The Reluctant Bride (9 page)

“Absolutely,” he responded. “It's an everyday occurrence.”

“Rob!” Micah punched him playfully in the arm. The joking had gone far enough. She had seen too many attractive women in this building.

“Worried, huh?” he said quietly, drawing her back into his warm embrace. “Is that why you came down here today? To check on me?”

“No, I…I really only meant to stop in and say hi.”

His hand touched the soft skin under her chin, tilting her gaze up to his. “Hi,” he offered in a deadly calm voice, and his darkening eyes searched her face. “Satisfied?”

Micah stared into compelling blue, fighting the urge to shake her head no. Snatches of time and a few promising kisses would never—

“Me, neither,” he responded.

“I…I have to get back,” she said, stumbling through her statement. This was an office, a place of business, and there were people only a few feet away on the other side of the door. Micah felt as if they could somehow be seen through that irritating intercom. “I have to get back to school. My next class is due to start soon.”

“All right,” he conceded. Or did he? The firm hands sliding up her arms seemed to have no intention of letting her go. “Goodbye,” Rob said in an almost casual tone, but there was nothing casual in the reaction between them when their mouths met again in a kiss that was tender only in its beginning. They both needed, wanted more than a few moments together offered.

“Rob,” she breathed his name as the draining kiss came to a slow, almost painful end. “I've got to leave.”

He released her, reluctance in every movement

“Tomorrow night?” she whispered softly, needlessly.

“I'll be there. Six o'clock,” he replied as she turned from him. “Micah, before you go…my parents are having a dinner this Sunday. One o'clock. Liz and my brother and their families will be there. They'd like you to come.”

Meeting his family. She cringed at the thought. There had been no involvement, no relationship for her serious enough to warrant meeting the family
since California. She blinked. It had been a very long time. “Rob…”

“I
want you to come,” he added with emphasis.

A soft sigh escaped. Micah had survived an encounter with one irate, accusatory mom. Maybe it was time to take another chance. “If it's important to you,” she said.

“It is,” he responded, obviously pleased with her answer. “I'll walk you to your car.”

“No, really. That's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow.” Touching her lips to the palm of her hand, she blew a kiss across the room before she slipped through the doorway.

“No, it
can't
be,” Micah protested audibly with the other moviegoers in the midst of laughing at her own inaccuracy when the guilty party was revealed.

“A murder mystery,” Rob said dryly. “How did I let you talk me into this after weeks of the Gendersen trial?”

“It was good, didn't you think? I had no idea who the killer was.”

“I told you it wasn't the burglar. Too obvious,” Rob insisted as they exited the theater, leaving the aroma of buttery popcorn behind for the refreshing spring air.

“I know, I know,” Micah responded, still laughing at the surprise ending. “You told me so.”

A crooked smile or smirk, Micah couldn't decide which, curved Rob's mouth. “The chauffeur,” he
said. “I said all along to keep your eye on the innocent-looking driver.” He reached down to take her hand in his own, and she was almost startled by the contact. He had not intentionally touched her all evening. Not at her apartment when he first arrived, not during dinner, not once throughout the entire movie.

Micah held tightly to his hand as they walked toward the parking lot. He released her to open the car door. She hated ending the contact, and a quick glance in his direction said as much, but if he could read the feelings in her clear green gaze, he gave no indication.

The film became the topic of conversation on the drive to her apartment—the movie, the lovely spring weather, Micah's classes, Rob's evening out with the troubled teenager he had told her about, and even some discussion about the Gendersen trial.

“So, you had a good time with the pastor, Brian Andrews, and the boy you took to play basketball with him at Third Avenue Church?”

“Yes. Ronnie is the kid's name. Really, it went much better than I thought it would. Ronnie enjoyed himself and wants to go back and take his younger brothers. Brian is picking up the boys on Monday for another game, then I'll take them there again next Thursday.”

“That sounds great. Maybe this will make a difference in Ronnie's life.”

“It might,” he answered. “I think the boy might
be as sick of his lifestyle as his parents and the judicial system are. This could turn him around.” Rob parked in the familiar slot in front of Mrs. Poe's house. “You're studying me rather intently,” he commented.

“I'm keeping my eye on the chauffeur. ‘The innocent-looking driver,’ as I think you referred to him.”

“I don't have a chauffeur's license, I'm not innocent-looking,” Rob said, switching off the engine and pulling the keys from the ignition to dangle them in front of Micah. “And, I am no longer driving.”

“But you are good at spotting the guilty party. Maybe you should be a detective instead of an attorney,” she suggested.

Rob's smile faded; the slant of his mouth thinned into a straight line.

She had said something wrong, she knew it. But the words should have bothered her more than him. “What's wrong?” she asked. “I was only teasing.”

“Explain something to me, Micah. How could you possibly enjoy watching a murder mystery when the very mention of courtrooms and trials usually sends you into a panic. Were you trying to prove something to me?”

The proof had been for herself. No one else. She could lose herself in the moment of the mystery without looking back. It was the characters’ story.
It was their mystery, their crimes, not hers. Just as her father's had been.

“Micah?”

“There was no judge, no jury in that movie. It was about a murder. A whodunit. Not a courtroom drama,” she answered defensively. “And I do discuss your work with you. Didn't we talk about the Gendersen trial on the way home? Haven't we—”

“You know what I'm referring to,” he interrupted. “Sometimes I can see it in your eyes. The conversation goes the wrong way and—”

“I don't like courtrooms, trials…is that so unusual?” she snapped. “One experience with them was enough, wasn't it? I was just a kid, Rob. It frightened me.”

“What frightened you?”

“Everything,” she responded, her voice unsteady. “The courtroom was huge and the accusations… there were so many things said—”

“Accusations about what?”

Her mind had gone back nine, no, ten years to the worst part of California: her memories of it.

“Micah—”

“The attorneys, the prosecutors, they were cruel and…relentless. They never let up.”

“And so you blame all attorneys for what happened?”

“No, I don't. My mother was an attorney, and I loved her, and there's you…” She looked into his piercing blue gaze. Yes, there was Rob. And there
were risks and consequences and far more details that she wanted to disclose.

“I didn't know your mother was dead,” he stated when she failed to complete her sentence.

Micah frowned. “She's not. I didn't say she was.”

“You said ‘loved.’ Past tense,” he remarked.

“I did?” Micah responded. “No, she's alive… and I do love her. The question is, does she love me?”

Rob's hands rested on the steering wheel, and he looked out into the darkness of the night. “Why would you doubt your mother's love? Was she on trial, too, or was it just your dad?”

“My father.” Her voice trembled. “He stole money, embezzled it from the company he'd spent his career with.” Micah pulled the door handle to let herself out of the car. “He went to jail, Rob. Can you see how wrong I am for you? If you cared for me, you'd leave this alone.” She slammed the door shut behind her.

“Micah.” He was out of the automobile and, catching up with her in a few long strides, he gripped her shoulder. “I do care,” he said as he turned her around to face him.

“Please, Rob, let me go.” She struggled to escape his grasp, but the attempt was futile.

“I do care about you,” he said, “and nothing that has happened in the past will change that. But I want to know, Micah. I want to understand.”

“You can't understand. Unless you've lived it, you can't know what it's like.” She stopped perfectly still, and with pleading eyes she looked into the stormy depths of his gaze. “Please, Rob…”

And Rob released her, waving a hand through the black night air in an empty gesture. “You trust me with today, but not with yesterday. Is that it?”

“I didn't move thousands of miles to go on living in the shadows. If I wanted my past to be a part of my everyday life, I would have stayed in California. But I'm not there, I'm here, with you.” She paused. “And this is where I want to be…for now. Don't ask for more.”

Rob touched the soft cascade of hair that hung freely around her shoulders, and some of the warmth returned to his eyes. “But I want more…so much more.”

There was a noise, a whimper a few feet away from them and Micah turned, her gaze falling on the crumpled ball of fur near the gutter.

“Patches!” She rushed to the curb, kneeling in the grass. “Oh, Rob, it's Patches! Poor baby,” she said in a soothing voice as she reached out toward the animal. “She's Mrs. Poe's pet. My landlady.”

Rob knelt on one knee beside her as Micah stroked the cat's ears. But there was little response. He placed a hand gently against Patches's matted fur. “Looks pretty bad, Micah.”

“Poor dumb kitty. Why couldn't you stay out of the street?” she whispered as though the cat could
understand her, and she stroked its forehead as she had done countless times over the past two years. Tears welled up in Micah's eyes. “Mrs. Poe is away for the weekend. We'll have to find a vet.” She gathered up the little furry bundle and held Patches close.

“That's not going to be easy this late.”

“We have to, Rob. Maybe she'll have to be put to sleep if she's suffering.” Then she thought of something. “Dr. Tackett! He lives two streets over. We can take her over there.”

“Honey—”

“Please, Rob. Maybe he can do something.”

Without saying another word, Rob opened the passenger door of his car and Micah climbed into the front seat.

“There's a towel that I use for my paintings in the back seat of my station wagon. Pull the back door open, and you'll find it,” Micah explained, and he followed her instructions. Within seconds, he was handing her the towel, expecting her to place it across her legs beneath the cat, but instead she covered Patches with it.

A short while later, they approached the veterinarian's street. “There it is. The third house on the right,” Micah said, pointing to Dr. Tackett's home.

“Yes?” the white-haired gentleman asked, opening the door after their first knock.

“Dr. Tackett, I'm Micah Shepherd. One of Mrs.
Poe's tenants from Spring Blossom Avenue. This is Patches, Mrs. Poe's pet, and—”

“Well, mercy sakes, I remember Patches. Come here, kitty.” He pulled back the towel to see the bundle in Micah's arms.

“We're not sure what happened,” Rob stated after they had stepped inside the doctor's home. “We just found her.”

“Well, let's have a look-see at your little friend.”

They followed the man into a small office off to the side of the hallway they had entered, and Micah placed Patches, still wrapped in the towel, on the table. The doctor went about his work while Rob moved to stand behind Micah, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

“This looks serious, kids. I'm not so sure she's going to pull through,” the vet said when he looked up at them. “Leave her here with me.”

Micah agreed to do that, and Rob squeezed her shoulders a little before releasing her. He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to the doctor. “Here's my name and address. You can send the bill to me at my office. We appreciate your time, Dr. Tackett.”

“But, where's Mrs. Poe? This is her pet, isn't it? She—”

“She's away for the night visiting her sister. She'll be back in the morning. I'll ask her to call you then,” Micah explained, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.

“The best thing to do is leave Patches here with me,” the doctor stated, showing them to the door.

They thanked the man again for his help and walked to Rob's car in silence to make the short trip back to Micah's apartment.

The glare of the porch light hurt Micah's eyes, and she turned away from it, jiggling her purse in search of her keys. “Here they are,” she said finally and soon her key turned in the lock. She opened the door and they stood in the entryway for a while. “I'm sorry for being such a crybaby.”

“It's okay,” he said quietly as he took her into his arms. Micah placed her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Do you want me to talk to Mrs. Poe for you?”

“No,” she replied with a sniff. “I'll tell her when she gets home.”

Rob held her close, and there was nothing Micah knew that was as comforting as being in his arms.

“Thank you for offering to pay, but that's Mrs. Poe's responsibility.”

“Forget about it. It doesn't matter,” he answered, searching her face when she raised her head to look up at him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she responded and cleared her throat “It's just that…oh, Rob, I love that stupid cat,” she cried before burying her face in the soft material of his shirt

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you do.” He held her close while she cried, and only after she
had completely quieted in his arms, did he speak again. “Will you be all right when I leave?”

“Yes,” she replied, reaching for a tissue on the end table nearby.

“I think you should get some sleep.” Rob kissed the top of her head. “You'll feel better in the morning.”

Micah looked up at him and wiped her nose with the tissue. This was not how she had thought this evening would end.

“I'll call you,” he told her and opened the door.

“Okay,” she responded. “Good night, Rob.”