EXPECTANT BRIDE-TO-BE Read online

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

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  A chill breeze swept across the town square of Promise, Nevada, adding to the dank, dreary feeling of the gray, late-December day. With the onset of early evening, only a few people still bustled down the sidewalks, most more than likely heading for home since the stores would be closing soon.

  She should go home, too, Abby Summers thought. Or rather, she should go back to her mother's house. But she continued to sit on the narrow wooden bench facing the small park in the square's center, her hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her black wool coat, her chin tipped down to take advantage of the upturned collar, and her stocking-clad legs tucked together under the full skirt of her calf-length, black wool dress. There were too many memories waiting for her at Larissa's house—memories tinged with sadness.

  How Abby wished she had made an effort to know her mother better. With the optimism of youth, she had always assumed that one day they would find the time to sit down and talk like friends. Not so much about the past. That would have been nice. But nicer still, to Abby's way of thinking, maybe they could have shared their hopes and dreams for the future.

  Now it was too late.

  Abby had returned to the slow, steady farming community two hundred miles northeast of Las Vegas for the Christmas holiday, hoping that she and Larissa might finally embark on a closer relationship. She had even taken a few carefully hoarded days of vacation from her job as a certified public accountant with a firm in San Francisco so this particular visit wouldn't be quite as rushed as the visits she had made in the past. Her grandparents, Hank and Judith, had been delighted, and Larissa herself had seemed pleased.

  Abby had arrived at her mother's house on Christmas Eve to find all three waiting for her. Listening to Christmas carols playing on the radio, they trimmed the tree Hank had bought that morning, then tucked into the sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies Judith had provided before making an early night of it.

  Larissa's joy in spending the holiday with her family seemed to carry over into Christmas Day. She and Abby went to Hank and Judith's tiny apartment in the senior citizens' complex where they'd moved the previous year. They had opened gifts, then feasted on roast turkey with all the trimmings. By late afternoon, however, Abby had begun to sense her mother's growing discontent—the same discontent that had sent her looking for greener pastures since Abby had been a child.

  Leaving her daughter with Hank and Judith, just as she'd done so many times in the past, Larissa had taken off yet again. There was a friend waiting for her in Vegas; a friend who had a friend who just might be able to give her a little work in his casino after the first of the year. Not as a dancer—at least not right away. But once she got on the payroll, waiting tables, surely she'd have a chance to move up the ladder.

  That was the last Abby and her grandparents had seen of Larissa until the call that woke Abby just before midnight on December 26. A kindly police officer had advised her that her mother had been killed in a car accident. The man who had been driving, a stranger to Abby, had been drunk. He'd run off the road and hit a tree, and though he had walked away virtually unharmed, Larissa had died at the scene.

  Abby had waited until morning to tell her grandparents the devastating news. Then, she'd set about making arrangements for her mother's funeral, refusing to acknowledge her own grief in order to be strong for Hank and Judith.

  Considering Larissa's reputation around town as a ne'er-do-well, the number of people at the service that afternoon had been a tribute to her grandparents. For their sake, Abby had been grateful.

  Hank and Judith had wanted to linger at the cemetery following the committal, but Abby had insisted on taking them home. Both had been too exhausted to remain outdoors longer than absolutely necessary, especially on such a bleak day, when the chill breeze held in it a threat of rain. Abby hadn't wanted either one of them to risk getting sick. They were the only family she'd ever really had, and she loved them more than anything.

  Promising to stop by the next morning before she headed back to San Francisco, Abby had left them in their snug little apartment, sipping mugs of freshly brewed tea. She had gone back to her mother's house to finish packing, but after parking her rental car in the driveway, she had decided to go for a walk instead. Just to gather her thoughts, she'd told herself as she set out. She'd ended up in the town square almost an hour later, and there she'd stayed, alone with her regrets.

  Larissa had loved her in her own way. Of that, Abby had always been sure. And she must have wanted her. Otherwise, why would she have brought her into the world? Surely it would have been easier for her to have an abortion than to take on the role of unwed mother, even as erratically as she'd played the part, between the jobs and the men who had kept her, often literally, in Las Vegas.

  A short gust of wind caught a wisp of Abby's shoulder-length, auburn hair, tugging it free of the sensible braid she'd woven that morning. The scent of rain filled the air and the sky seemed much darker than it had only a few minutes ago. Time to go, she decided. The walk back to her mother's house would take at least thirty minutes, and she didn't want to get caught in a downpour. She couldn't afford to get sick either. Not with April 15 only a few months away, and her firm's busiest time of year just ahead.

  Sliding the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Abby stood slowly. Another gust of wind whipped around her legs, teasing at the hem of her coat and making her shiver. She wished she hadn't dallied quite so long. Now a brisk pace alone wouldn't be enough to chase the chill from her bones.

  What she wanted, needed, was a cup of coffee, and she knew just where she could get one. From across the square, a brightly lit café beckoned. New to town since her last visit, it looked inviting, and it wasn't too far out of her way.

  Aware that she was postponing the inevitable return to her mother's house yet again, Abby set off across the little park. She had gone only a few steps when she caught sight of a man sitting on one of the benches along the gravel path. He was dressed all in black—tailored slacks, turtleneck sweater and leather bomber jacket—and his blond head was bent, his face turned slightly, his expression unusually grim.

  Though he seemed as oblivious to her presence as she'd been to his, Abby hesitated, a frown creasing her forehead. While his posture didn't appear the least bit menacing, there was something about him that gave her pause. Then, with a shock of recognition, she drew a sharp breath.

  Jack Randall, she thought, her heart fluttering in a truly maddening way.

  The star quarterback of the high school football team and son of the wealthy Randall family, Jack had grown up the golden boy of Promise, Nevada. He had also been Abby's champion when she was a lowly freshman and he a lordly senior. He had taken her under his wing when he'd seen her being teased by a group of mean-spirited girls, and he had made a point of looking out for her in a brotherly way for the remainder of the school year. And quite foolishly, Abby had fallen in love with him even though he'd already had a very special girlfriend to whom he'd been devoted.

  Jack had married Cindy Willis as Abby had known he would. They moved to Boston where they both attended college. A few years later, Abby had left Promise as well, going to Stanford on an academic scholarship. But each time she'd returned to Promise, she'd thought about Jack and hoped he was happy. Then, on one of her visits home, she'd heard that Cindy had been killed in a car accident just after Jack's graduation from medical school.

  He must have returned to Promise for the holidays just as she had, and he must still be on his own. Otherwise,
he wouldn't be sitting in the park, looking as lonely as she'd been feeling.

  For one very long, very indecisive moment, Abby was tempted to go up to him and say hello. He had been her friend, after all, and she owed him more than she could ever repay for all the kindness he'd shown her.

  But that had been years ago. He probably wouldn't recognize her now, and even if he did, she doubted he'd welcome her intrusion. Jack Randall could have had all the company he wanted, but, for whatever reason, he'd chosen to be alone. She didn't feel right about foisting herself upon him just for old times' sake.

  Ducking her head to shield her face, Abby continued down the path. She walked briskly, eyes straight ahead, and hoped that the crunch of her low-heeled shoes on the gravel wouldn't attract his attention. As she passed the bench, she saw him glance her way, but she didn't allow her strides to falter as she headed for the café.

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  Chapter 2

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  Jack Randall had seen the auburn-haired woman sitting on a bench across the way when he'd first entered the park in Promise's town square, but he hadn't paid much attention to her. She had been sitting with her head bent so he hadn't been able to see her face, and he'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself to spare her more than a cursory glance.

  Home for the Christmas holiday, Jack had found himself missing Cindy more than ever despite the four years that had passed since her death. They had known each other for what seemed like forever. Their parents had been good friends, and since he and Cindy had both been only children, their camaraderie had come naturally. Each of them had filled a void in the other's life as no one else seemed able to do. For years, they had been best buddies, and then, during high school, their relationship had become much more intimate.

  Their parents hadn't wanted them to marry the summer after their high school graduation, but he and Cindy had been too much in love to be deterred. They might have been young, but they had known what they wanted. And, against all odds, their love had survived the rigors of their undergraduate years as well as the long hours Jack put in during medical school.

  They had made plans—so many plans—for the years they'd assumed they would have ahead of them. With his graduation from medical school and his internship at Texas Children's Hospital in Houston about to begin, their future together had held all the promise they could ever have hoped for. Cindy would be able to give up her job teaching kindergarten, and they would finally be able to start the family they wanted more than anything.

  Then a drunk driver had rammed his pickup truck into Cindy's little sports car.

  For a long time after her death, the only thing that had kept Jack going was the certainty that she wouldn't have wanted him to curl up and die on her behalf. Somehow he'd managed to pull himself together. He had devoted himself to his work, making the most of his ability to help other people's children overcome the effects of serious illness. He'd had no time for emotional entanglements, but he hadn't really cared. He had loved once, and lost. For him, once was enough.

  The unexpected sound of footsteps crunching along the gravel path drew Jack from his reverie. Glancing sideways, he saw the auburn-haired woman was now walking toward him. Despite the waning light, there was something familiar about her face. For several moments, he eyed her surreptitiously, trying to recall where he'd seen her before.

  Quite suddenly, it came to him, along with a rush of emotion that left him feeling oddly confused. Abby Summers, he thought, then looked away as she drew closer.

  She had been such a sweet, shy girl all those years ago. She hadn't deserved the cruel teasing about her mother's less-than-stellar reputation that she'd been forced to endure her first few weeks at Promise High School. He and Cindy had been appalled by the behavior of their fellow students. Together, they had decided that by befriending her, they could shield her with their own popularity.

  Initially, Jack had meant only to be kind to Abby as an act of charity. But very soon, he had realized she was a young lady well worth knowing. She had been a bit gawky, then, and she'd dressed in plain, oversized clothes that hid what shape she had. She'd also worn glasses that had given her an owlish look, and she'd kept her luscious auburn hair pulled back in a braid. But she'd been smart, and as she'd opened up to him, he had found that she also had a delightful sense of humor. Talking to her had never failed to brighten his day.

  By the end of his senior year, her freshman year, she had gained the necessary poise and confidence she'd lacked in September. He had known she would be able to get by on her own in the future, and when he heard that she'd left Promise to attend Stanford on a full scholarship, he had been happy for her.

  Trying not to appear obvious, Jack followed Abby's progress along the pathway from the corner of his eye. A few feet from him, she raised her head slightly, giving him an even better look at her lovely face. His little Abby had grown into an elegant young woman—tall and slender, yet nicely rounded in all the right places.

  For one long moment, Jack was tempted to stand and greet her, but then, he hesitated. If Abby remembered him at all, it would likely be in the vaguest possible way—a way she might not care to acknowledge.

  They had been friends for only nine months, and that had been more than a decade ago. She had evidently changed quite a bit since then—the contact lenses that had obviously replaced her glasses and stylish way she was dressed assured him of that. She might not appreciate being reminded of the past she'd worked so hard to leave behind.

  In a quandary, Jack kept his eyes averted as Abby walked past him, though he hoped, perversely, that she would glance his way, and say something. She moved along briskly, however, her long strides exuding grace and confidence, her eyes on the ground, her hands shoved in her coat pockets.

  He should let her go. Really, he should. They had gone their separate ways a long time ago, and that had been for the best. Any encounter he initiated now would be of the briefest duration. And he would probably stir up more discomfort for Abby, as well as himself, than it would be worth.

  But how nice it would be to talk to someone who had known him when he'd been young, carefree and happy. He hadn't been that person since Cindy's death. Now, sitting on a lonely park bench with twilight falling around him, he wanted to be his old self again, as he could in the eyes of a former friend like Abby Summers.

  Giving himself no time for second thoughts. Jack stood quickly and headed after Abby. He caught up to her as she came to the sidewalk that ran alongside one of the square's four main streets, reached out and touched the sleeve of her coat at the same moment he spoke her name.

  "Abby? Abby Summers, right? It's me, Jack … Jack Randall."

  She halted immediately, but seemed to hesitate before she finally turned to face him. Though she smiled slightly as she met his gaze, her reluctance was obvious. He wondered if she had recognized him earlier, but chose, for whatever reason, not to let him know it.

  "Hello, Jack," she said at last, a catch in her husky voice.

  Noting the wariness in her eyes, Jack suffered a pang of remorse. She had come to the park on her own because she'd wanted to spend some time alone, and here he was, not only encroaching upon the privacy she'd sought, but expecting her to be glad of it, too.

  So say something, anything, you idiot, he chastised himself. Finish what you've started and let her be on her way.

  "I see you're home for the Christmas holiday, too," he said, trying for a lighthearted tone to match his smile. "Having a nice time, so far?"

  She stared at him for several seconds, then looked away, a frown creasing her forehead.

  "Actually, not as nice as I'd hoped," she replied. "My … my mother died earlier in the week. Her funeral was today."

  Recalling an article he'd read in the paper a couple of days ago about a local woman, Larissa Summers, who'd been killed in a car accident, Jack realized why the woman's name had sounded familiar to him. She had been Abby's mother, the one whose antics had brought him and Abby together, i
n a roundabout way, twelve years ago.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," he began, then added awkwardly, "I didn't know…"

  Actually, he should have, and he would have if he'd taken the time to put two and two together. But he couldn't tell Abby that. He'd been insensitive enough already.

  "Thank you." Brushing away the single tear that trickled down her cheek, she glanced at him. "It was so unexpected. I'm having a hard time accepting that she's really gone."

  Abby looked so forlorn that Jack wanted to put his arms around her and hold her close. But his certainty that such a move on his part would be wholly inappropriate, not to mention totally unwelcome, kept him from doing it.

  "I understand how you feel," he said instead.

  "Yes, you would, wouldn't you?" She met his gaze again, her sympathy and understanding evident. "I can only imagine how devastating Cindy's death was for you."

  "She was a very special person. One of a kind, in fact. Going on without her hasn't been easy, but I know that's what she would have wanted me to do. I've been lucky to have my work in pediatric medicine to keep me busy. That's helped a lot."

  "You couldn't have chosen a better way to honor her memory," Abby assured him. "She'd be so proud of you."

  "I hope so."

  Oddly disquieted by the warmth of Abby's gaze, Jack looked away. Once again, the urge to hold her close rode through him, this time as a means to gain comfort as much as to give it. Once again, he refused to allow himself to act upon it.

  "Well, I should be going," Abby said after a few moments, shivering delicately as a gust of wind swirled around them.

  Common sense dictated that he offer a final word of condolence, wish her well, and wave her on her way, but Jack didn't like that idea at all. Not when he'd felt more at ease with Abby during the few minutes they'd spent together than he'd felt with anyone since Cindy's death. But neither did he want to linger at the edge of the park, trying to make small talk.