The First Man You Meet (4 page)

S
HE SHOULD BE HAPPY
, Shelly told herself early the following morning. Not only had she survived the audit—in fact she’d come away with an unexpected refund—but she’d learned that Mark was practically engaged.

Yes, she should be dancing in the streets, singing in the aisles… Instead she’d been struggling with a strange melancholy ever since their last encounter. She seemed to have lost her usual vitality, her sense of fun.

And now it was Saturday, and for once she had no looming deadlines, no appointments, no pressing errands. Remembering the exhilaration and solace she’d experienced when she videotaped an ocean storm sequence recently, Shelly decided to see if she could recapture some of those feelings. She headed toward Long Beach, a resort town on the Washington coastline. The sky was clear and almost cloudless; the sun was bright and pleasantly warm—a perfect spring day. Once she drove onto the freeway, the miles sped past and two hours later she was standing on the sandy beach with the breeze riffling her long hair.

She walked around for a while, enjoying the sights and sounds about her, the chirping of the sea gulls, the salty spray of the Pacific Ocean and the scent of wind and sea. She was satisfied with the end product, her beach video, and started to work out plans for a whole series—the ocean in different seasons, different moods. That would be something special, she thought, something unique.

She wandered down the beach, kicking at the sand with the toe of her tennis shoes. Tucking her fingertips in the
pockets of her jeans, she breathed in the vivid freshness around her. After an hour or so, she made her way back to the concession stands, where she bought a hot dog and a cold drink.

Then, just because it looked like such fun, she rented a moped.

She sped along the shore, thrilled with the sensation of freedom, reveling in the solitude and the roar of pounding surf.

The wind tossed her hair about her face until it was a confusion of curls. Shelly laughed aloud and listened as the galloping breeze carried off the sound.

Her motorized bike rushed forward, spitting sand in its wake. She felt reckless with exhilaration, as though there was nothing she couldn’t do. It was that kind of afternoon. That kind of day.

When she least expected it, someone else on a moped raced past her. Shelly hadn’t encountered anyone during her ride and this person took her by surprise. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, amazed by how far she’d traveled. The only other person she could see was the one who’d passed her.

To her surprise, the rider did an abrupt turnaround and headed back in her direction. With the sun in her eyes and the wind pelting against her, Shelly slowed to a crawl and she shaded her eyes with one hand.

It wasn’t until he was nearly beside her that Shelly recognized the other rider.

Mark Brady.

She was so shocked that she allowed the engine to die, her feet dropping to the sand to maintain her balance. Mark appeared equally shocked. He braked abruptly.

‘‘Shelly?’’ He seemed not to believe it was her.

Shelly shook her head and blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t fantasizing. The last person
she’d expected to encounter on a beach two hours out of Seattle was Mark Brady. Mr. Conservative on a moped! This time, though, he wasn’t wearing a dark suit. He didn’t have his briefcase with him, either. And he looked even handsomer than usual in worn jeans and a University of Washington sweatshirt.

‘‘Mark?’’ She couldn’t prevent the astonishment from creeping into her voice.

‘‘What are you doing here?’’ She heard the hostility in his and answered him coolly.

‘‘The same thing as you, apparently.’’ She pushed the hair from her face, and the wind promptly blew it back.

Mark’s blue gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘‘You didn’t happen to follow me, did you?’’

‘‘Follow you?’’ she repeated indignantly. She’d rarely been more insulted. ‘‘Follow you!’’ she repeated, starting her moped and revving the engine. ‘‘May I remind you that I was on the beach first? If anyone was doing any following, it was
you
following me.’’ She was breathless by the time she finished. ‘‘In light of our previous encounters, you’re the last person I’d seek out.’’

Mark scowled at her. ‘‘The feeling’s mutual. I’m not in the mood for another story about your aunt Martha’s damn wedding dress, either.’’

Shelly felt an unexpected flash of pain. ‘‘I was having a perfectly wonderful afternoon until you arrived,’’ she said stiffly.

‘‘I was having a good time myself,’’ Mark muttered.

‘‘Then I suggest we go our separate ways and forget we ever met.’’

Mark looked as if he were about to say something more, but Shelly was in no frame of mind to listen. She twisted the accelerator on the handlebar of her moped and took off down the beach. Although she knew it was unreasonable, she was furious. Furious at the surge of joy she’d felt
when she recognized him. Furious at Mark, because he didn’t seem even a little pleased to see her. She bit her lower lip, remembering the comment he’d made about not wanting to hear anything more about her ‘‘damn wedding dress.’’ Now, that was just rude, she told herself righteously. She could
never
be interested in a man who was not only conventional but rude.

Squinting, Shelly hunched her shoulders against the wind, in a hurry now to return to the boardwalk area. She hadn’t meant to go nearly this far.

The wet, compact sand made for smooth, fast riding and Shelly stayed close to the water’s edge in an effort to outdistance Mark. Not that he was likely to chase her, but she wanted to avoid any possibility of another embarrassing encounter.

Then it happened.

A large wave came in, sneaking its way up the sand, creating a thin, glistening sheen. Shelly hardly noticed, as her front tire ripped through the water, spraying it out on both sides. Then the moped’s front wheel dipped precariously. One minute she was sailing down the beach at breakneck speed and the next she was cartwheeling over her handlebars.

She landed heavily in a patch of wet sand, too paralyzed with shock to know if she was hurt or not.

Before she could move, Mark was crouching at her side. ‘‘Shelly? Are you all right?’’

‘‘I…don’t know.’’ Carefully she flexed one arm and then the other. Sitting up, she tested each leg and didn’t feel pain there, either. Apparently she’d survived the experience unscathed.

‘‘You crazy fool!’’ he yelled, leaping to his feet. ‘‘What are you trying to do, kill yourself?’’

‘‘Ah…’’ It was painful to breathe just yet, otherwise she would have answered him.

‘‘Can you imagine what I thought when I saw you flying through the air like that?’’

‘‘Good riddance?’’ she suggested.

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘‘I’m in no mood for your jokes. Here, let me help you up.’’ He moved behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and gently raising her up.

‘‘I’m fine,’’ she protested the instant his arms surrounded her. The blood rushed to her head, but Shelly didn’t know if that was because of her tumble or because Mark was holding her as though he never intended to let go. Even when she was on her feet, he didn’t release her.

‘‘Are you sure you’re not hurt?’’

Shelly nodded, not trusting her voice. ‘‘I’m less confident about the moped, though.’’ Her bike seemed to be in worse shape than she was.

‘‘It doesn’t look good to me, either,’’ Mark said. He finally dropped his arms and retrieved the moped, which was lying on its side, the waves lapping over it. There were regular hissing sounds as the cold water splashed against the heated muffler. Steam rose from the engine.

Mark did his best to start the bike for her, but to no avail. ‘‘I’m afraid it’s hopelessly wet. It won’t start now until it’s had a chance to dry. A mechanic should check it over to be sure nothing’s wrong.’’

Shelly brushed the hair from her face and nodded. There was no help for it; she was going to have to walk the bike back to the rental shop. No small feat when she considered she was about three miles down the beach.

‘‘Thank you very much for stopping,’’ she said a bit primly. ‘‘But as you can see I’m not hurt.…’’

‘‘What do you think you’re doing?’’ Mark asked as she began pushing the moped. It made for slow progress, the bulky machine was far more difficult to transport under
her own power than she’d realized. At this rate, she’d be lucky to return it by nightfall.

‘‘I’m taking the bike back to the place where I rented it.’’

‘‘That’s ridiculous.’’

‘‘Do you have any better ideas?’’ she asked in a reasonable tone of voice. ‘‘I don’t understand what you’re doing here in the first place,’’ she said, sounding far calmer than she felt. ‘‘You should be with Janet.’’

‘‘Who?’’ he demanded. He tried to take the moped away from her and push it himself, but she wouldn’t let go.

‘‘The woman you’re going to marry. Remember?’’

‘‘Her name is Janice and as I said before, the engagement’s unofficial.’’

‘‘That doesn’t answer my question. You should be with her on a beautiful spring day like this.’’

Mark frowned again. ‘‘Janice couldn’t get away. She had an important meeting with a client—she’s a lawyer. Listen, quit being so stubborn, I’m stronger than you. Let me push the bike.’’

Shelly hesitated; his offer was tempting. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet and already her side ached. She pressed one hand against her hip and straightened, her decision made. ‘‘Thanks, but no thanks,’’ she answered flatly. ‘‘By the way, it’s Aunt Milly who sent me the wedding dress, not Aunt Martha, so if we’re going to get names straight, let’s start there.’’

Mark rolled his eyes skyward, as though he’d reached the end of his limited reserve of patience. ‘‘Fine, I’ll apologize for what I said back there. I didn’t mean to insult you.’’

‘‘I didn’t follow you,’’ she said.

‘‘I know, but I didn’t follow you, either.’’

Shelly nodded, finding that she believed him.

‘‘Then how do you explain that we’ve inadvertently
stumbled into each other twice in the last week?’’ Mark asked. ‘‘The odds of that happening have got to be phenomenal.’’

‘‘I know it sounds crazy, but…I’m afraid it’s the dress,’’ Shelly mumbled.

‘‘The wedding dress?’’ Mark repeated.

‘‘I’m really embarrassed about all this. I’m not sure I believe any of it myself. And I do apologize, especially since there’s been an apparent mix-up—’’

‘‘Why’s that?’’ Mark asked.

‘‘Well…because you’re involved with Janice. I’m sure the two of you are a perfect match and you’ll have a marvelous life together.’’

‘‘What makes you assume that?’’

His question caught her off guard. ‘‘Well, because…didn’t you just tell me you’re about to become officially engaged?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Mark muttered, frowning.

Although she was reluctant to admit it, Shelly found pushing the moped extremely taxing, so she stopped to rest for a moment. ‘‘Listen,’’ she said a little breathlessly, ‘‘there’s no need for you to walk with me. Why don’t you just go on ahead?’’

‘‘There most definitely is a need,’’ Mark answered sharply. He didn’t seem too pleased with her suggestion. ‘‘I’m not going to desert you now.’’

‘‘Oh, Mark, honestly, you don’t have to be such a gentleman.’’

‘‘You don’t like gentlemen?’’

‘‘Of course I do—but it’s one of the reasons you and I would never get along for any length of time. You’re very sweet, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t need anyone to rescue me.’’

‘‘Forgive me for saying so, but you
do
appear to need
rescuing.’’ The look he gave her implied that he was referring to more than the moped.

‘‘I was the one foolish enough to get the engine wet,’’ she said brightly, ignoring his comment. ‘‘So I should be the one to pay the consequences.’’

Mark waited a moment, as if debating whether to continue arguing. ‘‘Fine, if that’s the way you feel,’’ he said finally, straddling the moped and starting his engine, which roared to life with sickening ease. ‘‘I hope you don’t tire out too quickly.’’

‘‘I’ll be okay,’’ she said, hardly able to believe he was actually going to leave her.

‘‘I hope you’re right about that,’’ he said, revving the engine.

‘‘You…you could let someone know,’’ she ventured, hoping the rental agency might send someone out with a truck to find her.

‘‘I’ll see what I can do,’’ he agreed, then grinning broadly, took off at top speed down the beach.

Although she’d made the suggestion that he go on ahead without her, Shelly had assumed he wouldn’t take it seriously. She’d said it more for the sake of dignity, of preserving her pride. She had actually been enjoying his company, enjoying the banter between them.

As he vanished into the distance, Shelly squared her shoulders, determined to manage on her own—particularly since she didn’t have much choice in the matter. She’d been dragging the moped along for several minutes when she noticed a moped racing toward her. It didn’t take her long to identify the rider, with his lithe, muscular build, as Mark. She picked up her pace, unreasonably pleased that he’d decided to return. He slowed as he approached her.

‘‘Still eager to be rid of me?’’

‘‘No,’’ she admitted, smiling half in relief, half in plea
sure. ‘‘Can’t you tell when a woman means something and when she’s just being polite?’’

‘‘I guess not.’’ He smiled back, apparently in a jovial mood. ‘‘Rest,’’ he said, parking his own moped and taking hers. ‘‘A truck will be along any minute.’’

Shelly sank gratefully into the lush sand. Mark lowered himself onto the beach beside her. She picked several blades of grass and began weaving them industriously together. That way, she wouldn’t have to look at him.

‘‘Are you always this stubborn?’’ he asked.

‘‘Yes,’’ she said quietly, giving him a shy smile. Shelly couldn’t remember being shy in her life. But something about Mark made her feel shaky inside, and oddly weak. An unfamiliar sensation, but she dared not analyze it, dared not examine it too closely. She turned away from him and closed her eyes, trying to picture Janice, the woman he was going to marry. Despite her usually creative imagination, Shelly couldn’t seem to visualize her.