The Valentine Wedding Dress (2 page)

After Dave had fixed the stairs and left with a promise to be back by seven, Lara floated back up to the attic. She literally felt as if she were walking on air. How was it possible for a humdrum day to be transformed so quickly into something absolutely magical?

Of course, she had another transformation to make before seven. She was not going out tonight looking like Cinderella's poorest, ugliest stepsister.

Quickly she stripped off the wedding gown. She carefully covered it with tissue and folded it. She was about to place it back in the trunk, when she spotted the envelope, yellowed with age, the writing on the front, bold and masculine, the postmark from a town less than 50 miles away. Unable to stop herself, she picked it up and slid out the card, an elaborate valentine meant for a sweetheart.

It had been opened and read so many times over the years that it was coming apart. There were blotches, too, suggesting that it had been soaked with tears, probably more than once.

Hands shaking, Lara opened it, feeling an odd sense of trepidation.

In addition to the printed verse, there was a note in that same bold handwriting: “My darling Susan, on this day of all days, thoughts of you fill my heart, replacing for a few brief hours the regrets that haunt me always. You know why I did what I did. And because of the kind of woman you are, I know that you understand and maybe, after all this time, have even forgiven me. If only things could have been different. With all my love, Peter.”

Peter?
Lara stared again at the signature to make sure she'd gotten it right. Who was Peter? Her father's name was Mitch. Mitch Calhoun. Lara had never heard of anyone named Peter. Certainly her mother had never mentioned the name. Why would a card with such an obviously intimate message be tucked away with her mother's wedding dress?

Suddenly Lara thought she knew. Dropping the card on top of the folds of satin, she ran downstairs, relieved that she had the house to herself, that her father wouldn't be home for hours, not until long after she'd left for her date.

She paused at the door to her parents' bedroom, took a deep breath, then stepped inside and walked over to the dresser. Swallowing hard, heart thundering in her chest, she reached for the informal wedding picture that had sat in the same spot as far back as she could remember. In it, her mother was smiling brilliantly, but it was a spring day, not winter, not February 14. There were buds on the trees and daffodils blooming beside the church steps.

And the dress? Lara's gaze swept over it in a single glance. Soft and feminine, it was trimmed in lace, not pearls. It was made of organza, not satin. Which meant that the dress in the attic was from another wedding.

She thought of the valentine. Or, she concluded, from a wedding that had never taken place at all.

* * *

“Going out with Chelsea tonight?” Peter Lafferty asked as Dave stood in front of the hall mirror and straightened his tie.

“No, as a matter of fact, I'm not.”

“Really? I thought that was getting serious.”

Dave sighed. “She thought so, too. I told her a little while ago that I couldn't be with her anymore, that we didn't have a future.” It had been the most difficult conversation he'd ever had, but he knew in his heart it had been the only fair thing to do.

“Can't say I'm sorry,” his father said. “I never did think she was right for you.”

Dave stared at him in surprise. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because nobody knows better than I do that you can't let other people pick the person you're going to love.”

Dave was startled by the admission. He walked into the living room and sat opposite his father. “Dad, were you and Mom happy?”

From the moment Lara answered the door, Dave knew that something had happened since he'd left that afternoon. It wasn't that she didn't look fabulous. She did. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed. Her makeup was perfect. She was wearing a red wool dress that skimmed over her curves in the most enticing way. She'd chosen sleek red heels that added two inches to her height, yet brought her only to his chin.

“You look beautiful,” he said with total sincerity. He touched a finger to her cheek. “Or you would if it weren't for the sorrow in your eyes. What's wrong? Would you rather not do this?”

“No, I'm looking forward to it,” she said.

“About as much as you would to having your tooth pulled,” he said. “Come on, Lara, what is it?”

She hesitated, then drew him inside. The living room was smaller than his own, but cozy. He could tell at once that this was a real home, furnished with love. Photos lined the mantel of the fireplace. A gleaming piano stood against one wall with sheet music piled atop it.

“Something did happen,” she confessed, looking shaken. “I don't know what to make of it.”

“Tell me.”

“You know that dress I was wearing?”

He grinned at that. “How could I forget?”

“It was my mother's. It's been in the attic for years, in this trunk.”

So far, he didn't see the problem. “Okay?”

“But it wasn't the one she was wearing in her wedding pictures.”

Dave felt an odd tingling in his chest. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Maybe it wasn't hers.”

“Then why was it in our attic?” she asked reasonably.

“Could it have been your grandmother's?”

“No way. The design was too contemporary. Besides, I'm almost certain it had never been worn.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“There wasn't a spot on it, not so much as a hint of any kind of stain.”

“It could have been cleaned. Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a dress.”

“Not any dress,” she argued. “A
wedding dress.
” She drew in a deep breath and leveled a look straight at him. “Besides, there was a valentine in the trunk.” She shook her head. “I must sound like an idiot. I'm probably making way too much of this, but there's no one I can ask. I certainly can't go to my father and say, oh, by the way, was Mom supposed to marry someone else.”

Dave's heart took on an erratic rhythm. “A valentine?” he repeated in a choked voice. “What did it say?”

“The usual hearts and flowers stuff, but there was a note apologizing. Though it wasn't spelled out, it sounded like he had broken their engagement.”

Dave had never fainted in his entire life, but he felt right now as if he could. As if he wanted to. Surely this was simply a crazy coincidence—his father telling him about an old romance, now Lara telling him about a valentine expressing regret over a canceled wedding.

“Was the card signed?”

Lara nodded. “Peter,” she said softly. “My father's name is Mitch.”

“Oh, God,” Dave whispered, getting to his feet unsteadily.

Lara stared at him with obvious alarm. “What's wrong?”

“I have to go. There's someone I need to see.”

“About this?”

“I don't know. Not really.” He leaned down and gave her a distracted kiss. “I'll call you. I promise, Lara. I will call you and explain everything, if there is anything to explain.”

If he lived to be 100, Dave was fairly certain he would never forget the confusion and heartache on Lara's face as she watched him walk out the door.

* * *

Lara absentmindedly smoothed down the skirt of her pretty red dress. Clearly Dave knew something about the valentine in the attic, but how? He'd looked so distraught, so shaken. But until he came back or phoned, there would be no answers.

Unless…Could there be something more in the trunk? she wondered. And if there was, did she really want to know? This had been her mother's secret, one she'd carried to her grave. And yet Lara was compelled to find out the rest.

She kicked off her bright red shoes and ran upstairs, turning on the low overhead light that gave the attic an illusion of cheeriness, despite all the shadows in the corners. She'd left the key in the trunk earlier and now she turned it, then lifted the lid for the second time that day.

Carefully she removed the dress, then the card. There was more tissue paper below. Lara hesitated, then lifted that out as well, revealing a square, flat box from a department store that had closed years ago. Hands shaking, she picked up the box and set it in her lap. There were answers inside. She knew it. She could feel it.

She fumbled as she removed the lid. There were more valentines inside, two dozen at least, all yellowed with age, all bearing the same signature she'd seen earlier, all expressing the same deep regret.

She was openly weeping as she reached for the last one, the biggest of them all. She wondered if they'd been in chronological order, if this lavish one had been the first one sent, all those years ago.

As she picked it up, something slid out. Even as she reached for it, she realized it was a snapshot, an old one.

Heart pounding, she retrieved it from the floor. Could this be the man her mother had loved and lost?

Lara had to take a deep breath before she felt brave enough to turn it over. When she finally did, her breath came out in a gasp.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

Dave stood in the hallway for what felt like an eternity. How could he face his father and ask if Lara Calhoun was the daughter of the woman he had once loved? Still, he had to know. There was a connection between him and Lara. He'd felt it from the beginning. This could explain it. Perhaps they were destined to find the happiness that had eluded their parents.

He forced himself to walk into the living room, where his father was watching a basketball game. “Dad?”

His father blinked, then regarded him with surprise. “Back already? Didn't your date go well?”

Was there disappointment in his voice? Dave wondered. “Actually we postponed it,” he told his father. “There's something I need to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know Lara Calhoun?”

“No.”

Dave looked him straight in the eye. His father had never lied to him, not once. “Did you know her mother?”

His father looked away, then sighed heavily. “Yes. Susan Calhoun was the woman I was engaged to marry. She was Susan Davis then.”

“Why would Mitch Calhoun call you to do a repair job over there? Or didn't he know about your past with his wife?”

For the first time ever, his father looked guilty. “He didn't call. I sent you over there on my own. I wanted you to meet Susan's daughter. Call it a whim, but I knew it was the right thing to do.”

Dave regarded his father with bemusement. “But the steps were wobbly.”

“It was an old house. I figured the odds were in my favor.”

“Oh, Dad,” he said, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“She looks just like her mother,” Peter said, his expression nostalgic. “I've seen her over the years, never up close, always by chance. Of the three girls, Lara was most like Susan.”

“She's beautiful,” Dave said.

“And you were drawn to her, isn't that right? Don't walk away from this because of my part in arranging the meeting.”

Dave reached for his father's hand, gave it a squeeze. “I'm not going to walk away,” he said quietly, then admitted to his father…and himself, “I don't think I could.”

* * *

Lara was still sitting in the attic, that snapshot clutched in her hand, when the doorbell rang. It was Dave. She knew it was. How could she face him, knowing what she knew, that her mother and his father had once been engaged, that his father had broken her mother's heart? The picture had been undeniable proof. The man in it had looked exactly like Dave, same square jaw, same eyes, same tousled, sun-streaked hair from working outdoors.

In the snapshot he had been holding a baby. She had known instinctively that the baby was Dave, the man who had suddenly appeared in her life just that afternoon. The man who was already close to stealing her heart.

She took her time going downstairs this time, debating her options, weighing what was right…for her mother, for herself.

When she opened the door, Dave took one look at her face and said, “You know, don't you?”

She nodded and held out the picture. Her hand trembled. “I found this in the trunk along with more valentines. He's your father, isn't he?”

Dave nodded, looking as stricken as she felt, yet calmer somehow, as if he'd come to some sort of a decision, as if he'd made peace with it.

“Yes,” he said. “If you'll invite me in, I'll explain. I'll tell you everything I found out tonight.”

Lara shook her head. “Not here.” Not in her father's home.

“I invited you out to dinner. It's not too late to go.”

She looked into his eyes, saw what her mother must have seen in Peter Lafferty's eyes so long ago—a hint of vulnerability, an irresistible sexy charm. And that stunning sense of connectedness.

She nodded at last. “Let me get my purse.”

He grinned. “And your shoes,” he suggested with a pointed glance at her stocking feet. “Unless you want me to sweep you into my arms and carry you like Cinderella after the ball.”

She laughed despite herself. “A lot's happened today that doesn't make much sense. I think I better keep my feet planted firmly on the ground.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

It was past 10:00 by the time they ate, past midnight by the time they had pieced together as much of the story as each of them knew.

“I wasn't ready for what happened today, not any of it, but I know I want to see you again,” Dave said as he walked her to her front door. “If I learned nothing else from what happened to my father and your mother, I learned that it's important to seize something that feels right.”

Though she agreed with the lesson, Lara was hesitant. So much about today had been disconcerting, downright upsetting, in fact.

But then there had been the undeniable magic, that irrefutable sense of destiny. She might be young, but she was wise enough to understand that magic didn't come along all that often.

“We can't do this if it's only about the past,” she said at last. “We can't make up for what went wrong between our parents.”

Dave cupped her cheek in his hand, brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip as his gaze locked with hers. Lara felt a rush of heat more than equal to the night's frosty air. When he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, she trembled with the wonder of the kiss. That sense of magic that had been with her all day deepened.

“That's the here and now,” he said softly but emphatically when he released her. “No, it's more than that. It's the promise of the future. How can either of us risk losing it by walking away?”

“I don't want to,” she admitted.

“Then don't. This is about you and me. I don't know where this is going, but it feels right to me. As inexplicable as it is, it's felt right ever since I caught you at the foot of the stairs wearing that wedding dress that your mother intended to wear when she married my father.”

It had felt right to Lara, too. Still, she hesitated, then glanced at the brilliant night sky with its scattering of stars. A year ago, when her mother had died, Lara had stood in this very spot, broken-hearted, staring at the sky. She had chosen a star just beyond the Big Dipper and convinced herself it was her mother, watching over her. She glanced that way now, found her star, saw it wink against the black velvet of the night, and she had her answer.

She met Dave's gaze, then reached for him. “I know it's past midnight, but happy Valentine's Day,” she whispered just before she kissed him.

“I'm going to see you in that dress again one day,” he said.

Lara lifted her eyes to the sky once again, then smiled. “I know.”

* * * * *