With This Ring. Lee Mckenzie

“Let me find a bag for those things.”

      She returned from the back porch with a canvas shopping bag and held it open for him. Her eyebrows arched into a silent question when she spied the bear.

      He responded with a silent challenge of his own.

      “Those toys are for the shelter, too. We do get children from time to time.”

      “I thought it might make her feel better.” No, that wasn’t true. He had no idea how she would react to it, but he’d feel better if it distracted her attention from the shabby clothing he’d found for her. He handed the toy to his mother. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

      She set the bear on the kitchen table. “Does she need shoes?”

      He dumped the clothes into the bag and tucked it under his arm. Geez, he hadn’t thought about shoes, but of course she needed some. Those crazy high heels she’d been carrying were completely impractical. “What have you got?”

      “Not much. Do you know what size?”

      He shook his head.

      “I bought myself some new sandals the other day and haven’t worn them yet. Take those and see if they fit.”

      “Mom, you don’t have to—”

      “I have other shoes, and I’m sure she’ll replace them.”

      “I’m sure she will. Thanks.”

      “What about toiletries?”

      “What?”

      “Toothbrush, deodorant, moisturizer, makeup.” Mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Feminine hygiene.”

      He felt his face go red. “Geez, I don’t know. She never said anything about that kind of stuff.”

      She laughed. “If you really want to be a hero, you should make a stop at the drugstore on your way home.”

      He stared at her. Was she serious?

      “At least buy her a toothbrush.”

      FREDERICK’S PHARMACY seemed unusually busy. He wandered up one aisle and down the next, trying to figure out what Leslie might need. In the end he settled on a toothbrush—a bright pink one that would not get confused with his blue one—and headed for the checkout.

      The guy in line ahead of him glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

      John Fontaine. Allison Fontaine’s husband. Allison would have been a maid of honor today, if there had been a wedding. Judging by John’s boutonniered tuxedo, he’d been in the wedding party, too.

      Brent nodded back. “How’s it going?”

      “I’ve had better days.”

      “Is that right?” It sounded lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

      “You can probably tell I’m supposed to be at a wedding reception right now,” he said, as if trying to explain the monkey suit.

      “I kind of figured. Who’s getting married?”

      “A friend of mine. Gerald Bedford. Maybe you know him?”

      Brent had always known Leslie would never settle for a guy like him, but when he’d heard that she planned to marry Gerald Bedford III, it had been like a knife in the gut. “I know who he is. Who’s he marrying?”

      John looked confused. “Leslie Durrance. I assumed you’d know. You still work for her brother, Nick, don’t you?”

      “Oh, right,” he said. “I think he mentioned something about a wedding.”

      “I might as well tell you, since you’ll hear about it from Nick anyway. There was no wedding because Leslie took off. Literally left the groom standing at the altar.”

      “You’re kidding.” Brent opened his eyes wide and hoped that passed for surprise. “You don’t hear about that happening very often, except maybe in the movies.”

      “It was quite a scene.”

      “I can imagine. What happened? She get cold feet or something?”

      John gave an expansive shrug. “She just took off. No one seems to know why, and no one knows where she went.”

      “Humph. Go figure.” Did anyone think to ask the groom what he’d done to her? Brent wished he could think of a way to fish for more information without raising suspicion. On the other hand, much as he’d like to know what the hell Gerald Bedford had done to hurt Leslie, he’d rather hear her side of the story first.

      “Nick’s out looking for her, and her mother’s not handling it very well.”

      The cashier started ringing up John’s purchases—an assortment of things that could only be described as toiletries, right down to the dreaded box of “feminine hygiene.” John folded his list and stuck it in his pocket. “Picking up a few things for my wife. She’s pretty upset, not knowing where Leslie is.”

      “Understandable.” He should have had the sense to ask Leslie if she needed anything besides clothes. Still, he was just as happy to not be standing here with a basketful of women’s toiletries. He tossed the pink toothbrush on the counter, then met John’s questioning gaze. “I have to clean the grout in the bathroom,” he said.

      “That’ll be eighteen dollars and ninety-seven cents,” the cashier said.

      John opened his wallet and handed her a hundred-dollar bill.

      “Yep,” Brent said. “Toothbrushes are great on grout.”

      “I’ll remember that.” John pocketed his wallet and picked up the bag. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

      “You bet.”

      John started to walk away, then stopped. “You know, most guys wouldn’t be telling people they were buying a spare toothbrush to clean grout.”

      Brent pulled a couple of loose bills out of his pocket and smiled. Guess I’m not your average guy, he thought to himself as he watched John cross the parking lot.

      “Will that be everything?” the cashier asked.

      “No, I’ll take one of these, too.” From a bin near the checkout he chose a small brown teddy bear with a pink ribbon tied around its neck and placed it on the counter beside the toothbrush.

      LESLIE STEPPED out of the bath, feeling a little calmer and a lot warmer, and toweled herself dry. She picked up her bra and panties and dropped them again. After that wonderful warm bath, there was no way she could wear cold, wet underwear. She pulled Brent’s T-shirt over her head, breathing in the clean, fresh-but-still-masculine scent, and reached for his sweat pants.

      She’d never worn a man’s clothing before and the whisper of the fleecy fabric was unexpectedly intimate, especially against the part of her that should have been wearing underwear. After she adjusted the drawstring and tied it, the pants settled comfortably onto her hips. The legs were way too long so she rolled them up, then slipped her feet into the socks.

      Her beautiful wedding gown was a crumpled heap on the floor. She set the jewelry on the edge of the vanity and shook out the dress over the tub. It was an absolute dream of a dress. Or at least it had been until she’d run through the rain in it. It had been the first and only dress she’d tried on and even Allison, who never bought anything until she’d tried on half the things in the store, had agreed it was perfect.

      Everything about this day was supposed to be perfect. But she had been so preoccupied with planning the perfect wedding that she’d missed seeing that the perfect groom was cheating on her.

      She hung the dress on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, next to Brent’s jacket. After she’d neatly draped her wet towels over the towel bar, she gathered up her bra and panties. “Brent, I really hope you have a clothes dryer here.”

      She