Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Never Too Late for Love

Never Too Late for Love
Marie Ferrarella
LIKE MOTHERLIKE DAUGHTERARE YOU THE MOTHER OF THE BRIDE…Globe-trotting Margo McCloud had only come home for her daughter's wedding. But after meeting the groom's handsome, widowed father, Margo felt like a jittery bride herself. Bruce Reed's chivalry breathed freshness into her world-weary soul. And for one brief moment this single mom wondered if her daughter didn't know best about love.OR THE BRIDE?CEO Bruce Reed thought his life was full–until he met the flirtatious mother of the bride. Her sultry voice permeated his dreams, and soon he wanted her to be more than just his in-law. But could he convince stubborn Margo that it was never too late for love?LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTERWhere the bridal bouquet goes from daughter to mom!


“You’re just trying to distract me,” Margo teasingly complained. (#u2454bbfd-ff8a-51cd-b0da-349e3a30aef3)Letter to Reader (#u4d627758-f575-5790-a194-05f0f8c15d4d)Title Page (#ub908240b-0003-54f7-9898-2a99055d5d00)Dedication (#u5e7857d0-bc8c-5bc9-aaae-f62dd2c872a2)About the Author (#ua1541d5e-9f0a-5050-8730-7d4f71e837ad)Letter to Reader (#u9901439c-6125-5e24-a244-eb41e429444f)Chapter One (#ufff998ff-1ea5-5457-9f2b-ef238d1ce186)Chapter Two (#uec71bd23-6867-55a0-b62b-0c8c9d42ae9d)Chapter Three (#u770f07fe-6194-516e-a308-f37215e6c5c5)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You’re just trying to distract me,” Margo teasingly complained.
“Why not?” Bruce asked. “Turnaround is fair play and you certainly distract me. Lean forward,” he said, his eyes on hers.
She did as requested but asked, “Why?”
Ever so lightly he traced the outline of her lips with his index finger and succeeded in getting them both excited. He’d forgotten what it felt like, to feel this way around a woman.
His pulse accelerating to double time, he touched his mouth to hers. All it took was a touch, and he felt himself intoxicated. There was no doubt about it, she made his head spin. Not a good way to go if he had work to do.
Bruce drew his head back, fighting off the temptation to kiss her again. “You do make everything taste better.”
Dear Reader,
Happy Valentine’s Day! What better way to celebrate than with a Silhouette Romance novel? We’re sweeter than chocolate—and less damaging to the hips! This month is filled with special treats just for you. LOVING THE BOSS, our six-book series about office romances that lead to happily ever after, continues with The Night Before Baby by Karen Rose Smith. In this sparkling story, an unforgettable one-night stand—during the company Christmas patty!—leads to an unexpected pregnancy and a mustread marriage of convenience.
Teresa Southwick crafts an emotional BUNDLES OF JOY title, in which the forbidden man of her dreams becomes a pregnant woman’s stand-in groom. Don’t miss A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing. When a devil-may-care bachelor discovers he’s a daddy, he offers the prim heroine a chance to hold a Baby in Her Arms, as Judy Christenberry’s LUCKY CHARM SISTERS trilogy resumes.
Award-winning author Marie Ferrarella proves it’s Never Too Late for Love as the bride’s mother and the groom’s widower father discover their children’s wedding was just the beginning in this charming continuation of LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER. Beloved author Arlene James lends a traditional touch to Silhouette Romance’s ongoing HE’S MY HERO promotion with Mr. Right Next Door. And FAMILY MATTERS spotlights new talent Elyssa Henry with her heartwarming debt, A Family for the Sheriff.
Treat yourself to each and every offering this month. And in future months, look for more of the stories you love...and the authors you cherish.
Enjoy!


Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Never Too Late for Love
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Mama,
for teaching me,
by example,
to never give up.
MARIE FERRARELLA
lives in Southern California. She describes herself as the tired mother of two overenergetic children and the contented wife of one wonderful man. The RITA Award-winning author is thrilled to be following her dream of writing full-time.
Dear Reader,
I was very close to my mother, both when I was growing up and when I became an adult. There were times when she was the best friend I had in the world. I’m happy to say that the tradition continues. My daughter, Jessi, and I are very close, and this is something I really treasure. Despite some of the more vocal talk shows, I really believe that more mothers and daughters are close than not. Which is why I loved doing the two books that comprise LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER.
We’ve already done Melanie’s story, now it’s her mother Margo’s turn. A fiercely independent and extremely energetic woman, Margo has forged a path for herself and her daughter, believing that the one perfect love everyone dreams about only exists in the movies her aunt Elaine loved so well. And her new son-in-law’s dad, Bruce, believes he’s had his shot at the one perfect love and it’s now over. But it’s never over, is it? And it’s never too late to fall in love with that one special person who makes you feel as if you’re walking a couple of inches off the ground. This is what happens to Margo and Bruce despite themselves. They find love they never expected. If you haven’t yet, I hope you will, too.
Love,


Chapter One
Like a hot summer wind rolling across the desert in August, Margo McCloud burst through the doors of St. Michael’s Church in Bedford. The sound of the cab pulling away from the entrance faded into the background as she struggled to juggle a suitcase in one hand, a garment bag with her newly purchased gown in the other.
“Damn traffic,” she muttered under her breath, swallowing the more vehement sentiments occurring to her in deference to where she was. She hated arriving anywhere late, even if it wasn’t her fault. A big rig, suffering a blowout, had overturned on the freeway, transforming a forty-mile trip from the LA airport into a three-hour ordeal. On top of that, she was still suffering from jet lag. Her point of departure had been Athens, Greece.
This definitely wasn’t her finest moment, or her steadiest, especially when she collided with the six-foot-four-inch frame of a man who’d chosen that exact moment to stand on the other side of the door. The resulting impact would have sent her sprawling to the floor if, at the last moment, two very large, very capable arms hadn’t closed around Margo, catching her.
Focusing, Margo drew back some of the air that had just been knocked out of her.
The stranger raised his dark brown brows in amused surprise and smiled.
“Margo?”
It didn’t really surprise Margo that the man who had just collided with her knew her name, even though she didn’t have a clue who he was. She’d met a world of people in her time. She was bound to forget a few now and then.
Though, she amended as she straightened, slowly leaving the protective hold of the man’s arms, it wasn’t likely that she would have forgotten him very easily. The man was nothing short of gorgeous, in a warrior-hunter sort of way. If warrior-hunters were given to wearing tuxedos.
Where had he ever found one to accommodate such broad shoulders?
“Yes, I’m Margo.” And then a sliver of concern slipped through. Had she gotten her time confused on top of everything else? Distress crept into her voice. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”
Bruce Reed was immediately struck by the energy that swirled around the woman. Must run in the family. Looks certainly did. He could easily see the resemblance to her daughter. It was there, around the eyes and the mouth. And, of course, there was the hair color. Both women had hair the color of wheat in the bright morning sun. Melanie wore hers long, while this woman’s hair was done up, showing off a very delicate neck that contrasted quite nicely with her very strong chin.
The sign of a fighter, Bruce thought.
Mother and daughter, eh? He wondered if this was what his son was going to be up against in another fifteen years or so. At least the view was nice.
“No, you didn’t miss it,” he assured her.
With a nod of his head, Bruce indicated the double wooden doors leading to the inside of the church. The last time he’d looked, it was crammed full of people, including his very nervous son, all of whom were waiting on Margo’s arrival.
“Melanie insisted that they delay the wedding. She refuses to get married without you. I’m the lookout.” Aptly named, he decided, because the line, “Look out, here she comes,” occurred to him as soon as he set eyes on Melanie’s mother.
His eyes slid down the slender, athletic frame. There, too, the women resembled each other. Small-boned, well proportioned. He couldn’t help wondering if he was being out of step with the times, noticing that. Probably. He’d lost track of what was acceptable behavior and terminology between men and women these past fourteen years.
“This way, please.” He took her arm, relieving her of her suitcase. “Melanie’s quite a girl, um, I mean woman,” he corrected himself.
“She’s both,” Margo said, laughing softly. “Most of our species are.”
Since he didn’t know her, Bruce thought it safer not to comment. Instead, he led her to a side room where Melanie was waiting. Knocking once, he tried the doorknob. It gave easily.
The tiny room required the occupancy of only two people to be crowded, and it already had that. Three almost stretched it beyond the legal limit. To keep from being smothered by a combination of satin, lace and the press of three female bodies, Bruce Reed chose to stand outside the threshold.
He smiled broadly at the young woman he’d known for a very short time and had come to love like the daughter he’d never been blessed with.
“Melanie, I think I have something that belongs to you.”
“Mama!” Whirling around from the mirror, Melanie McCloud exhaled as dramatically as any of the overtrained actresses she’d watched while growing up on various movie soundstages. “I knew you’d make it.”
Though it wasn’t easy, she managed to throw her arms around her mother. The garment bag fell, landing on the edge of Melanie’s gown. Melanie wasn’t given to worrying, but as the last few hours had ticked away, she had begun to fear that her mother wouldn’t arrive in time for the wedding.
Margo blinked back what felt like a tear. Now? She hadn’t cried in years. Years. Now was a ridiculous time to begin. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Knowing there was little time, Margo still allowed herself a moment to absorb the embrace.
“Of course I made it. It’s not every day that my girl gets married.” Releasing Melanie, she stepped back to get a good look at her. When had she turned into this beautiful young woman, this little girl who had looked up at her with worshipful eyes? “I’d’ve come a lot sooner if someone had thought to either stop pumping people into Orange County or build enough roads to accommodate them.”
The rest of the diatribe on her lips evaporated as the sun suddenly shone full force through the bit of colored beveled glass that served as a tiny window. The rays of light seemed to form a spotlight, with Melanie as its target.
Margo’s breath was stolen away. “Oh, God, let me look at you.”
Her mother was finally here. Everything was perfect now, Melanie thought.
Pleased, she tried to hold out the wedding gown’s skirt for her mother’s perusal. It wasn’t easy. Joyce Freeman, her maid of honor, attempted to make her five-seven frame as small as possible as she pressed against the wall to give Melanie more room.
“It’s a beautiful dress, isn’t it?” The moment she’d seen it, Melanie had known she had to have it, had to wear it as she pledged her heart and her eternal love to Lance. That it fit like a dream was merely a bonus.
“The dress is pretty, you are beautiful,” the deep voice behind Margo corrected.
She’d almost forgotten about him, Margo thought, looking over her shoulder at her escort. “I think I’m going to like this man.” She drew her brows together as she realized that she hadn’t asked his name. She was slipping. “Who are you?”
Extending his hand to her, he shook it. Margo’s hand was swallowed up in his. For just the tiniest second, she had the overwhelming feeling of well-being. Had to be the occasion, she thought.
“I’m Bruce Reed,” he told her. When no immediate recognition surfaced in the flawless face before him, he added, “The groom’s father.”
“Oh.” Figured, the best ones were always taken. Nonetheless, she radiated a smile at him. “Nice to meet you.”
When Joyce caught Melanie’s eye and tapped her watch, butterflies were instantly back on the runway in takeoff position. “I hate to break this up,” Melanie said, drawing her mother around to face her, “but I’ve got a wedding waiting to start.” She glanced at the garment bag that was still on the floor. “Mama, are you going to change into something else, or are you just planning to take that garment bag with you to the pew?”
Margo laughed, brushing her lips against Melanie’s cheek. “Always had a smart mouth, didn’t you, pet?”
Melanie’s eyes crinkled in response. “Matches the rest of me.”
Lips pursed thoughtfully, Bruce shook his head. “I’d say it’s a little too crowded in here to change. Maybe you’d like to use the rest room?”
Margo waved away his suggestion, narrowly avoiding hitting Joyce. “Don’t worry about me. I can manage just fine anywhere.”
The limited space presented no challenge to her. There had been a time—a very short time, mercifully—right after Melanie had been born, when she’d shared a tiny Las Vegas dressing room with thirty other women. She’d learned how to change quickly, with a minimum of movement.
With a smile, Margo shut the door in his face and then turned around.
“If the groom looks anything like his father,” she said to Melanie, quickly stripping off her jacket and shirt, “you have found yourself one devil of a good-looking man, sweetheart. I compliment you on your taste.”
Melanie found it impossible to think of Lance without a wave of happiness rippling through her. “There’s a resemblance.”
Shedding her skirt in one fluid motion, Margo wiggled into her dress of soft, shimmering blue, chosen to bring out her eyes as well as the figure she was proud of. “How old is he, anyway?”
Glancing one last time in the mirror, Melanie adjusted the braided gold chain around her neck. A wedding present from Lance. “Lance is thirty.”
Margo deftly slipped into the pumps she’d packed in the bottom of the garment bag. “Not him, his father.” She turned her back to Joyce. “Joy, do the honors, will you?”
From her cramped position behind the full-length mirror, Joyce reached out and managed to zip Margo’s dress up for her. The whole incident, so typically Margo, made her smile. Joyce had grown up living next door to Melanie, her mother and her great-aunt, Elaine. There wasn’t a day during that time that she hadn’t envied her best friend. Bohemian, unorthodox Margo McCloud had seemed so vital, so dynamic, a box of endless surprises, while her own parents had seemed so mundane and humdrum in comparison.
The fondness had never abated, even after she had become a grown woman.
“Bruce?” Melanie asked in surprise. She paused, thinking. “I don’t know.”
Glancing in the mirror to make certain everything was in place, Margo retreated, satisfied with her appearance. “He looks more like an older brother than the father of a thirty-year-old man.”
Was that a glimmer of interest she saw in her mother’s eye? Probably, Melanie decided. There wasn’t a man alive Margo McCloud didn’t like for one reason or another. The feeling was always returned. Margo made it clear that she enjoyed men’s company, enjoyed getting to know them. Not a one of them ever left a relationship with her without becoming a lifelong friend.
She wondered if her mother was just being curious or if there was more to it. “His father was married at a very young age. He and Lance’s mother were very much in love. Nature took its course, and Lance’s imminent appearance kind of hurried along marriage plans.”
She could relate to that, Margo thought. Except that in her case, the result had most definitely not been marriage. Melanie’s father had performed his first and last magic trick by making himself disappear out of her life when he learned about her pending appearance.
His loss, Margo thought, looking at her daughter.
“Very romantic. A pity.” She stepped out of the room. “There, I’m ready.” She turned around quickly for Melanie’s inspection. “Fast enough for you?”
“Yes, thank you.” Melanie took her mother’s arm and started to walk toward the entrance. She saw Joyce signal someone inside. Music began being played in earnest. “What do you mean, it’s a pity?”
Margo shrugged carelessly. “That Bruce is married.”
Melanie stopped just shy of the double doors. “Oh, but he’s not. He’s a widower. His wife died in a plane crash years ago.”
That put a completely different light on the matter. So good-looking, and free, too. “Hmm.”
Melanie didn’t know whether to be pleased or ever so slightly concerned. “I know that look.” A well-timed warning might be in order. “I think Dad’s a wee bit too conservative for you.”
The word stopped Margo in her tracks. She stared at Melanie. “Dad?”
It was Melanie’s turn to shrug. She’d felt a little awkward about it in the beginning, although secretly it had pleased her.
“Bruce wants me to call him that. I’m trying it on for size.” She couldn’t help the smile that came. “I have to admit it’s nice having someone to call Dad.” She’d never had the opportunity to before. There was a time that had bothered her. Perhaps, in a small way, it still did, just a little.
A pang squeezed Margo’s heart. “I know it is, baby.” It hadn’t been easy for her daughter, Margo thought in sympathy, never having had a father to turn to. That had been her fault, though no one had been more surprised than she when Jack had walked out on her. Still she should have known that someone like Jack would never have wanted to be tied down, never have wanted to have a wife, much less a family.
She’d tried her best to make up for it. Maybe she hadn’t succeeded as well as she’d thought.
“Hey,” Melanie chided. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d been able to read her mother the way no one else could. “Don’t look like that. I’m just saying that it’s nice, after all these years, to have a father, even if I am sharing him” She gave her mother a quick hug. “But I never had to share you with anyone for long, and you were the very best part of my life.”
Carefully, because she suddenly needed something to do with her hands, Margo adjusted Melanie’s veil about her face. “And you were the best part of mine, baby. The best part of me.” The music took on a louder tempo.
Joyce popped her head out into the hall, wondering what was keeping them. “I think the natives are getting restless.”
“One second.” Without looking in Joyce’s direction, Margo held up a single finger. “I would have had more time if the cabdriver had driven the way they do in the movies.” A sense of urgency struck Margo, and she took Melanie’s hands in hers. A kaleidoscope of memories suddenly flipped over in her mind forming a collage of colors and events, sounds and smells. She loved Melanie more than anyone or anything in this world. Her daughter’s happiness was of supreme importance to her. “Do you love him, honey?”
Was that all she wanted to know? The answer was easy. “So much, it hurts.”
Margo’s eyes held Melanie’s. “And does he love you?” Before her daughter could answer, Margo upbraided herself for letting her career get in the way of what was the most important part of her world. “Oh, I wish I’d had time to come sooner, look him over...” Her voice trailed off.
Melanie shook her head, negating the small surge of guilt. She knew her mother couldn’t just pick up and leave for a weekend visit. For the last year, she’d been in Greece, hardly a hop, skip and a jump from California. “There’s nothing to look over, Mother. He’s terrific. And yes, he loves me.”
“Then that’s all that counts.” She kissed Melanie’s cheek. “Because if he gives you one bad moment, I’m going to have to kill him, you know.”
A smile twitched Melanie’s lips. “That should keep him in line nicely.” The Wedding March had already begun. Melanie took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Surprisingly, it worked. “Well, they’re playing our song.”
“No, only yours, baby. They’ll never play that song for me.”
Margo had resigned herself to that a very long time ago. Marriage had no place in her world. It was better to just go through life expecting little, enjoying whatever there was for however long it lasted. And when some relationship continued, in her estimation, for too long a time, she was the one who tactfully ended it. Before someone ended it for her.
The doors were pushed opened. Music swelled all around them. Holding tightly to the arm wrapped around hers, Margo began to slowly walk down the aisle with her daughter. As with most of her life, this was a break with tradition. Margo was infinitely pleased that Melanie had asked her to give her away; rather than choosing to walk down the aisle alone or having some older man she knew accompany her.
If Melanie had ever belonged to anyone, she’d belonged to her. And now she was going to belong to someone else. And he to her.
Margo could feel her heart swelling with each step she took. She had raised Melanie as best she could, loving every moment of that time. But it had been too short, she thought. Much too short.
“You all right, Mama?” Melanie whispered, inclining her head toward Margo.
Margo nodded. “Fine,” she whispered back, “just fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even herself, she thought, annoyed at her own lack of control. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and here I am, being so hopelessly traditional I could just scream.”
Taking a deep breath, Margo tried to stem the flow that was trickling from the corners of her eyes. After a few seconds, she succeeded. With all her heart she wished she had someone to share this moment with. But for all the friends she had garnered, all the men she felt affection for and who returned the feeling, there was no one for this special moment. No one who had been there from the beginning, to watch a frightened young girl become a mother and somehow manage not to mess up the life of the tiny miracle she’d been entrusted with.
The only person who’d been there, whom she could have shared this with, was gone. Margo thought of Elaine, the woman who had come to her aid, who’d taken her out of a tiny, one-room apartment and a dead-end job as a chorus girl in Las Vegas and brought her into her home and her heart. It was because of Elaine that she had been able to blossom, to be who and what she was today.
“Your aunt Elaine would have loved seeing you like this.”
Melanie smiled fondly. Aunt Elaine had been gone almost three years now. The void she left behind would never be filled. But loving Lance had helped a great deal. “I know, Mama, I know.”
She didn’t want to be maudlin at a time like this. Margo’s eyes fixed on the young man standing on the priest’s left. “So that’s him, eh?”
Melanie’s smile lit up her whole body. “Yes, that’s him.”
“Very nice.” Almost there, Margo’s eyes strayed to the groom’s side of the church. Bruce was in the front row, on the aisle. “The early edition is every bit as handsome as the later one.” She gave Melanie’s arm a little squeeze. “You two’ll make beautiful music and equally beautiful children.”
They had come to the front of the church. With a tinge of reluctance that caught her completely off guard, Margo handed her daughter over to a man with kind eyes, then stepped back.
“I see you’re not dancing.”
Bruce caught the scent of sexy perfume that accompanied the voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. For the second time that day, Bruce was surprised by the same woman.
He looked up to see Margo standing just to his left The remark was based on the fact that he was sitting alone at a table for eight. Everyone else was on the floor, dancing to the orchestra music.
He shrugged as he felt the hand slide from his shoulder. “I don’t really like to dance.”
She knew there were men who truly loathed to dance, but there was something in his voice that had Margo not quite buying Bruce’s excuse.
She moved to stand in front of him to get a clearer view of his face. “Don’t like to dance or don’t know how to dance?”
One quick glance told her what she wanted to know. She took his hand in hers, struck by the understated power she felt. She’d always had a fondness for strong men.
“Just as I thought. Come on, let me show you.” She was already urging him to his feet. “It’s all in the hips, really.” To prove it, she placed one of his hands on her hip and moved slowly.
Bruce felt something tighten in his gut even as he found himself being charmed. “What is?” he asked belatedly.
“Rhythm,” Margo said, still demonstrating. Gently, as if she were coaxing a fawn out on the ice, she got him to the dance floor. “Let it take you over. Don’t think of it as dancing, think of it as moving with the rhythm.” Locking her hand with his, she was ready with the first lesson.
When he looked down he saw that her dress seemed to cling to her body like a second skin. The smile on her lips was inviting as her body sealed itself to his. Then she said, “You look like the kind of man who knows just how to move with rhythm.” Before he could protest again, Bruce found himself on the floor with Margo, surrounded by other couples. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he hated feeling like a fool.
She read the reluctance in his eyes, and felt it in his body. He was afraid of being embarrassed. She’d lost the fear of being embarrassed herself years ago. “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend you’re leading.”
Her assurance struck him as particularly baseless. “How can I pretend that I’m leading when I don’t know what I’m doing?”
The same smile he’d seen on Melanie lit up Margo’s eyes. “Simple. Presidents do it all the time.”
She winked at him, a lightning-fast flutter of dark brown lashes that had a far greater effect on him than he thought it should. In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he issued her a warning he thought was only fair. “I’m going to step all over your feet.”
Oh no, she thought, he wasn’t going to get out of having fun that easily.
“My feet can look out for themselves.” She jiggled his arm slightly. “Loosen up, Bruce. Just let yourself have a good time.”
He thought he was having a good time. “Loosen up?” he echoed. “I wasn’t aware that I was ‘tight.”’
She looked up into his eyes, wondering if she was making him tense, or if he was just that way in general.
“Oh yes, there’s tension all through your shoulders.” She brushed her hand lightly across one to make her point. “And judging from the distance from one end to the other, that’s a lot of tension.”
He took her hand into his, more to immobilize it than to conform to any proper dance position. “I’m out of practice on more than one score.” He saw the merriment in her eyes and cocked his head, forgetting to feel like a fish out of water. “Are you flirting with me?”
Amusement danced along cheekbones that a sculptor would have wept over with joy. “If you have to ask, I’m the one out of practice.” She relaxed, finding something utterly comforting about being with this man. For the moment she allowed herself to sink into the sensation. “But yes, I’m flirting with you.”
They hardly knew each other, he thought. “Why?”
She raised and lowered her slim shoulders. “Why does a woman usually flirt?” He underestimated himself about the dancing, she thought. He was dancing very nicely.
The smile on his lips was self-deprecating. “I said I was out of practice.”
Margo enumerated the reasons for him. “A woman flirts with a man to be complimented. Or because she’s with a good-looking man and would like his attention. She flirts because it feels good. Or to be friendly because that’s her way.”
They danced by Lance and Melanie. Margo felt a slight tug on her heart. She’d encouraged Melanie to be independent since she’d taken her first step, but she’d never seen how well the lesson had been learned until this moment. Melanie was all grown-up and on her own.
“Or maybe,” Margo said quietly, watching the younger couple dance, “because her only daughter’s just gotten married and she’s feeling a little world-weary, a little lost.”
Bruce waited until the pause drew itself out into silence. “Is this where I’m supposed to choose one of the above?”
Rousing herself, Margo smiled as she nodded. “Yes, this would be the logical place.”
“The last one?” He thought it was a safe guess.
She’d opened up a little more of herself than she’d meant and now retreated. Light laughter filled the air. “Wrong. To be friendly.” she told him. Purposely Margo maneuvered Bruce so that her back was to her daughter. Getting misty twice in one day was twice too many. “I like people, Bruce. I like them to like me. With men, that means a little flirting.”
Across the floor Melanie watched their progress with amusement and a touch of concern. She liked Bruce. Liked him a great deal. A man like that was completely unarmed when it came to someone like her mother. Unarmed and unprepared.
She raised her eyes to her new husband. “My mother is dancing with your father. Think I should warn him about her?”
Lance would have hated to admit it at one time, but he and his father were a lot alike. Or had been, until Melanie had entered his life. His father deserved a chance at mining that kind of treasure.
Lance shook his head. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be the best thing that ever happened to him.”
The compliment warmed her, but it didn’t dispel her concern. That was just the problem. At bottom, her mother wasn’t like her.
Melanie bit her lower lip as she watched the pair move in slow circles on one tiny section of the dance floor. Go easy on him, Mama.
Chapter Two
Margo raised her head to look up at the man who managed to extend an attitude of respectfulness toward her even while he held her close enough to make her pulse beat in time to the music. She knew without being told that Bruce Reed was a shy man. A hundred years or so ago, he might have even been referred to as a courtly man.
There was a lot to be said for courtly, she mused, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.
The thought occurred to her that chivalry and manners had definitely been underrated in the past few decades.
Or maybe, a small voice whispered to her, it might be that she had gotten just the least bit weary of life in the fast lane. Bruce Reed, with his reluctant, shy smile, his kind eyes and polite ways was like a breath of fresh air to her.
Mentally, Margo shrugged away the choices. Whatever the cause of her feelings, it was nice, dancing like this with the tall, handsome stranger fate and the state of California had linked her to. Drifting with the music, she let herself just enjoy the moment. That had been her credo for the last twenty some odd years. Enjoy the moment, because the next one might just come by and knock you on your seat
Margo moved her hand up along his arm, resting it lightly on his jacket. Even so, she could detect the hard muscle that was just beneath. Handsome and strong, she thought. That was unusual in a man over thirty.
The smile she directed Bruce’s way was slow, deep and, some had told her, lethal. His unspoken reaction to it pleased her, as well.
She studied his face. “How old are you?”
Leery about where this was going, he asked, “Why?”
She shrugged, her shoulder brushing against him. It was a nice sensation. Going with it, Margo laid her head against his chest. “You don’t look old enough to have a son like Lance.”
This was nice, he thought, surprised by her familiarity and his own reaction to it. They were hardly moving on the floor and yet it felt nice. His cheek brushed ever so slightly against the top of her head. The vague tingle he felt made him forget that he hated to dance. “Thank you,” he told her. “I can honestly say I return the compliment.”
Margo raised her head. A smile curved her mouth. “I don’t look old enough to have a son like Lance?” she asked, teasing him. “I’m not.”
That had gotten twisted somehow. “No, I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” she told him, taking him off the hook he seemed destined to impale himself on, although she had to admit, he made being flustered seem almost adorable. “That I don’t look old enough to be Melanie’s mother. And it’s a very nice compliment.”
It took Bruce a moment to focus on the conversation. The way she had looked up at him had temporarily blown all thoughts out of his mind, filling the space with her image. He’d never seen eyes quite so blue before, or quite so compelling. Hypnotic was the word for it, he amended. And for the lady, as well. It was like holding solidified quicksilver in his arms. There for the moment, but not for long.
Lance’s new mother-in-law, he caught himself thinking, was one hell of a remarkable woman.
“It’s not a compliment,” Bruce corrected her. She was probably on the receiving end of a dozen a day. He had no intention of getting involved in some sort of unofficial competition. “It’s an observation. You really do look more like Melanie’s sister than her mother.”
She’d heard it before, but it wasn’t something she was about to become tired of anytime soon. As time went by, she cherished the compliment more and more.
With a stately nod, she replied, “I had her when I was eleven.”
Her face was so straight, her voice so solemn, Bruce didn’t know whether she was pulling his leg, or, fueled by champagne, revealing a deep, dark confidence to him. There were women in his acquaintance, his sister, Bess, being one of them, who couldn’t take more than a few sips of anything remotely alcoholic without feeling compelled to make a clean breast of any and all past sins and transgressions, whether minor or major. He had no idea which category Margo fell into, although he had his suspicions.
The best way to handle this, he decided, was gracefully. He just hoped he remembered how. “You’re that much older than she is?”
The guileless remark caught her off guard. And then she laughed, completely charmed by a man she could tell wasn’t trying to be charming. Despite the very handsome figure he cut in his tailor-made tuxedo, Bruce Reed was very obviously just struggling not to commit any unforgivable social error on this very important day in his son’s life.
Here was a man, she decided, she’d really love to spend some time with.
“Oh, Bruce, you are good for me.” When her eyes swept over him, Bruce felt a good deal warmer than he had just a moment earlier. “The truth is, I’m seventeen years older than Melanie.” Margo paused, quickly subtracting the months that separated her birthday from her daughter’s. “Seventeen and a half, to be precise.”
The figure struck very close to home. It occurred to Bruce that they had an unofficial bond, Margo and he, both becoming parents before they reached their twentieth birthday.
“My wife was almost nineteen when Lance was born. She was five months older than I was.” He was unaware of the fond smile that took possession of his lips as he allowed himself, for the space of a heartbeat, to be transported to another time and place.
But Margo wasn’t. What she didn’t understand was why his smile sent such a ripple of bittersweet longing through her.
“I always told her I had a fondness for older women,” Bruce said. A ream of memories tumbled through his mind and he laughed. “She never cared for that remark.” And then he sobered slightly as the sadness, even after all this time, came to embrace him. “But she never got to be old enough for that to become an issue.” And then he realized he probably sounded as if he were rambling. Margo deserved an explanation. “My wife died while she was still very young.”
And he was still in love with her. Margo was touched by the sentiment she saw in his eyes.
She supposed that the appropriate response to his revelation was something along the lines of offering her condolences, but somehow she had a feeling he didn’t want to hear empty words from a stranger. They wouldn’t change what was.
Instead she told him what she felt. “Your wife was a very lucky woman.”
Surprised, Bruce raised a brow. How could a woman who died too young to see the autumn of her years, too young to see her child reach his destiny, be considered lucky? “What makes you say that?”
“The way your face lit up when you mentioned her.” She couldn’t help but envy Lance’s mother. Though gone, the woman still retained her husband’s love. It said a lot about the woman. And a lot about the man who loved her. “The most important ingredient in a person’s life is love, and it appears to me that she had it in abundance.”
Yes, he thought. Ellen had. He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t loved her. It seemed to him that they had always been together, right from the very beginning. Whatever had come before that time was a blur. Just like life without her had become.
As they turned on the floor, he caught a whiff of Margo’s fragrance again. It sharpened his senses and he smiled at the woman in his arms. “You’re very perceptive.”
Margo took her due without vanity. Perception was closely interwoven with her other survival skills. “So I’ve been told.”
She was open rather than coy. It was an honest trait. He valued honesty a great deal. “Well, you’re certainly not shy and retiring.”
Oh, but I am. The thought came to her from nowhere, standing like a lost soul in the dark. It’s just something that I can’t allow to take over anymore. Or even be noticed. Very carefully, Margo kept her thoughts from registering on her face. She’d become very good at that over the years.
“You know my daughter,” she reminded him lightly. “Would you really have expected me to be?”
She had a point. They were very alike, mother and daughter. And yet he detected that there were minor differences. For one, Margo was far more worldly than her daughter. And perhaps, he mused, less apt to be hurt. “No, but I have to admit that I didn’t expect anyone quite so effervescent, either.”
“Effervescent?” Delighted, she laughed lightly. “Oh, my dear Mr. Reed, I’m in fairly low gear now.” She looked toward Melanie and felt that same tightening of her throat she’d felt when she’d walked into the change room to see her daughter in her wedding gown for the first time. “I think that realizing things just refuse to remain the same, no matter how much you’d really like them to, is responsible for subduing me.”
Because the same bittersweetness resided within him, Bruce recognized the signs. The feeling of kinship grew as the music around them faded. Bruce hardly noticed. He was hearing another melody, one within his head.
Continuing to move to this silent music, he tried to tease her mood away. “If this is low gear, then heaven help the man who gets you in high gear.”
He really was very sweet, Margo thought. And whether he realized it or not, he was doing tremendous things for her ego. She needed that right now, as the loneliness insisted on closing in no matter how hard she tried to block it.
“Heaven has very little to do with it. Or me.” Her wink was positively bawdy, Bruce thought, feeling its effect as it simmered over his long frame. “Or so my father said the last time I saw him.”
Looking into her eyes, he almost thought he saw sadness there. But everything in her manner belied the discovery. He had to be mistaken.
“Which was?” he prodded.
If she closed her eyes, Margo could still see the cold dark look of disapproval, of condemnation in Egan McCloud’s green eyes as he ordered her to leave. No instrument known to man could have begun to measure the depth of that cold.
She took a breath before answering, her smile never faltering. She’d begun to show at four months. By five, her father no longer believed that it was a weight problem. “Four months before that beautiful young woman in the bridal dress was born.”
As she spoke, Bruce could feel her body stiffening. It was infinitesimal, but he was positive he detected it. Having gone through his own schism with Lance, he would have thought his sympathies would have been with her father. They weren’t “You haven’t seen him since then?”
She shook her head, wishing the memory didn’t hurt so much. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, with a grown child of her own. When did she finally cease regretting that she’d never been allowed to be Daddy’s little girl, not even for the space of five minutes?
“Not alive.” She strove to say the words without emotion. She’d returned for the funeral. And never shed a tear. She’d refused to. “He wanted nothing to do with me.” The shrug was careless, as a creamy white shoulder rose and fell beneath his glance. “He was a very God-fearing man, and I think he saw me as a terrible failing on his part.”
She believed that, Bruce realized. His sympathies stacked themselves completely on her side. He knew what it was like, aching for someone’s acceptance. In his case, it had been his son’s that he had sought. Lance’s acceptance and his forgiveness. Both had been a long time in coming.
Not that he blamed Lance. Feeling as if he’d been cast adrift after his wife died, he’d left Lance to be raised by Bess. He hadn’t realized how his leaving had affected his son.
Unconsciously, Bruce gathered her a little closer to him as they danced. “I might be out of place saying this, but seems to me that your father would have done a lot better by you as well as himself if he were a God-loving man instead.”
The smile she offered him reminded Bruce of fireflies lighting up a June sky. And, if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn there was a tinge of gratitude in her eyes.
For a tongue-tied man, he certainly did know how to turn a phrase, Margo thought. “For Melanie’s sake, I do hope Lance takes after you.”
The remark struck a chord that had, until recently, been very painful. “Lance went out of his way for a long time to be the exact opposite of me.” Bruce placed the blame where it belonged. With him. “I wasn’t a very good father.”
Margo swept past his remorse, a spring breeze traveling through a ripening orchard. There was nothing so useless as regret over things that couldn’t be changed. “I’m sure that if there’s any basis for your feelings, there were extenuating circumstances.”
There were very far-reaching, painful circumstances. But this was Lance’s wedding. It wasn’t a time to talk about death and the way it had burned out his heart, leaving only ashes in its place.
“Tell me, are you always this broad-minded?”
She inclined her head. “Some people say it’s my best feature.”
Holding her close to him, Bruce wasn’t so sure about that. If asked, it would have been difficult for him to say just exactly what Margo’s best feature was. She was beautiful in a warm, welcoming sort of way rather than in the precise features of an ice princess.
Looks weren’t supposed to matter. He’d learned a long time ago that transient outer beauty was hardly important, but he had to admit Melanie’s mother was a feast for the eyes. And her manner, open, warm, sensually charming, enhanced that feast tenfold.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he told her.
She liked the way he smiled. “Oh?” Her eyes delved straight into his soul. “And what would you say. Exactly?”
Compliments really weren’t his forte. Neither was conversation, but he had the heartening feeling that he was at least holding his own. “That I have the comfort of knowing that I wouldn’t be the only tongue-tied man around you.”
But she shook her head at his assessment of himself. “For a ‘tongue-tied’ man, you’re doing very well, Bruce. And for what it’s worth, I really do hope Lance is exactly like you.”
The compliment, sincerely rendered, touched him. It had been a long time since he’d thought of himself and Lance as a unit.
“Thanks to Melanie, I’ll get to find out if he is or not firsthand.” He saw the question enter Margo’s eyes. “It’s because of Melanie that Lance and I reconciled. From what I hear, she kept after him about it, making it easier for me when we finally did talk.” He could see a great deal of Margo in her daughter. “You did a wonderful job raising her:”
She hadn’t raised her so much as just been there to oversee the process. Melanie had never really needed guidance. She was inherently savvy, inherently good. Other than a bout with the croup, Margo had never given her even a moment’s concern. She’d always been the kind of daughter every mother dreamed about.
But Margo had no intentions of playing the gushing mother and boring Bruce to tears. She gave him the short, unannotated version. “I had help.”
Bruce made the most logical assumption. “Your husband?”
Husband, now there was a joke. Margo shook her head. “My aunt.”
“We have that in common, I guess. Lance was raised by his aunt Bess, my sister. That’s her over there,” he said, pointing her out, “dancing. I’ll introduce you to her later. She took over with Lance when my wife died.”
If he was going to be family, Margo decided, there would be no secrets. Any shame attached to the situation had long since been burned away in the glow of Melanie’s smile. “Melanie’s father did a very impressive vanishing act as soon as he knew that fifteen minutes of pleasure resulted in something that was going to require an eighteen-year commitment.”
The revelation surprised him. Bruce couldn’t picture any man in his right mind walking away from Margo. “I take it he was blind?”
She laughed softly. “No, just heartless and stupid.” Whenever she thought of Jack, there was nothing there anymore. No pain, no anger, nothing. It had taken her a long time to arrive at that juncture. “To be blind he wouldn’t have been able to see his way out of my life, which he did. Quickly.” At the time it had taken her breath away just how quickly. Taken her breath and her heart.
“But Jack was very stupid because he missed out on a hell of an experience. I wouldn’t have traded being Melanie’s mother, not even a minute of it, for anything in the world, including a fantastic marriage.”
She’d talked enough about herself, she thought, steering the conversation onto a new road. “Which, by the way, I’m sure Melanie and Lance are going to have. She’s crazy about him.”
That was very evident and it made Bruce’s heart glad. “And he about her. We both are. Lance is convinced she’s brought out the best in him, and, even though I’ve only known her a few short months, I certainly can’t argue with that.”
Melanie was surprised that neither her mother nor Bruce seemed to notice her as she came up to them. But the fact that they were still dancing told her that they were well on their way to slipping into a world of their own.
One look at Bruce and she knew that her mother was weaving her magic again. Maybe this time, Melanie hoped, she’d get tangled in the threads herself.
But that wasn’t her mother’s style.
Melanie placed a hand on each of their shoulders, securing their attention. Bruce looked surprised to see her, her mother only looked amused. “Hey, did anyone tell you two that the music stopped two minutes ago?”
Margo merely smiled at her daughter. There was music and then there was music. Melanie would learn, she. thought. Someday. “Just the music you can hear, dear.” Very slowly, she disengaged her hand from Bruce’s. “But we don’t want to give them anything to talk about, do we?”
Bruce found himself reluctant to break contact. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, escorting Margo from the floor. “That depends on what they’re saying.”
Melanie looked from Bruce to her mother. Just the slightest flutter of uncertainty traveled through her before disappearing. She’d never interfered in her mother’s life before. She owed everything to her mother, and there was no one she loved more dearly, except for Lance. But Bruce was her father-in-law now. More like a father, really, than just someone the law claimed was related to her. Though she’d known him only four months, she felt protective of him. At bottom, Bruce was a sweet man who might misunderstand her mother’s ways. She didn’t want to see either of them hurt.
Melanie took her mother’s hand in hers, making her apology to Bruce. “Can I steal my mother for a minute, Dad?”
The question amused him. Margo wasn’t his to give away. “I have a distinct feeling that your mother is very much her own woman.” The smile he received told him Margo appreciated his recognizing that fact “She’ll only be stolen if she wants to be. What someone else has to say about it doesn’t enter into the picture.”
Margo’s smile widened. And grew sexier, in Bruce’s estimation.
Oh boy, Melanie thought. She took her mother’s hand and tugged ever so gently. “Just a minute,” she promised again.
This wasn’t like Melanie, Margo thought. Her daughter looked almost worried as she led her off. “Okay, out with it,” Margo ordered when they were barely out of Bruce’s earshot. “What’s wrong?”
Where to begin? Heaven knew, Melanie didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings. But she didn’t want to see Bruce’s feelings hurt, either. She plunged in, beginning with a declaration. “Mama, you know I love you.”
Years of experience warned Margo what was coming next. “There’s a lecture attached to that proclamation, isn’t there?”
This was all virgin territory for Melanie. She wouldn’t presume to tell her mother what to do. She wet her lips. “Not a lecture, but...”
Margo didn’t need subtitles to tell her what was going on. “You’re afraid I’m going to lay waste to Lance’s father.”
Melanie took her mother’s hand between her own. “Not exactly waste, but—”
Gently slipping her hand away, Margo cupped Melanie’s cheek. Was she really worried? “Sweetheart, he’s a very charming man without meaning to be, which makes him even more so. But charming or not, all we’re doing is just swapping old in-law stories.”
Melanie arched an eyebrow. The word old had never had anything remotely to do with her mother. “Neither one of you is an old anything.”
Margo’s eyes sparkled. “That’s what makes swapping so much fun.”
Maybe, Melanie thought, Bruce could do with a dose of her mother. A small dose to make him feel vital again, but not enough to drown him. “What else are you going to swap?”
“Well, not clothes,” Margo teased, slipping her arm through Melanie’s, “he’s way too tall.” Margo studied Melanie’s face. She was concerned. The realization took her slightly aback. “Honey, just what are you worried about?”
There had never been any lies between them, not even half truths. Melanie couldn’t set a precedent now. “Bruce isn’t exactly a sophisticated, experienced man as far as women are concerned, Mama. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
The fact that Melanie’s loyalty lay with someone else stung her a little before she banked it down. Her smile remained intact as she asked, “How about me?”
Melanie laughed, giving her mother’s hand a quick, firm squeeze. “You can handle yourself. You always have.”
That was the price she paid for being strong, Margo thought. No one thought for a moment that she might be the one who could be hurt.
Which was, she reminded herself quickly with no patience for her momentary lapse, just the way she wanted it and just the way she always kept it. Never mind that it wasn’t true. That wasn’t anyone’s business but hers.
She winked at Melanie. “I promise not to skewer any vital, irreplaceable part of Mr. Bruce Reed, including his heart. How’s that?”
Melanie’s expression softened, guilt lightly flicking a finger at her conscience. “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental, Mama, but he doesn’t even date. He leads a very straight and narrow life. The man won’t even let himself be fixed up by any of his married friends.”
A challenge, thought Margo. She always loved a challenge, especially one that was so good-looking. “Then it’s about time he had a little fun, don’t you think?”
Melanie looked at her dubiously. “A little, yes, but—”
Margo raised one hand in a solemn pledge. “I promise not to lead him into Sodom or Gomorrah for at least the remainder of the afternoon.”
This time guilt not only flicked Melanie, it pinched. Remorse was instant. “I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
The tables turned immediately. Not for the world would Margo give her daughter one moment’s grief or concern. “You could never hurt my feelings, pet. Have you forgotten, I’ve got a hide as tough as a rhino?”
But Melanie saw through that. “It wasn’t your ‘hide’ I was thinking about.”
Margo redirected Melanie’s attention to her groom. “And it shouldn’t be my anything that’s on your mind at all. Not when you have that drop-dead-gorgeous man of yours promising to love and cherish you for the rest of his natural life.” She cocked her head, struggling to keep a grin from her lips. “Don’t you two have a honeymoon to go to?”
Melanie and Lance had discussed that and decided to put it off until they could afford to go to someplace memorable. “We’re not planning on going on a honeymoon until sometime later.”
Margo already knew that. She’d called and taken Joyce into her confidence. It was Joyce who’d secretly packed their luggage. “Take it from me, later has a habit of either slipping away or being used for something else. Go now, you won’t regret it.”
“I’m afraid that we ca—”
Allowing herself a dramatic flourish, Margo produced two airline tickets from her beaded purse. “Two tickets to Hawaii and a two-week reservation at the best hotel on Oahu.”
Overwhelmed, Melanie could only stare at the tickets in her mother’s hand. “Mother, you didn’t.”
Margo pressed the tickets into her hand. “The airline and hotel people seem to think I did.”
Lance joined them, slipping his arm around Melanie’s waist. He noticed the stunned expression on her face. “Everything all right?” He kissed her temple. “I got lonely.”
He couldn’t have been better if she’d handpicked him, Margo thought. Pleased, she took each of their hands in hers and held them for a moment, her heart brimming. “Oh, God, Melanie, he is perfect.”
Recovering, Melanie held up the tickets. “Mother’s sending us to Hawaii for our honeymoon.”
Coming to grips with his surprise, Lance began to demur. Margo recognized pride when she saw it and quickly headed it off. “It’s a wedding present. Two tickets to Oahu, first class, plus you’ll be staying at the best hotel, in the bridal suite.”
That had to have set her back a lot. Lance shook his head. “Mrs.—I mean Ms.—” Neither term seemed appropriate. He took a breath. “We can’t—”
“Call me Margo,” Margo told him. “We’re going to be an informal family. And I certainly can’t go, so you have to. You’re the only bridal couple I see in the room.”
Lance tried again, having the sinking feeling that the effort was doomed to failure. He already knew where arguing with Melanie got him. Nowhere. And he had a strong suspicion that it was a hereditary trait. “This is too generous.”
Money was only good for the happiness it could generate. There was no way she was going to let either one of them turn her gift down. “I have only one daughter, Lance. And, as of one o’clock this afternoon, only one son. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my money on than the two of you. Besides, you can’t refuse a wedding gift, it’s bad luck.”
Melanie placed one hand on her hip, suppressing a smile. When she was a little girl, her mother used to get her to do things by telling her that if she refused, it was bad luck. There was always a legend or fable that reflected the situation attached. She was fourteen before she realized that her mother had made all the fables up. “Another legend I don’t know about?”
Nostalgia surged through Margo. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
Lance opened his mouth, but Melanie stopped him. “Don’t bother. Nobody’s ever managed to talk Mama out of anything once she makes up her mind.”
He’d kind of figured that out on his own. “I wasn’t going to talk her out of it, I was just going to say thank you.” Lance looked at Margo, then with a smile, added, “Mom.”
There had to be something in the air today, some allergen that kept making her eyes tear up. Margo blinked twice, struggling not to let a single drop slip down her cheek. “Don’t mention it,” she murmured, embracing him.
Chapter Three
The car with Lance and Melanie in it pulled slowly away from the curb. The sound of the engine was drowned out by the cheers and raised voices, all attempting to outshout one another as they tried to make their own best wishes heard above the rest.
The din seemed to swirl around Margo like leaves caught up in the rush of a breeze, chasing one another in an eternally forward-moving circle.
Margo drew away from the edge of the crowd. She felt oddly removed from what was going on, a spectator who had just happened upon a scene and had yet to become a part of it. There was no denying that her heart was full to overflowing with happiness for her daughter, but at the same time, there was a downside to that joy. A sense of exclusion embraced her, making her feel strangely alone. More alone than she’d felt since she’d walked out of her father’s house all those years ago.
Annoyed with herself, with these emotions that insisted on roller-coastering through her, Margo struggled to regain control.
Oblivious to the people around her, she didn’t realize at first that the handkerchief at her elbow was being silently offered to her. When she did, she raised her eyes to look at the owner. It didn’t really surprise her that it was Bruce.
“Thought you might need this.” When she didn’t attempt to accept the handkerchief, he added, “It’s clean.”
Her mouth curved. “I’m sure your practice of hygiene is beyond reproach, Bruce, but I really don’t need a handkerchief.”
Yeah, you do, he thought, but rather than press the point, he pocketed the offering. Maybe she needed to deny her need more than she needed to wipe away the tears shimmering in her eyes.
“My mistake,” he allowed gallantly. With adroit ability that came from implementing compromises at business meetings, he nudged the conversation along a different path. “That was a very nice thing you did for them, sending Melanie and Lance off on an all-expense-paid honeymoon.”
She merely lifted a shoulder in mute response, then let it drop, her eyes straining to retain sight of the disappearing car until the last possible moment. It was only money, thankfully the least of her concerns these days.
“I tried to do the same thing,” he confessed, a wouldbe contender sharing a mutual, though unattained, goal, “but got turned down. Lance has this thing about being his own man. I can see where it’d be harder for him to refuse you. I mean—”
He didn’t want Margo to think that he meant he thought she was pushy. And when he played the fragment over again in his head, this time it sounded suspiciously like a come-on line. Hell, but he really was out of practice talking to women.
He smiled ruefully when she looked at him, a patient question in her eyes. “Do you always make men feel as if their tongues have gotten too big for their mouths?”
She laughed then, a deep throaty laugh that he thought had a touch of relief to it.
Margo felt relieved that she could still laugh, despite the hollow feeling taking root.
“No, not usually.”
Bruce could only shake his head. It was just as he thought. “Must be me, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe he was the one who was being pushy, but in his estimation, it was for a worthy cause. “I don’t usually do this, but, urn, would you like to go somewhere for a cup of coffee or something?”
Was he trying to ask her out? Amusement began to nudge away the sadness. Margo looked down at the dress she was wearing, then raised her eyes to take in his tuxedo. “I think we might be just a little overdressed for a coffee shop.”
She had a point. Looking at her addled his brain a little. He’d spent half the reception dancing with her and could honestly say he didn’t remember when he’d had a better time in recent years.
“A drink, then.” Bruce turned, nodding toward the building behind them where the reception had been held. All around them, people were breaking up into groups and couples, bound for the parking lot and home, or perhaps to continue the celebration with an evening on the town. “At the lounge downstairs,” he prompted. “You look like you might need a little company.” Before she got any wrong ideas about his motives, he quickly added, “Strictly platonic, of course. In-law to in-law.”
He was like a fish out of water, Margo thought. A very cute, cuddly fish. Why hadn’t he been snapped up by one of the women in his circle yet?
“Platonic, eh?” She snapped her fingers like someone who had just missed an opportunity. “I guess there go all my plans of having my way with you.”
The sound of her laughter slipped under his skin, arousing him before he could steel himself. He banked down the reaction that had no place within the good deed he was trying to accomplish.
“Not that I’m averse to stimulating conversation, or stimulating anything,” she put in, her eyes beginning to reclaim their sparkle, “but what makes you say that I need company?”
Instead of answering, Bruce cupped her chin in his hand and raised it slightly. Taking out his handkerchief again, he lightly dabbed at the corner of her eye where one renegade tear had refused to obey and remain confined.
For one very long moment, as he touched her, her eyes held his. Something warm slipped around her, like a protective embrace. But the next moment, it was gone. Embarrassed, Margo drew back her head.
“Just a hunch.” With a shrug, his eyes still on hers, Bruce tucked the handkerchief back info his pocket. “Maybe it’s me who needs the company.”
He was attempting to be gallant. When was the last time a man had been nothing more than gallant to her? So long, she wasn’t quite sure if she remembered.
Her smile was light, teasing, as she slipped her arm through his. “Well, far be it from me to deny a handsome man his platonic request.”
She made it sound as if she was given to fielding platonic requests all the time. Bruce sincerely doubted, as they walked back into the Renaissance Building, that Margo McCloud met very many men who desired only a platonic relationship with her. Not once they heard her lusty laughter.
She should have had twelve children, all girls, Margo thought with a pang that bordered on longing as she hung up the telephone.
Better yet, she should have had Melanie cloned as a little girl. That way she’d be assured of revisiting this wonderful feeling periodically.
Since business was slow at Dreams of Yesterday, where she’d been working every day now for two weeks, helping out until Melanie returned, Margo took a moment to reflect. It was a silly thought, but not without its merits or its reasons. Her life had grown tremendously since she’d left that small Texas town with one suitcase, a swollen belly and a blank future before her. When she had ridden the bus out of Hemp, she’d been an unwed, pregnant teenage dropout, hitting the lowest point of her young life.
But even though she’d been frightened and emotionally battered, she hadn’t surrendered to defeat. Hadn’t allowed herself to become just another statistic in a world that held on to its losers as tightly as it did to its winners. She’d gotten her diploma, and then a degree in languages. Now she traveled the world, teaching languages to Americans who found themselves working in foreign countries. She had friends on all the major continents and could literally get along anywhere.
But all her accomplishments paled beside the triumph she’d reached in having Melanie. In keeping Melanie rather than giving her up. The very best part of her life had always revolved around Melanie, around raising her and making the promise within a newborn become a very positive reality.
God, but she fervently wished she could do it all over again.
Joyce came up behind her, placing the stack of newly acquired autographed celebrity stills on the counter beside the telephone. In the foreground, a very satisfied customer made her way out of the shop Joyce and Melanie partnered in Bedford.
“Good news?” she asked hesitantly, peering at Margo’s expression.
With a self-deprecating smile, Margo turned to her daughter’s best friend, a young woman she’d known since before Joy had said her first word.
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.” Joy was looking at her oddly. “Why?”
Joyce made a noncommittal sound as she shrugged self-consciously. “You had a very strange look on your face when I walked up.”
That would be the nostalgia, Margo thought. “Mothers do that when they suddenly realize that they have fully grown daughters who have lives of their own.” She rallied before she could slip back into that wistful mood again. “Speaking of whom, that was Melanie on the phone. She and Lance are coming back tomorrow.” Her voice began to pick up speed, reflecting her heightened energy as she simultaneously made plans and talked. “That means I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Which studio was Jason Riveria working for these days, Margo wondered, distracted. He’d have a lock on those harem props she needed, she was sure of it.
“Margo, I wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t been here to help out.” If Joyce had her way, Melanie and Margo would handle all the sales while she buried herself in the back with the accounting details. “I’m not very good with people.”
Roused by the distress she heard, Margo looked at the young woman. She placed her arm around Joy’s shoulder, drawing her closer. The trouble with Joy was she had a poor self-image, and that was all her mother’s doing. Or lack of doing, she amended.
“Yes, you are, you’re just quieter than I am. But then, most people are.” She winked, as if that was a secret instead of a given. “You know, I’ve been thinking...”
Joyce didn’t know whether to be wary or let herself go along with whatever was coming. Probably the latter. Not that she had much of a choice if Margo’s idea involved her. To her knowledge, no one had ever been able to stop Melanie’s mother when she got rolling.
Joyce’s grin had a touch of nervousness to it. “Is this where I say, uh-oh?”
Margo laughed, giving Joy an affectionate squeeze. “No, but Lance might when he realizes what sort of a family he married into.”
The sound of her laughter was the first thing he heard as Bruce entered the shop.
It seemed fitting. It was that sound, flittering in and out of his brain these past two weeks, that had brought him here this afternoon. He’d come here on his day off rather than getting to the myriad of things that he’d been letting pile up in his personal life.
The fact that he had, that he caught himself thinking about Margo at unlikely moments, surprised him. If he didn’t count that incredibly annoying woman he’d been forced to deal with at the local courthouse the one time he’d gotten a traffic ticket, no woman had ever intruded into his thoughts beyond the moment. The only one who had ever occupied his mind for more than a fleeting moment was Ellen.
Margo was nothing like Ellen.
Maybe that was the reason.
The reason he was here, he insisted silently, was just to see how she was doing. When he’d dropped her off here after the reception, she’d told him that she was fine. He would have taken her at her word, but the moonlight had played along her skin, urging him to take one last, lingering look. When he did, there’d been something about her, something in her eyes, that had made him doubt the validity of her assertion.
He just wanted to make sure she was all right, he told himself again. After all, she was Lance’s mother-in-law, and although there was no legal term for the bond that he now shared with her, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Like it or not they were family, and his was small enough for him to take a personal interest in each member, now that he had his priorities straight and had lived through his period of atonement.
Margo turned toward the doorway, alerted by the musical chimes that someone had entered the store.
If she was surprised to see Bruce walking in, she didn’t show it. Instead, she came around the small counter, her hands outstretched in a warm greeting, a smile unfurling on her lips like a flag at first light.
The man had a gift, she thought, for appearing just at the right moment. She gave him a quick, enthusiastic hug. “Just the man I need.”
He didn’t know whether to be flattered or braced. He suspected that a great many people felt that way in her presence. Finding himself disengaged from a hug he was just beginning to enjoy, he looked down at Margo and raised one eyebrow in silent query. “Oh?”
“Yes.” The single word was fueled with an incredible amount of feeling. Had Melanie been there, she would have told him he was in for trouble. Taking a step back, she looked him over quickly, like a tailor wondering if the suit he’d made would fit his customer. “Tell me, Bruce, do you have a strong back?”
“My back?” he echoed uncertainly. It wasn’t a question he expected to be asked. Just what was it this woman had in mind?
“Yes.” The casual clothes he had on strongly reinforced the impression she’d gotten at the reception when she’d danced with him. The man looked to be made of solid muscle. But not all shortcomings were evident to the eye. “No old football injuries or anything?”
He turned, watching her as she circled him. “I never played football.”
That was hard to believe. Margo came full circle to face him again. “How about baseball?”
“A little.” She was making him uneasy. It was time to find out where she was headed with this conversation. “Margo, what are you getting at, and should we be having this conversation in front of people?” He glanced toward Joyce who looked about as lost as to Margo’s meaning as he felt.
Joy was far too slight to be of any use to her at the moment. “Joyce isn’t people, she’s like another daughter.” Her smile was wicked as she read his thoughts. “And besides, I’m only trying to find out if you’re up to moving some furniture for me, not any acrobatics in bed.”
“Furniture?” Was that it? Relief reared its head, but there were questions on its heels. One question brought with it interest sharp enough to give him pause. “Are you moving back to the area?”
Her mind busy with logistics and phone calls she had yet to make, it took Margo a second to regroup and assimilate the direction his question was going. “Oh, no, I never take furniture with me. It ties you down too much.” Her attachments were to places, to friends, not to anything that could be stored in a building or a box. “Whatever I own is right upstairs.” She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “I lived with Aunt Elaine while Melanie was growing up. When my career began to take me to different places, I just left everything behind. It’s much easier that way.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/marie-ferrarella/never-too-late-for-love/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.