# Missing: One Bride

Alice Sharpe

SURPRISE BRIDESTHE BRIDESMAID…AND THE GROOMAlexandra Williams was certain her coworker Natalie's wedding was a mistake. It was clear Nat was interested only in her fiancé's money; she seemed totally immune to Thorn Powell's good looks, his personality, his– Well, okay, maybe Alexandra was a tad jealous.Now Thorn was furious. He insisted bridesmaid Alexandra help him track down his missing bride. The gorgeous groom had never given her a second glance before, but now all this togetherness was having a most unexpected payoff. Would there be a wedding after all?SURPRISE BRIDES. An irresistible trio about love and marriage by three talented authors!

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Alice Sharpe

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

## “I never even knew you noticed me,”

Thorn said.

“I noticed you,” Alexandra admitted, laughing at the depth of the understatement. I love you. The thought came to her like words unspoken, filling her eyes with tears, blurring his features already heavily shadowed and indistinct. She lowered her head until their lips met again.

It felt right to kiss him, to have his hands roam her body. She wanted to be part of his life and his future and she wanted him to love her in the same, passionate, devoted way he’d thought he’d loved Natalie, in the same way she was discovering she loved him.

“This is wrong,” she said at last, pulling away. Thorn was still obsessed with Natalie. And she couldn’t make love with a man who didn’t love her.

Much as part of her wished she could.

Dear Reader,

In 1993 beloved, bestselling author Diana Palmer launched the FABULOUS FATHERS series with Emmett (SR#910), which was her 50th Silhouette book. Readers fell in love with that Long, Tall Texan who discovered the meaning of love and fatherhood, and ever since, the FABULOUS FATHERS series has been a favorite. And now, to celebrate the publication of the 50th FABULOUS FATHERS book, Silhouette Romance is very proud to present a brand-new novel by Diana Palmer, Mystery Man, and Fabulous Father Canton Rourke.

Silhouette Romance is just chock-full of special books this month! We’ve got Miss Maxwell Becomes a Mom, book one of Donna Clayton’s new miniseries, THE SINGLE DADDY CLUB. And Alice Sharpe’s Missing: One Bride is book one of our SURPRISE BRIDES trio, three irresistible books by three wonderful authors about very unusual wedding situations.

Rounding out the month is Jodi O’Donnell’s newest title, Real Marriage Material, in which a sexy man of the land gets tamed. Robin Wells’s Husband and Wife…Again tells the tale of a divorced couple reuniting in a delightful way. And finally, in Daddy for Hire by Joey Light, a hunk of a man becomes the most muscular nanny there ever was, all for love of his little girl.

Enjoy Diana Palmer’s Mystery Man and all of our wonderful books this month. There’s just no better way to start off springtime than with six books bursting with love!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

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

## Missing: One Bride. Alice Sharpe


www.millsandboon.co.uk

This Book is Dedicated to My Most Loyal and

Supportive Fan, My Mother, Mary R. LeVelle

A special thanks to Carolyn Deaton, Evelyn Lemon,

Carolyn Moore and Pam Kreitzberg

## ALICE SHARPE

met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

## Chapter One

It was a perfect day for an outdoor wedding. Early-June roses climbed the high rock walls of the enclosed garden; the sky was watercolor blue, the air sweet and warm. Eighty-eight people sat expectantly in white wooden chairs that were laced with nosegays of orange blossoms, forget-me-nots and pale yellow ribbons. A string quartet stood beneath a white-and-mint-striped awning, their gentle music floating out over the heads of the invited guests.

A perfect day for a wedding except for the fact that the bride was a no-show.

Alexandra Williams stood off to one side, partly hidden by a row of potted rose trees. As the sole member of the bride’s wedding party, she was dressed in a pale yellow gown, a color so subtle, it almost didn’t exist. She held a small frilly umbrella, which to her mind made her look like an extra on the set of Gone With the Wind The handle of the worthless umbrella was encrusted with roses and ribbons. She’d done this herself; in fact, she’d created all the floral pieces that decorated the tables and chairs. She’d stayed late at the floral shop where she worked, up half the night as a favor for Natalie, the bride.

Speaking of Natalie…where in the world was she? Well, seeing as she was late for work half the time and tended to cancel appointments by simply not showing up, Alex supposed Natalie being late for her own wedding shouldn’t come as too big a surprise.

Alex wasn’t wearing a watch, so she wasn’t sure exactly how late the ceremony was, just that the “moment” had come and gone. She glanced in the direction of the minister, who was standing by the groom’s family. He was studying his watch, then darting quick looks toward the French doors leading from the house. He didn’t cast the bride’s family any loaded looks for the simple reason that the bride didn’t have much family and what she did have wasn’t there.

Alex’s gaze darted ahead of the minister and rested on the groom, Thorn Powell. He seemed upset, a condition that didn’t detract in any way from his startling good looks. In his tuxedo, with a vibrant yellow rosebud pinned to the lapel, his gray eyes stark against his tanned skin, his shoulders broad, his stomach flat, he appeared to be exactly what he was: a rancher in his early thirties, wealthy, smart, industrious—and about to marry the wrong woman.

No, no, no, Alex cautioned her runaway thoughts.

But they came again. Natalie and Thorn were wrong for each other. Alex knew it; she suspected Natalie knew it but didn’t care, and now she wondered if maybe Thorn wasn’t beginning to realize it, as well.

As if her thoughts had touched his mind, he turned just then, caught her eye and began walking toward her. Alex felt her heartbeat accelerate as his long stride brought him closer and closer. This was his land, his yard, and he crossed it with a self-assured gait and an intensity of suppressed irritation that wafted ahead of him like an invisible calling card.

“Alexandra,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where Natalie is?”

Alex shook her head, faintly aware of the tendrils of black hair that had escaped the French twist and now brushed her bare shoulders. “I haven’t the foggiest,” she said. “But you know Natalie.”

“She didn’t say anything to you?” he persisted.

“Not a word. Does this mean she hasn’t called here, either?”

He nodded, then once again scanned the yard as though he suspected Natalie might be lurking behind a tree or a fountain. “When did you talk to her?” he asked.

“At the shop last night, right before closing.” She didn’t add what they had talked about: money. The fact that Thorn had it and Natalie wanted it. It had been mentioned so often, Alex had been moved to ask if there weren’t other more compelling reasons to marry Thorn Powell—other attributes he might possess that made him the only man for Natalie Dupree.

“Sure,” Natalie had said. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, too.” A throaty laugh had been followed by the words, “And did I mention he’s loaded?”

Thorn mindlessly punched fist against palm and said, “The limousine driver swears she was dressed in a wedding gown when she answered the door but that she told him to go on back to the agency, that she’d drive herself, that she had a phone call to make. I asked him if she seemed upset and he said she didn’t, that on the contrary, she’d seemed to be quite excited—so excited, in fact, that she gave him a huge tip.”

Thinking of the way Natalie refused to tip the kid who delivered sandwiches from the deli down the street from the florist shop, Alex said, “That’s odd.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I imagine you called her apartment?”

“Of course.” He glanced at his watch, surveyed the yard, then turned that penetrating gaze on Alex. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. Now I’m going over to her place.”

“What about all this?” Alex asked, a sweeping gesture including the guests, the towering cake, the musicians, the minister.

“To hell with all this,” he said. “Anyway, it’s about to be announced that the wedding is off, at least for today, and I don’t particularly want to be around.”

“Neither do I,” Alex said heartily.

“Do you want to come with me? If she’s there and she’s healthy, she’s going to need a bodyguard.”

A smile crossed Alex’s lips. She couldn’t imagine this man actually hurting any woman, let alone Natalie, so technically, Alex was hardly needed. So why was her heart beating faster and why did her stomach feel all fluttery just at the mere thought of being alone with him? You’re crazy, she told herself. To him, she said, “Okay.”

She followed him out the back gate to a late-model luxury convertible replete with two long strings of cans tied to the rear bumper and a sign reading Just Married. The sides of the car were decorated with something white and gooey.

Although Thorn had been coming into the shop for the better part of two months to fetch Natalie for their various dates, the conversation Alex and he had just held was the longest they’d ever engaged in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t friendly and exceedingly polite; Natalie was simply always ready to leave. In fact, the store joke was how many seconds it would take Natalie to whisk Thorn out the door. So far, the record was thirty.

Thorn tore the sign and the cans from the bumper and dumped them in the back seat, where they landed with a rattle and a clank. Alex tossed her umbrella on top of the cans, then, with some difficulty, managed to stuff the bulk of her dress into the front seat and close the door.

As he started the engine, she slid a sideways glance at Thorn’s profile, at the straight nose, the intent mouth, the assertive thrust of his chin. Every line and crease shouted impatience. She looked away as he backed the car down the long drive and pulled onto the road. As distracted as he was, he was also a good driver, and the trip from his place to Natalie’s apartment building took only fifteen minutes.

The complex was in a nice area of the small city of Cottage Grove, nestled next to a park, which currently held several children involved in a game of softball. As Alex unfolded herself from the front seat and spilled onto the pavement like a wilted rose, she sensed the children staring. With Thorn in a tux and her in a gown, they must look like the misplaced top off a wedding cake. This thought was followed by an inward smile she didn’t stop to dissect.

“Her car isn’t here,” Thorn said.

Alex looked across the sea of automobiles. “How do you know?”

“They have assigned parking spots. I just parked in her space. Come on. Her apartment is on the second floor.”

Thorn stood aside for Alex to mount the stairs ahead of him; she lifted her skirt in her hands and began making her way, with him close behind her.

The landing was made of the same concrete as the stairs, a no-nonsense iron railing added to keep tenants from taking a nosedive to the parking lot. Alex’s heels clicked along the walk as she passed the windows of different apartments, some decorated with potted plants, one with a cat sitting on the sill, catching the afternoon sun.

“Hey, you passed her door,” Thorn said, gripping Alex’s elbow and halting her progress. “It’s this one—3B. Haven’t you ever been here before?”

“No,” she said.

He regarded her with a startled look, which he shook off with effort as he reached past her and rapped on the metal door. They waited expectantly for several seconds, then he knocked again, this time so hard, the curtains in the next apartment parted and an elderly woman peeked out. Alex smiled reassuringly at the woman who snapped the curtain shut without changing her expression.

“Friendly place,” Alex murmured as she watched Thorn take his keys from his pocket. He found the one he was looking for and inserted it into the lock. The door opened easily, soundlessly.

“Nat?” he called into the dark room.

No answer. He propelled Alex inside and closed the door behind him; they were instantly swallowed by darkness. She stepped backward and ran into him. He clutched both her arms and steadied her, then dropped his hands and patted the wall, looking for the light switch. The room was suddenly flooded with light.

Alex ran her hand up and down her arm where Thorn had touched her. He had his back to her and was leaning down to press a button on the answering machine. As his recorded voice filled the room, pleading with Natalie to pick up the receiver, Alex looked about, registering a beige sofa, tan carpet, creamy drapes, ivory pillows. The place was exceptionally neat.

Thorn had left three messages, each one reflecting increasing alarm. He flicked off the machine after the final message and faced Alex.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Maybe we should call the hospital—”

“I already did that. I also called the emergency clinic and the police, who told me to call back in twenty-four hours if I still haven’t heard from her.”

“Then maybe we should go back to your place and wait. I know this may sound silly, but I have a feeling there’s a perfectly logical explanation—”

He waved aside her assurances. “You’re her best friend. What about her family?”

Alex was immediately uncomfortable with the tag of “best friend,” although technically, she supposed it fit. Natalie had lived in Cottage Grove for less than a year and had worked in the shop just six months; as far as Alex could tell, she had few female friends. “You’re her fiancé,” she shot back. “If you don’t know about her family, how in the world would I?”

“Don’t you women talk to one another about things like that?”

“Don’t people about to commit their lives to one another exchange a little family information?” she countered.

He cast her an irritated glance and sighed. “I know her mother is dead and she’s estranged from her father. I know that she invited less than a dozen people to the wedding and half of them were from the flower shop. That’s all I know.”

“Well, Thorn, believe it or not, that’s all I know, too. Let’s go—”

“Not yet. First we’ll take a look around here for a note or some kind of indication as to where she might be. You take the bedroom, I’ll take the living room and the kitchen.”

Alex found the bedroom at the end of a short hallway. Like the living room, this.room was tastefully decorated in a bewildering array of beiges, but unlike the bulk of the apartment, it was amply lit with a large window and a skylight making artificial illumination unnecessary.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser and winced. The dress had not been her choice. The color did not flatter her dark eyes and hair and tended to wash out her skin tone. She had argued that it looked too bridelike, sure that Natalie would immediately switch her to bright blue or pink, but Natalie had just smiled and said, “It looks expensive. I like it!”

“It is expensive,” Alex had said, gulping when she got a look at the price tag. There was no swaying Natalie, however, and in the end, Alex had put a down payment on the yards and yards of flounce and fluff, knowing she’d never wear it after Natalie’s wedding.

Ah, she thought now. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of jeans and a tank top.

She felt like a trespasser as she opened a few drawers, coming away with the distinct impression that many items were missing. A peek in the closet confirmed that suspicion. There was a long rectangular impression left in the plush carpet that had to have been left by a suitcase. The clothes rod was half-bare.

So what? Natalie had packed for a three-week honeymoon in Hawaii. She’d talked of little else for the past month. She’d painted a picture of tropical nights and fragrant orchids, a picture only slightly marred by her continual reference to the first-class air tickets Thorn had booked and the deluxe suite they would enjoy once they got there.

A final glance around the room revealed a telephone by the bed and another answering machine. The telephone had a different number printed on the receiver, meaning Natalie had two separate phone lines. The message light was not blinking, but for some reason, Alex pushed it anyway. A mechanical voice informed her it would replay messages.

A male again, but not Thorn. This voice was lower pitched, older. “Nat, honey, you win. Meet me at Otter Point, we’ll go from there.”

Otter Point was on the Oregon coast. Alex had been there many times, though she’d never stayed in the luxurious hotel overlooking the cove, not with the prices they charged, not on her salary. But the beach was free and she loved to climb the black rocks and listen to the pounding surf. She rewound and replayed the message, glad that Thorn hadn’t heard it, undecided as to how to relay this piece of information.

“Play that again,” Thorn said from the doorway.

Alex swiveled around. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were like lasers as he stared at her, one hand on the doorjamb, the other in his trouser pocket. “Play it again,” he demanded.

She played it again.

“Damn her,” Thorn said.

“Now, Thorn, don’t jump to conclusions,” Alex cautioned.

“Jump to conclusions!” he yelled. He regained his composure and added, “I’m afraid I don’t see too many ways to interpret that message. Besides, you haven’t seen what’s in the hall closet.”

“Maybe that was her dad on the phone,” Alex said.

Thorn looked doubtful, but he said, “Play it again. Please.”

She played it yet again. The words were nebulous enough to leave the possibilities wide open, at least in Alex’s mind.

“I don’t think it’s herfather,” Thorn said. “He sounds old enough, but there’s some other quality to his voice I can’t pin down, except that it’s not paternal.” He took a step into the room and added, “The message sounds very personal to me. Damn! I think Natalie has flown the coop to hook up with whoever that is on the phone.”

This was the first thought that had crossed Alex’s mind but now she wasn’t so sure.

“If it was her father, why wouldn’t she have called the house or left me a note?” he added.

Alex shrugged. She wanted to say that Natalie was self-centered and that if something caught her attention, it was entirely possible she would forget all about Thorn, but she kept hearing Natalie talk about Thorn’s money. It was hard to believe she’d walk away from that and yet, apparently, she had.

Alex imagined that being stood up at the altar—even if it was for a long-lost father—would be hard for anyone to take, let alone someone like Thorn Powell, who had probably never been stood up in his entire life.

“Come look at what I found,” he said.

She followed him into the hall, where a narrow door stood open revealing a small closet. Heaped on the floor of the closet was Natalie’s wedding gown, tossed aside like a used tissue.

“Oh, dear—” Alex began.

“Still think she ran off to meet her father?”

“Well—”

“Because I’m having a hard time swallowing that scenario. She’s dumped this dress the same way she’s dumped our wedding, the same way she’s dumped me.”

“I admit it looks that way, but—”

“She’s not going to get away with it,” Thorn said suddenly and, turning on his heels, walked down the hall, Alex once again in hot pursuit.

“What are you going to do?” she called.

Ignoring her, he tore open the front door and disappeared outside.

Alex closed and locked the door behind her, then raced along the balcony to catch up with him. At the top of the stairs she hooked the toe of her right shoe in the hem of her long skirt and, for one terrifying second, thought she was going to end up at the bottom of the steep concrete stairs in a broken heap of torn silk and shattered bones. Gasping, she threw out her hands for balance and toppled forward.

Thorn wheeled and caught her with steady hands. Effortlessly, he swooped her into his arms and carried her down the stairs.

“This isn’t necessary,” she mumbled to his chin.

“I don’t have the time to cart you to the hospital,” he said. They had reached the ground and for one long second, he stared down into her eyes. The gray of his irises seemed fogged with doubt. Alex guessed this was an uncomfortable condition for him, that he wasn’t used to indecision.

He unceremoniously put her down on her feet.

“Thorn, what are you going to do?”

The confusion in his eyes fled like a flock of birds suddenly startled. “I’m going to find her,” he said. “She’s going to tell me what’s going on or I’m going to wring her pretty little neck.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“Then I’m going with you,” Alex said firmly. Natalie wasn’t her best friend, and Alex certainly didn’t admire the way she was treating Thorn, but there was a murderous look in his eyes.

“No, thanks,” he said as he strode toward his car. She reached the passenger door as he slid in behind the wheel.

“You can either take me with you or I’ll follow you,” she told him.

“How? You don’t have a car.”

“You’re right. If you leave me here I’ll be stranded.”

“Call a cab,” he said as he put the key in the ignition.

She held up both empty hands. “How? I don’t have a penny on me.”

He shoved a hand in his pocket, then swore. “Neither do I,” he said.

“Listen, my feet are killing me and this bickering is just wasting time.”

He stared at her again, as though seeing her for the first time, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. “You’re right, it is. Okay. Just get in.”

Alex once again folded herself into the little car. She didn’t stop to wonder why she was foisting herself upon this poor man; she only knew that she felt compelled to accompany him.

After all, I’m the maid of honor, she mused, though she was pretty sure no etiquette book counted among the official duties hunting the bride down like one would a rabid dog.

“Fasten your seat belt,” Thorn told her as he drove the car through the winding streets.

She did as he asked—no mean feat, given that the dress increased her girth threefold—and said, “Where are we going?”

He shot her a quick glance with eyes that now brimmed with life. Alex realized he was a man used to taking action, used to dealing with a crisis by controlling it.

“Otter Point. Where else?” he said briskly.

Where else indeed?

## Chapter Two

Thorn made himself obey the speed limits, though every fiber of his body urged him to press the accelerator pedal right through the floor. When he’d checked his pockets for a quarter to give Alex to call a taxi, he’d realized he’d left the house not only without any loose change, but without his wallet. With no driver’s license in his possession, all he needed now was a cop with a quota to fill.

He stole another sidelong look at the woman seated beside him. She was staring straight ahead, her hair still partly piled on top of her head, her profile as distinct as a cameo. He had noticed her in the flower shop, had even wondered about her a little as she seemed so wrapped up in her work, her fingers deft, her concentration complete. But truth of the matter was, he’d been so centered on Natalie that this young woman had been little more than an attractive fixture in among the blossoms. She was as pretty as her flowers, he now noted, her skin as translucent as a petal, her lips full, her lashes black and long, her eyes a startling.shade of dusky blue.

She seemed to sense him staring at her and turned her head slightly, shooting him a quick nervous smile as she attempted to brush windblown strands of glossy dark hair away from her eyes. He guessed she was suffering second thoughts about the wisdom of accompanying him on this fool’s errand.

“There’s a scarf in the glove compartment,” he said.

Alexandra nodded slightly and retrieved the scarf. It was Natalie’s, of course—white and filmy, the stuff wedding gowns were made of. Thorn felt a small knot form in his throat as Natalie’s perfume hit his nostrils and then was gone. In his mind’s eye, he saw the crumpled dress in Natalie’s closet, the one she’d refused to let him see before the ceremony—hell, the one she’d bought with his money!

Maple and alder branches intertwined, forming canopies above the winding road that led from Cottage Grove to the Oregon coast. The river ran beside the road in places, and Thorn caught glimpses of people leading ordinary lives on this clear Saturday afternoon—swimming in the river, fishing, boating, picnicking.

“How could she do this to me?” he asked, not realizing until he heard Alexandra answer that he’d said it aloud.

“You’re assuming she’s done something wrong,” she said.

“Yes, I am. Humor me.”

“I don’t know the answer,” she mumbled.

“I’ve given that woman everything she wanted.”

“Well—”

“And she has wanted a lot, trust, me,” he added. He shook his head and glanced briefly at Alexandra. “You didn’t know about this other guy?”

“No,” she answered. “If there is another guy.”

“There’s another guy.”

“Assuming there is,” she said cautiously, “didn’t you suspect something was wrong?”

He shook his head again and then found himself pondering the question. The truth of the matter was that he and Natalie had never really talked much—it hadn’t seemed necessary. Words were for other people, for family and friends and business associates, not lovers. At least, that’s what he’d always thought, and Natalie had seemed to be in perfect harmony with this ideology.

“I know you were anxious to get married,” his passenger continued, “but maybe you should have given her more time. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. Now you’ll have a chance to really talk to each other about how you feel—Yikes, Thorn, you’re awfully close to that bumper up ahead!”

He eased off the accelerator. “What do you mean, you know I was anxious to get married?”

“Natalie told me.”

“Natalie told you what!”

“That she wanted to wait a few months, but you insisted on a June wedding. She thought it was very romantic. Actually, everyone in the shop thought it was romantic.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. A subconscious thought surfaced like a dead guppy in a fishbowl. Did he really know Natalie Dupree at all?

The closer they got to the ocean, the chillier it became. Determined not to add to Thorn’s concerns, Alex shivered in her flimsy dress and didn’t ask him to put up the top of the car. The scarf helped keep her head moderately warm, and she found that she could half bury her bare arms in the voluptuous folds of her skirt.

At least her feet didn’t hurt anymore. She’d flicked off her shoes as soon as she got in the car and now she wiggled sore toes against the plush carpet, suspecting there was no way on earth she was ever going to get those pointed instruments of torture back on her feet.

It was early evening by the time they broke onto the coastal road and turned north. Alex knew it would take at least another hour of steady driving to reach their destination, and she clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering. Thorn was driving at a much more moderate speed than she would have predicted. In a way, she wished he would speed up and get this drive over with.

For the first time, she began to wonder what exactly would happen when they reached Otter Point. Should she trail behind Thorn as he looked for his wayward bride, or should they separate and cover twice as much ground? No, she’d better stay close to him, at least close enough to act as a buffer so that Natalie didn’t have to face Thorn alone.

Actually, what she really wanted to do was to plant herself in the hotel lobby, preferably near a functioning heater vent. Maybe she should broach this subject now and together they could settle on a plan of action.

One short peek at Thorn quelled that notion. His features were set in a frown that suggested whatever events he was mentally reviewing weren’t happy ones. She decided she had no desire to interrupt his thoughts and looked ahead instead, anxious only to get this over with.

After a long, slow curve, the road straightened out and ran beside the beach. Only a few determined walkers and people throwing sticks for frantic dogs were visible. The promontory on the north end of the beach was called Otter Point, and even from a distance of two miles, Alex could make out the hotel, which appeared to cling to the rocks with the tenacious grip of a limpet. The tiers of decks jutting from the main structure were outlined in twinkling white lights, while the interior of the hotel glowed yellow in the gathering dusk.

“We’re almost there,” she said.

Thorn spared her half a glance but said nothing.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?” Alex persisted.

“No.”

She took the hint—the man did not want to talk, at least not to her.

Thorn stopped the car opposite a pair of wide glass doors etched with seabirds. Within seconds, a young man in a teal green uniform appeared, opening Alex’s door, offering her a hand. Stiff from the long ride and chilled through to the bone, Alex knew her exit from the car was something less than graceful. As she unwound the scarf from her head, she felt half her hair tumble to her shoulders and looked up to find her helper, whose name tag identified him simply as Roger, staring at her with a bemused smile.

She reached back inside and grabbed her shoes. By the time she’d straightened, Thorn had come around the car and was waiting on the curb for her.

“Any luggage, sir?” Roger asked.

“What?” Thorn grumbled as he fished in his pocket.

“Luggage, sir?” Roger repeated.

Thorn, looking distracted, said, “No. I mean, yes. In the trunk.”

Alex looked at Thorn. “You brought luggage?”

“Honeymoon,” he snapped.

“Oh.”

“And I guess I’ll have to catch you later,” Thorn added as he turned back to Roger, his hands empty.

“That’s fine, sir.”

Another uniformed teenager had slid in behind the wheel to whisk the car away to parts unknown. He added, “We understand, sir,” and followed the comment with a broad wink.

“Understand what?” Thorn asked impatiently.

With a pointed look at Alex, the one in the car said, “How it is, you know, on your wedding day and everything.”

Alex opened her mouth to speak but a swift shake of Thorn’s head silenced her.

Roger gestured at the convertible. “You know, sir, this goop on your car can’t be good for the paint.” Nodding at the driver, he added, “Me and Todd would be happy to wash it off for you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” the driver said.

Thorn looked at the two younger men as though they were speaking Greek, and Alex realized these mundane concerns were beyond him at the moment. Taking matters into her own hands, she said, “Great.”

Thorn grabbed her arm and steered her through the doors, into a huge lobby decorated in a dozen shades of blue and green, the colors of the sea. Without saying a word, he strode purposefully toward the reception desk, Alex struggling to keep up with him. She hadn’t yet had a chance to put on her shoes and without the heels to add another two inches to her height, the dress dragged awkwardly on the floor.

The desk clerk was a woman in her twenties with enough blond hair for two people. She swept tousled bangs away from her eyes as she watched Thorn approach, then moistened her lips with a quick flick of her tongue. Her name tag read Candy.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The question was uttered in a voice that suggested the possibilities were endless.

“I want to know if you have a Miss Dupree registered,” he said. “Natalie Dupree.”

As Candy punched a few keys on the computer, Alex snuck a peek up at Thorn’s face. His gaze was directed solely on the clerk, or to be more specific, solely on the clerk’s hands. She wondered if Candy was aware of the tension building in Thorn’s body as he watched her red nails click against the plastic keys, seconds passing so slowly, each seemed to have a separate identity.

At last, Candy chirped, “No, sir. I’m sorry, but no one by that name is registered here.”

Alex, amazed, said, “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Candy said without so much as a glance at Alex.

“Wait a minute,” Thorn said. “Maybe she’s using a different name. She’s about this tall,” he explained, holding his hand below his chin, “with reddish blond hair and green eyes. She’s twenty-six years old.”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

“She may be with someone else,” Thorn said reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” Candy repeated as Roger appeared at Thorn’s elbow, a brown leather suitcase clutched in his hand. “I just came on duty a few minutes ago. I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description.”

“Fitting what description?” Roger asked.

Once again, Thorn described Natalie, this time adding the make and color of her car, but he was met with the same blank stare. “’Course, I’ve only been here since six,” the boy said, “and there’s a billion cars down on the extra lot.”

Thorn swore under his breath.

Candy, staring at the suitcase, said, “Are you staying with us? Do you have a reservation?”

Thorn once again looked baffled by a couple of simple questions. Apparently, he’d been so positive Natalie was registered at the Otter Point Inn that he was temporarily set adrift when he found out she wasn’t. As Alex had no idea what he wanted to do next, she decided to keep her mouth shut.

Roger, however, was not bound by these same concerns. “They’re on their honeymoon,” he told Candy, “in one gorgeous car.”

Immediately breaking eye contact with Thorn and sliding Alex a brief glance, Candy said, “How nice.”

Alex blurted out, “Not really—” but stopped as she noted the two startled expressions that greeted the beginning of this sentence. To heck with them, she thought, vowing once again to stay quiet.

“Well, by chance, the honeymoon suite is open,” Candy said as she scanned the computer screen. “As a matter of fact, it’s our only vacancy. We had a late cancellation.”

Thorn looked down at Alex. For a second, the rest of the world seemed to recede as his eyes probed hers. At last, he said, “Do you want me to drive you back to Cottage Grove or shall we take the room for a night and think this thing through?”

While two gaping strangers looked on, Alex stared at the man standing in front of her and wondered if pride alone was keeping him on his feet. His eyes looked drawn and tired, his square shoulders sagging under the continual blows to his ego. She smiled and said, “Whatever you want, Thorn. You call it.”

He looked back at Candy. “I don’t have my wallet on me. We left in kind of a rush.” Candy looked at him as though waiting for more information so he added, “Hell, just call Peter Hanks. He’ll vouch for me.”

“You want me to call our manager?”

“Please. Tell him Thorn Powell is here. He knows who I am.”

It took a little convincing, but in the end, Candy did call the manager at his home, where he apparently vouched for Thorn.

“I’m sorry to put you through all this, Mr. Powell,” the clerk said after she hung up the receiver. Her manner had moved from flirtatious to respectful, a subtle shift, but noticeable to Alex.

Thorn shrugged as though it was of little concern to him. Alex couldn’t help but notice how the dynamics of the situation changed once Thorn’s last name was known, and she wondered how often he stayed here and with whom—

“We’ll run a tab for you, sir,” Candy said as she handed Thorn a room key and a piece of gold plastic that looked like a credit card. “This is good in any of our restaurants or shops. Please, enjoy your stay.” With an ingratiating smile she added, “And I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, sir. I’ve been here only two weeks—”

“Since I haven’t stayed at the inn for over six months, I don’t suppose you should be required to know me on sight,” Thorn grumbled.

Candy’s answering smile was as sweet as her name and was gone just as quickly as she turned her attention to Alex. “Congratulations on your marriage,” she said.

Alex knew what the clerk was seeing: a disheveled woman in a gaudy, droopy gown, barefoot, with hair going in twelve different directions. She knew that without prior knowledge of the situation, the conversation she and Thorn had held discussing whether they should stay or leave must have sounded very odd coming from a supposedly newlywed couple. But she didn’t like Candy’s challenging stare or the condescending tone of the woman’s voice, so, crinkling her eyes, Alex looped her arm through Thorn’s arm, and said, “Thank you ever so much.”

Thorn’s brow wrinkled as he glanced down at Alex.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” she added.

Shaking his head, Thorn led her to the elevator, one step behind Roger.

The car was the topic of conversation as they rose to the third floor. Roger carried the ball while Thorn grunted now and then and Alex stopped to consider what she’d just agreed to—namely, spending the night in the same room with Thorn. She’d dropped his arm the minute the elevator doors closed, and now she snuck him a clandestine look and bit her lip. She wondered why she was allowing herself to be swept up in this man’s life and what he would expect as far as sleeping arrangements were concerned. After all, he was a stranger.

They followed Roger down a hallway, waiting patiently while the young man opened the oversized door of the honeymoon suite. As he switched on various lights and set the suitcase on the small cherry trunk at the foot of the bed, Alex stood off to the side, looking around the huge room, her shoes clutched against her chest.

Four glass doors opened onto a balcony, which apparently faced the sea. The wallpaper was a collage of cabbage roses; the bed was covered with deep pink satin and a dozen lace pillows, and there were silk flowers on every flat surface. A brocaded sofa and two fragile-looking armchairs cupped a low table in one corner, the wood dark and glossy from repeated waxing. The decor made the room look opulent, romantic and sexy in a warm hazy kind of way.

Roger was again assured that eventually he’d see a tip. Then he left, a small smirk on his lips that Alex caught and Thorn didn’t as he was already standing on the balcony, his back to the room. Muted sounds of breaking surf came through the open doors.

Alex took a step toward him, then stopped. She hated to intrude, but she was suddenly so tired, she ached. She caught sight of herself in a mirror again and shook her head. The last time she’d faced her reflection she’d looked silly. Now she looked like a bride who had been dragged behind a car for a couple of miles. No wonder Candy had been so smug.

Thorn came through the doors, and Alex’s overwhelming feeling was that it wasn’t fair. He’d had an even worse day than she and yet he looked incredible. While it was true the emotions the man had been subjected to during the past twelve hours had sharpened the edges of his face and etched new lines around his eyes and mouth, it was also true that these very things somehow enhanced the sheer masculinity that seeped through his pores. For a few seconds he stared at her with a dark, brooding expression and she felt a quivering in her stomach.

“You look beat,” he said.

Alex tried patting her hair back in place, but she knew that at this stage, it was pointless. “I am,” she admitted.

“I am, too,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Maybe that was what had caused the uneasy feeling. “A little.”

He nodded absently, sighed, and looked around the room. “There’s only one bed,” he said.

Alex smiled. “I noticed.”

“You can have it. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Thorn, what are we going to do next?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”

As it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to make rational decisions until he got his feet back on the ground, Alex once again took charge. “Order us something to eat,” she said, gesturing at the phone.

“I’m not hungry—”

“But you should have something to eat, and I’m suddenly ravenous. I’m going to take a bath.” While he stood rooted to the floor, she closed herself in the bathroom. With some difficulty, she got the dress off, then the bulky truss. She stuffed the whole mess into a corner, which instantly reminded her of Natalie’s wedding gown, abandoned on the closet floor.

Was the woman nuts? How could she walk away from a man like Thorn?

Alex shook her head. This wasn’t any of her concern. This thing was between the two of them; she was just here as a disinterested third party.

She ran a deep bath of steaming water and lowered her body all the way under until only her nose broke the surface. Heaven. After washing her hair, she towel dried and faced herself in yet another mirror. That’s when she realized she didn’t have a comb or a toothbrush or a robe.

She just couldn’t face, the dress again. Maybe the hotel had robes hanging in the closet. She wrapped herself in a huge towel and knocked on the door.

“Thorn? Are you out there?”

No answer came.

She knocked louder and called his name again with the same results. Tentatively, she opened the door and stared into the empty room.

She crossed quickly to the closet and chuckled to herself when she found two thick white terry-cloth robes hanging side by side—his and hers, bride’s and groom’s. She plucked one off a hanger, darted back to the bathroom, replaced the towel with the robe and did her best to finger-comb her shoulder-length hair.

Thorn was still missing. Alex paced the floor and wondered what, if anything, she should do about it. What if he’d found Natalie and the two of them had kissed and made up and completely forgotten about her? How long should she hide out in the room?

A few minutes later, she answered a brisk knock on the door without asking who it was, flinging it wide open to find another man in another teal uniform, this one behind a covered cart.

“Room service,” he said, rolling past her. Within a minute, he’d removed both the covers and himself, leaving Alex alone with a huge platter of cheese, a bowl of fruit, a basket of crackers, a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses.

Did this mean Thorn was eventually coming back?

She nibbled on the food but ignored the wine. She’d never been much of a drinker—in fact, her sister teased her that she was a “cheap date,” because she got giddy on the fumes alone. She wandered out to the balcony. The wind was cold and salty, and smelled like seaweed. The surf sounded distant—it must be low tide. She listened intently, wishing it was closer, louder, so that it would drown out her thoughts, because they kept circling back to her current role as Thorn’s faithful sidekick. Truth of the matter was she suspected she didn’t belong here, that she should put on her frilly dress and find a way home.

But not tonight, she told herself, shifting her gaze to the left. The curve of the building allowed her a view of the front of the inn where they had first arrived. In fact, she could make out Roger standing beneath one of the lights, which probably meant that the shaving cream previously decorating Thorn’s car was now a thing of the past.

She wheeled around as a key rattled in the lock. The door opened and Thorn appeared. He looked defeated as he scanned the room with weary eyes, but Alex doubted the expression he wore had anything to do with concern for her whereabouts.

She closed the glass doors behind her. “You were out looking for Natalie, weren’t you?” she asked as she poured him a glass of wine.

“Yes.”

“Did you find her?”

He swallowed the contents with one long gulp. “No. If she’s here, she’s behind a closed door.”

Alex looked down at the floor. She didn’t need him to explain what he was imagining, what they were both imagining: Natalie wrapped in another man’s arms, Natalie sharing another man’s bed, while her groom stood rejected and alone.

Not alone, Alex amended internally. I’m here.

## Chapter Three

Thorn’s head hurt in a major way, as if a great big bull were tap dancing inside his skull. The sofa was too short and too narrow to offer much of a retreat. In fact, when he tried turning over, he came close to sliding off onto the floor. Head pounding, he gave up trying to sleep and sat on the edge of the cushion, listening for a moment to the barely perceptible sound of Alexandra’s breathing.

This was not the way he’d imagined this particular night would pass, him on a sofa, a virtual stranger in his bed, and Natalie with some other guy.

Hell, this whole thing didn’t even seem real. Real things were the fences he mended, especially the one running east to west near the stand of fir trees marking the southern border of his land. He liked throwing the lumber and tools into the back of his pickup, liked the bumpy road that crisscrossed through the cattle fields, liked finding, a broken post or a sagging wire and fixing it. It was satisfying work, clear-cut, over and done with. And afterward, there was the shade of the trees, a perfect place for a cool drink and a well-earned lunch. Life reduced to basics, understandable, his to control.

Not like this. Not like wondering what the hell was happening to him, not like having his fate in someone else’s hands. Damn Natalie! He would never let himself be this vulnerable again. Never.

He popped to his feet and paced for a few minutes. Five steps to the wall, five steps back, over and over again while his thoughts jumped around in his miserable brain.

He was suddenly flooded with memories of her. The first time he’d seen her in the flower shop, standing behind the counter, all smiles and green eyes with those beautiful strawberry curls surrounding her face. He’d needed flowers sent to his grandmother. He remembered how she’d insisted on showing him every photo in a book full of floral arrangements, how she had touched his arm with her hand when she spoke, and how, when he’d finally asked her to dinner, she had smiled up at him as though she knew something he didn’t.

He remembered her in a bathing suit, all delicious curves and sun-warmed skin. She wouldn’t go in his swimming pool, said something about chlorine and her suit, but when he’d suggested they go down to the pond, she’d laughed at him. Women were such mysteries to a man like him, such intricate mazes with twisty corridors and high walls, full of secrets.

Natalie in a sundress, Natalie in his lap, Natalie’s eyes and her mouth and her perfect fingernails tapping against his arm. For four months there had been nothing and no one but Natalie, as if she’d cast some spell over him. Well, never again, he reminded himself. Never, never again.

He stopped pacing and crossed to the balcony doors, stopping on the way to look at Alexandra. Moonlight flooded her bed, kissing her face, so peaceful, in slumber. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, surrounding her face like a soft, dark cloud. Natalie hadn’t talked about this woman much. For that matter, she hadn’t talked about any of her women friends. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

Alexandra. Such a long, fancy name for a woman so upfront and sweet, though she did seem to have a streak of humor that bubbled to the surface at odd times. She was sure being a good sport about all this, but he was ready to bet a bundle that come morning, she’d expect him to take her home. Maybe he’d just give her his keys and let her drive herself. At any rate, one thing was for certain—he wasn’t leaving this place until he’d faced Natalie. He did not leave loose ends and right now, Natalie Dupree was one gigantic loose end.

Alexandra. On second thought, he liked the name. It fit her, for he sensed in her slight body a strong will and a fierce streak of independence that probably defined her to herself. The name was bold in a way, reminiscent of Alexander the Great. If memory served him right, old Alexander had been the king of Macedonia, the conqueror of the Persian empire. Tilting his head, Thorn stared at the face on the pillow before him, her soft and feminine features blurred by the moonlight.

The outside air was crisp and clean and did a lot to clear his head. As he leaned against the rail, he acknowledged the certainty he felt that Natalie was in this building. There was no real proof, of course. He’d tried looking for her car, but there were dozens of red compacts and he had no idea what her license number was. Tomorrow, he’d stake out the restaurants. If that didn’t work, he’d start knocking on doors.

His headache all but disappeared as he stared up into the night sky. It was amazing that these ocean-hugging stars were the same ones he saw at home. For a second, he was back on the ranch, alone in the rambling house he’d built with his own two hands, out on the balcony that ran along the back of the house, gazing upward, picking out Orion and the Pleiades. He found these constellations now, smiling up at two old friends who didn’t tell him that he should have known better, that he was a fool. “Thanks, guys,” he whispered. “I appreciate it.”

Alex awoke during the night, unsure what had called her back from a restless dream she could no longer remember. For a second, she lay beneath the satin quilt, placing herself in the honeymoon suite of the Otter Point Inn, alone in a huge bed meant for lovers.

Gradually she became aware of a cool breeze blowing in from the glass doors, and raised herself on her elbows to find long sheer curtains billowing back into the room, which meant the doors were open. The balcony was lit by the moon and she could just make out a dark shape standing at the rail.

An instinctive gasp died on her lips as she realized the shape was actually Thorn. His back was to her as he stared out at the sea.

He wouldn’t throw himself down onto the rocks, would he?

No. As upset as he obviously was, he didn’t act suicidal, just humiliated and angry. Now, if Natalie was here, that might be a different story. Natalie he might very well like to toss off a balcony.

Would he, or do I just want to believe he would?

This second question came from nowhere and left Alex feeling shaken.

She heard him close the doors as she slowly lowered her head back to the pillow and feigned sleep. His footsteps hardly made a sound on the plush carpet as he crossed back to the sofa. She heard the creak of old furniture as he lowered his weight and tried to get comfortable. He was paying for the room and she was half his size—why hadn’t it occurred to her to take the sofa and let him have the bed?

Should she get up and offer the bed to him now? Would he want it? Maybe the sofa was a better place for a jilted bridegroom. She fell asleep again while trying to figure out what to do.

The next time she awoke, it was morning and sunlight streamed through the glass. As she got out of bed, Alex looked over at the sofa, half expecting to find Thorn gone again, but apparently his late-night reverie out on the balcony had taken its toll. He lay asleep, half on the sofa, one arm hanging off to the side, both feet dangling over the end. He’d kicked off the blanket she’d given him the night before and it lay in a heap on the floor. Thankfully, he at least slept in his underwear.

She stared at him longer than was strictly necessary. His hands and forearms were tanned the same deep color as his face, the rest of him a shade lighter. He had very nice legs, well shaped, muscular. She liked his ankles. He stirred and she turned away at once.

False alarm. When she dared to take another peek, he was sound asleep again, on his side, all arms and legs, his head half buried under an arm. Alex let herself out onto the balcony, anxious to escape Thorn.

The rocks below were black and jagged, the ocean that swirled around them, sapphire blue. For some time, Alex stared at the water. She was wearing the robe—indeed, she’d slept in the robe—and she tightened the belt around her waist. What was she going to put on this morning? Would Thorn have any clothes that would fit her? Maybe she could borrow his gold card and buy herself something in the gift shop—shorts and a T-shirt, a touristy dress printed with whales or dolphins. Anything!

She winced when she thought about the prices she knew she’d find. A confirmed bargain hunter, she tended to wait until clothing was marked down so far, it was a giveaway. Well, desperate situations called for desperate measures and all that.

As she turned to go back into the room, she caught sight of a small yellow sports car pulled up to the front of the inn. Then she realized what had really drawn her attention was the driver. He was a very tanned man with long white hair caught in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was facing the inn, a striking man in his fifties with eyes dark enough to stand out at a distance. He looked like the male lead in a spy movie.

She was about to turn away when a woman in a kneelength coat approached the passenger door of the car. The coat was an unusual shade, more orange than red, vibrant, eye-catching, hemmed in heavy black braid. A distinctive coat, a familiar coat, one Alex had seeh every morning for the past six months. With a feeling of inevitability, her gaze traveled from the coat to a swirl of reddish-blond hair, and then, as the woman turned, to an upturned nose and a pair of huge dark glasses.

Alex raced back into the room, calling Thorn’s name as she ran. By the time she got to the sofa, he was blinking the sleep from his eyes. She stood above him and pointed outside. “Natalie,” she managed to say.

In a flash, he was on his feet and out the doors. She saw him peer over the railing, then back into the room toward her.

“Where?”

“Getting into a yellow car.”

He looked over the railing. His expression as he faced Alex confirmed what she was afraid of.

“Too late?” she asked as she joined him.

“Apparently. Are you sure it was her?”

“Absolutely positive.”

He nodded briskly. “Okay. Tell me what you saw while I get dressed.”

Following him back into the room, she said, “There was a man in a yellow car.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned again. “A man,” he repeated woodenly.

“Yes. A much older man.” She left out the part about the way the man looked, the square set of his shoulders, his distinctive mane of hair. The man might be older than Thorn, but he was no slouch and he certainly didn’t look like anyone’s father. Of course, Thorn standing there only half-dressed didn’t look like a slouch, either!

“Go on,” Thorn said as he picked up his suitcase and threw it on the bed.

“In a second. I don’t suppose there’s anything in that suitcase I could wear?”

Thorn had grabbed the first clothes he came to—a white shirt and a pair of khaki slacks. With Alex’s question, he turned to look at her, and for the first time, he seemed to notice she was in a robe, seemed to remember than she had no luggage. “I don’t know, I’m a lot bigger than you are—”

“What about this?” Alex asked as she pulled a bright red-and-white Hawaiian shirt out of his bag.

“Sure, I don’t care. Take anything you want. Just hurry.”

As he dressed in the bathroom she described the rest of what she’d seen, her voice raised so he could hear through the wooden door. As she spoke, she put on the shirt and dug through his suitcase, emerging with a pair of baggy white swim trunks. They had a cord at the waist and she slipped them on, tightening the cord, then knotting the shirt. His shoes were impossibly big for her and she couldn’t face the heels, so she decided to go barefoot.

By the time this was done, Thorn was out of the bathroom, completely dressed, looking like a million bucks. Again.

They opted for the stairs when the elevator took too long to answer the call. Thorn was at the desk before Alex. By the time she got there, the desk clerk was being grilled.

“Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Powell, and might I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage.”

This clerk was middle-aged with thinning black hair and a clipped mustache. Alex had seen him watch her approach the desk in Thorn’s wake. When she stopped beside Thorn, the clerk actually gave her a double take, as though he couldn’t believe the Thorn Powell was hitched to this frizzy-haired woman swimming in men’s clothes. Alex smiled pleasantly and said, “Good morning.”

“Morning, ma’am,” he said. His name was Alfred. To Alex, he looked like an Alfred. She couldn’t imagine anyone calling him Alfie.

“Yes, yes,” Thorn said. “I want to know about the woman who just left here. About five-eight, reddish hair, orange coat—”

“You mean Miss Blackwell,” the clerk interrupted.

“Miss Blackwell?”

“Jasmine Blackwell. She’s here with her father, Gerald Blackwell.”

Alex leaned forward. “A man in his fifties with long white hair and black eyes?”

“Yes, that’s him,” the clerk said.

Thorn, his hands in tight fists, said, “How long have they been here?”

“Since yesterday afternoon,” the desk clerk answered as he punched up the information on his screen.

“Did they arrive together or separately?”

Alfred gave a pained little smile and sighed. “Mr. Powell, I must assure you that I would not have answered even this many questions if it wasn’t for the fact that you are such a valued guest and Mr. Hanks has left explicit instructions that we accommodate you in any way we can, but really, sir—”

“Together or apart?” Thorn repeated.

The desk clerk must have heard in Thorn’s voice the same note of authority tinged with recklessness that Alex heard. He said, “Apart. Mr. Blackwell checked in several hours before Miss Blackwell.”

Thorn stared at his feet. Alex knew he was reviewing facts in his mind. Then he said, “Where did they go?”

“Now, sir—”

The clerk slid Alex a loaded glance that clearly said, This man is your husband. Get him off my back! Alex smiled and shrugged.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the clerk said at last.

“And I’m sure you do!” Thorn thundered.

Alex pulled on his arm. “Now, honey, this poor man is just doing his job, protecting the privacy of everyone, you know how it is. Remember when you got that other man fired, what was his name, Phil? Maybe it was Bill. Anyway, we don’t want this man’s job on our conscience now, do we?”

Thorn looked down at her and said, “Sure we do.”

“To the airport,” the clerk blurted out.

The answer surprised Alex and apparently Thorn, as well, for he stared at Alfred a full thirty seconds before demanding, “Why?”

“To catch a plane.”

“Of course. But what plane and to where?”

Another moment of silence as the man thought about his options, threw Alex a glance more furtive than the previous one, then finally heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Miss Blackwell wanted to shop. I overheard them talking. They said something about Seattle.”

“Have they checked out of the hotel?” Alex asked.

“No.”

“Then they’ll be back?” Thorn added.

The clerk nodded. “Mr. Blackwell said they would return this evening.”

Alex mentally prepared herself for a day of lobby sitting, but Thorn took her arm. “Thanks, Alfred.” He looked down at Alex and added, “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Suddenly ravenous, Thorn ordered a big breakfast of steak and eggs, damn the cholesterol. He was a little surprised when Alexandra echoed his choice. She was smaller than Natalie and he’d expected her to eat the same way her friend did, which meant dry toast and tea for breakfast.

Once the food was consumed, he sat back in the leather armchair and stared out at the ocean, a second cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Thorn?”

He turned back to face Alexandra.

“I think I should go home,” she said softly.

He leaned his arms on the table. “I can’t drive you back now,” he said. “I have to see this through.”

“I know you do. But I don’t belong here, and besides, I don’t think you really need me hanging around.”

He stared into her eyes and felt a stab of panic assail him at the thought of her leaving. “Yes, I do,” he said. “You’re Natalie’s friend and you have to be here to keep me from throttling her.”

“You’re not going to throttle her,” she said with a slow smile.

“Okay, I’m not going to throttle her. Still, I wish you’d reconsider. Besides, it’ll be over tonight.”

“But I work tomorrow—”

“I’ll drive you home after we see Natalie.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know—”

“I’ll make the wait worth your while,” he said suddenly.

This earned him another smile. “How?”

“We’ll do something fun today. No reason we have to sit in the lobby when they won’t be back until tonight.”

She regarded him with her steady gaze that reminded him of the stars. “You’re different this morning,” she said.

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. More lighthearted. Less…broken.”

“Well, let’s see. My fiancée is staying here under an assumed name with a man old enough to be her father, who may actually be her father—and if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. I spent yesterday in a daze, and tonight I’m going to hear her side of the story, but today, here I am at the beach with a pretty girl and a few hours to kill. Let me assure you that inside, I’m still shattered, enraged, perplexed and boondoggled, but damn, I’m tired of wallowing in it. Allow me this charming front.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“And stay with me, please.”

“As a distraction?” she asked, her eyes now mocking.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Will you? You’ve come this far. Of course, if there’s someone at home who will miss you, parents or friends you need to call, or pets to care for—”

“Nothing like that,” she said, interrupting. “I live alone, my parents are in Arizona and my only plans for today involved laundry. Okay, I’ll see it through.”

“Good. Finish your steak, Alexandra, we have a lot to arrange.”

“I’ve eaten all I want.”

He nodded. For a man who should be feeling dumped and dismal, he felt remarkably good. Of course, a hearty breakfast always did wonders for his morale.

“There is one problem,” Alex said. “I don’t have a comb or a toothbrush.”

He looked at her hair, really looked at it for the first time that morning, and grinned. She was a mess, all right. Of course, a few stray hairs didn’t really detract from her face, but he could see that she needed some personal items.

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” he told her.

They found a sundries store on the floor below the lobby and Thorn stood by as Alex picked out the three or four things she needed. He couldn’t help but notice how modest her choices were or how often she told him she’d repay him. He tried telling her that she was there because of him, but in the end, he let it drop. If it made her feel better to repay him thirteen or fourteen dollars, then so be it.

He sent her up to the room by herself, then went back to the lower-level shops and found one that sold women’s clothing. There wasn’t a whole lot to choose from, but as this was the only store he could shop at, he adapted to the limited selection.

Estimating her size, he chose a blue bathing suit with lots of little straps around the back. The only sweatshirt without a picture of some big-eyed animal plastered on the front was a bright purple one with pink sleeves, which he kind of liked. He grabbed a pair of red pants that looked as though they were made out of parachute material and should be cool or warm depending on the situation, then found the only sandals in the place—gold ones with flowers on the toes.

“Oh, Mr. Powell,” the clerk told him as she rang up his purchases. “Are these things for the new Mrs. Powell?”

Thorn was bent over a rack, trying to decide what SPF the suntan lotion should be. He looked up at the clerk and said, “No.”

“What!”

The woman’s shocked voice roused him. He said, “What?” back at her.

“I asked if these items were for your new wife. The hotel grapevine, you know.”

Oh, brother. “Ah—well, of course they are,” he mumbled.

The woman, tight-lipped because she obviously didn’t believe a word he said, wrapped his purchases in tissue paper, ran the hotel credit card through a machine and handed him the bag. “I’m sorry if I pried into your personal life,” she said, her eyes downcast.

Great, Thorn thought. Now the entire hotel will think I’m cheating on my wife of one day. “You don’t understand,” he began, but then he dropped it. What was the use? When this was over, he’d just have to stay away from the Otter Point Inn for a while. But after the confrontation he envisioned with Natalie tonight, he doubted very much that he would want to come again anyway.

Back in the lobby, he cornered Alfred and arranged for a picnic and a couple of Boogie boards and wet suits to be delivered to his car. Then he took the elevator back to his room. Instinct told him what he needed was some sort of physical activity to make the time pass, to take his mind off what was to come. For a second he wondered if all his plans would blow up in his face—maybe Alex was as cautious about the water and the sun on her skin as Natalie was, but somehow he doubted it. Still, he’d skip the details until it was too late for her to back out.

Alex spent the time alone in the room to move her maidof-honor dress and the truss to the empty closet where Thorn wouldn’t have to constantly see them. She was just getting out of the shower when she heard a loud knock on the bathroom door. After wrapping herself in a towel, she opened it to find a blue sack in Thorn’s outstretched hand.

“For you,” he said. “Put the bathing suit on under your clothes. By the way, I looked in my suitcase but I can’t find my suit. Were you wearing it this morning?”

His suit, which she’d used as shorts, was neatly folded and lying on the counter. “Yes,” she said as she handed it back to him.

“Thanks.”

“What’s in the sack?” she asked as she opened it.

“Clothes and a bathing suit, like I said. I had to estimate your size. I hope everything fits.”

“I can’t accept—”

He cut her off. “Spare me all the protests, please. Just put on the clothes and let’s get out of here.”

She closed the door on him. “Where are we going?” she asked as she dumped out his clothes. What she needed was a pair of sunglasses—the clothes were all bright colors. Very bright colors. Damn near fluorescent! How could a man who dressed himself so well choose such strange clothes for someone else?

She heard him answer, but his voice was muffled and she guessed he’d moved off toward the glass doors and the balcony. At any rate, she didn’t catch a single word. The bathing suit was a size too small, but she pulled it on anyway, a little confused at first as to where all the little straps were supposed to go. A bit tight in the bust, but not too bad. The other clothes were baggy, the sandals a size too big and a lot too fancy seeing as they were shiny gold with silver and black silk daisies glued to the toes. She tried pulling off the flowers but they were stuck on there for good. Resigned, she slipped them on and avoided her reflection.

“Oh, my,” Thorn said, as she opened the door and he caught sight of her. “I guess I got a little carried away, didn’t I? Well, you look nice in bright colors, Alexandra, and it seems as though everything fits. Kind of, anyway…”

He was wearing his swim trunks and a pair of rope sandals and nothing else. His chest was covered with a soft dusting of dark hair, which clung to his pectoral muscles and inflamed Alex with the incredible urge to touch him. He pulled on a knit shirt, which effectively saved the day.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“All that steam made me dizzy,” she mumbled as-she fanned herself with an open hand.

“You okay now?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She held up the suntan lotion. “Listen, Thorn, we’re on the Oregon coast, where it’s windy half the time and cold the other half. Why do we need bathing suits and this stuff?”

“Don’t ask. It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Not really?”

“Yes, really.”

He grinned at her. “Surely you can humor a jilted man?”

“You’re not acting terribly jilted.”

“Smiling through my tears.”

She shook her head.

“I need to get away from here, Alexandra,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I keep thinking about Natalie and the guy with the white hair. I need to get out in the open with the fresh air and the wind. If there were horses, I’d go riding, but there aren’t. However, there is an ocean. Can’t we just go?”

Instantly contrite, Alex gathered two towels from the bathroom and followed Thorn out of the room. Twice that morning, she’d assumed his banter was lighthearted; she hadn’t considered the possibility that he was trying to make her feel comfortable or, perhaps more accurately, that he was hiding from the deep betrayal he must surely feel. She must stop calling him on it and just let him go. If he could have fun on a day like this, so could she.