Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories Read online

  Ah, yes, her state of mind. It wasn’t too different from her state of mind now — confused, angry, and scared. Regardless of how well he’d played at the college level, that experience had done nothing to prepare her for the media storm and feeling that he was outgrowing her every second they were apart.

  And that was a lot of seconds.

  But he was right. She would never have believed him. Best to evade the question. She lifted her chin and said, “I don’t know a lot of girls at that age who wouldn’t have experienced a little insecurity in view of the situation.”

  He nodded. “I know. I did what I could to assure you, but it was never enough.”

  “And after,” she said, sounding horrified. “There were so many women … ”

  “And after.” He nodded his head, and his jaw quivered with anger. “That’s the key phrase, Bailey. There were never any women when I was with you!” He raised his hands in frustration. “My, God! I never even wanted … “ He trailed off and swallowed. “I was worried about failing, worried about disappointing my parents, you … myself. I was twenty-one years old. I was engaged. I was in love. I was faithful. And I never got one bit of credit for any of that. Not from the press and not from you.”

  Bailey’s heart slammed against her breastbone. This could not be true. “Oh, please!” she shouted. “You got engaged five months after I sent the ring back! And then you got engaged every year thereafter!” And that’s what had hurt the most, what kept hurting every time it happened — repeatedly being rejected and replaced.

  “So what?! What did it matter? Was I supposed to sit around cherishing the memory of you? Once you sent that ring back, yeah, you’re right, I dated a lot of women. Even proposed a few times, when they started expecting it. But don’t you get it?!” He was shouting now, too. “Bailey, I never married any of them, because they weren’t you!”

  The pain in Marc’s face would have taken the wind out of Bailey’s sails if she’d had any left.

  Yep, that was her — windless, loveless, and clueless. Only not so clueless anymore. She got it now, only all too well. He’d made a mistake, one born of inexperience and good intentions. She, on the other hand, had committed the mother of all relationship sins; she’d been too stubborn to even listen. And he had never replaced her at all. He’d only tried, just like she’d tried — and failed — to replace him.

  And now it was too late.

  The silence in the car was oppressive, aggressive even. Marc put his head back and closed his eyes, exhausted.

  “So … are you engaged right now?” Bailey asked finally, because the silence had to be broken.

  Marc raised his head and looked at her. “No. I was. Nothing since January.” His mouth twisted wryly. “She couldn’t stand me in the off season. They never can.”

  Bailey smirked a little. “Well, the day is young. Miss Texas awaits.”

  “Think she’d like me in the off season?” He cocked his head and looked at her through his mile-long eyelashes.

  “I don’t know. I always did.”

  They both laughed sad little laughs.

  “How about you?” he asked. “Any husbands, fiancés, or the like?”

  “Some ‘or the like’ from time to time.”

  “Yeah?”

  That was her cue to tell him if she was involved with anyone now. But what was the point? It wasn’t like they were supposed to fall into each other’s arms. It was way too late for that. Neither of them even wanted it. They were here to tie up loose ends, say goodbye, prepare to move on. For closure. It was a good thing.

  Yet, it felt so sad.

  “I need to go,” she said abruptly. “I’ll drop you off at the clubhouse. Missy and Miss Texas will be looking for you.” After all, just how long could she be expected to look at that mouth and not want to kiss it?

  Marc just nodded.

  She pulled into the circle drive; he started to get out but then turned to look back at her.

  “Can I ask you one question?”

  “Might as well.”

  “Was there anything about what happened that made you glad? Were you relieved on any level?”

  What? “I don’t follow.”

  He retreated into his thoughts to puzzle them over before speaking. She’d seen him do it a thousand times.

  Finally, he spoke. “It seemed to me at the time that you were looking really hard for a reason not to trust me — not to trust us — even before all that happened. Were you glad to walk away, to think you’d been right all along — that we couldn’t work out?”

  She opened her mouth to deny that, but closed it again. “I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid of a life where I might not be able to measure up. Does it matter?”

  He shook his head. “No. I guess not.”

  “Marc? Can I ask you a question?”

  “Turnabout, fair play.”

  “We were so young. Did you give me an engagement ring because you really wanted to get married at that stage of your life or because you wanted to give me a security blanket so I’d be there if and when you did?”

  Marc shook his head. “Who knows? Does it matter?”

  “No,” she allowed, echoing his words. “I guess not.”

  “Well.” He opened the car door. “Thanks for the talk, Bailey. I’ll see you — well, I guess I won’t see you. Ever.” He looked a little surprised and extended his hand like he might touch her but then thought better of it.

  “I guess not.”

  She drove away, her head and heart full. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that Bailey started pondering why she hadn’t told Marc she’d be at the gala that night.

  Chapter Four

  Miss Texas had gone to the bathroom — again.

  “It’s gonna storm. Big one’s coming.”

  Great. Someone wanted to talk about the weather — like it wasn’t bad enough being here in a tuxedo on a forced date with a small-bladdered beauty queen with a high opinion of herself. Though really, all that was wrong with Miss Texas was what was wrong with all of them — they weren’t Bailey and never would be.

  Marc had thought that if he could have his say with her, she’d be out of his system. But now he’d faced it, and she had believed him. Sure, she hadn’t admitted it, but he could tell the second the realization hit. And it hadn’t mattered. On some level, he had thought if he made her believe he’d never cheated on her, she’d say, “Oh, my bad. Sorry. Can we pick up where we left off?” Stupid. He was a stupid, stupid man.

  He took a sip of his drink and turned to the would-be weather oracle. “Think so?” Marc said. “I haven’t heard a weather report today.”

  “Sure you have. I just gave you one.”

  Wasn’t this that odd man who’d worn 1920s golf clothes today — complete with knickers, bow tie, knee socks, and a tam? Tonight he was dressed like almost every other man here — in a regulation black tux — but Marc was almost sure this was the same guy.

  He extended his hand. “Tiptoe Watkins. And you would be Marc.”

  Suddenly, he was very interested. “Bailey’s uncle?” Where did he get that nickname?

  “The same,” he said. “We never met back when you and Bailey were sweethearts.”

  “It’s nice to meet you finally.”

  “Bailey’s a good girl. Dedicated to her career. Still thinks her old uncle has something of value to say, willing to spend time with me.”

  “I’m sure you do have plenty of value to say.” He wasn’t sure at all.

  “I might, if you sift my words enough times. She never did get over being scared of storms. Do you know about that?”

  He nodded, trying to keep up with the man’s erratic thought patterns. “She was eight. A tree outside her window crashed through the house by her bed. A beam caught the brunt of
it and all she got were some cuts and bruises, but she was trapped for a long time. They had to use a chainsaw to get her out.”

  Fact was he thought about that a lot. He had hated to see her scared, but storms had been sweet times, too. She’d cling to him, and he’d hold her and make promises that were not his to make. After all, how could anyone promise that someone would be safe? Back then, he’d been so afraid of failing, so afraid he wouldn’t be special after all, and it would cost him Bailey. Talk about irony.

  Tiptoe nodded. “To this day, she hasn’t gotten over it. She lives in my garage apartment. I expect she’ll have to come sleep up at the big house with her aunt and me tonight — if she comes home. Which would be none of my business one way or the other, especially if not coming home takes her home. You know, to where she’s supposed to be.”

  Marc might have tried to puzzle through some of that if he hadn’t latched onto wondering just where the hell she might — or might not — be coming home from.

  “Mmmm.” Tiptoe gestured with the crystal double old-fashioned glass in his hand. “There she is now.”

  She had not said anything about coming here tonight! He turned and looked to where Tiptoe pointed. And there she was, in a vast sea of black-clad mere mortals, glowing like a bronze mermaid and putting every other woman in the room to shame — on the arm of Jackson Beauford.

  The adult in Marc began to retreat, but it wasn’t the eighth-grader or the toddler who showed up this time. It was worse, much worse. It was a sixteen-year-old who had just saved the championship game with a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. And he wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer.

  • • •

  Agreeing to come here with Jack Beauford had been a bad idea. Oh, he had been perfectly nice, attentive even — as had his driver, bodyguard, manager, and personal assistant. No wonder he’d needed a limo to pick her up. There were so many people with him, the only other alternative would have been a school bus. They had already posed for pictures seven times and they were barely in the ballroom.

  She had half expected him to arrive wearing some kind of spangled jacket, cowboy hat, and boots, but he was impeccably dressed in black tie, and his head was bare. There was nothing pretty-boy about his show-stopping good looks, and — in spite of his entourage — if he believed his own press, he hid it well.

  But he did not have a beautiful mouth. And she was miserable.

  “What would you like to drink, Bailey?” Jackson asked.

  “Chardonnay,” she said.

  “Chardonnay,” he relayed to the bodyguard.

  “Jackson,” Ginger, the personal assistant, said, “they’re getting ready to serve dinner. Come this way. Table seven. Follow me.”

  “Are my brothers at my table?” he asked as he placed his hand on the small of Bailey’s back to guide her toward their destination.

  “No. But I can talk to your cousin and get that changed.”

  “No,” Jackson said, “don’t. Let’s just sit where they put us.”

  “I have a list of your tablemates: Retired NBA player, P.J. Webster. Wife, Sonya. Current Nashville Predator Hockey player, Michel Charbonneau. Wife, Lauren. Local couple, Luke and Lanie Avery. He’s a judge; she owns a candy shop. Do you want to make any changes?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “If you’re sure.” Ginger was about fifty and wielded her iPhone like an Uzi. If she had asked for the seating to be changed, Missy wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  The bodyguard appeared with her wine and a tumbler of bourbon for Jackson.

  As they settled into their chairs, Ginger said, “One more piece of business and we’ll leave you in peace.” She smiled at Bailey and then turned back to Jackson, all business. “The equipment is in place and the sound check has been done. Do you want me to have your dinner held until after you perform?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want to cause any bother. I’ll pick at it and get something later.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of,” he said.

  Ginger reached into her blazer pocket. “Here’s your phone. It has a full charge. Text me if you need anything. We’ll be close by.”

  Once they were alone, Jackson gave Bailey a dazzling smile and glanced at the six empty chairs at their table. “I guess dinner isn’t all that imminent. Ginger likes to get me where I’m going way in advance. She has a short fuse where tardiness is concerned.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to sing,” Bailey said.

  “Neither did Ginger. She didn’t like it one bit. But I promised Missy — though I did refuse to bring the band. We’ve got just a few weeks off before we hit the road, and they need a rest.”

  “But the rest of your entourage? They didn’t need a rest?” Bailey asked. “You didn’t?”

  He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I tried to give them the time off, too, but ‘whither I goest … ’ As for me, I’ve never done a lick of work in my life. I just sing a little, write a few songs. Besides, Missy promised the twins and me she’d make us a blackberry cobbler and some fried green tomatoes tomorrow if we’d come.”

  “Are you staying with Missy?”

  He leaned over and put his finger to his lips “Shh. Ginger will have apoplexy if she finds out I told where I’m staying.”

  She laughed in spite of herself — or rather, in spite of just catching sight of Marc across the room whispering in Miss Texas’s ear. Jackson Beauford certainly was charming. Nobody could take that away from him. “I won’t tell,” Bailey said. “Nor will I show up in the wee hours and try to scale the wall of the house.”

  He took her hand. “Ah, shucks, ma’am. I’d let you right in the front door.” It wasn’t true; they both knew that, but it was fun to flirt and laugh, if only for a little while.

  • • •

  Marc wanted to break every plate, glass, and window in the room. He wanted to tear apart all those fancy flower arrangements that looked strangely like the Seattle Space Needle. He wanted to overturn tables and bellow obscenities at the top of his lungs.

  “So, I was in Austin?” Miss Texas said.

  Did she end every statement with a question? It made him nervous, like she was expecting something from him. Maybe that was the point. And he just didn’t have anything to give her.

  “Doing a public appearance at a shopping mall? And there was a lunch at the Rotary?”

  She went on and on about some police dog who threw up on her during a photo-op. And he was encouraging her by nodding, laughing, and patting her back — just in case Bailey looked their way. Why were they sitting at that empty table anyway? Was Merle Haggard over there too good to mingle like everyone else?

  Oh, hell, no! The guy was looking at his phone and getting up from the table. He was leaving Bailey to sit there by herself!

  “Uh, Jessica, honey,” he said. Miss Texas widened her eyes and waited. “I’m going to walk you over to the restroom. It doesn’t bother me one bit, but there’ll probably be pictures at some point and you’ve got a little smudge under your eye.”

  “What? Oh, no!” And she took off without waiting for him.

  Good. He took off himself. In three seconds flat he was standing in front of Bailey.

  “Abandoned, I see,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “Yes. And for a very shallow reason. His little brother just called from Afghanistan. Jack decided to step out so he could hear him better. Thoughtless of him. Why are you alone?”

  There was just nothing to say to that. Move on. He waved his arm around. “So is this a thing?”

  She frowned and looked around. “Well, I think you call that a flower arrangement. Or a centerpiece. Clever how they’ve put it in that tall skinny vase isn’t it? So that everyone at the table can see each other.”

 
“Do I look like some kind of florist? That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She understood; she was just being a brat. “Let me be clear. Is Mr. Grand Ole Opry an ‘or the like’?”

  “What?” She looked confused for real. “I’m so glad you decided to be clear.”

  “You know? Husband, fiancé, or the like? Is he one?” Oh, God. He was ending his sentences with question marks. Pretty soon he’d be peeing every two minutes and checking his makeup.

  She busied herself with pawing through her little sparkly purse. “That’s none of your business, Marc. Don’t you need to find your date before she wanders out into traffic or gets lost?”

  Either Bailey was commenting on Jessica’s intellectual prowess or her youth. Good. She was bothered. About damned time.

  “You might as well tell me, Bailey. I’ll look it up on the Internet. If he’s dating you, somebody’s written about it.”

  She opened her mouth but never answered because that damned Missy Bragg stepped up to the microphone.

  “Welcome, everyone! Chef Michael just rang the dinner bell, so if you’ll take your places, we’ll start this wonderful evening off with some great food and wine.”

  P.J. Webster and his wife stepped up to the table to take their seats, and Bailey rose and turned her back on him.

  Dismissed! Well, thank you very much, Bailey. Clearly, closure was only something made up by people who wanted to go on talk shows. He stomped away.

  • • •

  Bailey took a bite of her beef tenderloin and wished for home and bed. That last encounter with Marc had been the hardest. Why couldn’t they have just left things on a quiet, if sad, note? Or an angry one? Those things she understood. Now she was just confused. Was he honestly jealous?

  “So you’re a nurse?” The question came from the wife of the hockey player whose name she couldn’t remember. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember the wife’s name either.

  “Yes,” Bailey said. “And I just got my nurse practitioner certification.” She hoped they would move on to something else soon. The last thing she wanted tonight was attention.