âSheâs having the baby! I need help. Fast.â
Cecily felt like moaning. Eros had shot an arrow straight to her crotch. One look at Will and her heart had dropped to the tips of her unpedicured toenails. God help her, had he ever aged well.
Memories flooded back. That hair, short and tousled now. His shoulders had broadened and they held up a loose-fitting, short-sleeved white polo shirt that showed off muscled arms and a spectacular tan. Stone-colored pants hung casually off tight buns.
A shiver ran down her thighs. She felt hot and wet, and couldnât stem the sudden attack of heavy, dreamy lethargy. One look at him and sheâd fallen for him againâdrippily, stickily in lust with a married man.
Dear Reader,
Speaking as one who has an out-the-car-window relationship with cows, I can easily see how life as a big-animal veterinarian in rural Vermont could have its limitations, even if you had eleven cats to keep you company. So I understood why Cecily Connaught would view an obligatory wedding weekend in Dallas as her time to break out, have a fling with a stranger. Nor was it difficult to imagine that Will Murchison, no matter how much he wants to be Cecilyâs weekend fling, could get a little distracted by the missing groom, his client, whom he suspects of tax evasion.
But how can these two encounter a host of problems, conflicting life goals and continual interruption and still manage to fall in love, all in twenty-four hours? Read onâ¦.
Cheers!
Barbara Daly
P.S. Share your twenty-four-hour romance story with me at [email protected].
âKEEP THE CHANGE.â
âBut lady, itâs aââ
âSmallest the ATM had.â Cecily Connaught got a grip on her luggage, leaped out of the taxi and ran hell-for-leather into the church foyer, narrowly avoiding collision with a person hauling a chicken-wire structure out of a floristâs van. Once inside, she halted for a moment, dizzied by the whirlwind of activity that surrounded her.
âCecily, is that you?â Elaine Shipleyâs eyes were wide as she darted toward Cecily.
âNow is not the time for chit-chat,â said a woman wearing peach who followed closely behind Elaine. âYouâre late,â she told Cecily.
âAt least sheâs here,â said Elaine, âwhich is more than I can say forââ
âNow is not the time for gossip,â said the woman in peach. âGet out of those shoes and put these on.â
âButââ Apparently now was also not the time for protests. Someone took the bags out of her hands, sat her down, stripped off her comfortable, clunky sandals and slid her feet into a pair of mother-of-pearl satin stilettosâinstant Misery by Manolo.
âYou must rehearse in the shoes,â Miss Peach said firmly, hauling Cecily to her feet. âWe donât want any klutziness going down the aisle tomorrow. Now that youâre here we have to get started,â she muttered. âI donât give a damn who else is missing.â
She got a tourniquet-strength hold on Cecilyâs arm and rushed her over to a group of women. Cecily took one look at them and segued from dazed to fashion-panicked. They were perfectly made up and coiffed and were wearing cute little skirts, short but not too short, that showed off endless, thin, tanned legs and were topped with belly shirts that revealed flat, tanned tummies. In the long, droopy bachelorâs-button-printed sundress sheâd bought at the Blue Hill Thrift Shop when Vermont had an unprecedented heat wave and it got too hot for jeans, she was hands down the worst dressed among them. Her careless appearance explained Elaine Shipleyâs wide eyes. If Cecilyâs mother had been there, she would have died of shame.
But then, her mother had vegetated into a person who was incapable of understanding any choice Cecily made, especially her choice to be a veterinarian instead of aâfashion designer, maybe?
âThe maid of honor,â Miss Peach said with a note of triumph in her voice, âis present and accounted for.â
A dark-haired beauty at the center of the group, whirled, and her eyes widened just as her motherâs had. âCecily? Cecily!â she said and pulled Cecily into a bear hug.
The bride, Sally Shipley, daughter of Elaine, was dressed even more sedately than her entourage and even more perfectly pulled together. Cecily got as far as saying, âSally, itâs been a longââ before Miss Peach, who had to be the wedding planner, interrupted.
âNo time for reminiscence.â Much like a gravel truck, she scooped up all of them and hustled them down the aisle, shoving them into place. âLeave a space,â she said to Cecily. âThe matron of honor hasnât shown up yet. Reverend Justice,â she commanded the cleric who already stood facing an imaginary crowd, âgo for it. Iâll bring in the others when they choose to grace us with their presence.â Her voice dripped annoyance.