Page 41 of Summer Weddings

A full smile erupted on Sawyer’s handsome face as he pointed his finger at her. “What did I say? You’re plotting!”

“What?” Once more she feigned innocence.

“You want to invite Mitch and Bethany to Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Right,” she concurred, opening her eyes wide in exaggerated wonder that he could find anything the least bit underhand in such a courtesy. “And what, pray tell, is so devious about that?”

His finger wagged again as he climbed into bed. “A little matchmaking, maybe? You’ve got something up your sleeve, Abbey O’Halloran.”

“I most certainly do not,” she said with a touch of righteous indignation.

“I notice you didn’t suggest inviting John Henderson.”

“No,” she admitted.

“Isn’t he the one Bethany’s been having dinner with for the past few weeks?”

“They’re friends, that’s all.”

“I see.” Sawyer leaned over and deftly reached for one end of the satin ribbon tying the collar of her pajama top. He slowly tugged until it fell open.

“Besides, I heard from Mariah that John’s interested in someone else now.”

Sawyer idly unfastened the first button. “Is that right?”

Her husband’s touch was warm, creating feathery sensations that scampered across her skin.

Sawyer’s eyes dropped to her mouth, and his voice lowered to a soft purr. “Mitch has lived here for a few years.”

“True.” Her second button gave way as easily as the first.

“If he was interested in remarrying, he’d have done something about it before now, wouldn’t you think?”

Abbey closed her book and set it blindly on the table next to the bed. “Not necessarily.”

“Do you think Mitch is interested in Bethany?” Sawyer slipped his hand inside the opening he’d created.

Abbey closed her eyes at the feel of her husband’s fingers. “Yes.” The word sounded shockingly intimate.

“As it happens,” Sawyer said in a husky whisper, “I agree with you.”

“You do?” Her voice dwindled to a whisper. With her eyes still closed, she swayed toward him.

Sawyer’s kiss was long and deep. The conversation about Mitch Harris and Bethany Ross stopped there. Instead, Sawyer and Abbey continued their dialogue with husky sighs and soft murmurs.

* * *

Bethany walked into the Hard Luck Café shortly after ten on Saturday and sat at the counter.

The place was empty. Ben wasn’t in sight, either, which was fine; she wasn’t in any hurry.

Tired of her own company, she’d decided to take a walk and sort through what had happened between her and Mitch.

Ha! she thought sourly. As if that was even possible.

There wasn’t anyone she could ask about Mitch’s past. And apparently he wasn’t going to volunteer the information. He hadn’t said one word about his life before Hard Luck, and no one else seemed to know much, either.

As for what had happened at the memorial service, Bethany had given up any attempt to make sense of it. For whatever reason, Mitch had turned to her. He’d kissed her with such intensity, such hunger… . Never before had she felt that kind of joy.

Then he’d apologized. And she’d realized he had simply needed someone. Anyone. Any woman would have sufficed. She just happened to be handy. The minute he saw what he’d done, he regretted having touched her.

“Bethany, hello! How are you this fine day?” As always, Ben greeted her with a wide smile as he bustled up to the counter. “We missed you at the wake after Catherine’s memorial service. The women in town put on a mighty fine spread.”

There was probably some psychological significance in the fact that she’d sought Ben out now, Bethany decided. If she wasn’t so sick of analyzing the situation between her and Mitch, she might have delved into that question. As it was, she felt too miserable to care.

“I’m fine.”

“Is that so?” Without her asking, Ben filled a mug with coffee. “Then why those little lines between your eyes?”

“What lines?”

“When I’m stewing about something, these lines always appear. Right there.” He pointed to his own forehead. “Three of them. Seems to me you’re cursed with the same thing. Can’t fool a living soul, no matter how hard I try.” He smiled, encouraging her to talk.

Bethany resisted the urge to tell him she’d come by those lines honestly.

Inhaling a deep breath, she eyed him, wondering how much she dared confide in him about her feelings for Mitch.

Darn little, she suspected. That she’d even wonder was a sign of how desperate she’d become.

Still, maybe he could fill in a few details about Mitch’s background.

With no other customers present, this was the optimum time to ask.

“What can you tell me about Mitch?” she began.

“Mitch? Mitch Harris?” All at once, Ben found it necessary to wipe down the counter. He ran a rag over the top of the already spotless surface. “Well, for one thing, he’s a damn good man. Decent, caring. Loves his daughter.”

“He’s lived in Hard Luck for how long?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to ease Ben into the conversation.

“Must be around five years now.”

She nodded. “I heard he worked for the police department in Chicago before that.”

“That’s what I heard, too.”

“Do you know how his wife died?” Since Ben wasn’t inclined to share any real information, she’d have to pry it out of him.

“Can’t say I do.” His mouth twisted to one side, as if he was judging what he should and shouldn’t tell her. “I don’t think Mitch has ever talked about her to anyone. Hasn’t mentioned her to me.”

Bethany heard the door open behind her. Their conversation was over, not that she’d gleaned any new facts.

“If you’re curious about his wife,” Ben whispered, “I suggest you ask him yourself. He just walked in.”

For the briefest of seconds, she felt like a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

To her surprise, Mitch sat on the stool next to hers. He studied her for what seemed like minutes. “Hello, Bethany,” he finally said in a low voice.

“Mitch.” She refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m glad I ran into you.”

Well, that was certainly a change.

Ben strolled over and Mitch asked for coffee.

“I’d like to talk to you, Bethany.” He gestured toward one of the booths, the steaming mug in his hand.

She followed him to the farthest booth, and they sat across from each other. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and when he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were bleak.

“Bethany, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve lain awake nights worrying what you must think of me.”

Confused and hurt, Bethany said nothing.

He gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry. What more can I say? Talk to me, would you? Say something. Anything.”

“What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Kissing me?”

“Yes.”

Even now he didn’t seem to realize she’d been a willing participant. “You needed me. Was that why?”

“Yes,” he said, as if this was his greatest sin.

She hesitated, searching for the words. “Any other woman would have done just as well. Isn’t that what you’re really saying? It wasn’t me you were kissing. It wasn’t me you needed. I just happened to…be available.”

He didn’t disagree.