Christmas with Him. Jackie Braun

herself up in time to meet Chelsea’s eyes.

      And froze. In her hands, Chelsea held something far more deadly than a mere bridal bouquet.

      “Not the skirt!”

      Chelsea hefted the black fabric and before Gwen realized she was about to throw, flung it, Frisbee-style, right toward her.

      Gwen automatically held up her arms to fend off the skirt and it caught on her hand, then draped itself over her head, clinging as though glued.

      “No!”

      “Gwen, you’ve caught the skirt, you lucky thing.” Kate’s voice sounded behind her as Gwen snatched the skirt off her head. “And here I was going for the bouquet.”

      “Wanna trade?”

      “Sure, but we can’t. You know the rules.”

      “Rules? There are no rules.”

      “Yes, there are. You caught it, you wear it. If you don’t, it’s like breaking a chain letter or something.”

      “Kate, we’re talking about a skirt.”

      “And not just any skirt.”

      “Yes! That’s exactly what it is—just a skirt.”

      “If you can refer to a skirt that has been responsible for two women finding the men of their dreams as ‘just a skirt,’ then okay. Me, I’m a believer.”

      Gwen groaned. “Not the magical power thing. Torrie just made that up. Come on, Kate.”

      An unnatural quiet had descended on the group of single women who’d gathered to try to catch the bouquet. They were avidly soaking up every word.

      “Is that it? The skirt Torrie said came from the island? Can I touch it?” one asked.

      Someone else must have asked Kate to explain, because she immediately launched into the tale Torrie, their friend from school, had told everyone about how the women of an island spun a fabric made from a special thread. The fabric when given to a young woman of marriageable age, was guaranteed to attract her one true love. The crowd breathed a collective “oooh.”

      “Yeah—I read about it in a magazine,” someone said.

      What was the matter with them?

      “Ladies!” Gwen snapped her fingers. “We’re in the twenty-first century here!”

      They ignored her in favor of Kate, who was actually encouraging them. “…and it’s being passed from bride to bride.”

      Calculating eyes turned to Gwen. “So go put it on,” someone suggested.

      “Yeah. Quit wasting time,” someone else said to agreeing murmurs.

      “Use the bride’s dressing room.” Kate had a look in her eyes that Gwen had never seen before. “Don’t make me wait too long for my turn.”

      “Stop.”

      Everyone looked toward a thirtyish woman. “If that thing’s a man magnet, then you will all understand if I remove my fiancé from the scene?”

      “I don’t believe this,” Gwen murmured, but nobody heard her. They were too busy gathering their own significant others and spiriting them away from Gwen’s new irresistibility.

      “Come on, Gwen.” Kate was urging her toward the changing room. “I hear the band’s booked for another hour and Chelsea’s cute cousin isn’t married.”

      “Kate!” Gwen stared. “Look, I don’t want this thing. You take it.” She wadded up the fabric and tried to fling it toward her friend.

      “Ow!” Her hands and arm stung. Startled, she looked down, expecting to see a red rash or something. Nothing showed, but the painful tingle continued.

      “What’s the matter?” Kate asked.

      “I don’t know. Maybe I’m allergic to slinky fabric. Either that or a spider or some equally disgusting creature has stung me.”

      “Oh, ick!” Kate backed away.

      Gwen shook out the skirt. As she did so, the subdued light caught the fabric, giving it a rich luster.

      Fingering it, she noted the thick, sumptuous feel. The fabric was quality stuff. She held it up to herself and the length hovered near her knees. Not too short and not dowdily long, either.

      She didn’t have so many clothes that she could just fling away a classy, basic, black skirt.

      “Maybe I’ll keep it after all,” she said to Kate.

      But Kate and the other guests were flowing toward the door of the penthouse, passing by two little girls who held baskets of pastel froth.

      Treating the skirt with more respect, Gwen folded it and draped it over her arm. The burning and tingling had completely stopped and the skirt swayed against her arm in a sensuous ripple—almost a caress.

      How weird was that?

      Weird enough to give her the creeps.

      Hurrying to catch up with Kate, Gwen stopped and took a net bag of birdseed to throw at Chelsea and Zach, thinking that people sure threw a lot of stuff at weddings.

      Once everyone made it down to the building lobby, Kate gestured for Gwen to come stand right beside the getaway car. Bad move, because they got hit with as much birdseed as Chelsea did.

      Chelsea got into the car, dragging her dress in after her. Laughing, she waved goodbye. “Just think—the next time we get together, it’ll be for Gwen’s wedding!”

      Gwen tacked on her bridesmaid smile and waved. If that’s what they thought, then the three of them wouldn’t be together again for a long, long time.

      1

      “LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT—the bride threw you a skirt that has special man-attracting powers?”

      Gwen hefted her suitcase into the trunk of her friend’s car. “That she claims has special man-attracting powers. And not just any man, but supposedly your one, true love. There’ve even been articles written about it. Isn’t that a hoot?” she prompted when Laurie didn’t roll her eyes or fall over laughing.

      “I think it’s sweet.”

      Sweet? Gwen had felt the need to talk to a rational, nonwedding-infected female. Laurie VanCamp, a friend from work who was giving her a ride home from the airport, was just the person. Or so Gwen had thought.

      But Laurie wasn’t scoffing the way she was supposed to. “Tell me the whole story again.”

      So Gwen did as they left Houston’s Bush Airport, merged onto the freeway and headed for Gwen’s apartment in the Galleria area. By the time Laurie matched speed with the other cars barreling down the freeway, Gwen was sorry she’d told her anything.

      “What’s the skirt look like?” Laurie asked.

      “Black, slinky but classy, knee-length—nothing special.”

      “Has it been road-tested?”

      “Sort of.”

      “Has it or hasn’t it?”

      Sheesh. “Yeah, I suppose.”

      “Well, does it work?” Laurie was taking this whole thing way too seriously.

      “How should I know?” Gwen snapped.

      “How many of the women found their husbands while wearing it?” Laurie asked with exaggerated patience.

      Gwen sighed. “Both of them,” she admitted.

      Laurie shot her a startled look, then trained her eyes back on the highway. “And your problem with this skirt is…?”

      “Aside