Full Throttle & Wrong Bride, Right Groom Read online

  Cherry shuddered and passed on the soda, but declared the champagne “primo.” Smiling, Pete topped off her glass and filled one for Irv. Then he draped a casual arm along the back of the love seat and offered a toast with the orange soda he and Abby had opted to share.

  “Here’s to old traditions, and new friends.”

  “To good friends,” Cherry amended with her raspy laugh, lifting her champagne flute. She nudged Irv, who sighed and raised his, as well.

  “Here’s to the Bulldogs, who we won’t be able to watch.”

  Their glances swung to Abby. She hesitated, all too conscious of Pete’s arm behind her and the strangers across from her. She thought of her sister, somewhere between Paris and Cairo, and felt a tiny, familiar ache.

  Holidays didn’t tug at Beth’s emotions as deeply as they did Abby’s. She’d been so much younger when their parents died. Now, she barely remembered them. She didn’t seem to miss being part of a family unit as much as her older sister did…especially during the holiday season.

  In contrast, Abby felt their lack of roots most keenly at this particular time of year. Over time, Thanksgiving had evolved into her least favorite celebration. Even more than Christmas, it centered around hearth and home and family, the family she and Beth didn’t have. Yet as she lifted her crystal goblet of cream soda and looked into Pete’s dark blue eyes, she knew that this particular Thanksgiving would hold a special place in her memories. Memories she could bring out and savor long after he’d returned to England.

  Her gaze shifted to Cherry, who’d good-naturedly shared more of herself in a half hour of acquaintance than many would in a lifetime. And to Irv, his eyes glum behind the glasses, a distracted smile sketched across his face.

  As families gatherings went, this one didn’t quite match the picture she always carried in her heart. But, like the makeshift feast, it would do. It would do nicely.

  Smiling, Abby offered a toast.

  “To us.”

  Chapter 6

  Pete tipped his glass to Abby’s, then brought it to his lips. To his surprise and vague disgust, he couldn’t swallow. His throat had closed with the thunderous urge to kiss the mouth so close to his own.

  He’d been fighting the same damn urge since the moment he’d drifted out of sleep early this morning and found Abby sprawled across his chest. The erotic, unconscious massage her knee had given him during the night had been torture enough. Waking up to the feel of her breasts flattened against him, her chin hooked in his collarbone and her breath moist on his neck had almost sent him over the edge.

  The smile in her eyes at this moment had exactly the same effect on him. Heat rose under his skin. His hands curled with the need to reach for her. His body hardened. Painfully.

  Sweating under his leather jacket, Pete set his glass aside. While the others chattered and filled their plates, he tried to deal with the intensity of the desire that built in him with every hour he spent in Abby’s company. This growing, gut-tightening attraction was one of the reasons he’d invited the other couple to join them. He knew he wouldn’t lose control and jump Abby’s unsuspecting bones in a fit of passion, but a little distraction sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.

  Only he wasn’t distracted. If anything, the presence of the others gave him a freedom to sit back and participate lazily in the free-flowing conversation, while he drank in the sight and the scent of the woman next to him.

  Still fresh from her shower, she glowed with a natural beauty that Cherry, for all her stunning presence, didn’t come close to. Her hair flowed over Pete’s arm, a warm, living mass of tumbled curls. When she laughed at one of Cherry’s more provocative attempts to distract Irv from his unhappiness about the game, the sound sent a spear of pleasure arrowing into Pete.

  Careful, O’Brian. Go real careful here.

  The warning came swift and silent and almost too late. Pete recognized that fact, and slowly withdrew his arm.

  Dammit, he shouldn’t be sitting here wondering how he could convince Abby to extend her stay at the Pines for the rest of the holiday weekend. He shouldn’t be thinking up ways to get another shot at the kiss they’d both yanked back from last night. A woman with a yearning for a bed that could be passed to her great-great-granddaughter deserved more than Pete could give her.

  More than he could give her right now, anyway.

  Not for the first time since the accident, Pete found himself thinking about what came after his career. When he hung up his uniform for the last time, where would he be? What would he do with the rest of his life?

  The questions lay, hazy and unanswered, at the back of his mind as brunch gave way to the kind of idle conversation that turns strangers into acquaintances, then to the shared laughter that leads to friendship. Abby’s charm and Cherry’s earthy, irrepressible humor more than made up for Irv’s distraction and repeated calls to a local radio station on his cellular phone to check the progress on the roads and the power.

  “The ice storm didn’t do as much damage in the city as it did here,” he relayed gloomily. “Atlanta’s roads are already clearing. The game’s supposed to start on schedule.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Cherry slid her hand inside his jacket and bent down to nibble on his ear. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

  Pete felt a stirring at his side. Glancing down, he saw Abby shift and look away from the other couple. She studied the dazzling white light outside the windows. The beams high overhead. The logs stacked beside the fire. When her roving gaze came full circle and snared Pete’s, the dancing laughter in her eyes almost did him in.

  The laughter yanked at him like a harness strap. That, and the complete lack of condemnation or censure. For all her refined air and ladylike manners, Abby was no prude. It hadn’t taken Pete more than a few moments to recognize that Cherry was a graduate of the kinds of clubs the military authorities often declared off-limits. Abby couldn’t have failed to recognize it, either. Yet she’d welcomed their unexpected guests with a cheerful smile and an unfeigned warmth.

  Even now, with Cherry’s hand drifting toward dangerous territory and Irv about to melt into a bald puddle on the opposite love seat, Abby displayed no embarrassment or disgust. Only that warm, gleaming laughter that drew Pete in over his head. Way over his head.

  At that moment, his mental composite of Abigail Davis blurred, changed focus, reshaped itself. What emerged was a portrait of a woman. Not his admittedly male stereotype of a lady. A generous, vital woman. One he wanted with a hunger that hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.

  He came within a breath of suggesting that Cherry and Irv retire to their own cottage and leave him free to nibble on Abby’s ear…and her neck…and all parts south.

  Luckily—or unluckily—Cherry chose that moment to plant a smacking kiss on Irv’s cheek and pick up the conversation where it had been interrupted.

  “So what are you going to call this shop of yours, Abby?”

  “The Painted Door. I’ve found a wonderful old house in a part of Atlanta that’s just coming back to its full glory. The house needs some work, not the least of which is sanding and refinishing the magnificent old pier-glass doors. I’m going to do that myself. I know just the color of antique green I want.”

  She wrapped her arms around her knees. The glowing animation that had fascinated Pete last night crept back.

  “I plan to use the downstairs as a showcase for the antiques I’ve collected over the years. I’ll live upstairs, until I get the place up and running, at least.”

  “Hey, maybe Irv and I can come for your grand opening. We’re in Atlanta a lot. He’s a guest lecturer at the university’s school of dentistry.” Cherry knuckled his shining scalp affectionately. “Tell them about that talk you gave on gingivitis, sweetie.”

  Under her good-natured prodding, Irv shucked some of his despondency over the game. It soon became apparent that a dry wit and a self-deprecating sense of humor lurked under the dentist’s unprepossessing exterior. To P
ete’s surprise, he actually managed to hold his audience’s interest in the unlikely subject. Neither Pete nor Abby objected, however, when the conversation once again ranged onto more general topics.

  It had reached the lazy, wandering stage when a knock sounded on the door some time later. Pete answered it, with Irv crowding at his heels.

  A weary-looking man in blue coveralls embroidered with the Pines’ logo leaned a forearm against the doorframe. “Mr. O’Brian?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Orlie Taggert, chief of maintenance here at the Pines. We’re doing a check of the cottages. Everyone okay here?”

  “We’re fine. Dr. Mitchell and his party are here with us.”

  Relief creased Taggert’s tired face. “Good. We stopped by their cottage and were worried when we didn’t get an answer.”

  Irv nudged Pete aside, his face alight with hope. “Are the roads clear?”

  “Not all of them. The county just isn’t prepared to handle freak weather like this. I expect this is one of those storms folk will be talking ’bout ten, twenty years from now.”

  “But you made it up here.”

  “Had a time doing it, I’ll tell you. We took a ton or so of sand out of the traps on the golf course and layered it heavy over the ice. Without that, we wouldn’t have made it. The county folks are doin’ their best, though. Shouldn’t be too long now.”

  Irv’s face fell. “Any idea how long it’ll be before we get electricity, at least?”

  Taggert hooked a thumb toward the golf cart on the pathway outside the cottage.

  “I’ve got a crew from the power company with me. They say the lines from the substation that feeds the resort are down. We’re going up there now to check it out. It’s on the ridge, right behind this cottage. Can’t say as I can estimate how long it’ll take to fix whatever’s wrong, but we’ll do our best.”

  The prospect of restored power and sanded roads destroyed Irv’s ability to concentrate on anything except his chances of making it to the game. He checked his watch repeatedly, and squinted out the window at the crew working their way on foot up the slope behind the cottage. When the climbers reached the crest of the ridge, Irv reported on their progress with glee.

  “I’m going to get a report on the roads,” he announced, flipping open his cellular phone. “I bet the situation’s not as bad as ol’ Orlie thought.”

  While he paced the floor, the phone glued to his ear, Cherry rose and reached for the plates.

  “Guess we could clean up a bit.” Her mouth curved in a mischievous grin. “Looks like Irv and I will be able to leave you two to your honeymooning soon.”

  “Sooner than you think,” Irv crowed before Pete could come up with an answer. “The announcer says the sheriff’s department reported some traffic movement on the state road.”

  Abby slid her toes out of Pete’s hold and got up to help Cherry.

  He should be relieved, Pete told himself. He shouldn’t feel this ridiculous sense of impending loss. Dammit, if he spent much longer in this enforced intimacy with Abby, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands on just her feet.

  Frowning, he began stacking the crystal glasses and carried them to the kitchenette. For some time, the only sound in the cottage was the chink of plates and glasses. Then the lamp beside the coffee table flickered on, and Irv gave a whoop of joy.

  “They did it! Hot damn, they did it! Come on, Cherry. Let’s get back to our cottage and get ready to leave for the game. With luck, we can still make the second half.”

  He tucked his mobile phone into his pocket and snatched up Cherry’s coat.

  “It was nice meeting you both,” he got out in a rush, dumping the fox fur over her shoulders. “If you’re ever in Dallas, give me a call. Or if you need some periodontal work, I can recommend a good gum specialist in your area. Come on, honey. Let’s hustle.”

  “Irv! At least let me say goodbye.” Smiling, Cherry offered Abby her hand. “The Painted Door, right? I’ll come by next time we’re in Atlanta. I don’t know anything about antiques, but I do know my condo could use some classing up.”

  Abby returned her warm smile. “It’ll be nice to see you again.”

  “Come on, baby. Let’s move.”

  After a hurried goodbye to Pete, the Junoesque redhead let Irv drag her out the front door. With their departure, silence settled over the cottage, an empty silence that slowly took on a charged tension.

  Abby glanced around the room, then back at Pete. He saw in her eyes the awareness that she would leave soon, too. With the restoration of electrical power, it probably wouldn’t be long until phone service followed. She could make arrangements with her road service for the van and be on her way.

  Pete almost asked her to stay.

  He might have, if the lights hadn’t flickered and gone off. A second later, they came on again, barely noticeable in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. A faint hum sounded. The heating unit, he guessed. The sound tore at him.

  Dammit, he wanted her to stay. Correction—he wanted her.

  More than he could remember wanting anything in a long time. He searched her eyes for some clue that she wanted him, too.

  He found it an instant before the explosion rattled the windows and rocked the cottage on its foundations.

  Screeching, Abby flew into his hold.

  Without thinking, Pete convulsed his arms around her, protecting her body with his. Percussion waves rolled through the air, hammering at his eardrums.

  They were still reverberating when the front door burst open. A white-faced Irv rushed in, Cherry a half pace behind.

  “Did you hear that?” he shrilled. “We saw it! The explosion, I mean. Up on the hill behind your cottage. There was a big flash, and now blue sparks are jumping all over the place.”

  Pushing Abby out of his arms, Pete flowed into action.

  “It must be the maintenance crew. Irv, give Cherry your cellular phone, grab some blankets and come with me. Cherry, call 911 and tell them about the explosion. We’ll apprise them of the exact situation as soon as we arrive on scene. Abby, find whatever you can in the way of first aid supplies, then you both follow us up the hill. Move, people, move!”

  Abby had once heard that disasters caused people to suspend emotion and act on pure instinct. She soon discovered the truth of that statement.

  Before she had time to fully grasp what had happened, Pete and Irv had disappeared out the door. Moments later, she and Cherry tore out after them and started up the hill. Panting and scrabbling for purchase on the icy stubble, they half pushed, half pulled each other up the slope.

  As they neared the crest, Abby’s heart pounded with fear, and a growing dread of what they might find at the top. She could hear a snapping, sizzling sound, like sparks hitting water. A moan carried down to her, audible above her own rasping breath.

  Her stomach clenched into a tight, quivering knot when she stumbled into a flat clearing atop the ridge. Just yards away was the entrance to a fenced enclosure housing several gray electrical boxes. The boxes huddled under a tall cranelike structure that trailed several loose wires. One thick wire undulated wildly, spitting traces of blue fire.

  Horrified, Abby saw two men lying on the ground beside the boxes. Another stumbled around outside the enclosure, dazed, his clothing smoldering.

  “Stay back!” Pete shouted. “Don’t touch the fence or get near that wire!”

  Dumping the blankets on the ground, Irv started toward the injured man. Pete yanked him back.

  “If he’s walking, he’s alive.”

  “But—”

  “In an electrical situation, the rules of triage are reversed. Ignore the wounded. Go for the dead. A little CPR can bring them back.”

  Irv swallowed, his face now ashen. “I haven’t done CPR since dental school.”

  “I just took a refresher course at the Y,” Abby panted. “I can help.”

  Pete eyed the snapping, dancing line. “Okay, when the wire whips up an
d away, I’ll go in low and drag one out. You two start on him while I go after the other. Cherry, tell 911 we have two down, one walking. Tell them we’ll need burn kits and—”

  He broke off and darted into the enclosure, bent almost double. Abby didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t feel her nails gouging into her palms. Even with his bad knee, Pete moved fast, so fast the lump of terror lodged in her throat didn’t have time to burst out.

  He was back seconds later, dragging the victim with him. Abby went down on her knees and tilted the man’s head back to clear his airways.

  “Oh, God!” Irv exclaimed. “It’s Orlie!”

  The dentist dropped to his side and ripped open the maintenance man’s jacket, using two fingers to find the exact spot under his sternum to apply pressure. Crossing one fist on top of the other, he hunched his shoulders and applied pressure.

  Abby counted every push. “Fifteen one, fifteen two…”

  After the fifth push, she bent and breathed into Orlie’s open mouth. Then she rocked back out of Irv’s way, dragged air into her lungs and started counting again.

  “Fifteen-one, fifteen-two…”

  Afterward, Abby could never believe that she’d counted and breathed and counted and breathed for only eight or ten minutes. It seemed like hours. Weeks. Years.

  She saw Pete bring the second man out and start CPR on him. She heard Cherry call in a report over the cellular phone, then take off after the dazed, stumbling third victim. Draping her fur around his shivering form, Cherry guided him over to the makeshift triage center.

  Pete spared him a glance, never ceasing his steady pumping rhythm. “Keep him warm, but…don’t touch the burns…on his hands or face.”

  By the time Abby heard the distant sound of a helicopter, she’d lost all track of time, of space, of everything but the man on the ground. The violent wash of rotor blades as the chopper skimmed the treetops just above the clearing barely penetrated her fierce concentration. She counted aloud. And breathed. And counted aloud. And breathed.