âWhy donât you like me, Gage?â
She hitched her chin up a notch, studying him with blue eyes capable of bending unsuspecting men to her will.
âAs far as I can tell, Karenna, you ran out on your wedding. What youâre doing here in a wedding dress is anyoneâs guess. Why didnât you change on the way? Or did you think the men here would be rubes, easily tricked into marrying you, so you didnât bother to change?â
âBelieve me, if you are anything like the rest of the men in this town, then I want to sue that magazine for false reporting. You are hardly hunky, marriage-minded or charming.â Okay, maybe sheâd gotten carried away. Gage Parker was hunky, but that was about all the good she could say about him.
Alaskan Bride Rush: Women are flocking to the Land of the Midnight Sun with marriage on their minds
Karenna Digby pulled her car in front of the diner in nowhere, Washington Stateâshe had no idea where she wasâand grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. The lace cuff of her sleeve caught on the emergency brake. Stupid wedding dress. She was tired, heartbroken and starving. She couldnât remember when sheâd last had a real meal, since sheâd been dieting to fit into her gown for months.
She shoved open the door, the tap of rain on her face felt like the tears she could not shed. She grabbed her purse and her dressâs train, planted her expensive white shoes on either side of a huge puddle. Yes, she would have to park in a puddle. That was the way her dayâher would-be wedding dayâwas going. She slammed the door and spotted the âJust Marriedâ sign on her back window.
Stupid sign. She skirted the puddle, tossed her train over the crook of her arm and tore at it. It ripped in half, one piece sticking stubbornly to the window. What had her sisters used to adhere it to the glass? Superpowered glue? It wouldnât come off.
The heavens opened, and the rain turned to a torrential downpour. Leaving the tattered half of the sign for later, she wove around the puddles on the worn blacktop. She could only hope she didnât look as bedraggled as she feltâthen she caught her reflection in the dinerâs windows and groaned at the lonely bride with wilting roses braided into her hair.
âTable for two?â The gum-cracking waitress asked at the rickety podium that served as a hostess stand.
âNo. Thereâs just me.â
âI see. Sorry to hear it. Once that happened to me, too, honey.â She led the way down the aisle in sensible rubber shoes that squeaked with her gait. âWhat you have to do is not let it get to you. Get back up, shake off the hurt and find you another man. Donât let one bad seed ruin your attitude about love.â
âThanks.â She slipped into the booth patched with duct tape and let the train fall to the bench beside her. At least she wasnât the only bride in history to have been left at the altar. It just felt that way.
âMenus are on the table.â The waitress pulled a pad out of her pocket. âWhat you want to drink, hon?â
âCoffee, please.â She would start with that. Her stomach might be growling, but she wasnât sure she could keep down anything more than liquids. Devastation hung on her like a lead weight. She thought of her familyâs fury at her, and her younger sisters, both married of course, patting her consolingly. âHeâll come to his senses,â Kim had said. âYou just have to be patient with him,â Katie had advised.
Patient? She wanted to be married. She had the dress. Sheâd had the groom. She had a future as Alanâs wife all mapped out. How could he do this to her? Her two-carat engagement ring sparkled as she reached for the worn, laminated menus tucked between the paper napkin dispenser and the wall. She didnât know what to do. Sheâd dated Alan for seven years. Theyâd been high-school sweethearts and attended the University of Washington together, strolling hand in hand down the tree-lined avenues and along picturesque walkways, and studying in their favorite carrels in the undergraduate library.
Now that was all gone. All the love and hope vanished as if theyâd never been.
Send me a sign, Lord. Please. Show me what to do. She yanked the menu free, and bold print caught her eye. There was a magazine tucked against the wall, its pages folded over to an article with a catchy headline. âTreasure Creek, Alaska, Seeks Brides for Hunky Habitants!â Rain dripped off her hair as she seized the magazine and spread it out on the table in front of her. Hunky men were looking for brides? Was this for real?