ection>
“I wish you had told me I was making a mistake by marrying Josh. I would have listened to you.”
“But would you have heard me?” Eric’s mouth slid into that endearing, lopsided grin. “Come on, Molly—I’ve known you a long time. I know you have to make up your own mind.”
But could she? She already knew she wasn’t getting married, but that was all she’d figured out about her life—about her future.
Molly forced a challenging smile. “Are you calling me stubborn?”
His grin widened. “I didn’t say you were the only one.”
“I’m not. You did something none of us could talk you out of doing.” Enlisting in the Marines.
She fisted her hands as they began to tremble. Their other friends had always teased her that he was in love with her, but they’d been wrong. If he had loved her, he wouldn’t have left her when she’d needed him most.
Dear Reader,
Writing Finally a Bride was bittersweet for me. While I’ve been anxious to tell Molly McClintock’s story ever since she ran out on her wedding in Unexpected Bride (February ’08), her book is the conclusion to my THE WEDDING PARTY series for Harlequin American Romance. Molly, with her love of books and romantic nature, is a kindred spirit. Not just with me but with her best friend, Eric South. I hope you enjoy the story of the runaway bride and the man who has always been her hero.
Writing these books has been quite the challenge, as the four stories occur simultaneously. But it’s been a true labor of love. As I’ve finished each book, I’ve thought it my favorite, including Finally a Bride. Not only does Molly get her happy ending—but so do several other residents of Cloverville, the small town in Michigan where I’ve spent so much time it feels real to me.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the time you’ve spent in Cloverville, too!
Happy reading!
Lisa Childs
Finally a Bride
Lisa Childs
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling, award-winning author Lisa Childs writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Harlequin/Silhouette Books. She lives on thirty acres in west Michigan with her husband, two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her Web site, www.lisachilds.com, or by snail mail at P.O. Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.
With great appreciation to Kathleen Scheibling
for tutoring me in how to write for
Harlequin American Romance and for trusting me to
handle the challenge of writing simultaneous stories.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
His hand shaking, Eric South replaced the cordless phone on the charger. She didn’t do it. She didn’t go through with it. He blew out a ragged breath of relief. Before he could draw another, a chime sounded. He reached for the phone again—it had been ringing off the hook all morning. But only a dial tone filled his ear.
The front door rattled as knuckles rapped hard against the wood, Eric’s visitor obviously giving up on the bell. He dropped the phone and headed from the kitchen across the small, square living area to the door. As he drew it open, his heart thumped hard once, then twice. She was so damn beautiful—even in jeans and a gray zip-up sweatshirt. Her chocolate-brown curls had been tamed into perfect ringlets, held in position by the headpiece of her long white veil.
“You didn’t come to my wedding,” Molly McClintock said, her voice full of accusation, her wide brown eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“From what I hear, neither did you,” Eric murmured.
“Eric!” She lifted her hands as if to strangle him, but instead she wrapped them around the nape of his neck and stepped into his embrace.
He was helpless to resist her, and his arms lifted almost as if of their own accord. He wrapped them tight around her, holding her as she sobbed into his shirt. She pressed close, crushing her breasts against his chest.
If she burrowed any closer, she’d be a part of him. Hell, she already was; she had been since the second grade. That was why he hadn’t been able to stand up at, or even attend, her wedding. How could he watch her marry another man when she’d promised to marry him then, when they were both seven? But he couldn’t hold her to a promise made almost twenty years ago.
She pushed against Eric, nearly knocking him off his feet.
He stumbled back from the doorway. “Molly…”
“Let me inside, Eric, before someone sees me,” she pleaded, pushing harder.
He stepped back and she brushed past him, then closed the door, shutting them both inside his secluded log cabin. “Molly, my house isn’t exactly on the main drag. No one’s going to see you.”
“They haven’t called you?”
“Well…”
“They’re already looking for me here.” Panic widened her eyes even more. “I’m going to have to find someplace else to go.”
“No.” He didn’t want her driving around the country, not when she was this upset. “I’ll hide you, Molly. No one will know you’re here.” He’d lie for her. Hell, he’d kill for her if she asked him to.
“My car…”
“Give me the keys. I’ll pull it into the garage.” His garage, a barn, was bigger than the cabin.
She withdrew the keys from her jeans pocket and dropped them into his outstretched palm. The metal, warm from her body, heated his skin.
“I didn’t know where else to go.” Because she hadn’t considered anywhere else. Molly had thought only of him—her best friend.
“You can always come to me,” he assured her, his gray eyes intense. But then he turned and walked away. His limp was barely perceptible.
He’d probably regained his muscle tone from working out. A charcoal T-shirt defined muscles in his broad shoulders, back and arms. Faded jeans hugged his lean hips. He’d finally, two years out of the Marines, stopped wearing his dark blond hair in a brush cut and now the silky strands covered the nape of his neck.
Molly curled her fingers into her palms so that she wouldn’t reach for him and beg him not to leave her if only for a little while. The door closed behind him, shutting her inside his cozy home. Alone. In the note she’d pinned to her wedding dress before she’d gone out the window of the bride’s dressing room, she’d asked everyone to leave her alone—to give her time to think.
But after driving around for hours by herself, she still hadn’t reached any new conclusions. She already