Full Throttle & Wrong Bride, Right Groom Read online

  With a surge of excitement that chased away her weariness, Kate headed for her quarters. She had a good idea why Dave had asked Cody to keep Jill busy for an hour or so. If she moved fast, she could get in a quick shower and change out of the flight suit she’d been in for going on twenty hours now before the man arrived at her quarters.

  She should have known she couldn’t outrun a sky jock. Dave was already there. In her bed. Wearing nothing but a grin and his watch.

  “What took you so long?” he complained.

  Laughing, she leaned against the doorjamb. “How the dickens did you beat me here? Cody said you had some business to take care of.”

  “I did.”

  With a jerk of his chin, he indicated the box of condoms he’d invested in at the Inn of the Mountain Gods. They’d run through a respectable number of them, but there had to be at least five or six left.

  “After our little adventure today, I just wanted to make sure we had plenty of backup and redundant systems.”

  Kate groaned. “That’s the worst attempt to get a girl in the sack I’ve heard yet.”

  “I can do better,” he assured her. “Come here, KK, and let me whisper in your ear.”

  “KK?” she asked, then remembered the nickname he’d bestowed on her. “Never mind, I got it. Move over, DD. Give me room to sit down and take off my boots.”

  He obliged, edging his hips to the far side of the twin bed. Kate sat on the edge, brought her foot up and let her glance sweep the length of his lean, muscled body. Her bootlace snapped in her fingers.

  Dave didn’t help matters by propping his head in one hand and playing with her hair while she shucked her boots and socks.

  “DD, huh? Let me guess. Darling Dave, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  “Daredevil Dave?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Gimme a hint.”

  “No hints. You have to figure it out for yourself.”

  Kate stood, unzipped her blue flight suit in one fluid move and stepped out of it. Her sports bra and panties followed her cotton T-shirt to the floor.

  “In the meantime, cowboy, why don’t we see just how redundant your systems are.”

  Very redundant, Kate decided some hours later.

  She lay flopped across Dave’s chest, boneless with pleasure and so sleepy she couldn’t pry up even one eyelid. A dozen solar flares could have burst above her and blazed across the night sky and she wouldn’t have seen them.

  She did, however, hear Dave’s soft whisper as he eased her off his chest and into the crook of his arm.

  “This is one race we’ll both win, Kate.”

  WRONG BRIDE, RIGHT GROOM

  To my mom, Alyce Thoma, who packed up her house and her kids and her dreams every time Dad got transferred. You made a home filled with love and laughter for us wherever we ended up.

  Thanks, Mom, for all that and so much more.

  Prologue

  A long, melodramatic sigh carried over the clatter of keyboards and distant mutter of travel agents caught up in the frenzy of last minute Thanksgiving bookings. Lucy Falco, office manager of Gulliver’s Travels, tugged her gaze from her flickering computer screen and smiled at the travel agent hovering just outside her office.

  “What’s up, Tiffany?”

  A slender woman with a wild mane of silver curls strolled into the office, her pale gray eyes dancing under a layer of rather startling plum eye shadow. With a girlish grace that belied her sixty-plus years, Tiffany Tarrington Toulouse settled into a tall wingback chair.

  “I’ve worked out the honeymoon package Mr. Gulliver asked us to put together for Abigail Davis’s sister.” She paused dramatically. “I got them the honeymoon cottage at the Pines.”

  Lucy’s dark brows soared. “The Pines Resort?”

  “And at a substantial discount, too.”

  “How in the world did you manage that?”

  “Not very easily! But Abby performed such miracles with our offices, I was determined to come up with something special for her sister.”

  Tiffany’s appreciative gaze roamed Lucy’s office, recently redecorated by Abby Davis. The young estate appraiser and antique dealer had transformed Lucy’s functional work center into an inviting haven with hunter-green walls, gilt-framed prints, wingback chairs and an antique leather-topped desk in burled cherry. She’d worked the same magic on the rest of Gulliver’s Travels, including Tiffany’s corner suite, which was why the older agent had worked so hard to put together a special package for her.

  “Poor Abby,” she said with a shake of her silver curls. “Her sister sprang this wedding on her less than a week ago, then dumped all the arrangements in her lap. I had a time pulling it all together, I can tell you. Every first-class inn and hotel within a hundred miles of Atlanta has been booked up for months, because of the big football game.”

  Lucy nodded sympathetically. The holidays were always their busiest time. The Georgia-Georgia Tech shoot-out on Thanksgiving Day only added to the chaos. Tiffany had pulled off a real coup by booking the honeymoon couple into the exclusive Pines Inn and Golf Resort, just fifteen miles north of Atlanta.

  Still, remembering the near-disastrous Halloween honeymoon package Gulliver’s Travels had put together for another couple recently, Lucy wanted reassurance.

  “You’re sure everything’s confirmed?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You got it in writing?”

  “Every detail.”

  Holding up a ringed hand, the older woman ticked off the arrangements.

  “The groom arrives this afternoon. It took some doing, but between us, Beth and I got him an upgrade on a flight out of London. The wedding takes place this evening. The Pines helped us track down a justice of the peace who’ll perform the ceremony.”

  “A real one, I hope,” Lucy interjected, the Halloween fiasco still fresh in her mind.

  Silvery locks bouncing, Tiffany nodded. “A real one. Afterward, they’ll enjoy a private dinner prepared by the inn’s world-class chef. Then—” she handed Lucy a colorful brochure “—a honeymoon cottage, complete with wet bar, Jacuzzi, wood-burning fireplace. And one very huge, very decadent bed.”

  Lucy’s dark eyes lit with laughter as she studied the picture. “It’s certainly huge, anyway.”

  “And tomorrow,” Tiffany continued gleefully, “the Pines’s year-in-advance-reservations-only gourmet Thanksgiving dinner, delivered to the cottage, compliments of Gulliver’s Travels.”

  Smiling, Lucy handed back the brochure. “You and Abby certainly went all out. I hope her sister appreciates your efforts.”

  “I’m sure she will. This is one honeymoon the bride and groom will never forget!”

  Chapter 1

  “What do you mean, you can’t marry him?”

  Abigail Davis gripped the handle of the 1930s-style white plastic phone and fought to control her exasperation. Losing her temper never did any good. Not with Beth.

  “I just can’t.” Panic laced her younger sister’s voice. “I…I don’t know him.”

  Turning her back on the two well-dressed matrons browsing through the antique shop, Abby rolled her eyes. She’d said exactly the same thing—several times!—when Beth called to announce that she’d met the man of her dreams during an unexpected crew layover in England. By the time her flight crew had been assigned to another international run, the impetuous, impulsive Beth had fallen passionately in love. For the umpteenth time.

  Now, after begging Abby’s help in arranging a wedding during the brief window of opportunity when she and her air force fiancé would both be in the States, Beth was backing out. Again.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I know how much trouble you went through to set this up for me.”

  An understatement if ever there was one! Abby bit back a groan, thinking of the frantic phone calls she’d made to Tiffany, not to mention the substantial deposit she’d already paid the Pines to guarantee the honeymoon cottage and the wedding supper. If th
e wedding was canceled now, she’d be lucky if all she lost was her deposit.

  Still, she’d rather forfeit the entire cost of the wedding than see her sister make a serious mistake. Swallowing her irritation, she softened her tone.

  “I’m glad you had the courage to face your doubts before the wedding, instead of after.”

  Relief added a breathless baby-doll quality to Beth’s voice. “I knew you’d understand.”

  “I just hope your groom does.”

  “He will…when you explain it to him.”

  “What?” Abby shook her head, setting the tendrils of her loosely piled honey-blond hair dancing. “No way, kiddo! I’m not bailing you out of this one.”

  Her sharp retort drew startled glances from two browsers and a frown from her boss. Marissa DeVries maintained a standing rule against her employees taking personal phone calls while on the floor. That was only one of the many reasons Abby was looking forward to terminating her employment at Things Past.

  “Please, Abby.”

  She hardened her heart against the plea in her sister’s voice. “No, Beth.”

  “Just go to the airport this afternoon and meet Jordy’s plane. I…I can’t face him.”

  At the small, hiccuping sob, a hint of amused exasperation came into Abby’s brown eyes. She’d heard that pathetic little sound many times over the years. Usually just before Beth confessed to some childish prank or another, which Abby would end up taking the blame for.

  But Beth wasn’t a child any longer. And running out on her groom the day of their wedding hardly qualified as a childish prank.

  “I won’t do it,” Abby stated in her best no-nonsense big-sister tone. “If you insist on getting engaged every time you date a man more than once, you can darn well learn to get yourself unengaged.”

  “You know how I hate to hurt anyone’s feelings….”

  “For heaven’s sake, Bethany! We’re not talking about just anyone. The man is on a plane at this very moment, flying in from England to marry you.”

  “I know, I know!” Beth wailed.

  “You have to meet him and tell him about your change of heart.”

  “I can’t.” There was a small silence, followed by a rushed, guilty admission. “My flight leaves in twenty minutes.”

  “Flight?” Abby squawked. “What flight?”

  “I volunteered to fill in on a Paris-Cairo-Singapore run.”

  “Beth!” The irritation Abby had squelched just moments ago came rushing back in full force. “Don’t you dare skip out on your fiancé. Or on me!”

  “Talk to him, Abby. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I’ll write and explain things.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I won’t—”

  “They’re calling my flight. I love you, Sissy.”

  “Don’t ‘Sissy’ me. Not this time. Beth? Bethany?” Abby stretched the receiver out at arm’s length, glaring at the marble-grained white plastic.

  She couldn’t believe it! Beth had done it again. Slipped away and left her to clean up yet another mess. She knew darn well Abby wouldn’t let Sergeant Doug Jordan wander Atlanta’s busy airport, searching hopelessly for his missing bride.

  Dammit!

  “If you’re quite through with your personal calls, Abigail, you might think about getting back to work.”

  With some effort, Abby refrained from slamming the receiver into its cradle. She dragged in a steadying breath and turned to face her employer.

  As she met Marissa’s haughty stare, she told herself she should be grateful to the woman. She’d given Abby a job when she arrived in Atlanta five years ago with her younger sister, a self-taught knowledge of antiques and a burning desire to put down roots.

  Abby had always known exactly what kind of roots she wanted. The old-fashioned kind. The kind that went way down deep and included two, or maybe three, generations taught by the same fourth-grade teacher. Sunday-morning pancake breakfasts at the local fire station. A house that wore its age like a welcome mat. Rooms of lovingly polished furniture proudly displaying their scars of use.

  The job at Things Past had been Abby’s major step toward achieving her dream. At the time, her knowledge of antiques had consisted entirely of a wealth of information gleaned from books and a deep, intrinsic love of all things that possessed the past she and Beth lacked.

  Since then, however, she’d learned the business inside and out, been licensed by the state insurance board as an appraiser and increased the shop’s inventory through ever more skillful buys. In the process, she’d also worked more hours than any other employee, with marginal recompense and even less recognition. Marissa wasn’t the kind of woman to acknowledge anyone’s efforts but her own.

  “You’re taking off early this afternoon to help your sister prepare for her wedding,” the raven-haired shop owner said icily. “Do you think you might give Things Past a little attention until then?”

  Abby wasn’t ready to explain the latest development in the on-again, off-again wedding to her employer, who resented Beth’s demands on Abby’s time almost as much as the younger woman disliked the supercilious shop owner. Abby suspected one of the reasons her sister had insisted on a small, intimate, family-only wedding was to avoid inviting Marissa.

  “Actually,” she told her boss, “I need to take off earlier than anticipated. I’ve got to meet Beth’s fiancé at the airport.”

  “That’s out of the question. Your sister knows very well the holiday season is our busiest time of year.” Lowering her voice, Marissa nodded toward the two women examining a case of pink Depression glassware. “What’s more, the football game is bringing in all kinds of wealthy alumni. I need you here.”

  “I only came in at all as a special favor to you,” Abby reminded her patiently. “I have a lot to do today.”

  Like cancel a wedding.

  Marissa’s sharp, elegant features took on a peevish cast. “Beth knew how busy we’d be today. She should have exhibited a bit more consideration in making these hasty wedding plans.”

  “I doubt if Beth was thinking about the shop when she fell in love and decided to get married,” Abby said dryly.

  Or when she fell out of love, she added with a silent grimace.

  While Marissa huffed and complained a bit more, Abby stole a quick glance at her watch. She didn’t have the time to humor her humorless employer. Or the patience.

  Maybe this little confrontation was for the best, she decided. She was ready to cut the cord. She’d planned to wait until after Beth’s wedding to give notice, but she might just as well do it now.

  Her sister might have changed her plans for the future. Abby hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” she said firmly, interrupting her employer in midcomplaint. “I can’t give you any more time today. Or any other day, after the first of December.”

  Marissa’s penciled brows sliced sharply downward. “What do you mean?”

  “I told you a few months ago I was thinking about starting my own business.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have the capital or the expertise to launch yourself in this business.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The calm rejoinder took the older woman aback. Her heavily mascaraed eyes narrowed as she stared at her employee.

  “I’ve made an offer on a house on Peabody Street,” Abby said evenly, hugging to herself the tingle of excitement just saying the words aloud caused. “If the offer’s accepted, as the Realtor assures me it will, I plan to open the Painted Door just after the first of the year.”

  Abby didn’t expect congratulations or good wishes, which was just as well, since she received neither. Marissa’s lips tightened to a thin scarlet line. Without an-other word, she turned and walked back to the customers.

  Torn between relief at having given notice, simmering exasperation with Beth and near panic at all she had to do in the next few hours, Abby headed for the room at the back of the shop. Another quick glance at her watch told her she’d didn’t have time to call Gulli
ver’s Travels and get Tiffany working on the cancellation. Maybe she could reach her from the airport.

  She grabbed her purse from the middle drawer of the rolltop desk, then swirled a long black wool cape over her lacy-collared dress. A treasured find at an estate sale some years ago, the cloak served both everyday and evening duty during the chill winter months. Throwing one edge of the cloak over her shoulder, she dashed for the back door.

  The moment she stepped outside, icy rain hit her in the face. Gasping, Abby huddled under the overhang, buried her nose in the cape’s soft mohair lining and viewed the pelting sleet with dismay. Every few years, a horrendous winter storm swept down from the Great Smoky Mountains to the north and paralyzed the entire Atlanta area. She only hoped this gray, icy drizzle wasn’t the precursor of another monster.

  The narrow heels of her high-topped granny boots clicked on slick cobblestones as she picked her way to her minivan. Christened the Antiquemobile by Beth some years ago, more for its age than its utilitarian purpose, the brown van huddled in the cold like a fat, forlorn partridge. By the time Abby climbed inside, rain had drizzled down her neck and dampened the lace collar of her dress. Muttering dire imprecations against younger sisters in general and mercurial, impulsive ones in particular, she cranked the key. The engine coughed a few times, then caught. Clutching the wheel with both hands, she backed out of her parking space.

  Or tried to.

  The van’s worn tires whirred alarmingly on slick pavement. Gulping, Abby let up on the foot pedal, then depressed it more slowly. To her relief, the van inched backward. She swung it around, shifted into drive and eased onto the street. Once into the stream of traffic heading south to the interstate, she jiggled the heater’s switch. The air blower sputtered once or twice, then wheezed in defeat.

  “Wonderful,” she muttered as the damp chill whirled through the van. “Just wonderful!”

  The tip of her nose tingling with cold, she headed for Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport. On the way, she sorted through the long list of glowing adjectives Beth had used to describe her fiancé, Technical Sergeant Doug Jordan. It took some effort to turn Beth’s ecstatic ramblings into a mental picture of the man she’d meet for the first time in a few minutes.