The Groom Said Maybe!. Sandra Marton

I came into the room. It must be so awful, losing the man you love.”

      Stephanie hesitated. “I suppose it is,” she said after a minute.

      “I can just imagine. Why, if anything ever happened to Nicky...if anything were to separate us...” Dawn’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. She laughed, swung toward the mirror, yanked a tissue from the container on top of the vanity table and dabbed at her lashes. “Just listen to me! I am turning into the most maudlin creature in the whole wide world!”

      “It’s understandable,” Stephanie said. “Today’s a very special one for you.”

      “Yes.” Dawn blew her nose. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. Up one minute, down the next.” She smiled. “Thanks, Stephanie.”

      “For what?”

      “For putting up with me. I suppose all brides are basket cases on their wedding days.”

      “Indeed,” Stephanie said with another bright, artificial smile. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay...”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Would you like me to look for your mother and send her in?”

      “No, don’t do that. Mom’s got enough to deal with today. You go on and have fun. Did you pick up your table card yet?”

      Stephanie paused at the door and shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t.”

      “Ah.” Dawn grinned. “Well, if I remember right, Mom and I put you at a terrific table.”

      “Did you?” Stephanie said with what she hoped sounded like interest.

      “Uh-huh. You’re sitting with a couple from New York, old friends of Mom’s and Dad’s. You know, from when they were still married.”

      “That sounds nice.”

      “And my cousin and her husband. Nice guys, both of them. He’s an engineer, she’s a teacher.”

      “Well,” Stephanie said, still smiling, “they all sound—”

      “And with my uncle David. Well, he’s not really my uncle. I mean, he’s Mr. Chambers, but I’ve known him forever. He’s a friend of my parents’. He’s this really cool guy. Really cool. And handsome.” Dawn giggled. “He’s a bachelor, and very sexy for an older man, you know?”

      “Yes. Well, he sounds—”

      The door swung open and two of Dawn’s bridesmaids sailed into the room on a strain of music and a gust of laughter. Stephanie saw her opportunity and took it. She blew a kiss at Dawn, smoothed down the skirt of her suit, and stepped into the corridor.

      Her smile faded.

      Terrific. Annie had put her at a table with an eligible bachelor. Stephanie sighed. She should have expected as much. Even though her own marriage had failed. Annie had all the signs of being an inveterate matchmaker.

      “Oh,” she’d said softly when she’d learned Stephanie was widowed, “that’s so sad.”

      Stephanie hadn’t tried to correct her. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. The truth was, she didn’t know anyone well enough for that. Not that anyone back home thought of her as a grieving widow. The good people of Willingham Corners had long-ago decided what she was and Avery’s death hadn’t changed that. At least, nobody tried to introduce her to eligible men...but that seemed to be Annie’s plan today.

      Stephanie gave a mental sigh as she made her way to the table where the seating cards were laid out. She could survive an afternoon with Dawn’s Uncle David. He’d surely be harmless enough. Annie was clever. She’d never met Avery but she knew he’d been in his late fifties, so she’d matched Stephanie with an older man. A sexy older man, Stephanie thought with a little smile, meaning he was fiftyor sixty-something but he still had his own teeth.

      She peered at the little white vellum cards, found hers and picked it up. Table seven. Well, that was something, she thought as she stepped into the ballroom. The table would be far enough from the bandstand so the music wouldn’t fry her eardrums.

      Stephanie wove her way between the tables, checking numbers as she went. Four, five... Yes, table seven would definitely be away from the bandstand out of deference to Uncle David, who’d probably think that the dance of the minute was the merengue. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t danced in years, and she didn’t miss it. She just hoped Uncle David wouldn’t take it personally when she turned out to be a dud as a table partner.

      Table seven. There it was, tucked almost into a corner. Most of its occupants were already seated. The trendylooking twosome had to be the New Yorkers; the plump, sweet-faced woman with the tall, bespectacled man were sure to be the teacher and the engineer. Only Uncle David was missing, but he was certain to turn up at any second.

      The little group at table seven looked up as she dropped her place card beside her plate.

      “Hi,” the plump woman said—and then her gaze skittered past Stephanie’s shoulder, her eyes rounded and she smiled the way a woman does when she’s just seen something wonderful. “And hi to you, too,” she purred.

      “What a small world.”

      Stephanie froze. The voice came from just behind her. It was male, low, and touched with satirical amusement.

      She turned slowly. He was standing inches from her, the man who’d sent her pulse racing. He was every bit as tall as he’d seemed at a distance, six-one, six-two, easily. His face was a series of hard angles; his eyes were so blue they seemed to be pieces of sky. Clint Eastwood, indeed, she thought wildly, and she almost laughed.

      But laughing wouldn’t help. Not now. Not after her gaze fell on the white vellum card he dropped on the table beside her.

      Stephanie looked up.

      “Uncle David?” she said in a choked whisper.

      She remembered the way he’d looked at her the first time they’d seen each other. The smoldering glance, the lazy insolence of his smile... There was nothing of that about his expression now. His eyes were steely; the set of his mouth gave his face a harsh cast.

      “And the widow Willingham.” A thin smile curved across his mouth as he drew Stephanie’s chair out from the table. “It’s going to be one hell of a charming afternoon.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      STEPHANIE sat down.

      What else could she do? Everyone at the table was watching them, eyes bright with curiosity.

      David Chambers sat down beside her. His leg brushed hers as he tucked his feet under the table. Surreptitiously, she moved her chair as far from his as she could.

      He leaned toward her. “I carry no communicable diseases, Mrs. Willingham,” he said dryly. “And I don’t bite unless provoked.”

      She felt her face turn hot. His voice had been lowpitched; no one else could have heard what he’d said, but they’d wanted to—she could see it in the way they leaned forward over the table.

      Say something, Stephanie told herself. Anything.

      She couldn’t. Her tongue felt as if it were stuck to the roof of her mouth. She cleared her throat, moistened her lips...and, mercifully, an electronic squeal from the bandstand microphone overrode all conversation in the ballroom.

      The guests at table seven laughed a bit nervously.

      “Those guys could use a good sound engineer,” the man with the glasses said. He grinned, rose and extended his hand toward David. “Too bad that’s not my speciality. Hi, nice to meet you guys. I’m Jeff Blum. And this is my wife, Roberta.”

      “Call me Bobbi,” the plump brunette chirped, batting her lashes at David.

      The other couple