Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom. Susan Mallery

she was a decent journalist. The thing was if she wanted anyone else to believe that, she was going to have to write a dynamite article. Arizona Smith and the secrets of his life were her ticket out of Bradley.

      * * *

      ARIZONA SWALLOWED A drink of beer and wondered why the sight of an attractive young woman cooing over the scar on his arm didn’t do a thing for him. Cassie bent over him and made tsking noises.

      “I can see where they first stitched you up in the field,” she said. “There are still a few puncture wounds.”

      Her fingers were cool and smooth as she stroked his skin. He waited, hoping to feeling a tingle or a flicker of interest. Nothing. Less than nothing. He was restless.

      Cassie straightened and smiled. “Any other scars?”

      She’d noticed the mark on his arm the second he’d walked into the house. As near as he could figure, the sight of it had sent Chloe screaming out of his presence. Funny, he’d never thought it was that scary looking, but then he was a guy. Maybe Chloe was squeamish.

      Cassie’s gaze was filled with curiosity and good humor. She reminded him of the little sister he’d never had. He couldn’t help teasing her a little. “I do have another scar on my leg. I’d show it to you, but I’d have to take my pants off to do it.”

      “Oh, I don’t mind,” Cassie said quickly.

      Arizona watched her, but there was no guile in her expression. Had she really meant what she’d said?

      Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and all the attraction that had been missing when Cassie had touched him slammed into him with the subtlety of an aircraft carrier taking out a forty-foot yacht.

      Chloe stood just inside the kitchen. She wore a sleeveless dress in pale peach. The soft-looking fabric clung to her curves in a way designed to make a man forget to breathe. Her long hair had been pulled back into a braid. His fingers itched to tug the curls free.

      “You might want to rethink your comment, Cassie,” Chloe said to her sister. “I believe you just told Arizona you wanted him to take his pants off.”

      “I do.” Suddenly, Cassie seemed to realize the implications of what she’d just said. She blanched, then color flooded her face. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean— That is to say, he has a scar and—” She glanced from him to Chloe and back. “I didn’t mean anything else. We were talking and—”

      Chloe chuckled. “We know what you meant. Just be careful. Not every strange man is going to understand you’re not issuing an invitation.”

      Cassie nodded.

      Arizona leaned close to her. “I won’t take offense if you’ll explain to your sister that I’m not really strange.”

      Chloe took the seat opposite him. “Yes, you are, and I’ll thank you not to corrupt my little sister.”

      “Little by how much?” he asked. “Charity told me you’re about the same age.”

      “Chloe is six months older,” Cassie told him. “I was adopted.”

      “So I heard.” He looked from one to the other.

      Charity came into the room and walked to the stove. “The sauce is nearly ready,” she said, lifting the cover and stirring. Instantly a spicy tomato aroma filled the room.

      “I’ll do the garlic bread,” Chloe said.

      “I’ll take care of the salad.” Cassie headed for the refrigerator.

      “Should I offer to help or will I be told to just stay out of the way?”

      “The latter, of course,” Charity told him, her eyes twinkling at him as she glanced over her shoulder.

      He leaned back in his chair. It didn’t matter how many cultures he visited, or where he traveled in the world. Some customs remained the same. The ritual dance of women preparing a meal was one.

      Whether the women were barefoot by an open fire, in a log house, a stone kitchen or a Victorian mansion, they moved with a grace and rhythm that was as old as the species. Conversation ebbed and flowed as they performed their magic. He supposed he enjoyed watching because no one did this for him very often. He was a frequent guest, but never a member of the family.

      He caught Chloe’s eye and they shared a moment of connection across the kitchen. The rest of the room disappeared until she was the only one left. Then Cassie touched her arm and she turned away from him. He was again on the outside. He envied her the place she held in this special world.

      * * *

      THE DINNER DISHES had been pushed to the center of the table, but no one was in a hurry to pick them up. Arizona tore apart the last piece of garlic bread as Cassie raised her hands in frustration.

      “How can you say it’s not true?” she asked. “The nightgown has been in the Bradley family for generations.”

      “It’s just a nightgown,” Chloe insisted. “How can you say it has magic powers? As I’ve said before, there is no such thing as magic or destiny. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

      Cassie shook her head. “Aunt Charity, you talk to her.”

      “She won’t listen to me,” the older woman said. “Arizona, you have a go at it. Chloe is our resident cynic.”

      “I’ll try.” He leaned forward and stared at the beautiful woman sitting across from him. He would rather carry her up to bed, but that hadn’t been offered as one of the options, so he thought about the various feats of magic he’d experienced personally.

      “Several years ago I was in India,” he began. “A boy had been mauled by a tiger stalking the village. The cat nearly took off his leg. Although the bone wasn’t broken, he lost a lot of blood.”

      He tried not to notice the way her eyes darkened as her pupils widened with the storytelling. He tried to ignore the scent of her body, the slender curves beneath her dress or the way he knew how great it would be between them, almost as if they’d been lovers before.

      “If he’d been near a hospital, he might have had a chance,” he continued. “But the village didn’t even have a nurse, let alone medical facilities. My grandfather and I knew the boy was going to die and we could only offer painkillers to ease his passing.”

      He paused, remembering his own fear from that night. He’d been thirteen or fourteen, and he could relate to the screams of fear and pain from the injured child.

      “That night the village performed an old ceremony of sacrifice and worship. They came together to heal one of their own. I wasn’t allowed to attend—I was considered too young. But I heard it. The singing and chanting. I smelled the incense. I don’t know what they did but it worked. When I went to visit him the next morning, I was afraid he would already be dead. Instead, I found him sitting up. His wound had nearly healed. He was talking and laughing because the pain was gone. Within a week, it was as if it had never happened. Since then, I’ve witnessed many things I can’t explain.”

      “Wow,” Cassie breathed. “That is so cool.”

      Chloe rolled her eyes. “Every supermarket tabloid has a story about people being abducted by aliens. Do you believe that, too?”

      So she was a doubter. Somehow that made the challenge more interesting. “I saw the boy. When I see aliens abducting people from cornfields, I’ll believe that as well.”

      “I want to know what has made you believe in all this.”

      “I want to know what has made you such a cynic,” he responded. “Do you mean to tell me that in all your twenty-five years there hasn’t been one incident you can’t explain? One event or circumstance that makes no sense, but that you can’t deny?”

      Their gazes locked. Something flickered in her eyes. Something that called out to him and if they’d been alone...