The Pursuit of Jesse (20 page)

He loved her. She could see it in his eyes as clear as day breaking outside her window, but even a whisper of her own love, let alone his, would be disaster.

Instead, she grinned. “Making up for lost time.”

J
ESSE CAME AWAKE
with a peaceful, lazy smile on his face. Sarah—his sweet, sweet, Sarah—was tucked in front of him. Her smooth back against his chest. Her long black hair splayed out over the pillowcase and under his cheek. Her round bottom pressed against his groin and a nice, stiff morning erection ready and waiting to sink into her tight softness.

He moved against her…and stopped. His Sarah? Who the hell was he kidding? What had he done?

For nine years the woman had sworn off men, and what did he do? He’d slipped right in there and made her forget every promise she’d made to herself. All because he was a selfish son of a bitch. He’d wanted her. He’d needed her. He’d taken her. Hell, he’d even convinced himself that he loved her, but he was merely playing tricks on himself. On her. She deserved so much better than him.

One last time, he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. Breathed in that fresh breath of life, of
love. To which he had no right. Then carefully, quietly, he slid away from her. He sat up and swung his feet down to the floor.

The sheets rustled behind him and he stilled, keeping his fingers crossed that she hadn’t woken up, that he didn’t need to do this now.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her hand resting softly on his waist.

“I gotta get to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do.” He stood and pulled on his boxers. “Hey.”

He could hear her shifting toward him.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I need to get going.” He dragged on his jeans.

“Don’t, Jesse. Don’t do this. Don’t make last night—the most perfect night of my life—a mistake.”

He turned. She’d pulled the sheet up in front of her. Her face was a mass of emotion, but he made himself face her. Made himself face the beautiful sight of her disheveled hair, her kiss-swollen lips. The whisker burns—from him—on the tender skin on the upper swell of her breasts.

“But that’s what it was, Sarah. A mistake. A lapse in judgment. You may not be ready to accept that now, but in a couple days. In a week. It’ll hit you between the eyes like a hammer on a nail head. We don’t belong together. You deserve—and you know you want—something better than me.”

“No. I lov—

“Don’t!” He spun away from the painful sight of her. “Don’t say it.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

“Well…I don’t love you.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, Sarah. It’s the truth. Last night was fun. Great, even. But I…don’t…love you.”

“Then go! Leave!” she threw at him. “It changes nothing.”

“Damn right it doesn’t,” he bit out. The hardest thing he’d ever done was look at the tears in her eyes, tears he’d caused, and hold himself back. He ached to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, to tell her he was sorry. He couldn’t. “I’m still leaving as soon as your house is finished.”

Then he made himself turn on her and walk out of her bedroom.

“S
ARAH
!” Megan rushed off the pier. “I can’t believe it’s finally here.”

“It’s here all right.” Sarah put on the best and brightest smile she could muster, hugged Megan and then shook Brandon’s hand. After Jesse had left her that morning, she had no choice but to get up and face the day.

“So what do we do?” Megan asked, her eyes bright with expectation.

“You simply enjoy the experience,” Sarah said, motioning behind her toward the horse-drawn carriage. “Hop on board. The driver will take you to the Mirabelle Island Inn. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The next several days were going to pass in a blur, and for once Sarah found herself extremely thankful for Megan. She’d be too busy to think about Jesse and his insistence about leaving. But when this wedding was over, he was going to find out that she wasn’t giving him up without one hell of a fight.

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
?”

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Jesse turned off the jigsaw in Garrett’s workshop, flipped up his safety glasses and glanced behind him. Jesse had been so intent on following the pattern lines with the saw blade that he hadn’t heard Garrett come into the
woodworking shop. “Making replacement gingerbread trim for Sarah’s front porch,” he said. He’d just finished the last of the four arches.

Garrett picked up one of the other arches that had already been sanded and painted, and carefully examined the detail. “Good work, bro. Maybe you
could
make furniture.”

Jesse laughed. “Before you get all excited, you should know I didn’t design that. Copied the pattern off the old, broken-up chunk still left on her porch.”

He set down the arch piece and picked up the triangular gable decoration.

“Now,
that,
I did design, but it’s based on the porch arches, so I can’t take all the credit.”

“No wonder you’ve been pretty scarce lately. These were a lot of work.”

“No kidding. Now I know why custom orders for this kind of trim cost so much. Sarah couldn’t afford to pay for premade pieces, so…”

“You made them for her.” Garrett glanced at him. “That was nice.”

“It’s the least I could do. That’s pretty cool, too.” He pointed to a rectangular piece. “An embellishment for her storm door.”

“Good detail. Bet she’s excited to see these.”

“She doesn’t know I made them, so don’t say anything.”

“You went to a lot of trouble.”

“Not a big deal.” Jesse brushed away some sawdust from the piece he was working on. “Kind of like a housewarming gift.”

Garrett shook his head and laughed softly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were one whupped puppy.”

Jesse glanced away.

“Is her house finished yet?”

“Yeah. This is the last thing I need to do. I’ll be getting this trim up in the next couple of days. While she’s busy with that wedding.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’m done on Mirabelle. Completely. There’s nothing left for me to do here.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“You could stay, you know. With the way Mirabelle’s business is booming, I’ve had to turn away at least a dozen jobs, both big and small, since I took on this furniture order. One look at what you’ve done at Sarah’s and people will be asking you left and right to man their projects. And…well, hell…Garrett Taylor Furniture Company sounds a little lonely. I’m thinking I like the sounds of Taylor Brothers’ Furniture a lot better.”

“Garrett—”

“Think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. I’m not right for Mirabelle.”

“The old Jesse wasn’t right for Mirabelle. This new one? I think he’s right where he belongs.”

M
EGAN AND
B
RANDON’S
groom’s dinner went off without a hitch. Sarah had even managed to get home early enough to spend time with Brian. After he fell asleep on the couch while they were watching a movie, Sarah snuck down to her shop to finish assembling the flowers for the wedding. It was well past one by the time she wrapped up and she was likely asleep before her head even hit her pillow.

She woke up Saturday morning, later than she’d hoped, to a sky filled with hazy cloud cover and the
kind of cold and heavy drizzle that tended to make a person want to climb back into bed and stay there all day. Not that Sarah ever got to experience that luxury. She slid out of bed, glanced out the window and braced herself for the upcoming day. If the weather was any indication, this wedding was going to be a disaster.

She walked down the hall and found Brian in the kitchen putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Mom.”

“What’s this all about?”

“You said I should take more responsibility, right? Help out more.”

“I appreciate that.” She cocked her head at him.

“Jesse’s right. You need help. The more I help you, the less work you have to do.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“So do you.” He grinned.

“Yeah, I do.” She gave him a hug, but stopped short of ruffling his hair.

“You know, it’d be okay with me if you dated him.”

“Oh, it would, huh?” She glanced at her son, wishing like hell he was another ten years older and she could spill her guts to him. Someday. “Want some scrambled eggs?”

“I already mixed them up. They’re in the fridge.”

“You better be careful, mister. I could get used to this.”

They made the rest of breakfast, ate and cleaned up together. Then Sarah helped Brian with some homework and they both did a few chores. By the time they were finished boxing up a few more things to move up to the house, the rain had stopped.

They piled the boxes by the door and Sarah glanced into Brian’s things. “We won’t be staying at the house until later this week. You sure you won’t need any of that stuff for a few days?”

“I’m sure,” Brian said. “It’s just some old video games and books and stuff.”

“Did you want to come to the house with me and help unload things?”

“Alex Andersen’s birthday party is starting in a few minutes. Remember? We’re supposed to meet at Romeo’s for pizza for lunch and then we’re all going to Alex’s house afterward.”

To continue the party and a sleepover. No, she hadn’t remembered. The change in this wedding date had thrown her schedule out of whack. At least she’d thought to get Alex a present. “Let’s wrap his gift and then I’ll walk with you to Romeo’s.”

A few minutes later, they were out the door. She quickly took him to Alex’s pizza party, made sure the Andersens had her cell-phone number and that Brian would be with them until morning, and then hustled back to her shop. She grabbed the wedding flowers and a few last-minute things and headed down Island Drive to the Mirabelle Island Inn.

Brittany Rousseau was waiting for her at the front desk. “Hey, there,” she said. “You all set?”

“I still have to decorate the chapel and finish in the banquet room, but the wedding isn’t until four. I’ll be ready by then.”

Several hours later, she’d finished decorating both the chapel and banquet hall, had checked in with Megan and Brandon, separately, at least twice. The only snag—so far—had been the color of napkins on the dinner tables. Megan had wanted white, and it was a simple
fix. Sarah was going through her checklist one last time before going to collect Megan to get this party started when someone frantically called her name.

“Sarah!” Megan’s mother came rushing into the cavernous reception hall. “Sarah!”

She turned. “What? What is it?”

“It’s Megan.” The woman’s face was a mass of worry wrinkles. “She won’t come out of the bride’s room.”

Sarah glanced at her watch. It was only three-fifteen. “Did she say what’s wrong?”

“No. She won’t talk to anyone. Not even—especially not—Brandon.”

Great. Just what Sarah needed. A chilly-footed bride.

“She might talk to you,” Megan’s mother said. “Through all of this, you’ve been the only person who’s been able to calm her down.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She took off for Megan’s room and found the four bridesmaids hovering at the door, the father pacing in the hall. The mother-in-law, staring with barely disguised disgust at the group, was standing next to her very worried-looking son. Sarah tapped on the door. “Megan, it’s Sarah. Can I please come in?”

The door lock clicked, but didn’t open.

Sarah turned the knob, snuck inside and quickly set the lock again. She found Megan standing at the window looking out over Lake Superior, the sky blustery and overcast.

Slowly, Megan turned. The very picture of a wedding day gone awry, she was holding her gold calla-lily bouquet as if she was all set to walk down the aisle, but her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying, her
face blotchy and streaked. She plopped into a chair, her full skirt billowing around her.

“Megan, what is it?” Sarah knelt in front of the young woman.

“Did you know I met Brandon when I was thirteen?” she whispered.

Sarah shook her head.

“He’s the only boy I’ve ever dated. The only boy I’ve ever wanted to date. We’ve been talking about this wedding for years.”

“If you’re worried about the napkins, don’t sweat it. They’ve already been changed out.” Sarah smiled. “If there’s one guarantee in life, it’s that something will go wrong at every wedding. It doesn’t mean the wedding’s not supposed to happen.”

Tears pooled anew in Megan’s eyes.

“You know,” Sarah said gently. It was time to remind this young woman what weddings were supposed to be all about. “The flowers, guest favors, tuxes, table decorations. None of that is all that important, Megan, when it comes right down to it. Today is about you and Brandon.”

“I know that,” Megan said. Then she chuckled. “Oh, Sarah. You probably think I’m the most selfish, materialistic, perfectionistic bride ever born.”

“Maybe not the most, but darned close.”

That brought a small smile and more sniffles. “I’m not, though. Not really. The truth is that I don’t give a hoot about any of this.” She waved a hand over her dress and then tossed the bouquet onto the table. “It’s all for Brandon’s mom. And my parents. I’m their only daughter. Brandon’s their baby. Everyone’s been so excited about today.”

Surprised, Sarah took her hand. “Then what is it, Megan?”

“All these months, I’ve buried myself in our wedding plans, obsessed over every little detail, because…because that way…I didn’t have any time to think about… Brandon leaving.” Megan took a deep, shuddering breath. “But now it’s here and there’s no getting away from it,” she whispered through her tears. “Three days. And he’ll be gone.”

Sarah felt her eyes mist up.

“I’d give up this entire day—” Megan glanced into Sarah’s eyes “—for one more day with Brandon.”

All of Megan’s fuss over every tiny detail had been a smoke screen, disguising one very worried bride. For the first time since she’d met Megan, Sarah realized the depth of this woman’s feeling for her fiancé.

“What if he never comes back?” she sobbed.

What could Sarah possibly say? Should she lie? Blow it off? But how could she? This was real. This wasn’t silly cold feet. Her standard, “You’ve been planning for this day since you were a little girl, and it’s going to be perfect” wasn’t going to cut it this time.

“I’m not going to lie to you. You know the risks much better than me. I won’t pretend that I know how you feel, either.” Sarah paused, grasping for the right words. “But it is what it is, Megan. Brandon’s out in the hall right now worried sick about you. He’s worried you’re having second thoughts about him, and he’s wondering whether or not you really love him. This isn’t how you want to start off your marriage. I know it isn’t.”

Megan sniffed, rubbed the back of her hand across her tear-streaked cheek.

“He loves you. You love him. Is there a better way to
send him off than with the memory of you two saying your vows? Than spending his last days—and nights—before his deployment in wedded bliss?”

Megan’s smile was so soft and so sad that it nearly broke Sarah’s heart.

“If there’s anything that will spur Brandon on to do his best to come home safe and sound, it’s you, Megan. You’re a strong woman. You will find a way to be strong for Brandon and to make it through this until he’s home. I know you will.”

A soft knock sounded on the door.

“Megan?” It was Brandon. “You all right, honey?”

“Just a minute,” Sarah called, and then quieter she said, “Have him come in here alone and share with him what you’re feeling.”

Megan’s eyes went wide. “But he’s not supposed to see my dress until I walk down the aisle.”

“Is that for you or them?” Sarah cocked her head toward the hall.

“Them.”

“Then help him understand this wasn’t cold feet. For you. For him. Then pat your eyes dry, touch up your makeup and enjoy this day. Deal with tomorrow when tomorrow comes.”

Megan squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Thank you, Sarah.” Then she took a deep breath, went to the door and let Brandon in.

Sarah slipped out, but not before she heard Brandon softly ask, “Baby, do you not want this?”

And Megan’s answer, “I don’t care about all
this
. I just want you more than anything in the world…”

Instantly, Sarah’s thoughts flew to Jesse. Maybe this last day and a half had done him some good. Maybe by the time this wedding was over, he’d have calmed
down, realized how wrong he’d been the other morning in her bedroom. Maybe he wouldn’t leave. And maybe she was in denial. Unlike Megan, Sarah couldn’t wait until tomorrow to deal with her issues with Jesse.

This wedding couldn’t get over fast enough.