The Sometime Bride

Chapter Eighteen



Carrie nervously bit into her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick against her teeth. Darn it! She’d have to start all over again. Ever since Mike had called this afternoon, she’d suspected something was up. There was an urgent expectation to his voice. No, it couldn’t be tomorrow; it had to be tonight. Even though Carrie had loads to do at the office and was expected to work late, she’d come home early, showered, and put on a fresh sundress. And he wasn’t even expected until seven thirty! Seven thirty. What was Carrie going to do with herself for the next forty-five minutes while waiting for him to come?

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she should probably eat something. No, she was going to throw up. Carrie raced to the toilet, thinking she was going to lose her lunch. But after a few moments of staying still, the clench in her belly eased.

Criminy! She was a wreck. Didn’t even know for certain tonight was the tonight.

Like hell she didn’t, Carrie thought, racing back to the bathroom.

The telephone rang, and she limped into the bedroom to pick it up, all the while clutching her midsection.

“Darling?”

“Oh, Grandma Russell, thank goodness! I am such a wreck. Such a wreck. Mike called and said—”

“Hold on there, child. Slow down. Can’t make out a word you’re saying.”

“I’m, um…” Carrie sat down on the bed and started to cry. “Oh Grandma, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“Calm down. Just take a deep, deep breath.”

Carrie inhaled.

“Now let it out.”

She did.

“Go on, a few more times. In and out. I’m not going anywhere; I can wait.”

Carrie wiped the moisture from her cheeks and sat up a little straighter.

“Now, you still with me?” her grandmother asked. “Or should I call the rescue squad?”

Carrie let out a laugh that released more tears. But this time, she felt more in control. “Thanks, Grandma,” she said, taking another deep breath. “You’re the best.”

“What’s all this about wanting? You mean the dang hunk hasn’t proposed by now?”

“Not yet, but it’s coming,” Carrie said, holding out her trembling left hand and examining the bare ring finger. “I can feel it. Just like that musky heat right before a rain.”

“Well,” Grandma Russell said, “he’s been waiting for a reason. So don’t you go jumping all over him with kisses and I-do’s before he can get two words out. First, give the rascal a chance to say his piece.”

“Jumping…? Why, Grandma Russell, what do you take me for, an impatient woman?”

Her grandma chuckled. “Just a woman who knows what she wants. And I can’t say I blame you. He is a dish, that Mike Davis, he is.”

“Grandmother! It’s not all about the way he looks, and you know it!”

“Yes, I know. But I also know enough to know looks don’t hurt. Especially when the man in question looks just like a young Robert—”

“There you go with that movie-star thing again. I swear, that’s not helping.”

Grandma Russell hooted. “I can’t wait for the big day. It will be so nice feeling like you are finally anchored in Virginia, Carrie love. I just know with that man of yours at home, those week-long trips to New York won’t seem nearly as enticing.”

Carrie thought about telling her but decided against it. Why spoil her grandmother’s jovial mood? Besides, Carrie was finally feeling better herself. Perhaps if she had some yogurt and a bit of soda. She definitely needed something in her stomach, and the soda would help her queasies.

“I think I’d better go and grab something to eat before he gets here,” Carrie said, standing and walking to the kitchen. “Keep those fingers crossed for me.”

“Absolutely,” Grandma Russell reported, “and all my lavender-painted toes.”

Carrie hung up the phone, wondering if her grandmother had really painted her toenails purple or was just being funny. With Grandma Russell, one never really knew. Perhaps expressly why Grandpa Russell married her in the first place.



Okay, Mike told himself, scooping the brand-new engagement ring off his carpet for the third time. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He was all thumbs tonight. What a wonderful night to propose. Plus, it was predicted to rain. How romantic. He had planned to take Carrie to his special spot, right there in Norton Vineyards. He’d even bought a Norton Sweet Virginia Red and a whole box of mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches to complement the evening.

Before, when he’d acted rashly and proposed to the wrong women, he’d charted a course for disaster. Not this time. Not this time, indeed. Tonight was special. Carrie was special. And the dag-blasted ring he’d traded for Alexia’s had cost only a few hundred more. A few hundred, but worth every dime.

Yet the custom setting Mike had arranged had taken time. An unsettling amount of time. On a couple of occasions, in fact, Mike had actually feared Carrie was going to propose to him instead, if he didn’t hurry it up.

Well, now all that was neither here nor there because he had the ring, he thought, wedging it back in its box and shoving it down in his pocket. He walked to the kitchen counter, completing his mental checklist. He had the wine. Check. He felt his other pocket for the Swiss Army knife with the corkscrew. Check. And the ice cream… He opened the freezer to find it bare.

Mike whirled on his heels toward the center of the kitchen where a soggy brown-paper bag wilted against the table. Holy cow! Not again. But it was, in fact. Even worse than the first time.



Carrie fiddled with her watch and paced the living room. She picked up the remote and switched on the television. News and game shows. She switched it off again.

She checked the mantel clock. Seven forty-five. All right, Carrie, she told herself, fifteen minutes late does not a disaster make. He could be running a bit behind, could have stopped for gas.

Carrie felt like she was getting a sick headache. No, not tonight, she prayed. Not tonight of all nights. She went to the kitchen and poured some water from the tap, preparing to take two aspirin, when a firm knock sounded at the front door.

Carrie’s stomach revolted.

She raced to the door and tugged it open, just before making a beeline for the bathroom. Carrie slammed the door at her back and fell to her knees.

Mike trailed Carrie to the bathroom, only to have the door slammed in his face. Poor thing, she looked positively awful. White as a sheet. Holy cow. What was happening here?

Mike tapped lightly at the door. “Carrie? Honey, you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” she muttered through running water. But she sounded less than perfect.

Mike looked down at the two bags clutched in his hands, thinking that neither the new ice cream he’d just picked up nor the wine would look too appealing to Carrie at the moment.

After a few minutes of silence, he tried knocking again. “Carrie?”

Finally, she pulled back the door, looking ghostly.

“Oh sweetie,” Mike said, “come over here and sit down. You don’t look so hot.”

She gave him a twisted smile, remembering the first time he’d said that. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No,” he said, depositing his bags on the coffee table and sitting beside her on the sofa. “Actually, it’s just the opposite…” He reached out and took her hands in his. “Is it the flu? Did it hit suddenly?”

“You could say that,” she answered, smiling past her queasiness.

“Stay put,” he said, releasing her hands and giving her knee a light pat. “I’ll go and get you some ginger ale.”



“What did you bring me?” she asked when he returned from the kitchen and handed her the glass.

Mike followed her gaze to the two paper grocery bags on the table. “Probably nothing you’d feel much like having now. How about I tuck them in the fridge?”

Carrie nodded and took a very slow, small sip from her glass.

Mike shook his head as he stored the wine and ice cream in the refrigerator. Sick? She was sick? After everything he had planned—rehearsed—to make this night perfect? Holy cow.

Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Mike heard the hard rhythm of rain beating against the kitchen window.



Carrie wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Whatever he’d planned… All the trouble he’d gone to, and now she couldn’t even lift herself off the sofa. This was not the way she’d envisioned things at all. Maybe she was jinxed, or perhaps she’d already gotten her fair share of uneventful proposals. Whatever the reason, she was damned upset it was happening to her now.

Carrie glanced up toward the ceiling, hearing a sound smacking the red-slate roof. Perfect, it was raining.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mike said, coming back over to the sofa and sitting beside her.

“Oh Mike,” she said, her voice breaking up, “I’m so sorry…”

“Hush,” he said, bringing a hand to her lips and gently stroking her chin. “You can’t help any more that you’re sick than I can the color of my eyes.”

Oh, she wished she could believe it. But no, she felt responsible. As if the whole disastrous evening, one that could have been the most memorable ever for the two of them, was all her fault. If only she hadn’t worked herself into such a tizzy. If only she’d had a regular dinner. If only…

“Carrie,” Mike said, laying a hand on her forearm. “How do you think the air would do you?”

“Air?” she asked, not understanding.

“I was thinking of the porch swing.”

Carrie agreed that it was a fine idea and that being outdoors might actually help her. So she accepted Mike’s assistance and leaned on him heavily as he helped her outside and onto the porch swing, all the while thinking that this was how life would be. The two of them leaning on each other, growing old together. Each one forever supporting the other.

Carrie felt the moisture on her cheek and raised a casual hand to her eye, hoping Mike hadn’t seen. He already thought she was falling apart. Why give him further proof?

“Need a blanket?” he asked as a heavy gust of wind dusted a spray of rain in their direction.

“Just your arm,” she said, smiling up at him.

Mike sat and wrapped his arm around her, scooting in close. Carefully, slowly, when he felt her capable of tolerating the motion, Mike sent the swing into a gentle rock.

Far away, the mountains dripped and bled color in the evening rain. And, closer at hand, an occasional whistling wind across fresh flowers sent lazy summer fragrances wafting onto the porch. Mike held her and stroked her shivering arm until it steadied in his warmth.

Brushstrokes of light streaked into blackness in the darkening sky as her head dropped against his shoulder in easy comfort and they continued to rock. And when she grew heavy and still, Mike knew that she’d fallen asleep.

It was just like the dancing. And he wanted it to go on and on and on… Yes, he was sorry about the evening and his lost opportunity for fulfilling plans. But he was doubly grateful for the chance just to hold her now, with nothing but the scent of the rain between them. If this snapshot was an indication of the next sixty years, Mike was awfully glad he’d seen the big picture early.



Carrie awoke with a start to see the sun peering over the purple mountains. It was only when she heard the low rumble that she realized Mike was sitting and snoring beside her.

“Mike?” she said, raising a hand to his face. “Mike?”

“I’d like to counter that offer,” he said, snapping to attention.

“What offer?” she asked, laughing in surprise. “Were you dreaming about real estate?”

Mike opened his eyes wide, then blinked at his surroundings. “Yeah, I guess that I was,” he said, rubbing the sore back of his neck. “Did we sleep here all night?”

“Unless little trolls carried us to my bed, then replaced us on the swing before sunup.”

Mike pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck. “You know,” he said, “that’s the first time I’ve ever done that. Pulled an all-nighter with a woman on a swing.”

Carrie smiled, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the new day. Savoring the implausibility of the moment. And thinking that she’d happily wake up with Mike Davis anywhere.

“You stick with me, and you’ll get lots more opportunities for firsts,” she said, feeling playful. And, thank goodness, so much better.

“You’re looking brighter this morning,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I was so sorry to see you so ill.”

“Thanks for staying with me. Being with you really helped.”

Mike turned to the woman beside him. All night on the porch after an evening of illness, and Carrie St. John was without a doubt the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. The only woman with whom he could envision sharing a lifetime.

“Think you could get used to it?” Mike asked, moving his hands to her shoulders and looking deep in her eyes.

Carrie nodded but didn’t say a word. Because her heart was on fire. She knew, unmistakably, what was coming next. But this time, Carrie wasn’t anxious or afraid. Every nerve ending was ready.

Mike slipped out of the rocker and got down on one knee.

“Carrie,” he said, taking her left hand in both of his. “I have something very important to ask you. And just so you know, I want to tell you I already did the proper thing and talked with your grandmother.”

“Yes!” Carrie said, springing off the porch swing and into his arms as he stood in surprise to catch her. “Yes, yes, oh Mike, yes,” she said between vibrant kisses that ran from his mouth to his cheek to his neck to his forehead.

“Carrie—” he said, stopping her when she was almost to his mouth again. “You didn’t even let me finish asking.”

“Oh,” she said, consumed by a groundswell of heat. “Sorry.” Carrie primly smoothed out her hair and sat back down on the swing. “Continue,” she said, looking up, a million constellations in her eyes.

Mike smiled to beat all get-out and pulled a ring box from his pocket. “Before I say what I have to say,” he told her while her heart beat fiercely with anticipation, “I want you to promise me you’ll keep that level of enthusiasm for the next say, oh…fifty to sixty years.”

“It’s a deal,” she said with a sexy grin that almost made him drop the box and cart her straight inside.

“Carrie St. John,” Mike said, dropping back down on one knee, half wondering if he might get tackled. He pulled back the velvet lid, revealing a beautiful blue diamond surrounded by six perfect rubies.

“Oh Mike…”

“I’m sorry it took a while, but this ring was sort of a symbolic gift. I wanted to get it just right.”

Carrie wrinkled her brow as Mike plucked the ring from its box.

“The diamond… Well, of course, you know what the diamond means, love everlasting and all that.” He grinned, and she shot him a look with her eyes that dazzled.

“And the rubies?” Carrie asked. She counted. “Six of them?”

“Well, these first two,” Mike said, pointing to the stones set at the top. “These are you and me.”

Carrie’s eyes watered.

“Because, well…” He looked at her and smiled. “I figured out some time ago that you and I are—two of a kind. Destined for each other. Meant to be.”

Carrie swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “And the others?”

He gave her a hopeful smile, green eyes glistening. “Jack, Amanda, little Carrie, and Mike Junior,” he said, touching the stones one by one with his right index finger.

Salty tears streamed from Carrie’s eyes. Amanda was her Grandma Russell’s name, though how Mike had known, she couldn’t fathom.

“Of course, if you don’t like those names, we could choose others,” he said, reaching up and wiping her cheeks.

“I love those names. But…four?” she said, her voice warbling.

“For starters, anyway,” Mike said with a Cheshire-cat grin as he slipped the ring on her finger. “Carrie St. John,” he said, looking into her deep-brown eyes, “will you be mine, to have, to hold, and to cherish from this day forward…?”

Carrie nodded and kissed his hands still holding her own. “Oh, I will. I will, I will, I will!” She smiled, giving the morning sun a run for its money. “But…Mike, I kind of think you’re supposed to save those words for the wedding.”

“The wedding?” Mike asked, pulling her up and into his arms. Right where she belonged. Torso to torso, heart to thundering heart.

“But that’s only six days away,” he said, closing in for a kiss. “Shouldn’t we start practicing up?”

What, oh what, was she going to do with this man?

Keep him, she supposed.

“Absolutely,” Carrie said as she kissed him back, and he swept her away.