Read Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes: A Novella Online
Authors: Holly Jacobs
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes: A Novella
ALSO BY HOLLY JACOBS
Just One Thing
Christmas in Cupid Falls
Found and Lost
The House on Briar Hill Road
Same Time Next Summer
Confessions of a Party Crasher
The 100-Year Itch
Bosom Buddies
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
Maid in LA Mystery Series
Steamed
Dusted
Spruced Up
Swept Up
Everything But . . . Series
Everything But a Groom
Everything But a Bride
Everything But a Wedding
Everything But a Christmas Eve
Everything But a Mother
Everything But a Dog
WLVH Series
Pickup Lines
Lovehandles
Night Calls
Laugh Lines
Nothing But . . . Short Story Series
Nothing But Love
Nothing But Heart
Nothing But Luck
Whedon Series
Unexpected Gifts
A One-of-a-Kind Family
Homecoming Day
A Father’s Name
Valley Ridge Series
You Are Invited: A Valley Ridge Wedding
April Showers: A Valley Ridge Wedding
A Walk Down the Aisle: A Valley Ridge Wedding
A Valley Ridge Christmas
American Dads Series
Once Upon a Thanksgiving
Once Upon a Christmas
Once Upon a Valentine’s
Perry Square Series
Do You Hear What I Hear?
A Day Late and a Bride Short
Dad Today, Groom Tomorrow
Be My Baby
Once Upon a Princess
Once Upon a Prince
Once Upon a King
Here With Me
Wedding Mishaps Series
How to Catch a Groom
How to Hunt a Husband
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Holly Jacobs
Originally published in 2001, also published as
Side By Side
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503905399
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
To the Dreamweavers, both present and past. You’re my wings and yet you keep me grounded. Thank you all for your support and for your friendship.
CONTENTS
August 2015
Dear Reader,
Welcome to “A Holly Jacobs Classic Romance.” I added that tagline just to be sure readers understand that this is the reissue of an older book.
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
was originally published by Kensington’s Precious Gem in January of 2001 They renamed it
Side By Side
, but for this edition, I went back to its original working title because I love it. I’ve written a lot of books since, but there’s still something so very special to me about these first books I sold.
I grew up in books. I remember back at Wesleyville Elementary reading
The Hobbit
for the first time. And I can’t even begin to guess how many times I reread my Trixie Belden collection. And we had a red leather-bound set of fairy tales that I got lost in countless times.
I grew up in those fictional worlds.
By the late nineties, my kids were approaching school age and I needed to think about some kind of grown-up job. One of the bravest things I’ve ever done was admitting that I wanted to try writing. I mean, if I tried and failed, my secret dream died. But luckily for me, with my family’s support and a lot of hard work, I tried and sold first these three books (
This Old Heart
;
Be my Baby
, now titled
Bosom Buddies
; and
Side by Side
, now titled
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
) to Kensington, then a fairy godmother series to ImaJinn Books, and finally in March of 2000, Harlequin Duets called and asked to buy
I Waxed My Legs for This?
Since then, I’ve been busy. I’ve written more than fifty books that have gone to more than twenty-five countries. Comedy, sweet romance, drama, and recently, mysteries and the women’s fiction/romances I’m currently writing for Montlake Romance.
Since I sold
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
, I think my writing has grown, but as I reread these earliest books, I remember that time. My house was filled with kids, and in between their needs, I was trying to live my dream. I wrote with more joyous abandon than know-how. I can see how these stories helped my writing grow and pushed me forward. I hope as you read
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
, you enjoy it on its own merits and can see shades of the writer I’ve become blossoming in its pages. No, strike that;
the writer I’m becoming
. I don’t think any writer (any person for that matter) ever stops growing and evolving.
Thank you so much for picking up
Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes
.
Holly
CHAPTER ONE
Like a snowstorm in July, a bride hitchhiking on the side of the road just had to mean trouble with a capital
T
.
No sane man would consider stopping.
Which is probably why Dan Martin found himself downshifting and slowing his big rig to a crawl. The truck came to a stop about twenty feet beyond the rather desperate-looking bride.
Through the rearview mirror he watched her glance over her shoulder and then jog the few feet that separated her from the cab of the truck.
He leaned across the cab and opened the passenger door. “Problems?”
The woman shoved a handful of white frilly stuff off her face. “Can you give me a lift?” There was a hint of desperation that fell just short of begging in her grass-green eyes.
Dan was sure she wouldn’t consider grass green an eloquent description—women preferred terms like emerald green. But grass green was so much closer to the mark. He had a feeling it’d be hard for any man to resist those eyes.
“Any place in particular? I mean, is this a get-me-to-the-church-on-time sort of thing?”
“No, this is a get-me-the-hell-out-of-here-before-they-catch-me sort of thing.” The desperation he thought he’d seen in those eyes was echoed in her voice. “Please?”
There was no way any red-blooded man could resist such a plea, even if he wanted to. And, though it was totally out of character, Dan Martin—the man who avoided getting involved in anyone else’s problems—discovered he didn’t want to. “Climb in.”
She didn’t need a second invitation. She climbed awkwardly into the cab. The cumbersome white material practically swallowed her whole. Muttered curses and more than a few tearing sounds accompanied the climb.
She tumbled into the cab, turned, and looked out the door before slamming it shut. “Go!”
Dan glanced in the review mirror and saw, judging from their apparel, what must have been the rest of the wedding party racing in their direction. He put the truck into gear and slowly pulled forward.
“Can’t you go any faster?”
“It’s a semi, ma’am, not a Grand Prix racer.”
Two members of the wedding party made their way into shouting distance. “Charlotte,” their screaming harmonized. One voice was a baritone and the other an enraged soprano. Dan guessed one was the used-to-be groom-to-be and the other one the mother-of-the-almost-bride.
“I said no!” Charlotte yelled out the open window. She rolled it up and savagely hit the lock. “What a day.” Without another backward glance, she sank back into the seat and let out a hefty sigh.
“Must have been some wedding.” He glanced in her direction and quickly returned his eyes to the road. There was enough white on the passenger side of the cab to give a man snow blindness in the middle of summer.
“Didn’t quite make it to the wedding part, thank God.”
There was a slight quiver in her voice that made Dan nervous. “Do you need to cry?” He tried to make his horror at the thought sound more like concern but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. He’d never dealt with a crying woman and didn’t have a clue where to start.
Through his peripheral vision, he could see her sit a bit straighter in her seat. “Eatons don’t cry. They keep a firm upper lip and do what needs to be done.”
“And what needs to be done?”
“Well, a few minutes ago, what needed to be done was me not getting married.”
“And now?”
“How do I know?” She slumped back down. She looked like a little girl who was spending her afternoon playing dress up with her mother’s clothes.
“Want a suggestion?”
“Since you’re playing knight errant today, I guess you get to make all the suggestions you’d like.” She smiled at him. Despite the unshed tears in her eyes, her smile dazzled.
Dan took himself in hand and firmly stared at the road. The last thing he needed was to be
dazzled
by someone else’s runaway bride. He wasn’t the type of man who dazzled well anyway.
He decided to ignore his attraction to his runaway bride and concentrate on keeping her tears at bay.
“Why don’t you start by getting out of that dress,” he said. If she wasn’t dressed like a fairy-tale princess, she’d be easier to deal with. “You’ll probably feel better if you do.”
“Great suggestion. Or it would be, if I’d brought my suitcase. You don’t want to know what they made me wear under this stuff. Too bad Mother wasn’t the one stuffed in it like some sausage in a casing.”
She sounded fierce as she said, “Maybe Mother will snag Winslow for herself. He’s her dream come true.”
“But wasn’t yours?” Dan wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be clear on that point, but he did.
From the moment he’d spotted her, his common sense had fled. He needed to get rid of her as soon as possible. His life didn’t need any complications. And this grass-eyed runaway bride was one big troublesome complication—of that he had no doubt.
“No, he wasn’t my dream come true at all,” she echoed. “Marrying him would have been my nightmare, though. I just wish I’d figured it out sooner.”
“Well, it looks like you figured it out just in the nick of time. Good for you.” Dan had no idea what he was congratulating her for, but he felt the need to say something. “Why don’t you go slip into something more comfortable.”
He caught her raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. “Not in some pickup line sort of way,” he added.
Some of the tension left her face. The sight encouraged him to continue. “Listen, I always carry some extra clothes with me when I drive, even when I expect to be back home the same day. You never know what you’ll run into in this business. I think there are sweats in my bag, along with a couple shirts. Help yourself.” He nodded to the back of the cab.
She started to gather her voluminous skirt and paused. “I don’t even know your name.”
“I know you’re Charlotte.” At her quizzical glance, he added, “I heard them shouting it as they chased you. I’m Dan.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Dan.”
“Nice to meet you too, Charlotte.”
She grimaced as he said the name. “Would you mind calling me Charlie? I’d be most appreciative. Mother and Winslow spent enough time trying to make me a Charlotte, but I’ve always been a Charlie. If I never hear the name Charlotte again, it will be too soon.”
“Charlie it is.”
Charlie. It seemed to suit her. A Charlotte would be a prim and proper lady. A Charlie would be . . . heck, he wasn’t sure just what a Charlie would be, but she’d be a lot more fun than a Charlotte.
Rather than try to figure out anything else about his driving companion, he encouraged, “Why don’t you get changed?”
Charlie tried to get up but seemed to be hung up on something. She got only so far off the seat and then froze. She peeked out the window. “I think we’re dragging half this dress. I told them both I didn’t want a long train, but did they listen? Oh, no. My mother and Winslow wanted a society wedding, and a society wedding, according to them, needs a bride who’s fully decked out, even if she doesn’t want to be. Even if she’d be more comfortable eloping and not going through any of the fuss.”
Dan had a hard time concentrating on the road, watching Charlie was much more interesting. As she’d talked, she’d managed to free herself by yanking on the back of the dress. The mile-long train apparently was well attached, but Charlie didn’t seem to notice as she pulled again and again. Finally the seam gave. She smiled broadly and cracked the door to let the train slip away, then slammed it shut.
“Maybe some little girl will find it and make a dress for her doll.” Unfettered, she shimmied out of her seat.
Dan glanced out the side-view window and saw the white train flutter on the side of the road. No one at work was going to believe him if he told this story, not that he would. Dan wasn’t much of a sharer. He kept to himself and appreciated when others did the same.
As Charlie shifted past him, he couldn’t help but glance her way. It was her feet that caught his eye, or rather, what she wore on them. No glass slippers for his runaway Cinderella. No, she was wearing sneakers. Solid white tennis shoes.
Charlie looked up at that moment and caught him sneaking another glance. She followed his gaze and chuckled. “Have you ever worn heels?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Dan admitted. He maneuvered the truck onto the ramp for I-90.
“Sneakers might not be fancy, but they’re a heck of a lot more comfortable. I might have lost the argument about the train, but I won this one. As a matter of fact, it was the only argument I did win.” That said, she made her way into the back, and Dan was left alone in the cab with a small smile on his face.
What had started off as a pretty basic trucking run suddenly began to look a lot more interesting.
Interesting wasn’t quite the word Charlie Eaton would use to describe her day.
Hellacious. That would be a good one.
Dreadful, horrid—she searched her mind for other words that might cover the day’s events.
She pulled the curtain that separated the driver’s section of the cab from a makeshift sleeping area, relieved to have some privacy. It was something her mother and Winslow had seemed bound and determined to deny her, as if they sensed her hesitancy and didn’t want to give her any time to really think about what she was doing.
The space was little more than a mattress, but to Charlie it was heaven.
But even though she reveled in her privacy, her mind raced back to the events of the day. She wished she had a thesaurus to look up more words to describe her almost-wedding.
Crappy. That pretty much said it all.
She ripped the combs that held her veil in place out of her short hair. Using her fingers—since she didn’t have a brush—she tried to put it back in its normal style without much success.
She tried unbuttoning the thousands of pearl closures on the back of the dress. It had taken her mother an inordinate amount of time to button them. Without assistance, Charlie could be unbuttoning them all night. She finally gave up and just ripped. The pearls sprang like popcorn from her back, pinging against the sides of the cab.
She slithered out of the hateful taffeta, left with only her indecent underwear and her sneakers. Charlie looked in a small bag for the clothes the driver—Dan, she mentally corrected herself—had mentioned.
She slipped a pair of gray sweats on right over her sneakers. They were miles too big, but the elastic seemed willing to hold them up. Then she found a soft, well-worn T-shirt and added it to her impromptu outfit.
She already felt better.
She’d made the right decision. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be feeling so incredibly good. Of course, her situation wasn’t without problems. She sank to the mattress and tried to gather her wits as she mentally listed them.
She didn’t have a cent on her. She’d given up her apartment and her job, and all her things were in storage since she and Win were supposed to be leaving for a month-long tour of Europe tomorrow morning.
But there was no Europe in her near future. She was staying in Erie, Pennsylvania, penniless and homeless for the moment. She hadn’t even grabbed her purse. No charge cards, no ATM card, and no cash.
Her only thought when the priest had asked, “Do you, Charlotte Damaris, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” had been
No!
No
she didn’t take him.
No
she didn’t want him.
No
she didn’t love him.
And she knew that he didn’t love her.
Winslow wasn’t going to die of a broken heart, and neither was she. The marriage would have been a sham, and certainly Winslow would see that after a time.
Broke, homeless, and hitching a ride with a stranger, Charlie was happier than she’d been in the last year. Her situation might seem dire, but somehow, Charlie wasn’t the least bit nervous. She’d never wanted Winslow’s money or connections—that was her mother’s dream. All she wanted was to be loved and to love someone in return.
It seemed like such a little dream, but as the priest had asked his question, she’d realized that it was everything to her.
For a while she’d thought she loved Winslow. When she realized that she didn’t love him the way he should be loved, her mother was already in the thick of wedding planning and assured Charlie that her feelings were just nerves.
When Charlie had insisted it was more than prewedding jitters, her mother had assured her that she’d learn to love Winslow.
Winslow had also assured her that it was okay. That he knew she loved him.
Time and time again, she’d told her mother and Winslow her worries, but in the end she’d always allowed herself to be convinced she was just a nervous bride-to-be.
But looking in his eyes as everyone waited for her to say her vows, she’d realized that she would never be able to love him the way a wife should love a husband.
She wasn’t even sure she liked him.
After their engagement, he’d begun to treat her as more of an appendage than a lover. As if he thought that by marrying her and lifting her out of her humble heritage, he had gained an expensive plaything rather than a wife.