Three Brides, No Groom. Debbie Macomber
she was aware of was the loud discordant cry of a seagull. She opened her eyes to gray light. To her surprise, she felt warm and cozy, although the fire had long since died out. She soon realized the source of her comfort. Josh had placed his leather jacket over her shoulders. He sat nearby, his hair apparently wet from a shower.
“What time is it?” she asked, lazily stretching her arms above her head and yawning.
He grinned. “Morning.”
“That much I guessed.” Raising herself on one elbow, she strained to see her watch.
“About five-thirty or six, I’d guess,” he said, looking toward the water.
She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then realized she was famished. Her stomach growled loudly. “Oh, dear,” she said, and flattened her hand against her abdomen.
“Looks like we’d best scrounge up something to eat,” he said. He stood and extended his hand to her. It took them a while to pack up everything. While he loaded up the Harley, she brushed her teeth in the rest room, put on some lip gloss and combed her hair, amazed again at the transformation the haircut made in her appearance. She doubted that Roger would even recognize her now.
When they rode into town and parked the Harley at a curb, another question came to mind, one she had a feeling Josh could answer. Needing someone to hold on to, she slipped her hand into his.
“How well do you know Didi Wilson?” she asked. She’d often seen Didi with Josh. She knew it was none of her concern. Nevertheless she needed to know.
His gaze narrowed, and his steps slowed. “How much did Didi tell you about her and Roger?”
She frowned, her hand still in his. “Just that…that she was at the fraternity party with him.”
Josh’s fingers tightened around hers.
“I don’t hate Didi,” she said, although it was difficult to regard the other woman with kindness. In many ways Didi had done her a favor, though it was difficult to think of it in those terms at that moment.
Josh heaved a deep sigh, and his hand tightened around hers. “Didi’s pregnant.”
“How can she know so soon?” Gretchen asked indignantly, and then it hit her. Hard. Square between the eyes. Roger hadn’t been with Didi Wilson just that one time but several. She closed her eyes and swayed with both shock and anger.
“How long have they been lovers?” she demanded. When he hesitated, she asked again, steeling herself for the answer. “Tell me, Josh. I have a right to know.”
“Six months, maybe more.”
She grimaced and clenched her free hand into a fist at her side. The entire time she’d been engaged to Roger, he’d been physically involved with Didi. It was enough to make her ill. She recalled all those afternoons he’d been late to meet her. It got to be a big joke between them. All the nights when he’d claimed he was studying. She should have known, should have realized. What about her friends? Her face burned with the realization that others must have known and yet no one had bothered to tell her.
As if reading her thoughts, Josh said, “Roger kept it quiet. I doubt anyone else knew.”
“You did,” she said.
“Didi’s my friend.”
But she noted he didn’t say how good a friend the woman was.
“Does Roger know about the baby?” she asked, once she found her voice.
“No.” Josh shook his head.
“Is Didi going to tell him?”
Again Josh paused. “I don’t know. That decision is hers.”
She studied him, and wondered if he had been Didi’s lover, too. If so, she didn’t want to know about it.
His grip on her hand relaxed. “Come on, you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” He led her to a café on the main street and held the door for her. Although it was still early, the place was busy. With a majority of the tables occupied, Josh opted to sit at the counter. Once they were settled, he handed Gretchen a menu.
The harried waitress cast them an apologetic smile as she raced by, her arms loaded down with plates. “I’ll be with you folks as soon as I can.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Josh assured her.
The woman returned a few minutes later with the coffeepot. “The other waitress called in sick at the last minute, along with the dishwasher. Mighty convenient case of the flu, if you ask me,” she said as she filled their cups.
The cook slapped the bell and set two more plates on the shelf. The waitress glanced over her shoulder and grumbled under her breath. “I’ll be back to take your order in a minute. I don’t want those breakfasts to get cold.”
“No problem,” Gretchen said.
Josh helped himself to a couple of doughnuts from a plate beneath a plastic dome. He handed one to Gretchen.
As the waitress moved past, Josh said to her, “Listen, if you’re shorthanded, I can wash dishes.”
The waitress hesitated.
“All I want in exchange is a decent breakfast for me and my friend.”
“Harry,” the waitress called into the kitchen. “We got ourselves a volunteer. The guy claims he can wash dishes.” She looked at Gretchen. “What about you, honey? Did you ever wait tables?”
Gretchen could see that Josh was about to answer for her. “Sure,” she said quickly, although it was a bald-faced lie. She brushed the doughnut crumbs from her hands and slipped off the stool.
“There’s an apron and an order pad behind the counter.”
“Great,” Gretchen said. She wasn’t at all sure she would be able to pull it off, but she was willing to try. She tossed Josh a saucy grin as she tied the apron around her waist. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
“If you’d do the coffee refills, I’d appreciate it,” the waitress said, swishing past her. “Those tables need to be cleaned, too.” She pointed at two that had just emptied. “By the way, my name’s Marge.”
“I’m Gretchen.” She reached for the glass coffeepot. It didn’t demand a lot of skill to refill coffee cups around the room. Once she’d finished that, she found a large square tub and hauled it over to the vacated tables, then dumped the dirty dishes inside. After she wiped the surface clean and handed Marge her tip money, she turned to discover the tables had already filled up with new customers.
By the time the breakfast crowd had thinned out, it was midmorning. Gretchen sat down and counted her tips. She had collected close to twenty bucks.
“Sure do appreciate the help,” Marge said, sitting down next to her at the counter.
“Glad I could do it.”
Josh appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” Gretchen said.
Marge winked at Josh, then looked toward the kitchen. “Harry, cook me up a couple of our best steaks, and don’t be frying up any of those skinny breakfast ones, either. These kids deserve T-bones.”
Chapter 3
Gretchen couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a meal more, although she felt like a fraud accepting it. Her waitressing skills left a lot to be desired, and by the end of three hours her feet hurt, her back ached, and she had a new appreciation of the skills required to wait tables.
It was almost noon by the time they were back on the road. Unlike the previous day, when they’d ridden hour upon hour without a break, Josh stopped every ten or fifteen miles, wherever there was a scenic overlook. Gretchen had traveled