good through and through.

He felt like a fool, but he went on with the tale. What was his dignity next to seeing the hint of sadness gone from her face? “The final straw was when I slipped down two bleacher steps when we stopped to watch the roping competition. She suddenly remembered an appointment and ran in terror.”

“From the looks of you, I never would have suspected you were such a scary dude.”

“Frightening.” He felt comfortable with her, right off. That was something he never felt around a woman. Maybe because he wasn’t actually dating her.

Then it hit him. He knew what had been bugging him about her. He’d seen her before. The snapshot flashed into his head. He saw the image of her face but without the smile and the warmth of laughter in her eyes. Her hair had been shorter then, hanging straight and lifeless, thoroughly wet from the rain. Brianna had been a crime victim. He’d worked on part of the case last summer.

The door opened on a gust of cool air and the chime above jangled, cutting through his thoughts. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, as if someone was looking him over. In walked a tall, well-tailored woman. Her thin leather briefcase was tucked beneath her arm and her designer suit skirt swirled tastefully around her slender calves.

She crooked one penciled eyebrow in silent question.

If this lady was Alice, then Dobbs had gotten it wrong again. Best go deal with this. “I guess I had better go see if that’s my date.”

“Sure, you don’t want someone like that getting away.”

With a wink, he rose from the chair, taking his regrets with him. Only when he really knew to look for them did he see the shadows in Brianna’s eyes.

Her smile was genuine as she gave him a finger wave. “She’s pretty. She could be The One. Here’s hoping.”

Hope? He would need more than that. He was going to need Providence to see him through a piece of cake and a cup of decaf with the woman who should be right for any man, but he knew in his gut if that woman was Alice, she couldn’t be more wrong for him.

He gave Brianna a nod for goodbye and let his feet take him toward the woman waiting for him at the counter.

Chapter Two

“I’m sorry,” Brandilyn whispered as she paused on her way by, carrying a loaded tray. “I had hoped he was Billy.”

“Tall, dark and rugged isn’t my type.” Brianna put down her book, gathered up her empty plate, fork and tea things. She may as well clear her own table and save her twin a little bit of work.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Max. Apparently the woman wasn’t Alice, but he had ordered a beverage anyway and had retreated to the only empty table in the bakery, which happened to be in the far corner. Totally her luck. He had pulled a book out of his jacket pocket—not that she was watching or anything, but she couldn’t help noticing.

And so did the blond woman who was not Alice. She sat at a table alone, too, but across the aisle from Max. Not Alice kept making eye contact and smiling at him.

Of course, Bree didn’t blame the woman one bit. They made a handsome couple. His dark good looks and her golden ones. The woman was perfect. She had a delicate beauty and impeccable accessorizing skills. Her shoes, hose and purse matched her designer-label outfit. She was probably exactly what Max went for. Good for her.

“I thought that was exactly the kind of man you were looking for.” Her sister wasn’t easily fooled.

“Maybe I should leave the looking to God.”

“You’re right, but it’s hard to wait.”

Waiting was the story of her life. She said goodbye to her twin and slipped into her coat. It was March and while the day had been sunny, the dusk was approaching and with it the chilly night. She slung her pink plaid backpack over one shoulder, bussed her dishes and headed out. She kept her eyes on the door and then on the parking lot. She didn’t want to catch accidental sight of Max.

Ever since the robbery last summer when she’d very nearly lost her life, she’d had a hard time feeling anything. Sometimes it was as if her heart had simply turned off. Other times, she felt too much, like now.

Some days it was best to be numb. Her shoes tapped against the concrete sidewalk and the wind pressed like ice against her face and bare hands. She hated walking alone. It didn’t matter that the parking lot was well lit or in perfect view of the bakery. She fished her keys out of her coat pocket and held them ready. She tucked the mini can of pepper spray attached to her key ring in her palm. Probably totally unnecessary in this small city, but she felt better, stronger, as she tapped through the fading daylight.

See, she was safe. The deep-seated dread squeezing her was from the posttraumatic stress, that was all. She was fine. She stepped off the curb, and a car door slammed. The sound rattled through her like a gunshot. A guy emerged from between the cars wearing a Montana State University sweatshirt and a backpack. He walked toward her.

She swallowed hard. She was fine. Nothing was going to happen. Good thing the sun hadn’t gone all the way down. She was in full view of the bakery’s wide picture windows where all sorts of people could see her. She trembled, unable to shake the fear that had taken root in her bones.

Nothing bad is going to happen, she reminded herself, fighting for calm. The counselor had warned this would simply take time. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. She needed only to have the courage to face it. One day, the fear and the residual trauma would be gone.

That was the plan, anyway. She cut between a pickup and an SUV and froze at the empty parking spot. Where had her car gone? This was the correct place, right? She turned around, scanning the small lot, already knowing the truth in her gut. Someone had stolen her car. She shivered deep inside.

It’s just a car, she told herself. No one was hurt. She was safe.

Then why was adrenaline crackling through her? She trembled, fighting the pull of fear. The past was right there—the trauma she hadn’t completely dealt with—and she wasn’t going to let it pull her down. There wasn’t a gunman holding a semi-automatic to her temple. There wasn’t anyone critically hurt and crying out with terror echoing in her memory. She gave thanks that this wasn’t the same at all.

“Do you always hang out in parking lots?” a familiar baritone rumbled behind her.

She whipped around, relieved to see Max standing in the golden slant of light. He appeared trustworthy standing there with his hands on his hips, emphasizing the dependable line of his shoulders. He looked like someone she could trust. “I left my car here, but I guess it took off without me.”

“You mean someone stole it?”

“Incredibly. I can’t imagine anyone would want it.” While she was grateful for a working car, the fourteen-year-old Chevy had seen better days. “I know I locked it. I’m compulsive about that sort of thing.”

“Locks won’t stop a car thief.” Max pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “I’ll get a uniform over here to take your statement.”

“The police?” Brianna gulped in air, fighting to keep calm. They would come with their flashing lights and their badges. It would remind her of that night. She shivered.