Page 49 of Summer Weddings

“I seriously considered it.” Bethany wasn’t going to minimize the difficulty of her decision to remain in Hard Luck. “But it’s a long way to travel for so short a time. I’ll probably stay in Alaska during spring break, as well. After all, my commitment here is only for the school year.”

“You’re going home to California in June, then?”

“Are you asking me if I plan to return to Hard Luck for another school year?”

“Yes,” he said, his back to her.

Something in the carefully nonchalant way he’d asked told her that the answer was important to him.

“I don’t know,” she said as straightforwardly as she could. “It depends on whether I’m offered a contract.”

“And if you are?”

“I…don’t know yet.” She loved Alaska and her students.

Most of all, she loved Mitch and Chrissie.

Ben, too. But there were other factors. Several of them had to do with Ben—should she tell him he was her biological father, and what would his reaction be if she did?

More and more, she felt inclined to confront him with the truth.

“Well, I hope you come back” was all the response Mitch gave her. The deliberate lack of emotion in his voice was clearly meant to suggest that they’d been talking about something of little importance.

Why, for heaven’s sake, couldn’t the man just say what he wanted to say?

Hands on her hips, Bethany glared at him. Mitch happened to turn around for another stack of dirty dishes; he saw her and did a double take. “What?” he demanded.

“All you can say is ‘Well, I hope you come back,’” she mimicked. “I’m spilling my heart out here and that’s all the reaction I get from you?”

He gave her a blank look.

“The answer is I’m willing to consider another year’s contract, and you can bet it isn’t because of the tropical climate in Hard Luck.”

Mitch grinned exuberantly. “The benefits are good.”

“But not great.”

“The money’s fabulous.”

“Oh, please,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. She took an exaggerated breath. “My, my, I wonder what the appeal could be.”

Mitch looked at her in sudden and complete seriousness. “I was hoping you’d say it was me.”

She regarded him with an equally somber look. “I do enjoy the way you kiss, Mitch Harris.”

The first sign of amusement touched his lips. He lifted his soapy arms from the water and stretched them toward her. “Maybe what you need to convince you is a small demonstration of my enjoyable kisses.”

A second later Bethany was in his arms. The water seeped through her blouse, but she couldn’t have cared less. What did matter was sharing this important day with the people she loved. And those who loved her.

* * *

John Henderson wanted to do the right thing by Sally. He loved her—more than he’d thought possible. Proof of that was his willingness to delay asking her to marry him. He was determined to wait until he’d talked to her father.

He’d been carrying the engagement ring with him for weeks now.

Every once in a while he’d draw it out and rub the gold band between his index finger and thumb.

He figured that his patience—difficult though he found it to be patient—was a measure of his love for Sally.

Still, he cursed himself a dozen times a day for listening to Duke.

John told himself that the other pilot didn’t know any more about love than he did. But it wasn’t true; Duke had given him good, sensible advice. John desperately wanted everything to be right between Sally and him, especially after her recent heartbreak.

It would’ve been selfish to rush her into an engagement and then a wedding without first knowing that she shared his feelings—and was sure of her own.

He had to be certain she wasn’t marrying him on the rebound.

Duke was right about her family, too. Her parents were traditional, old-fashioned, even, and it was important to meet them, give them a chance to know him.

Important—but the waiting had become harder with every week that passed.

Now he was ready to make his move. And ask his questions…

Naturally, John would rather have delayed this initial awkwardness. No man likes to be scrutinized by strangers, especially when he’s about to ask these very people for permission to marry the most precious, beautiful woman God ever made. Their daughter.

If he were Sally’s father, John thought, he wouldn’t blame the man for booting him out of the house. He hoped, however, that it wouldn’t come to that.

He’d bought a new suit for the occasion. It wasn’t a waste of money, he’d decided, seeing he’d probably need it for the wedding and all. If Sally agreed to marry him, and he hoped and prayed she would.

Sally’s true feelings for him seemed to be the only real question.

They’d been seeing each other on a regular basis, but John had noticed certain things about her that left him wondering.

Her eyes didn’t light up when she saw him, the way they had in the beginning.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him lately.

Mariah Douglas had recently moved into the house with her, and Sally seemed almost relieved to have an excuse not to invite him over so often. Of course, he’d been busy at Midnight Sons, with the holiday rush and all.

Other signs baffled him, as well. These puzzling changes in Sally’s behavior had started after he’d spent the night with her. It wasn’t like they’d planned to make love; it had just happened.

John regretted not waiting to initiate their lovemaking until after the wedding.

He’d known for a long time how he felt about Sally.

Immediately following their one night together, he’d gone out and bought the engagement ring, but then Duke had talked him out of proposing until he could meet her family.

It might not be such a good idea to show up unannounced on Christmas Day, but John didn’t have a lot of spare time.

Midnight Sons was shorthanded in the wintertime as it was.

The holidays had offered him the opportunity to make the trip.

That was why he was here in British Columbia, in a small town with an Indian name he couldn’t pronounce, dropping in on Sally’s family uninvited and clutching a somewhat travel-worn bouquet of roses.

John checked the address on the back of the Christmas card envelope and walked up to the white house with the dark green shutters and the large fir wreath on the door. He pressed the doorbell, swallowed nervously and waited.

His relief was great when Sally answered the door herself. Her eyes grew huge with surprise and, he hoped, with happiness when she saw who it was.

“John? What are you doing here?”

He thrust the flowers into her hand, grateful to be rid of them. “I’ve come to talk to your father,” he told her.

“My dad?” she asked, clearly puzzled. “Why?”

“That’s between him and me.” He found it difficult not to stare at her, seeing she was as pretty as a model for one of those fashion magazines.

They’d made love only that once, and although he cursed himself for his lack of self-control, he couldn’t regret loving Sally.

He looked forward to making love to her again.

Only this time it would be when his ring was around her finger and they’d said their I do ’s.

“John?” She closed the door and stepped onto the small porch steps, hugging herself with both arms. Her eyes questioned his. “What’s this all about?”

“I need to talk to your father,” he repeated.

“You already said that. Is it because I’ve decided not to return to Hard Luck? Who told you? Not Mariah, she wouldn’t do that, I know she wouldn’t.”

John felt as if someone had punched him. For one shocking moment, he thought he might be sick. “You…you didn’t plan on coming back after Christmas?”

“No.” She lowered her gaze, avoiding his.

“But I thought… I hoped—” He snapped his mouth shut before he acted like an even bigger fool. He was about to humble himself before her father and request Sally’s hand in marriage. Yet she’d walked out of his life without so much as a word of farewell.

“You mean you didn’t know?”

He shook his head. “You weren’t planning on telling me?”

“No.” She tucked her chin against her chest. “I… I couldn’t see the point. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he shouted. Standing outside her family home yelling probably wasn’t the best way to introduce himself to her father, but John couldn’t help it. He was angry, and with good reason.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she replied in a furious whisper.

“Are you referring to the night we made love?”

Mortified, Sally closed her eyes. “Do you have to shout it to the entire neighborhood?”

“Yes!”

Sally glared at him. “I think we’ve said everything there is to say.”

“Not by a long shot, we haven’t,” John countered. “Okay, so we made love. Big deal. I’m not perfect, and neither are you. It happened, but we haven’t gone to bed since then, have we?”

“John, please, not so loud.” Sally glanced uneasily over her shoulder.

His next words surprised him, springing out despite himself. “I wasn’t the first, so I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal of it. Too late now, anyway.” He would never have said this if he hadn’t felt so angry, so betrayed.

Tears leapt instantly into her eyes and John would’ve given his right arm to take back the hurtful words. He’d rather suffer untold agonies than say anything to distress Sally, yet he’d done exactly that.

The door behind her opened and a burly lumberjack of a man walked out onto the porch. “What’s going on here?”

Sally gestured weakly toward John. “Daddy, this is John Henderson. He—he’s a friend from Hard Luck.”

Finding his daughter sniffling back tears wasn’t much of an endorsement, John thought gloomily. He squared his shoulders and offered the other man his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McDonald.”