Blind-Date Bride

“It’s not luck. It’s called skill.” Marcus hopped after the ball and tossed it into the court. The echoing ruckus from the other one-on-one games bounced around the cavernous downtown gym.

Max caught the ball, enjoying their good-natured banter. Hanging out with his bro was number one on his list of favorite activities. “It’s called false hope, because I’m going to make the next three baskets. Watch and learn.”

“Pathetic.” Marcus’s basketball shoes squeaked on the varnished floor as he tried blocking.

The kid was good, which was one reason why Max had given notice, packed his possessions and moved him from California to Montana. Not an easy transition for a man born and bred in the heart of the city, but worth it. He shot, he scored, and it was his turn to pump his fist. “You’re only ahead by one basket, hot shot.”

“I’m not worried.” He dribbled the ball like a pro, loping with his long stride toward the basket.

“You’d better be worried.” Max blocked, stealing the ball and dropping it through the net. “Who’s the king now?”

“The game’s not over, bro.” The kid grabbed the ball, dribbling, setting up a nice layup and the shrill note of a whistle cut through the boy’s concentration.

“Time to pack it up for the night,” the pastor, who oversaw the youth program, called above the noise. While groans and protests rang out, the gym full of teens stopped their games and began tossing their basketballs into the cans near the back door.

“Saved by the whistle.” Max tapped the ball, knocked it out of the kid’s grip and gave it a toss. It sailed into the end basket, neatly missing everyone, and into the bin. “Another two points for me.”

“Sad. I feel sorry for you. The only way you can beat me is to cheat.” Marcus winked, although he shook his head, feigning sympathy. “It only proves it. You’re washed up. Obsolete. It’s a wonder the police department doesn’t retire you. Can’t even beat a kid at basketball.”

“I’m pathetic, I know, but next week, watch out.” The kid was good. And if things kept going as they were, he would graduate high school at the top of his class with a college scholarship in hand. They walked to the bleachers, keeping the conversation up as they pulled sweatpants over their workout clothes. Zipping up jackets, they headed out the door into the surprisingly cold evening.

“Loser buys the pizza, so it’ll be your turn to treat. Again.” Marcus held out his hand to check the falling chunks of precipitation, for it was amazingly white. “Is that snow? Man, I can’t believe this place. I miss L.A.”

“Tell it to the weatherman.” Personally, he didn’t care if it snowed all year long. All that mattered was that Marcus was in a good environment, doing well in school and keeping his nose clean. He beeped the remote and his truck’s door locks snapped open.

“Hand over the keys, bro.” The kid’s palm shot out. “I won. I get to drive.”

“You played a good game, Marcus.” Max hadn’t grown up in a touchy-feely home but he handed over the keys, sure the boy would understand that the gesture was meant to be affectionate. “Don’t you chip my paint job, you hear?”

“Sweet.” Ignoring the warning, the kid loped toward the driver’s side. “I wish I had a rig.”

“That money in your account at the bank is for college. Not a truck. End of story.”

“Yeah, I know. I get it.”

Hiding a grin, Max hopped into the passenger seat and buckled in. He was glad he’d come with his brother tonight. Being busy kept his mind off of certain subjects—work and, more troubling, Brianna McKaslin. Ever since he’d stayed up most of the night after reading that newspaper article, she’d taken up residence in his head. Days had passed, and he couldn’t explain why. She didn’t belong there.

That didn’t stop him from remembering how she’d looked in the bakery. His first sight of her had been a mix of “wow” and “oh no.” She was too naive, too young, too perfect, too sweet for him. Her voice had been low and musical, a quiet melody that he wanted to hear again. He wasn’t a complicated man, and he knew what he felt was interest. She had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

“Hey, bro. Are you paying attention?” Marcus called out, sounding amused.

Max shook his head. “Sorry, I was off thinking.”

“For about four whole minutes.”

That was the truth. He glanced around, realizing they were already out of the snowy parking lot and on one of the main roads, where the traffic kept the streets wet, with only a slight layer of white up the center of the lanes.

“Look at that poor person.” Marcus nodded once, gesturing toward the upcoming block where a bike’s reflective taillight flashed amid the stubbornly falling snow. “Someone really needs a car. That can’t be pleasant. It’s freezing out there.”

“Freezing,” Max agreed, staring at the biker.

It was too dark to recognize anyone, much less from behind. The rider was diminutive, slender of shoulders and of frame, but it was hard to see much more than that. He spotted light reflected off the helmet, but that’s all the information he could gather. He moved in his seat and gave the shoulder harness a tug. It felt suddenly tight against his chest. Why did his heart stop beating? Why was he struggling for air? The last time he’d gotten the identical feeling, it had been watching Brianna McKaslin walk away from him.

Better planning, Bree told herself as she stopped for the red light. That’s all it would have taken, but oh no, she had been sure she could make the twenty-minute bike ride from the library on campus to the bookstore. She should have foreseen disaster. Planned for delays. For getting caught behind the bus. And snow, she added when a white flake caught on her eyelash.

Only six more blocks. She hated the shadows that seemed to hide all kinds of danger. She wished her nerve endings would stop popping and her pulse would stop thudding in her ears with the decibel level of a marching band. Cars swished by in the opposing lanes, headlights glaring as they swung to make left-hand turns. She shivered, vulnerable on her bike.

You’re fine, Bree. Everything’s fine. The road is well lit. You’re going to be okay. Doom is not right around the corner. She glanced to her left and right, wanting to be aware of her environment. A pair of students, with backpacks slung over their shoulders, walked along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Light spilled from the streetlight above, and the parking lot paralleling the road was busy with people. Students piled out of cars or carried pizza in boxes back to their vehicles, and shoppers walked along the specialty shops browsing.

No reason to panic. She shook snow off her bike helmet, wiped her eyes with her sleeve and focused on the light overhead. Okay, it could turn any time now. Once she was moving, she would feel less vulnerable.

A big white truck pulled up in the lane beside her. No big deal. Except for the fact that the passenger window began to roll down. Great. It was going to be all right, even if she didn’t recognize the truck.

Wait. Or did she? There was something at the back of her mind, a memory just out of reach. Recognition bolted through her like lightning. Max. It looked like his truck. And, the man shadowed in the interior of the truck looked remarkably like him, too.

“What are you doing out here in this?” Max Decker hung out the window, clearly undaunted by the cold and the pummeling snow.

It wasn’t relief that zipped through her like a funnel cloud. No, it was something much more troubling. “Hey, detective. I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“Haven’t been on a blind date lately.” His lopsided grin could have been a movie star’s. “What are you doing out in this weather?” he repeated.

“My stolen car hasn’t turned up yet.” She couldn’t help feeling like a doofus. Hel-lo? Max had a lot going for him—and she so didn’t, the proof being she was on her old ten-speed. “I didn’t go for the rental-car part of the policy, so here I am, biking it.”

“Can we give you a lift? This is Marcus, my little brother. Half brother, really, but I’m stuck with him the same as if he was the real thing.” He winked, obviously joking. The teenager behind the wheel gave a “Hey!” in good-natured protest.

So, a new piece of the puzzle that was Max Decker. Interesting. Brianna swiped another snowflake from her eye and noticed the light had changed. Green glowed in the falling snow as she waved off his offer. No cars had pulled in behind them so she had time to answer. “Thanks, but I only have six blocks to go.”

“Six blocks, huh?” He glanced down the street, thoughtful and unruffled. “Six block up, there’s another shopping mall. You can’t live there.”

“No, but my sister works there. My half sister, since we’re being specific.” She couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Was she flirting with him?

Most of all, was he flirting with her?

No, he couldn’t be. No way. She gripped both handlebars securely, both ready to kick off and unable to move.

“It’s snowing harder.” His tranquil observation forced her to notice the pummeling flakes now falling as if they were hail. Tap, tap, tap on the street, obscuring the road ahead. Thump, thump, thump on her helmet. His door swung open and he hopped to the ground. “Looks like the weather’s getting serious. Stow your bike in the back. Go on, get up in there.”

“But, it’s only six blocks.”

“Just do it.” His order was softened by something in his voice. Concern. Caring. Interest?

No, that was just her hopes talking. “It’s my policy not to take orders from domineering men.”

“Every policy has got to be broken some time.” He planted one capable hand in the middle of the handlebars, holding the contraption steady. “Go on, climb in. It’s warm in the truck. Shelter from the storm.”

Yeah, she knew all about that. The intense blue glint in his eyes and the tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth and his commanding presence made her weak. Too weak. She had an independent streak a mile wide, but it shrank to nothing as she swung off the bike.

“Marcus, turn on the hazards, would ya?” He lifted it easily, hauled it after them and opened the door for her. “And amp up the defroster.”