Weddings Do Come True. Cara Colter

at his watch. And she could certainly hear the edge of impatience in his voice. The wedding was about to go up in smoke because of a whim. Her whim. Keith did not like whims.

      He liked things organized. Predictable. Perfect.

      “I can’t go through with it,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

      “There’s no such word as can’t.” This was an expression Keith had picked up at one of the motivational seminars the company had sponsored.

      “I’m having some doubts.” The details on the bronze made it very lifelike. The bronze cowboy had his back to her, and when she was done on the phone she would go look at the front of him. Still, even from the back, how he was standing said so much. Weariness in the slope of his shoulders but pride, too.

      “What kind of doubts? Why now? The time for doubts was six months ago. A year.”

      She knew she had failed to have her doubts on schedule. Before the two hundred guests had been invited and the caterers confirmed. She knew her timing was terrible. She had known it even as she drove toward the airport, but knowing had not stopped her.

      “Keith, I just feel confused.”

      “Oh,” he said with relief, “confused. Lacey, all brides have the prewedding jitters.”

      She didn’t care if he was L.A.’s most persuasive lawyer. He wasn’t going to convince her that a bride-to-be getting on an airplane and flying across a continent was nothing more than prewedding jitters.

      “You’ve been doing too much,” he said, his voice soothing, a man who had all the answers. For everybody. “My mother could have looked after wedding details. Or yours.”

      She felt petty for noticing his own services were not volunteered. He was probably right. The frantic pace, the dress fittings, the endless arrangements and appointments, the expectations coming at her from all sides that it was going to be the perfect fairy-tale wedding.

      “Plus,” he added, “you’ve been working in Divorce too long.”

      That was true. She’d seen more than her fair share of how those perfect fairy-tale weddings could end.

      “Come on,” he said. “Hop the next plane out of there. I can tell you’re still at the airport. I can hear the luggage wheels rumbling by you. Come home. Everything’s going to be fine.”

      She took a deep breath. Of course he was right She was just suffering a terrible case of prenuptial jitters. Taken to the extreme by her close proximity to a Visa Gold card.

      But then she suddenly caught sight of her own reflection in the glass around the cowboy. She looked very professional in her suit. Her blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a very corporate topknot. Well, her hair, being her hair, was falling out a bit on one side.

      Still, she looked cool and calm and utterly professional, not at all like a woman who would ever lose her head or be irresponsible. Not like a woman capable of letting down her future groom, her parents, and two hundred confirmed guests.

      She had the unnerving idea, studying her reflection, that it was like studying a stranger. That composed woman wasn’t her at all.

      “I’ve got to go.”

      “Calgary!” he said. “You’re at the airport in Calgary. The number you’re calling from has Calgary prefixes. If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. Grab a seat at the bar. I’ll be there in—how long will it take me to get there?”

      “Don’t come.”

      “I’m coming,” he announced.

      She hung up the phone and began calling hotels. Only to find out even her Visa Gold wasn’t going to buy her a hiding place in this town. Not tonight.

      She sank into a chair and contemplated her options. She could fly somewhere else.

      She realized she was being crazy, but a rebellious voice inside her head told her to go ahead and be crazy. Told her there was something wrong with being thirty years old and never having done one crazy or impulsive thing.

      She had set goals and worked steadily toward them all her adult life. At eighteen she had started university. She had earned scholarships, maintained an A average throughout, passed the bar in the top percentile and nailed a job with one of L.A.’s top ten law firms. Not bad for a girl from a staunchly blue-collar neighborhood, a cop’s daughter.

      And now this. Her wedding, the final coup, the match made in heaven.

      No one could have been more surprised than her when, driving back to work this afternoon, she’d been almost overwhelmed by a sense of—She forced herself to analyze it, sitting there in the airport. A sense of what?

      Emptiness.

      Emptiness, she chided herself. In a life so full she’d been unable to find time to have lunch for the past two and a half months? Emptiness?

      Okay, piped up the recently released rebel inside her own brain, maybe loss would be a better word.

      Loss.

      But loss of what? She had everything. The career. The man. They were looking at a lovely house with a pool. A pool. Her father would be beside himself with glee if they bought it.

      Get back on that plane, her responsible voice ordered her.

      All right, she told it. But she did not move. She buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to feel totally exhausted. She couldn’t even bring herself to go look at the front of the bronze statue.

      She was a lawyer. She’d made it. She was going to marry Keith Wilcox, probably the most eligible bachelor in L.A.

      Her parents were thrilled for her. Everybody’s dreams for her were coming true.

      Get back on the plane. She gathered up her purse. That was what she’d do. She could feel it now. The return of her senses. It had been madness, that was all. Just a few moments of utter madness brought on by too much divorce court, too much—

      “Excuse me, ma’am?”

      And Gumpy had stood there. And she had taken one look at him and let the madness come back, followed the light in his eyes toward an uncertain future.

      And now she was here, lying in a lumpy bed, running her fingers through the hopeless tangles of her hair, hoping beyond hope some miracle would allow her to stay in this refuge for a while. To look after those adorable children, and to sort through her own confusion.

      She decided, not for the first time, she absolutely hated her hair. And she decided, right before she slept, jockeys. He’d wear jockeys.

      

      Wondering what the hell she was sleeping in kept Ethan awake until the dawn was touching the sky. He finally slept, awakening to bright light pouring in his window and the aroma of cooking food tickling his nostrils. Food that smelled like heaven.

      It was the first time in two weeks he hadn’t woken up with two little kids staring at him, their eyes only inches from his face. He was astonished to find he missed it.

      He got up and dressed, hoping to catch Gumpy in the act of putting one over on him.

      But it was Lacey McCade standing at the stove, looking dangerously at ease with a frying pan. Her hair was braided. She had on the same pink suit. It was impossibly rumpled.

      He realized she’d slept in it.

      “Morning.” she said cheerfully.

      He took a sip of the coffee she had handed him. Damn, it was good. Gumpy and the kids were already tucking into whatever was on their plates.

      He was relieved to see it looked like slop.

      “Omelette ranchero,” she told him, setting a plate on the table for him as he sat down.

      “Not too talkative this morning,” Gumpy goaded him. “What do you think