The Sometime Bride

Chapter Four

“The plan is impossible,” Carrie said, stabbing into her salad with her fork.

“Improbable, maybe,” Mike said, biting into his burger. “Nothing is impossible.”

“But you’re talking about walking into a big group of my relatives and friends and convincing them we’ve been an item for—what?—a year and a half now? They’ll see through it in an instant.”

“Not if we’re convincing,” Mike said, shaking his head. He set down his burger and picked up his bottle of imported beer. “Besides, how much do these people really know about Wilson Haywood anyway? You said the two of you met in New York.”

“We did.”

“That your relationship was mainly on weekends.”

“It was.”

“Sometimes there, sometimes here—right in quaint little Mill Creek.”

“What, precisely, is your point?” Carrie asked, sipping her iced tea.

“My point,” Mike said, taking a swig of beer, “is that your relationship with Wilson wasn’t exactly…normal.”

“Oh, and you’re such an expert on normal relationships,” she pointed out with a broad sweep of her knife.

Mike bolted backward in his chair. “Watch it with that thing! Don’t slay the messenger. I’m just telling it like it is. People don’t see you all touchy-feely with your fiancé, they might figure, well, that’s just a product of how things developed.”

Carrie took exception to what he was suggesting. On the one hand, he might just be trying to save her some trouble by playing things cool like she wanted. On the other, he might very well be insinuating that Carrie was a cold fish. Which she certainly was not. And clearly wouldn’t be with a man like Mike Davis standing beside her.

“And if things were ‘touchy-feely,’ as you put it, between me and Wilson?”

“Were they?” Mike asked, little crinkles tugging at the corners of his sea-green eyes.

Carrie put down her knife and thought about that. The truth was, no. Wilson had been very businesslike in a number of things, including in his relationship with her. She’d even sworn he’d timed their lovemaking so as to be less disruptive of the professional calls he’d always placed before—and afterward.

“Well?” Mike pressed, his honey complexion taking on a deeper hue that perfectly complemented his rugged appeal. It was hard to picture him in real estate, when the word outdoorsman was written all over his chiseled face. Not to mention his hard-toned body.

“Well, if you must know,” Carrie began, feeling the slightest bit naughty but not the least bit ashamed of her duplicity. “Wilson was quite an affectionate man.”

Mike choked on his pickle. “That so?”

“Oh yes,” Carrie said, putting on her most confidential face. “It was somewhat embarrassing actually. PDA to the max! Sometimes, I practically had to beat him off with a stick!”

“A stick?” Mike gave up on his pickle and took a long drag of beer. “That doesn’t mean you’ll be hurting me, does it?”

“Not in the least,” Carrie assured him, feeling a familiar ache wend its way all the way down to her bones. An ache that told her she was going to enjoy this little party a lot more than she’d originally suspected.

“Ah darn,” Mike said with a Cheshire-cat grin. “But, no worries. We can work around that.”

“You just remember your mission,” Carrie cautioned him sternly, again with the knife.

“Anything you say, oh knife-wielding one.”

Carrie laughed and looked down at her hand. “No cracking jokes at the shower. Got it? Especially none that would give the two of us away.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Carrie wondered about that. Wondered, especially, if she’d been just a tad bit rash in insisting this thing between her and Mike remain simply “friends.”

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mike said, cocking one eyebrow. “Thinking up those three wishes?”

But, honestly, Carrie only found herself thinking of one. About how nice it would have been if Wilson had been a bit more like Mike. More relaxed and easy to get along with.

“It’s funny, really,” she admitted over the rim of her tinkling glass, “but I was thinking about how different you are from Wilson.”

Mike settled back in his chair. “And that—at this precise moment in time—would be a compliment?”

Carrie smiled and set down her glass. “You’re a nice man, Mike Davis.”

“Ah-ah,” he said, shaking his head. “Please don’t tell me that!”

“That you’re nice? Why ever on earth not?”

Mike coughed and picked up his beer. “Let’s just say that the only woman who’s ever called me nice and is still talking to me is my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Rich.”

“Let me guess,” Carrie said, narrowing her eyes. “Alexia said you were too nice for her.”

“Bingo,” Mike said, setting down his empty beer. “Ditto that, Carol. And Marianne, and Barbara…”

“My, my,” Carrie said, pursing her lips. “You do have quite a reputation, don’t you?”

“As the perpetual bachelor, yes,” he said with a frown.

“But that’s a reputation most men would savor.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not most men.”

Oh, she’d noticed all right. Noticed in a heartbeat. “So what exactly is it that you’re after, nice-guy Mike Davis?” she asked with a teasing smile. “If it’s not your personal freedom, like most men.”

“I’ve had my personal freedom,” he assured her. “So much of it, I’m practically drowning in it. But to answer your question—”

“Honestly,” she said, laying her napkin on the table, “all kidding aside.”

“Honestly? Don’t you think it’s a bit risky to be asking honesty of a man you met less than a day ago?”

“No more risky than taking him home to meet my grandmother.”

Mike gave her a broad, sweeping smile that settled into an affectionate grin. “Ah Carrie, you’re really very sweet.”

“Now, don’t go calling me sweet—”

Mike chortled. “Let me guess? Something like my Mr. Nice Guy?”

Carrie felt the heat envelope her at the thought of being read so easily. But he could read her easily, this man she scarcely knew. Or perhaps it was simply because the two of them were in the same boat that he happened to know exactly what she was feeling, precisely when she was feeling it.

“Okay,” Mike continued, “to answer your question—honestly. What I’m after is probably not so different from what you are. A stable relationship, a home. Kids, maybe.”

“A white picket fence?” she asked, feeling the renewed heat in her cheeks.

“Sure, why not? If you can get one of those in the Caymans,” he added with a grin.

Carrie’s heart fell a million miles. What on earth had she been thinking? Kidding herself about a potential relationship with someone she’d met in such a haphazard manner? Hoping against hope that taking him home as the man of her dreams would somehow convert him to that before her very eyes? Come on, now, Carrie, wake up—and join the twenty-first century!

Besides, the man was already making plans to move to the Caymans. More than a stone’s throw from Virginia. This little charade between them involving her shower and his reunion next weekend was all she had. And Carrie St. John and her woebegone heart would do very well to remember that.



Mike took a running dive into the crystal clear waters of the pool, thinking that things weren’t going quite as swimmingly with Carrie St. John as he’d planned. He was glad she’d agreed to go to his reunion. More than glad—ecstatic, actually—that a stunning woman like her would help him save face with his friends. And he didn’t mind stepping into Wilson’s shoes for her bridal shower one bit. What bothered him was the make-believe element to their whole affair. It was definitely a screwy way to begin a relationship. Non-relationship, he reminded himself, as per Carrie’s instructions.

For anybody else, it would have been the perfect setup. He’d make out like a bandit at his high school reunion—no strings attached. But, for Mike, who felt an inexplicable yearning to stay by Carrie’s side in a much more than fraternal fashion, the whole picture rotted—big-time.

Plus, it really seemed like an unfair trade. Carrie’s shower, after all, was only a mere couple of hours out of one afternoon. His reunion, on the other hand, was an entire weekend-long extravaganza. Of course, he hadn’t quite told her that—yet. But he would. Just not until after she’d been sufficiently impressed with the way he’d wowed her family and friends. Then, she’d feel beholden—at least in some small way—and would still agree to come to his rescue. Even if it involved a fancy dinner and a Sunday afternoon picnic.

Yeesh! This was where having gone to a private school most definitely paid. Nothing that Ashton Academy did was anything less than first-class. And Carrie St. John was definitely a first-class kind of girl. Mike would be the envy of every man in that room, he thought with a smile as he stroked his way across the pool. Heck, if only it weren’t such a big illusion, he’d even be the envy of his own former self!



Carrie turned in the mirror and studied the cellulite on her thighs. What had she been thinking? Telling Mike she might possibly join him for a swim? These thunder thighs weren’t going anywhere except for maybe into a pair of shorts. A pair of very long, very modestly proportioned shorts, Carrie thought, rifling through her suitcase.

But if Mike was supposedly nothing more than a friend, what was she all hellfire worried about? Friends didn’t dump friends over a pair of weighty thighs. Friendship was based on other things, like mutual respect. Common interests and goals…

Carrie sat heavily on the bed. She certainly hadn’t known Mike long enough to get a handle on the interests part, but she and the “swim god” definitely shared common goals. Though she hadn’t dared tell him so, the ideal he was after wasn’t really so far from her own. Except for the Cayman Islands part. The Caymans! Ironically enough, an investor’s heaven. One of her business associates in New York had been pressing Carrie to open up a bank there for almost a decade. But Carrie had always preferred to channel her funds into more personal ventures. It was helping out entrepreneurs that gave her the most satisfaction. Small businesses, start-up operations like this country inn here.

Then again, the Caymans did hold possibilities… Not the least of which stood about six foot two and had the perfect smattering of dark blond hair on its chest.

Carrie walked to the bathroom and threw some cold water on her face. She was losing her mind! Losing it completely! Actually considering the notion…

Now, for a vacation, maybe.

Carrie smiled into the mirror at visions of her and a very oiled-up Mike Davis stretched out on a white-sand beach.

But that idea was ludicrous too! She and Mike didn’t stand a prayer of a chance starting out the way they had. Besides, the two of them had made a pact. And, despite his occasional flirtation which Carrie assumed was second nature to a man like him, he truthfully didn’t seem interested in being more than just friends. All Mike was after was a way to impress his old high school buddies. But returning to the full-length mirror and studying her silhouette once again, Carrie was uncertain why he imagined she could do the trick. Though Carrie considered herself reasonably attractive, she was well aware she had what the magazines called “figure flaws.” Flaws that Wilson had occasionally been unkind enough to point out—in his own teasing way. A way which Carrie hadn’t found the least bit amusing.

Maybe she’d just slip on the denim shorts and stroll on down to the pool. It would look odd if she failed to show completely. And she certainly didn’t want Mike thinking she was nervous about facing him. Though she was. Utterly nervous. Mostly because, when she saw the man half-nude, her thoughts ran wild. Straight into the “Mike, Tarzan; Carrie, Jane” jungle! And now that she figured him to be a nice guy on top of the way he looked… Well, Carrie wasn’t quite sure she could trust her own reaction.

She’d heard of people on the rebound. The rampant bed-hopping that sometimes went on when one wounded partner was getting over the other. But Carrie had never figured herself to be the bed-hopping type. In fact, before Wilson, there’d really only been one other man. The first one she’d thought she would marry and, soon after their break-up, had started referring to as “old what’s-his-name.”

But even “old what’s-his-name,” her first lover ever, hadn’t stirred her half as much as Mike Davis. But maybe that was what she got for comparing twenty-two-year-old apples to thirty-something-year-old oranges. Very ripe, very succulent oranges. Criminy!

Carrie sighed and hunted for a belt that would do her waistline justice—meaning suck it in just a tad more than its natural state. Though, of course, a friend wouldn’t notice her waistline one way or another, she told herself, sweeping her hair into a ponytail and arranging her tresses in the mirror. Friends didn’t care what friends looked like, just as long as they kept their word.



Mike’s eyes popped open when he heard the clack of sandal heels on the pavement. Carrie St. John headed down the path in strappy black sandals, a formfitting tee and cuffed denim shorts. She certainly was revealing a lot more flesh than she had been earlier, but not nearly enough for Mike’s satisfaction, he thought, sitting up to disguise his reaction that would have been otherwise quite evident through his swim shorts.

“You’re not swimming?”

“Can’t,” she said with a congenial smile. “Still got lots of telephone calls.”

A buzz of panic shot to Mike’s brain. “But I thought we—”

“Oh yes… I mean, no.” She blew a soft breath that sent a loose tendril spiraling. “I’m not backing out of our deal or anything like that.”

Mike sat back against the lounge chair, relieved. He’d actually been looking forward to playing Carrie’s fiancé. Especially, he thought, eying her well-formed bosom through her unforgiving cotton top, once he’d learned about that touchy-feely part.

“It’s just that I’ve still got a lot of calls to make, and I want to try to catch the businesses while they’re still open.”

Mike raised his eyebrows.

“Flower shops, the caterer… You would not believe all that goes into a wedding!”

“No.” Mike gave her a melancholy smile. “Guess I’ve never gotten that far.”

“Oh, sorry,” Carrie said, bringing her hands to her flaming cheeks. “Didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Actually, Mike thought, Carrie did a pretty fine job of making him feel terrific. “It’s all right,” he assured her. “But I thought you weren’t going to cancel those things until after the shower?”

“The sooner, the better,” she told him. “Unless I want to get stuck footing the bill for a wedding that doesn’t happen.

“You’re really sweet to agree to be my fiancé tomorrow. Really very sweet. You were absolutely right; I needed to buy myself some time. Once I’ve taken care of canceling the other arrangements and smoothing out all the wrinkles, breaking the news to my family won’t be as hard.”

“Glad I could help,” Mike said, feeling as if he should stand but still not exactly trusting what his body was doing. Carrie St. John had an unusual effect on him. Though she was certainly not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, she was definitely one of the most womanly. There was something very sensual about the way her feminine curves suited her just right. Curves he found himself itching to get his hands around.

“Gonna cool off,” Mike said, startling Carrie by bolting to his feet and diving in a split-second lunge into the pool.

“Fine!” Carrie called after him as he popped his head above the water. “I’ll be back at the inn. Maybe we can meet for dinner and plan out tomorrow?”

“Absolutely!” Mike called after her before dunking his steaming head back under the surface.