The Bride's Surprise

By Jacqueline Diamond

HARLEQUIN®

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CHAPTER ONE

It was going to be the perfect wedding, Rebecca Salber told herself as she smoothed the white satin skirt of her bridal gown and stepped from the hotel elevator.

She'd known since she was a little girl that she wanted a big wedding with loads of flowers, devoted bridesmaids and a man who would never let her down. A sweet, kind man with whom to share her life.

In another two hours, her dream would come true. Then she and her new husband would head for a cozy honeymoon of unimaginable bliss. Having saved herself for twenty-seven years, Rebecca was more than ready to experience the joyous revelations that lovemaking would bring.

The day after tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and she would be enjoying it as a newlywed. If only the holiday had fallen on a Saturday instead of a Monday, she might even have been a Valentine's Day bride. on the other hand, who wanted a red wedding dress?

Rebecca frowned at this unromantic image. She didn't intend to let anything mar her perfect day, not even a wayward thought.

Hurrying through the dark-beamed, English-style lobby, she headed for the banquet manager's office. There'd been some mix-up about the band hired to play at the reception, but Rebecca was certain it could be straightened out.

After all, Swan's Folly was the poshest hotel in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and Rebecca's mother was the assistant manager. Having grown up nearby, Rebecca knew the staff's reputation for perfection. In fact, that was one of the reasons she'd chosen to stage her wedding here instead of in Madison, where she lived.

She broke stride at the sight of the tuxedo-clad man staring at her from across the lobby. Tall, with black hair and riveting blue eyes, he held himself with a touch of arrogance.

The commanding presence of Rick Travis was enough to take any woman's breath away. And the way he was studying Rebecca made her feel every inch a woman, from her tingling lips to her suddenly taut breasts.

She smiled. ''Hey, Rick, how's it going?'' After all these years of friendship, she knew better than to take the guy seriously. He might bowl over every other woman who crossed his path, but not her.

He grinned back. ''I'm not sure this 'man of honor' business sits well with your mother. She's been pointedly ignoring me.''

Rebecca had to admit her mother hadn't taken well to the idea of inviting her best friend, who happened to be Rick, to replace the customary maid of honor. ''She's crazy about Steve. She thinks it's insulting to have another guy standing next to me.''

''I would never insult Steve. Even if he is only half my size.'' Rick winked lazily and stretched the broad shoulders that testified to his status as a former football star. His easygoing insults, which were reserved for Rebecca's ears alone, never failed to arouse a peppery response.

''Some women just don't fall for the Incredible Hulk,'' she said. ''Galling, isn't it?'' ''Water off a duck's back,'' he retorted. ''I'd love to stay here all day and throw darts at your ego, but I've got a little problem to take care of,'' Rebecca said. ''See you later.''

''Not if I see you first,'' he teased.

A woman walking out of the hotel restaurant took one look at him and stumbled right into her husband. Rick often had that effect on females, Rebecca reflected in amusement.

She'd reacted that way herself, the first time she saw him. Her sophomore year in college, she had accepted a girlfriend's suggestion that they share an apartment with Rick and his roommate. Having met only the other male roommate, she awoke the first morning and nearly suffered heart failure when she slogged into the kitchen and saw Mr. Dreamboat fixing breakfast.

Clad only in shorts, he'd been too hunky and masculine to ignore. Rebecca had stood there staring until her sense of self-preservation kicked in.

She'd snapped that he ought to have the decency to cover up. He'd grinned and said no one else had ever complained. That had been the start of a barbed but rewarding friendship.

Remembering her mission, Rebecca located Connie Graf, the banquet manager, in her office. A tall ash-blonde with Grace Kelly looks, Connie wore a relieved expression as she hung up the phone.

''It was just Joe's stupid idea of a joke. The band wasn't double-booked, and they'll be here on time,'' she said. ''I hate that man! How can he imagine I'd ever reconcile with him? Believe me, Rebecca, you're wise to marry a considerate guy like Steve instead of a macho meathead.''

Connie's estranged husband, Joe Graf, managed several bands in Lake Geneva. According to Rebecca's mother, she'd left him a month earlier, and he'd been alternately harassing her and begging for forgiveness ever since.

''I know,'' Rebecca said. ''Steve will never let me down. That's why I picked him.''

''He's such a charmer!'' In the mirror of her compact, Connie checked her makeup. It was, as usual, flawless. ''He's taken an interest in every detail of the seating arrangement and the luncheon menu. Most men couldn't care less about their wedding, let alone the reception.''

''That's what makes him good at business.'' Steve was a computer consultant to the accounting firm where Rebecca worked, which was how they'd met. ''He's starting his own Internet company, troubleshooting computers. Just e-mail or call him and he'll talk you through any problem you're having.''

''He's going to make a million.'' Connie smiled enviously. ''He's sweet and he's going to be rich. What a catch!''

Rebecca didn't care whether her husband made a million dollars, as long as he was reliable and loving. Having been abandoned by her father when she was six, she wanted better for her own children.

In fact, she wanted the best. And she was going to have him.

Rick adjusted his bow tie, then wondered how to fill the next two hours. Any other maid of honor, he supposed, would be upstairs giggling with the bridesmaids, but he had no interest in doing that.

It occurred to him that, since Rebecca lacked a father to protect her, maybe he ought to seek out a man-to-man talk with Steve, of the ''you do her wrong and I'll punch your lights out'' variety. He doubted either the bride or the groom would appreciate his good intentions, however.

Instead, he wandered down the hall toward the ballroom. The hotel, he'd heard, had once been a private estate and was modeled after an English country house. Its cheery intimacy gave him the uneasy sense that he was intruding into someone else's home.

or perhaps his uneasiness stemmed from a different source. At the entrance to Ballroom one, Rick paused to explore this train of thought.

He and Becky had been friends since they and two friends shared an apartment while attending the University of Wisconsin. Later, when he returned to Madison after playing professional football, they'd taken to eating lunch together several times a week, and sometimes hung out together in the evenings. Even so, they'd always known they were incompatible in any romantic sense.

Becky was too bossy and too sharp-tongued. As for her taste in entertainment, sure, he enjoyed the change of pace when he escorted her to the theater or a concert, and she cheered loud and long when he dragged her to football games, but who wanted a steady diet of someone else's preferences?

If they had been so foolish as to marry, they would have fought over everything from what to name the baby to what color to paint the front porch. Life would be downright brutal married to Becky, which was why Rick didn't envy Steve Whittman one iota.

Unfortunately, he didn't like the fellow very much, either. He'd always hoped that whomever Becky married could become Rick's good friend, too. That way, they could all go places together.

Still, he had no reason to dislike Steve, other than the fact that the man had once made a belittling remark about advertising executives before he learned that Rick was one. Other than that, Steve seemed intelligent, and most people found him pleasant company.

The guy was a little too smooth for Rick's taste, and he let Becky push him around, submitting without an argument while she made all the decisions. Becky needed a strong man, not a weak one.

But this was the husband she'd picked. If Rick intended to maintain their friendship, and he did, he would have to tolerate the fellow.

A movement across the room caught his attention. Diane Salber, Becky's mother, had entered through another door and was prowling the rows of white-draped chairs set up in front of the altar. Her peach-colored suit blended with the sprays of flowers in white, peach and maroon.

Before she could spot him, Rick slipped back into the hall and went to inspect Ballroom Two, which was half of the same oversized room separated by a divider. Here, round tables flanked a dance floor, with the bridal colors repeated in the linens and decorations. On a side table stood a multitiered cake topped by bride-and-groom dolls.

A tray of petits fours sat beside it. There weren't any bowls of nuts, since Rebecca was allergic to peanuts.

His stomach grumbling with midafternoon emptiness, Rick strode over and helped himself to a small green petit four from the back of the tray.

He was in the act of stuffing it into his mouth when Diane Salber entered. The woman was short, like Becky, with the same intense features in an entirely different palette. Where her daughter's vivid red locks and jade-green eyes brightened any scene, Diane's brunette coloring gave her a sterner cast.

Beneath the heat of her glare, he nearly choked. Rick hadn't felt like such a clumsy kid since his school days. In fact, Becky's mother reminded him a little of Pam Kelsey, his high school football coach in Tyler, Wisconsin. She used to regard him with that same exasperated expression during her first year as coach, when he'd given her a lot of trouble.

''I'm sorry, Mrs. Salber,'' he said after the petit four finished its trip down his throat. ''I was hungry.''

Now he had green goop on his fingers, Rick realized, and wondered how she would react if he used one of the monogrammed paper napkins. On the other hand, licking his fingers wasn't exactly suave.

''You know how I feel about Rebecca's decision to put you in the wedding.'' Diane brushed back a wing of brown hair that had escaped its French twist. ''I won't belabor the point.''

''I guess I must stick out like a sore thumb among the bridesmaids, huh?'' Reaching behind his back, Rick scraped his smeared fingers across one of the napkins, then wondered how to dispose of the thing. ''I promise, I'll do my best to fade into the background.''

''It's nothing personal. Just remember which man is center stage today.'' He knew that steely expression. It was the same one her daughter wore when she was determined to get her way. ''I want Rebecca to have everything I missed out on. A man to take care of her, a lifetime of beautiful memories, and let's not forget financial security.''

''And Steve's the guy,'' he prompted, determined to agree with her, no matter what she said. That was the way to pacify Becky, he'd learned, and it ought to work on her mother, too.

''That's right.'' She gave him a trace of a smile. ''I've never been so impressed by a man. Steve is everything a mother could ask for.''

''I'm not standing in the way.'' Crumpling the napkin behind him, Rick tried to figure out how to stuff it into his pocket. Then he remembered that the tuxedo didn't have a pocket.

''You'll make the wedding photos look odd, though.'' Diane tapped her fingers against the back of a chair. ''That reminds me, where is the photographer? He should be here by now.''

As she turned away, Becky stuck her head in the door. With her hair piled up, she looked more elegant than usual, and yet more vulnerable, too. ''Has anybody seen my clipboard? I can't believe I lost it.''

''You don't need a clipboard,'' her mother said. ''I'll take care of the details from here on.'' ''But I feel naked without it,'' Becky protested. ''I'll bet I left it in the bridal suite. I'll go check.''

''Just stay away from Steve's wing!'' Diane ordered. ''It's bad luck for him to see you before the wedding.''

''Nobody believes that anymore,'' Becky said. ''See you later.'' She vanished into the hall, and her mother left a moment later.

Rick made one more survey of the empty room. In a few hours, it would fill with noisy guests, while the bride and groom beamed at the head table.

Then he would return, alone, to the house he'd bought in his hometown of Tyler. And, day after tomorrow, he would make the usual commute to Madison, but this time Becky wouldn't be meeting him for lunch, because she'd still be on her honeymoon.

It was enough to turn a man's stomach. Or make it growl.

With only a moment's hesitation, Rick

plucked another petit four from the tray and popped it into his mouth.

Rebecca darted up the steps to the second floor. She tried to ignore the jolt she'd felt when she saw Rick standing beside the wedding cake and imagined for one blinding instant that he was the groom.

Her heart had lifted in a way she couldn't explain. She sure was going to miss him. Obviously, they couldn't spend as much time together once she was married. But it would be worth it, she reminded herself firmly.

Now, the clipboard. She hadn't taken it downstairs to Connie Graf's office, so it had to be upstairs.

But there was no sign of it in the bridal suite, Rebecca discovered when she arrived there. She racked her brain to remember where she'd seen the clipboard last.

Oh, yes, she'd taken it about an hour ago when she went to make sure the bridesmaids had received their bouquets. She'd stopped in first to see Ellen Pfeiffer, a fellow accountant, and then Cindy Olofson, a health club chum, both of whom lived in Madison.

Last, she'd made a point of spending a few minutes with Esther Breeland, her best friend from high school, a manicurist who still lived here in Lake Geneva. As the child of eastern European immigrants, Esther had felt like an outsider during her school days, and so had the fatherless Rebecca. Their friendship had meant a lot to them both.

She'd definitely checked off the bouquet in Esther's room. The clipboard was probably sitting on the bridesmaid's end table right now.

Rebecca locked her door and walked slowly down the hall. The closer the time came for her wedding, the more nervous she felt.

Hastily, her mind ran over the details of the coming ceremony and lunch reception, but there was nothing to worry about. Surely, if anything had been overlooked, Mom would take care of it.

And Rebecca had noticed earlier that, outside, a limousine was already waiting to whisk her and Steve to their honeymoon retreat. They'd chosen a bed and breakfast that Rick had recommended in his nearby hometown of Tyler.

Steve had dropped a few hints about going someplace more exciting, like Florida or Southern California, but Rebecca didn't want glamour. She needed to feel safe and secure when she took the plunge into the intimacies of married life. Besides, she was curious to see the friendly town she'd heard so much about.

At Esther's room, Rebecca rapped lightly. She heard a fluttery noise inside, but no one responded, so she knocked again. There was dead silence.

She stood debating what to do. Then the rustling resumed.

Once, in high school, Esther had fainted when she was coming down with the flu. Come to think of it, at breakfast this morning she had looked a bit flushed. Suppose she were lying on the floor right this minute, struggling to get up?

''Esther?'' Rebecca tried the knob, and, to her surprise, the door opened. She stepped inside.

The covers dangled half-off the bed, revealing two people in an obvious state of disarray. In the instant before she averted her gaze, even an innocent like Rebecca could see clearly what they were up to. ''I'm so sorry!''

Esther groped for the covers. ''What are you doing here?''

The man kept his face averted, but his short, light-brown hair looked familiar. He must be one of Steve's ushers, Becky thought as she swung toward the door.

There was a white tuxedo draped over a chair, she noticed in confusion. The groomsmen were wearing black. The only one dressed in a white tux would be...

''Steve?'' The name seemed to stick in her larynx, but he must have heard her, because he turned.

Her heart rate speeded and her palms grew damp. This couldn't really be happening. The man she'd intended to marry in less than two hours couldn't be lying there naked in bed with another woman.

Despite her flaming cheeks, Rebecca found herself unable to move. ''How could you do this?'' she demanded. ''Either of you?''

Steve's boyish face broke into an apologetic grin. In any other situation, she would have found it appealing. ''Honey, you know, we hadn't actually done the deed, you and I, and we're not married yet. So, in a sense, it's not as if I'm cheating on you.''

''Two hours before our wedding?'' To her humiliation, her voice cracked.

''If I'd known you'd get so upset, I wouldn't have done it,'' he said in a placating tone that she'd heard before. Those times, it had worked. But those times, it had been used to smooth over some minor disagreement, not to belittle the destruction of her hopes and dreams.

She'd saved her virginity as a gift for her future husband, and he placed no importance at all on his own fidelity? Rebecca knew she couldn't respond without bursting into tears, so she focused on Esther instead. ''What about you? What's your excuse?''

Her old friend tossed her head defiantly. ''I don't need an excuse. I deserve him. You were always the one who got everything. Well, it's my turn.''

''I was the one who got everything?'' Rebecca repeated, stunned.

''You always had prettier clothes,'' her former friend whined. ''And when you won that college scholarship, you were so happy to be going to Madison, you never even thought about me.''

''I had more because I earned it.'' She'd worked after school and on weekends to pay for those clothes, and studied in the evenings while

Esther was watching TV. Until now, Rebecca hadn't had a clue her friend was nursing such petty jealousy.

''Whoa!'' Steve held up his hands as if to stop a fight. He still showed no sign of discomfort at his nudity. ''Let's not fight old battles, shall we? Rebecca, let's just chalk this up to the groom's last-minute jitters. Our friends and relatives will be arriving any minute. We don't need to make a public spectacle of our private disagreements.'' ''You can't expect me to marry you now!'' she gasped.

''How will it look if you cancel on me at the last minute?'' he said. ''Besides, my feelings about you haven't changed, honey.''

Esther smacked his shoulder. ''You said you were in love with me! You said you needed a well-educated wife for business reasons!''

Rebecca's knees felt like rubber and her head hurt. She couldn't stand to be in the same room with these people for another second. ''Goodbye, both of you.''

''What will we tell the guests?'' For the first time, Steve showed signs of agitation. ''And my business clients? A wedding isn't merely a social occasion, it's a time to show your best side to the world!''

''It isn't a business or a social occasion!'' Rebecca flared. ''It's a sacred pact between two people to devote their lives to each other. Esther, you're right. You deserve him.''

Dogged by a sense of unreality, she spun and left. The last thing she noticed was her clipboard sitting on a table next to the bed. But she wouldn't be needing it now.

In the wedding suite, Rebecca threw a few toiletry items into the suitcase she'd packed for the honeymoon, and tossed a coat over her shoulders. She couldn't even bear to take the time to change clothes.

Everything she saw carried painful associations. The suitcase was filled with new outfits and sexy lingerie that she'd planned to wear for Steve. There was a stack of thank-you notes with stamped envelopes, too, that Rebecca had imagined herself gleefully filling during a few spare moments. What would she tell people now?

She had to get away and sort through these overwhelming emotions. There was anger. Shame at having trusted two such unworthy people. Embarrassment at discovering that Steve thought so little of her. Above all, a deep-down sense of betrayal. How could she ever trust anyone again?

Rebecca didn't want to see anyone, but she couldn't leave without making some explanation to her mother. After that, she needed to find a hideout where she could cry and rage uninterrupted until she came to terms with what had happened.

In the lobby, she nearly collided with Diane, the photographer and a couple of guests. One look at her face and suitcase, and everyone but her mother withdrew discreetly.

If only the entire hotel would just fade away. If only today were already yesterday, or ten years ago.

''You can't be doing what I think you're doing,'' her mother said in a low voice.

''I caught them!'' Rebecca forced back a sob. ''Steve and Esther!''

''It has to be a misunderstanding.'' Her mom touched her arm reassuringly. ''Were they kissing? I'm sure it was a brotherly thing.''

''They were way beyond kissing!'' Rebecca didn't care who heard her. That included Rick, who was approaching with a worried expression.

Of all people, she couldn't bear for him to witness her disgrace. Or what felt like disgrace, even if it wasn't her fault.

But her mother was summoning him over. Apparently, she'd decided he might make a good ally. ''Rick, tell her Steve and Esther wouldn't do anything wrong.''

''I saw them together!'' Rebecca said between gritted teeth. She couldn't bring herself to give a more graphic description. The sight had been too painful.

''How about if I mash him into the woodwork?'' Rick's response nearly made her smile, until he caught Diane's glare and abruptly amended his position. ''I mean, maybe there's some other explanation. It is a little hard to believe.''

''Even you don't understand, and I thought you were my best friend!'' Becky cried, and, grasping her long skirt in one hand, rushed outside.

The limousine stood by the curb. As she flung herself inside, she realized where she wanted to go, a place that she could be utterly alone.

After all, who would think to look for a runaway bride in a honeymoon hotel?

CHAPTER TWO

This weekend was turning out to be one of the more interesting ones since he joined his wife Molly in running the Breakfast Inn Bed, Quinn Spencer mused as he sat in the office just behind the reception desk.

Some interesting romances were developing among the current guests. And, as Molly had remarked this morning, there was nothing more satisfying than welcoming a pair of newlyweds to the Double Wedding Ring room.

''Is she here yet?'' Four-year-old Sara peered into the office, regarding him hopefully from beneath her long blond bangs. ''I want to see the bride!''

''Sara!'' Molly came to tug gently on her daughter's hand. ''Quinn's working on the books.''

He glanced guiltily at the computer screen in front of him. It did indeed show the B&B's accounting program, but he'd been woolgathering, not entering the receipts.

''It's okay,'' he said. ''This is a family enterprise, after all. Sara's part of the operation.''

Molly smiled fondly. He knew she appreciated how quickly he'd bonded with his new stepdaughter. In fact, it had been easier than Quinn could have imagined.

He hoped the couples staying here would find an equal measure of happiness. Especially the honeymooners.

''I love seeing brides, too,'' Molly admitted. ''I'll tell you what, Sara. Let's go in the living room. We can read The Runaway Bunny while we watch for—what are their names?''

''Mr. and Mrs. Whittman,'' Quinn replied.

''Okay,'' the little girl said brightly.

He'd barely returned to his bookkeeping when, from the living room, Molly called, ''The limo's here! Don't get up, Quinn. I'll check them in.''

No way was he going to miss the sight of the newcomers. Of course, brides usually changed into traveling clothes after the reception, but once in a while someone chose to stay in her finery and arrived looking like a fairy-tale princess. Quinn had never known he was such a romantic, until he got married and started running a bed and breakfast.

The front door of the Victorian home opened, revealing a blur of white and, in the background, a road-spattered limousine. Then the door shut abruptly.

She was alone. Alone, still in her wedding dress, and tear-streaked. Quinn's heart twisted in sympathy. But perhaps the newlyweds, overwrought by the day's events, had merely had a minor quarrel and would soon patch it up.

Molly, always the practical one, was ready with the key and the sign-in book. Moving briskly toward their red-haired guest, she said, ''Hi, I'm Molly Spencer and this is my husband, Quinn. Welcome to Breakfast Inn Bed.''

''Th-thank you.'' The woman scribbled in the book and took the key.

''It's upstairs, to the right.'' Molly gave a discreet cough. ''When might we expect the groom?''

''When hell freezes over!'' cried the bride and, clutching her suitcase, rushed upstairs.

Molly studied her signature. ''Rebecca Salber. I guess she isn't Mrs. Whittman yet.''

''Isn't her husband coming?'' Sara asked.

''I'm sure he'll be along.'' Quinn gave her a reassuring hug. ''It looks like they might have had a lovers' quarrel. If we're patient, we might even get to see the happy ending for ourselves.''

Under any other circumstances, Rebecca would have been charmed. The wintry landscape on the short drive to Tyler had been picture-postcard quaint, with barns and farmhouses silhouetted against the rolling hills. As for the town itself, it was exactly as Rick had described it.

The open central square, the brick town hall, even the names of the stores had a small-town coziness. And the green and white Victorian inn was right out of her girlhood daydreams.

But the dreams ended at the front door, when she had to enter all by herself. Rebecca had noticed how the little girl in the hall stared at her in dismay, as if Cinderella had fallen into a mud puddle. Which was exactly how Rebecca felt.

The handsome prince had proved to be nothing but a knave. As for the princess, she would soon return to her empty apartment, without even a dream left to cheer her up.

Inside her room, Rebecca dropped the suitcase on a chair and flung herself across the bed. The quilt, she noticed dimly, was hand-stitched with a double ring pattern. Rick had mentioned that all the rooms were named after quilt designs.

She wondered if there was one labeled Broken Heart. Or, perhaps, Utterly Disgusted.

The tears that she'd struggled against in the limousine now spilled down Rebecca's cheeks unchecked. If only she could shut out the image of Steve sitting there in bed, unabashedly naked, and of Esther, gloating.

It didn't help to remember that she'd left her mother the painful task of making excuses to the guests. And Rebecca wished she hadn't snapped at Rick, either. None of this was his fault.

So, what as she going to do now? The wedding had cost a fortune, but that wasn't the main problem. It was her future. A trackless void loomed in place of the steady course she'd set for herself.

Rebecca rolled over on her back to keep her tears from dampening the quilt. How could she have made such a mistake in the man she'd chosen?

She'd been so careful, all her life. Early on, Rebecca had determined never to get left in the lurch as her mother had, nor to be forced to work her way up from the bottom. It had taken decades for Diane, who had started out waiting tables, to reach an executive position at Swan's Folly.

That was why Rebecca had studied so hard and worked long hours in high school. That was part of the reason, along with a love for numbers, that she'd chosen accounting as her profession.

When it came to men, she'd dated plenty of them and said no to them all. No, she wasn't going to jump into bed and risk a pregnancy. No, she refused to get married until she found Mr. Right, and double-checked his references for good measure.

She'd met Steve ten months ago when he came to her accounting firm to troubleshoot a new computer system. His easy sense of humor and good manners had made him immediately popular, but he'd had eyes only for Rebecca.

Or so she'd believed. Now she tortured herself with doubts. How had he behaved when they weren't together? Maybe he'd had other girlfriends all along.

She couldn't help doubting everything about him. On their dates, he'd usually taken her to business-related social events, rarely suggesting a quiet evening together. At the time, she'd been grateful that he wasn't trying to get her into bed. Now she wondered if, as Esther had indicated, he'd mostly valued her for the professional demeanor and sharp wardrobe that impressed his clients.

Not that she cared. In fact, she ought to be congratulating herself on her narrow escape. Why did she still feel so rotten?

Molly handed Quinn a cup of hot chocolate. ''It's almost dark. I hope he gets here soon.''

He checked his watch. The bride had been here for half an hour. ''I bet he'll show up any minute.''

''Will they get married here?'' Sara asked eagerly. ''Can I watch?''

Quinn chuckled. ''We've never had a wedding at the Breakfast Inn Bed, but that doesn't mean we couldn't start a new tradition.''

''On a weekend?'' Molly asked. ''I'd like to know where we'd find the minister. But just think! They could tie the knot on Valentine's Day.''

It was fun to speculate. Not that the Spencers really expected to see their guests' wedding firsthand, but at the Breakfast Inn Bed, every day seemed like an adventure.

When the front door opened a few minutes later, Quinn found himself grinning. Just as he'd expected, here was the groom, handsomely attired in a black and white tuxedo beneath his open coat.

Wait a minute. That wasn't some guy named Steve Whittman. It was Ricky Travis, former star quarterback for the Tyler Titans. He'd been two years behind Quinn in high school.

According to the town grapevine, Ricky had excelled in college football and played pro ball before an elbow injury ended his career. Some gossips had contended he would sink into self-pity, but instead he'd parlayed a marketing degree into a successful career in advertising.

Molly, however, hadn't grown up in Tyler and didn't recognize him. She stepped forward, guest book in hand. ''Hi! We've been expecting you.'' Ricky, better known as Rick these days, brushed a fleck of dirt off his coat. ''You have?'' ''He isn't the groom,'' Quinn said. Molly shot

him a dubious look. ''That's Rick Travis. He's from around here.''

''Where's Becky?'' Rick asked. ''She's here, isn't she?''

''Upstairs to the right in the Double Wedding Ring,'' Quinn said. ''What's going on, if you don't mind my asking?''

''There's been a change of plans,'' Rick replied, and marched up the stairs.

''Why is that man wearing a tuxedo if he isn't the groom?'' Molly asked, as if Quinn might actually know the answer.

''Maybe he's a bridesmaid,'' said Sara. ''Don't be silly.'' Her mother chuckled. ''He must be the best man.''

''A better man than the groom, if Mr. Whitt-man doesn't get his act in here fast,'' muttered Quinn.

Rick was almost sorry he'd figured out where Becky was hiding. If she didn't want to marry Steve, she shouldn't do it.

On the other hand, he couldn't help sympathizing with Diane's distress. It had taken guts for her to stand there at the entrance to the ballroom, telling the arriving guests that the bride and groom were having a disagreement. ''I'm sure it will be cleared up, but if they're not one hundred percent sure, they shouldn't go ahead with the wedding,'' she'd said. Then she'd directed everyone into the reception room to enjoy dinner and dancing.

Privately, she'd told Rick, ''I'm sure she's overreacting. Maybe Esther volunteered to help Steve get dressed. Some guys are all thumbs when it comes to putting on a tuxedo. Rebecca must have seen them and assumed the worst.''

Rick found that scenario unlikely. Still, it was hard to imagine that any man would stoop to doing what she'd accused Steve of.

At Diane's insistence, the guests were still enjoying the refreshments and the band, and probably would be for another hour or so. There was time for the show to go on, so to speak, and the mother of the bride had begged Rick to make the short drive to Tyler to fetch her daughter.

He'd been reluctant, yet he could hardly refuse Diane's request point-blank. At least he could make the effort, he'd decided.

He just hoped his good deed wouldn't backfire. Rick didn't want to spoil a beautiful friendship by antagonizing Becky.

Heck, the whole reason he'd been such a good sport about this man-of-honor business, and about her marrying a shallow guy like Steve, was that he didn't want to ruin the best relationship of his life. Girlfriends came and went. Becky was his pal, his confidante, his comrade in arms against life's vicissitudes. Of course, they fought a lot too, but that was because they were equally strong-willed.

So Rick didn't put much stock in his chances of taking her back to Lake Geneva. But he'd promised to try, and here he was.

He knocked several times before footsteps indicated someone was coming. Then the door opened.

There stood Becky, eyes puffy, cheeks tear-streaked, red hair wisping free of its upsweep. Her white dress was rumpled.

Even in this disarrayed state, she looked cute. Rick experienced an urge to protect her, which he immediately suppressed. Despite her small size, Becky was plenty capable of taking care of herself.

''Rick?'' She blinked a couple of times. ''I should have guessed you'd be the one to find me.'' She stood back and let him inside.

''You look terrible,'' he said.

''Gee, thanks.''

''I mean, you look like you feel terrible,'' he amended. On the bed, the quilt was bunched where she'd been lying there, weeping. ''Your mom's worried.''

''Is she all right?'' Becky wiped a tear on her sleeve, then regarded the smeared fabric in dismay. ''I shouldn't have done that.''

''I'm sure we can get you properly fluffed up,'' Rick said. ''Your mom's hoping you'll come back. There's still time to pull this thing off.''

Her eyes narrowed until the sheen of moisture glittered dangerously. ''Is that why you came here, to patch things up between me and Steve?''

''Whoa!'' Rick held up his hands in mock de-fensiveness. ''I'm just your mother's messenger. But let's look at the situation objectively, Beck. Item one, you agree to marry this guy. You dazzle us all with an engagement ring as bright as a supernova, which you're still wearing, by the way.''

Startled, she tugged at the heavy ring with its large diamond surrounded by a swirl of smaller stones. It stuck on her finger. ''I can't get it off.''

''Is that heavy symbolism or what?'' he teased.

''I'll use olive oil. Whatever they've got in the kitchen.''

''Hold on. I'm not finished,'' he said. ''Item two, you and your mom spend the U.S. mint on a wedding. Item three, you invite the entire known world to descend on Lake Geneva, plus I had to rent this tux. Not that I'm asking for a refund. Just making a point.''

''You think I'm obligated to go through with the ceremony to fulfill other people's expectations? Or because we've spent money on it?'' Becky asked in disbelief. ''What about Steve? What does he have to say for himself?''

''He was pretty upset.'' It sounded weak, even to Rick. If he'd had his way, he would have dragged the groom here by the ears to make him face the music, but Diane didn't believe the man could persuade her daughter as well as Rick could.

''Then why didn't he come with you?'' ''He said he was being slandered in front of his friends and business associates and needed

to smooth their ruffled feathers. But—these are his words, not mine—he loves you and he's devastated about what happened.'' The guy was a less than credible actor, in Rick's opinion, but he'd been sent as a go-between, not a theater critic.

''Has he admitted what happened?'' Becky demanded.

''He claims it was a misunderstanding.''

She got very, very quiet. Rick had to fight the urge to make a quick exit, because he knew the volcanic explosion was only moments away.

Becky didn't erupt, though, not the way she'd done the time he was half an hour late for the ballet and they missed the opening pas de deux. Instead, she spoke with a tension that underscored the depth of her anger.

''Regardless of what you may think, I'm not an idiot,'' she said. ''I saw them. In Esther's bed. Undressed. All relevant body parts on deck. Got it?''

He was shocked. Dismayed. Intrigued. ''You could actually see...?''

She nodded.

''He couldn't have tripped and...?''

She shook her head.

Rick had heard the expression, ''seeing red,'' but he'd never experienced it before. Now, he felt as if someone had waved a red flag in his face, transforming him into an enraged bull. ''That dirty low-down excuse for a human being had the nerve to say he was being slandered! He called you hysterical.''

''I probably was hysterical,'' she admitted. He pictured Steve, standing in the hotel lobby with his face a mask of wounded innocence. People had gathered around making sympathetic noises, and the man had egged them on with his display of long-suffering patience. As if he were the injured party. As if Becky were guilty of some offense.

''Someone needs to teach that creep a lesson.'' Rick's primitive masculine instincts, untamed despite thousands of years of more or less civilized ancestors, were fully aroused. ''You shouldn't be the only one crying tonight, Beck.'' His hands clenching into fists, he started for the door.

''Wait!'' She caught his arm. ''You're not going to beat him up, are you?''

Rick hadn't thought beyond possibly pitching

Steve into the punch bowl. ''I'll confront him with the truth and let nature take its course.'' ''No!'' Becky hung on. ''You can't go!'' ''Why not?'' The adrenaline was pumping. Rick wondered if he dared risk supersonic speeds en route to the hotel. Maybe he wouldn't even need a car.

''For one thing, you'll ruin what's left of my mother's evening,'' Becky said. ''And you might get arrested. Besides, you have to stay here.''

The red haze in Rick's brain lifted slightly. ''Why?''

''Because I don't want to be alone.'' Her mouth quivered, and a drop of moisture spilled down her cheek. ''I don't know anyone else I can turn to. Even my mom would just give me a lecture about how I've let people down.''

''I promise not to give you any more lectures.'' Rick folded himself into an armchair and, without thinking, gathered Becky onto his lap. ''It's fine with me if you don't get married. We can have lunch like we always do. There's a couple of good movies coming out, too.''

She curled against him. For all her feistiness, the woman was cuddly as a kitten. ''They wouldn't happen to be romantic comedies?'' That was her favorite type of film.

''No,'' he admitted, inhaling the jasmine-scented freshness of her hair. ''Science fiction, the good kind with monsters.''

''Okay.'' She nuzzled his neck. ''If you'll go to the ice show with me.''

''It's a deal.'' They should have tried sitting this way before, with their arms wound around each other and their faces close together. It felt wonderfully relaxing after the stress of the last few hours.

At least, it felt relaxing for a few minutes. Then Rick started getting tense in a different way.

Becky's emotional sharp edges were offset by soft physical curves. He'd noticed them before, in an objective sort of way. But their contact had always been limited to accidental touching and, occasionally, linking arms when they attended an event together.

Never before had her head rested on his shoulder, or her full breasts pressed against his chest. From this angle, he couldn't help noticing the enticing way her neckline dipped.

Whoever designed this wedding gown must have intentionally made it sexy. Nothing else could explain the tautness that seized Rick as he noticed the valley of Becky's cleavage, with no sign of a restricting brassiere.

He didn't intend to behave rashly, but one kiss wouldn't do any harm. Her lips were so close, and parted so invitingly.

With his arm around her back, he lifted her against him. She offered no resistance as Rick bent to claim her mouth.

Rebecca had observed the first time they met that Rick was an incredibly sexy man. From time to time, she'd even allowed herself to fantasize about being gripped in his arms and held tight against his powerful body.

Then she'd learned how easily he changed girlfriends and how careless he could be about keeping commitments. She'd resolved to be platonic friends ever since.

Tonight, though, she needed someone to fill the hollow where her husband should have been. It was more an emotional need than a physical one, and yet the longer Rick held her, the more her body responded.

He was gentle but thorough. As he kissed her, she felt surrounded and sheltered.

Rebecca didn't want to fight anymore. She was tired of keeping up barriers. For once, she simply went with her feelings.

Wonderful silver sensations rippled across her skin as he lightly chafed her upper arms with his hands. ''Cold?'' Rick murmured. ''Getting warmer,'' she said. ''I could build a fire.'' He nodded toward the fireplace, where logs and kindling had been set in place.

''You already are,'' she said. Rick looked as contented as a cat. He was a beautiful man, she admitted silently, with that dramatic dark hair and those bright blue eyes.

Reaching up, he plucked the hairpins from her French twist. Soft curls cascaded around her shoulders. ''Now you're the Becky I know.''

''I thought it would be fun being a bride.'' She sighed. ''It was awful.''

''I like your dress, though.'' He traced one finger along the neckline, across the edges of her breasts. ''It's sexy.''

Rebecca's nipples sprang erect, and now she really was hot. This was as far as she'd ever let a man go, even Steve, and she'd never responded this strongly before.

Rick's chest heaved faster as he eased down the shoulders of her gown, exposing more cleavage. She hadn't worn a bra, afraid that a strap might show during the wedding, and that fact was immediately obvious.

He shifted her into a reclining position, and lowered her gown even more. His moist breath tickled across her exposed breast, and then his lips seized the nipple.

Rebecca gasped and clung to Rick. Her entire body riveted on that one point of flame.

As he bared the other breast, she hoped...she needed...yes, there it was, his mouth on that aching tip, moving back and forth between the two, and then to her mouth again.

His tongue quested, and hers responded. Her body moved with rhythms she'd never before known, in a dance that she could only share with Rick.

Through the haze of sexual desire, Rebecca's common sense intruded. What were they doing? What could she be thinking?

She was practically throwing herself at her best friend. If she didn't call a halt, they might never be able to look each other in the eye again.

''Wait!'' she rasped. ''Please!''

Rick stopped abruptly. His ragged breathing was the only sound she heard.

Embarrassed, Rebecca yanked up the front of her dress. ''I don't know what came over me.''

Rick's hooded expression gave no clue to his reaction. ''Getting Steve out of your system, I expect.''

Steve hadn't even entered her mind. It was Rick she'd wanted, but she must have been crazy. ''Temporary insanity is more like it.'' She untangled herself and stood up stiffly.

''I didn't mean to take advantage,'' he said. ''Honest, my motives were pure. I came here to cheer you up and maybe save the wedding.''

''By seducing the bride?'' Rebecca challenged as she smoothed her skirt.

''I was reminding you that you're a desirable woman,'' he said.

If he meant that as a compliment, it failed utterly. His cavalier tone spoke louder than his words.

He'd been fooling around, something he'd probably done a hundred times with as many different women. Rebecca meant no more to him than they had.

It had hurt badly enough to discover that

Steve didn't love her. Rick's offhand way of reminding her that she wasn't special to him felt like a knife in the ribs.

Rebecca wasn't about to confess that she'd never shared that much of herself with another man before. Or that Rick had stirred a response she hadn't known she was capable of. No matter what storm raged inside her, she had to maintain a calm appearance.

''Let's do ourselves a favor and pretend it never happened,'' she said.

Someone tapped on the door. Rebecca's heart sank. She hoped it wasn't her mother. Or, worse, Steve, especially when she felt so vulnerable.

After checking to make sure her dress was straight, she opened the door. Molly Spencer held out a small brightly wrapped package. ''This just came for you. With Valentine's Day so close, we've been receiving deliveries at all hours.''

''Thanks.'' Puzzled, Rebecca took the gift. It weighed hardly anything.

To her credit, the innkeeper didn't peer inside or ask foolish questions about whether Rebecca was having a good time. She simply smiled and went away.

''Go on, open it.'' Rick strolled toward Rebecca. ''I'm dying to know what's inside.''

If it was from Steve, she wouldn't accept it. However, in the absence of any attached note, she had to open the gift to find out who had sent it.

As was her habit, Rebecca peeled off the ribbon carefully and lifted away the paper virtually undamaged. Inside lay a white cardboard box about the right size for lacy lingerie.

Rick peered over her shoulder as she lifted the lid. Atop the folded tissue paper lay an unsigned card bearing the name and address of a novelty gift shop in Lake Geneva. The message read, ''From a man who desires you.''

''Are you going to take all day to open it? I'm dying of curiosity.'' Rick reached over and snatched something bright red from beneath the tissue paper.

''Hey!'' she protested.

''What the—?'' Open-mouthed, he dangled the thing in midair. It was a scarlet fake-fur bikini top.

From the box, Rebecca lifted a matching bikini bottom. ''This has to be the tackiest thing I've ever seen.''

''I think it's kind of sweet,'' Rick said in a fake falsetto. In his own voice, he added, ''Come on, Beck, it's a gag gift that a groom ordered for his wedding night. Goofy, but affectionate, too.''

She was too tired to argue. And too overwhelmed by a rush of unwanted emotions. As he'd reminded her, this was supposed to be her wedding night.

''I don't care who sent it. It's ugly.'' Whipping the top from his hands, Rebecca threw the bikini and box into the closet. ''You should go home now. Or back to the hotel, if you insist, and make your excuses to my mother.''

All hint of laughter faded from his face. ''I'll call her. There's no point in driving back, and if I do, I might remember I'm your friend and pop Steve in the kisser.''

''Good night.'' Rebecca stayed clear of the doorway, to preclude any possibility of a farewell hug. She didn't trust herself around Rick, not tonight.

After he left, she leaned against the inside of the door and reflected that this had been the absolutely worst day of her life. She'd humiliated her mother, inconvenienced her guests, been betrayed by the man she thought she loved...

And, worst of all, she'd nearly abandoned herself to Rick's embrace, only to discover that he cared no more for her than for any of those women he'd dated over the years.

Fighting back a surge of tears, she went to take a hot shower and soap off her engagement ring.

CHAPTER THREE

Bells echoed from the Methodist church two blocks away as Rick jogged around the Tyler town square. He'd gone to an early service at the Fellowship Lutheran church, then changed clothes and headed outside to work off energy after a restless night.

The air was almost too chilly for running, even with a heavy jacket and gloves, but he needed the exercise. Otherwise, he might explode like a skyrocket.

Besides, Rick didn't intend to let himself get soft. The weakness in his elbow might preclude a sports career. It didn't require him to turn into a couch potato.

His running shoes smacked against the sidewalk as he passed Gates Department Store. In the display window, a mannequin in a designer suit regarded him coldly.

What the heck had he been thinking when he took Becky onto his lap last night? Rick wondered. He'd gone there to comfort her.

His response had been alarming. Not so much because he wanted sex, which for a twenty-eight-year-old guy was pretty much a given, but because he'd wanted it with Becky.

Of all the women he'd ever met, she was the only one who had the potential to make him miserable. If he ever allowed himself to fall in love with that sharp-witted, bossy, opinionated, endearing lady, she would turn his life upside-down and remodel him in her own image.

He liked her the way she was. And he liked himself the way he was, too. Most of the time.

Rick cut across the square beneath skeletal trees that, in summer, would provide shade for the townspeople as they ate lunch on the benches, flirted with their sweethearts and attended special events. He missed the people and the flowers that usually lined the walkways.

The thought of flowers reminded him that tomorrow was Valentine's Day. If he were Becky's boyfriend, he wouldn't have bought her a ridiculous red bikini. He'd have sent a dozen roses and a big box of chocolate candy, most of which he'd have eaten himself.

Okay, so there was a method to his madness. Becky would understand.

He started getting mad at Steve again for hurting her. And a little irked at Becky for picking that jerk when she could have had someone more worthwhile. Someone more like Rick.

He no longer doubted that Becky had seen what she thought she'd seen occurring between her fiance and her bridesmaid. If Steve were innocent, he'd have grilled Rick and Diane until he found out where his bride had gone, and then he'd have come after her.

It was hard to understand a guy like that. True, Rick played the field, dodging numerous attempts to pin him down. But he never intentionally misled a woman about where she stood with him.

And if he were engaged to Becky—which, of course, he would never be, but supposing he were in some alternate lifetime—he couldn't imagine cheating on her. It was rotten. It was incomprehensible. How could Steve even be tempted?

The steady pounding of his thighs and calves, along with the ache in his lungs, finally eased Rick's anger. It also helped to reflect that Becky was lucky she'd discovered the truth about that creep before the wedding.

Leaving the town square, Rick jogged past the Tyler Savings and Loan and along Main Street one block to Gunther, where he turned right. A flew blocks later, he arrived at the wood-frame home he'd bought with the earnings from his abbreviated football career.

Rick's friends from the ad agency had urged him to rent an apartment in Madison so he could be close to the action. And sometimes he did crash on a pal's couch when the evening's activities ran late.

But Tyler was home. As he unlocked the door, Rick smiled in anticipation. He loved having his own place right in town, after having grown up on a farm.

He stepped inside and paused to scan the old-fashioned furniture and the landscape photographs that reflected the unique vision of fellow townsman Byron Forrester. Rick spared a particularly fond glance for the upright piano where he practiced whenever he got a chance, although it was years since he'd taken a lesson from Nora Gates Forrester.

It wasn't the sort of place where Becky Salber would want to live, he mused as he headed for the bedroom. Her tastes were more modern. She would choose an airy house with sleek furnishings and abstract artwork. Of course, it would be located in Madison so she could shop at trendy boutiques and catch the latest movies, too.

She was a big-city girl, while he loved smalltown life. He looked forward to camping and backpacking, while Becky had once admitted that, to her, ''roughing it'' meant a motor home with a bathroom.

As he stripped off his exercise clothes, Rick's heart twinged. Why did they have to be so different?

Well, they were, and it couldn't be changed. He enjoyed her quick mind and warm heart, but they disagreed about almost everything.

As friends, they were great. As lovers, they would be a complete mismatch.

''Steve misses you terribly. He hasn't left the hotel, you know.'' Over the phone, Diane's voice hovered between concern for the groom and reproof for her daughter. ''He swears you misunderstood everything.''

It was on the tip of Rebecca's tongue to demand that he tell her so himself, when she remembered that she didn't want to talk to him.

''Look, Mom, I'm really sorry about what I've put you through and I'll pay you back every penny.'' She'd said that before, but it bore repeating. ''However, if he's hanging around Lake Geneva, it's probably so he can spend more time with Esther.''

When her mother didn't answer right away, Rebecca knew she'd hit a nerve. Finally Diane said, ''Esther's been here, too, but only because she wants me to know how bad she feels about what happened. I mean, about what you think happened.''

Why did Diane refuse to believe her own daughter? Why didn't she give Rebecca, rather than Steve, the benefit of the doubt?

It would be easy to throw those questions at her mother, but it would be useless. Rebecca knew why Diane was bending over backwards for her worthless almost-son-in-law.

She'd seen for herself, over the years, the contradiction in her mother's character. At work, Diane was decisive, independent-minded and thorough. When it came to men, though, she had a large blind spot.

Any charming scoundrel could wrap her around his little finger. After the divorce, there'd been a series of other disastrous relationships. Rebecca had resigned herself to picking up the pieces, and listening to her mother's self-recriminations when she finally saw the truth, after the damage was done.

Diane identified so strongly with her daughter that she'd applied her blind spot to Steve. He was another silver-tongued rogue, just as Rebecca's father had been.

The thing that galled her most was that she hadn't seen it, either. Only a chance visit to Esther's room had torn the veil, literally and figuratively, from her eyes.

''I'm not coming back,'' she said, to cut off further pleas on Steve and Esther's behalf. ''I know what they did, and they know what they did. Whether you believe me or not, Mom, nothing's going to change.''

''We'll talk about this again later,'' her mother said tightly. ''I hope you do some deep thinking, Rebecca.''

''Yes, I will. Bye, Mom. I love you.'' She hung up and gazed around the snug room. Framed quilted squares in a variety of patterns hung on the walls, and bright rugs softened the polished hardwood floor. The caring touches made Rebecca feel a little better.

She decided to count her blessings. She'd never slept with Steve. Nor had she given up her job, although the lease on her apartment ran out in two weeks and another renter had already signed on. Maybe she could move in with a friend until she found a new one.

Her best friend was Rick, she remembered with a start, but she couldn't move in with him! Not after what had happened last night.

Rebecca sank into the padded chair. It was right here that he'd held her, his blue eyes shining so close to hers. She'd never dreamed they could arouse such passion in each other.

A Stop sign flashed in her brain. Rick was a red-blooded American male. Any halfway attractive woman could raise him to a white heat, at least temporarily.

She was not going to sit here in her robe and worry about things, Rebecca decided. She'd eaten breakfast on a tray, which meant she hadn't seen much of the inn beyond the entrance hall. Although she didn't feel up to venturing outdoors, she wouldn't mind exploring the common rooms she'd studied in the brochure.

Before she did anything else, she decided to unpack. Last night, she hadn't wanted to bother, but now she could almost hear the clothes wrinkling inside her suitcase.

Rebecca set to work. Unfortunately, as she lifted out each garment and arranged it on a hanger, unwanted memories stirred.

This tailored green suit, for instance. She had pictured herself wearing it when she and Steve went out to eat. As for the slinky cocktail dress with the spaghetti straps begging for a man to slide them down her arms, it didn't bear thinking about.

Rebecca decided to wear brown wool slacks and a tan fisherman's sweater. At least she'd had no specific plans for this outfit.

A short time later, dressed and sporting a pair of walking shoes, she ventured into the second-floor hallway, which was lined by five rooms. Although steps led up to a third level, a small sign indicated these were private family quarters, so she headed down instead.

On the lower level, Rebecca hesitated. The male innkeeper stood at the small reception desk, making a notation on a ledger. There was no reason for him to object to her exploring his house, yet she wondered if she would be intruding.

She searched her memory for his name, and dredged it up. ''Good morning, Quinn.''

The tall man gave her a friendly smile. ''Good morning. Can I help you with something?''

''Is it all right if I poke around?'' she asked. ''I'm curious to see the rest of the house.''

''The downstairs rooms are all public,'' he said. ''I'd be happy to serve as your guide, if you'd like.''

To Rebecca's surprise, she realized that she would enjoy talking to someone. Nevertheless, she said, ''I wouldn't want to intrude. After all, it is Sunday.''

''We never take a day off,'' he replied. ''Besides, I enjoy getting to know people. It's something that surprised me about this business.'' ''Really? How did you get into it?'' ''My wife inherited this house from her first husband.'' After setting down his pen, Quinn led the way across the front hall. ''She's the one who converted it to a bed and breakfast. I married into the business.''

''Lucky man,'' Rebecca said.

''Very lucky.'' In the living room, he pointed out the fireplace and the Victorian-style sofas and chairs. ''Our guests are welcome to use this room whenever they like. Some people prefer the privacy of their rooms, but others enjoy socializing.''

''It's enchanting.'' Until now, Rebecca had always preferred spare modern furnishings. Like numbers and accounting systems, they projected a sense of order.

Yet, since arriving at the Breakfast Inn Bed, she'd found she enjoyed knowing that someone had hand-stitched the quilts and that this old furniture had a history, a place in people's lives.

Quinn showed her the book- and game-filled library at the back of the house, then the formal dining room and the large, well-appointed kitchen. No one else was around, so his wife and daughter must be upstairs, Rebecca thought.

''How about a cup of hot chocolate?'' he asked. ''There's nothing more relaxing than a cup of cocoa savored in the library.''

''That would be great.'' As he moved about preparing the beverage, Rebecca discovered a deep need to talk to someone objective. Particularly a male someone.

Her mother's scolding still buzzed in her ears. Even Rick hadn't been as harsh on Steve last night as she would have expected. Rebecca didn't believe she was being unfair, but, with her usual thoroughness, she wanted to eliminate any doubt.

''I guess you're wondering why I abandoned my groom,'' she said.

''I try not to be nosy,'' Quinn replied affably as he poured the steaming chocolate into two mugs.

''Maybe you can give me some insight,'' Rebecca said. ''Do you mind if I use you as a sounding board?''

''Sound away,'' he said.

''I caught him cheating on me with one of the bridesmaids. My mother thinks I should go ahead with the wedding. Even my best friend tried to talk me into it, and he's a guy himself.''

The innkeeper carried the cups out of the kitchen, and Rebecca followed. When they were settled in the library, Quinn stretched out his long legs and said, ''If I may be blunt...''

''Please do.''

''This groom of yours sounds like bad news.'' He shook his head. ''Why does your mother want you to marry him?''

''She doesn't believe I saw what I saw, or she doesn't choose to,'' Rebecca said. ''Steve's an impressive guy. He's got an up-and-coming business and he's trying to establish a position in society. The way he curries important acquaintances, maybe he even wants to run for office someday.''

''I suppose a lot of people would consider that impressive,'' Quinn agreed.

''But I can't forgive him,'' she said. ''What's more, I'm sure that, if he'd cheat on me once, he'll do it again.''

The innkeeper met her gaze over the foam on his chocolate. ''If you're looking for confirmation from me, you've got it. Nobody should get married unless they're absolutely certain it's the right thing to do.''

Buoyed by his support, Rebecca felt free to explore her own mixed feelings. ''My dad abandoned Mom and me for another woman when I was young. But maybe it's not fair to put Steve in the same category. We weren't actually married yet, and we... hadn't been intimate. So he claimed he wasn't betraying me.''

''Let's bend credibility and assume he's sincere about that,'' Quinn said. ''If he was that attracted to another woman, or that unwilling to wait a few hours to keep faith with his wife, it means he isn't being honest with himself about wanting to marry you. My mother made that mistake, and it's caused no end of grief.''

Rebecca was instantly fascinated and sympathetic. ''What happened?''

''My parents came from society families in New York.'' He set his cup on a coaster. ''I think Dad was in love with Violet, but she must not have felt the same way. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be pressured or persuaded into marrying him.''

''Was she in love with someone else?'' ''Not then, I don't think,'' Quinn said. ''But later, when I was a kid, she began having an affair with a man named Ray Bennedict. Dad's not an easygoing guy, as anyone in Tyler can tell you, but he valued his marriage enough to quit his job and move us all here. He thought the distance might enable him and Violet to make a fresh start.''

''Why do you call your mother by her first name?'' Rebecca asked.

''Because I didn't grow up around her.'' He sounded sad. ''Six months after we moved to Tyler, when I was seven, she left Dad. At first, she sought custody of my two brothers and me, but then she disappeared. She never even finalized the divorce.''

''That's strange,'' Rebecca said. ''Did you search for her?''

''Dad adamantly refused,'' Quinn said. ''My brothers and I talked about hiring a detective, after we were grown, but we didn't want to upset my father. Or make him angry, either. He's an old-fashioned kind of guy.''

''You must have wondered what happened to your mother.''

Quinn's mouth twisted wryly. ''I thought about her a lot. But I figured Mom simply didn't care about us, so I tried to let her go. Can you understand that?''

''Yes.'' There'd come a point when Rebecca had had to force herself to stop hoping for a close relationship with her own father. ''I haven't seen or talked to my dad since before my high school graduation,'' she said. ''He called and promised to attend, but he didn't. He never apologized or explained, either. It was kind of the last straw after a lifetime of disappointments.''

''In my case, it turns out there was a good reason why Violet never visited us,'' Quinn said. ''My brothers and I learned recently by chance that she died in childbirth seven months after she left. Ray Bennedict is gone now, too. So we've got a half sibling somewhere that we're trying to find.''

''That is quite a story.'' Rebecca was glad he'd shared it with her.

''A family got torn apart because two people married who shouldn't have,'' Quinn concluded. ''You asked for my opinion. Well, I'm one hundred percent in your camp.''

''Thanks. I just hope that I don't keep making the same mistake, by picking the wrong guy again next time,'' Rebecca admitted. ''My mom has terrible judgment about men, and maybe I do, too. I honestly believed Steve would make a good husband. How could I be so blind as to think we had a terrific relationship?'' ''Did you ever argue?'' Quinn said. ''No, never.''

''That's a bad sign,'' he said. ''People who care about each other don't avoid the tough issues. If you can't fight fair and then resolve your differences, you aren't really being open with each other.''

Rebecca barely stopped herself from mentioning that she and Rick fought nearly all the time, and that wasn't so great, either. Somehow she didn't want to discuss Rick with anyone.

The front bell rang. Quinn uncoiled from his chair. ''Duty calls.''

''I'll take the mugs to the kitchen.'' Rebecca hurried to keep her word, then couldn't resist peeking into the front hall to say who'd arrived.

Quinn, holding a festively wrapped package, stood talking to a dark-haired man who sent her heart slamming into her chest. It was Rick, his coat open to reveal a blue plaid shirt tucked into faded jeans.

When he spotted her, he stopped talking abruptly, as if he'd lost track of the conversation. Then he gave her a smile that warmed her all over.

''The delivery service and I arrived at the same time,'' he said, indicating the package. ''I wish I could claim I'd brought you that present. Or maybe not, depending on what it is.''

''I'm going to go help my wife fix lunch,'' Quinn said diplomatically, although Rebecca hadn't seen Molly come downstairs. ''You two have a good time.'' Handing her the package, he strolled away.

''I'd better open it right away,'' Rebecca told Rick. ''Otherwise we might both die of curiosity.'

''You're not kidding, after what arrived yesterday.''

He followed her into the living room. This time, Rebecca didn't bother to preserve the paper. She ripped into it, and pulled out a red fake-fur jock strap.

''Wow,'' Rick said, laughing. ''Why didn't I think of sending you that?''

''At least it matches the bikini.'' Rebecca sighed. ''Did I really almost marry a guy who has this kind of bad taste? You wouldn't know it from the expensive suits he wears.''

''Maybe it's not from him,'' Rick said.

''Then who?''

''Are any of your friends fond of jokes?'' he asked. ''Aside from me, of course.''

''I don't think so. I'd better check the card.'' When she found it in the tissue paper, it was from the same novelty gift shop. Aloud, she read, '''I'll be coming to model this for you soon.' No signature.''

Rick shook his head in amazement. ''I hope this isn't Steve's way of trying to win you back. If so, somebody ought to give him an award for stupidity.''

''We could call and ask the shopkeeper who it's from.'' Rebecca fingered the card. ''Do you suppose a gift store would be open on a Sunday?''

''They had a delivery service working today, and they're likely to be swamped because of Valentine's Day tomorrow,'' Rick said. ''It's worth a try.''

''Come with me.'' Rebecca had left her cell phone in her room. ''In case I giggle too hard to talk, you'll need to take over.'' ''I wouldn't miss it!''

They crowded each other going up the stairs, playfully jockeying for the lead. Some of Rebecca's tension melted. It was great to be pals again with Rick, on a casual level that felt comfortable.

Rick loved seeing Becky this way, her red hair tumbling around her shoulders and her green eyes sparkling with merriment. She was practically her old self again, right down to her ringfree left hand.

The problem, he conceded when they reached the suite, was that he wasn't sure he could forget what had happened between them last night. The contact had been intense enough to throw him off stride.

If she'd been anyone else, he'd have asked her on a date. In fact, a whole lot of dates. No sense in leaving any boring white spaces on her calendar for at least the next few months.

But she was treating him like her old friend, not like a man who'd aroused her to new heights of passion. Maybe they weren't new. Maybe she'd merely been working off steam to get Steve out of her system.

If so, Rick had only himself to blame for his behavior last night. He'd known she was vulnerable. Yet even now, his body buzzed at her nearness.

So, what else was new? With a bit of concentration, he knew how to bring his masculine instincts under control. All he had to do was imagine himself drinking vinegar. Or getting a traffic ticket.

Becky dialed the number on the gift card. A couple of rings later, someone answered.

She explained the situation. Rick could tell the person on the other end wasn't identifying the sender, even though Becky used her most persuasive manner.

''Thanks,'' she said at last, and ended the call.

''Well?'' Rick, who was within arm's reach of her, mulled moving a little closer, or maybe a little further away. He'd never been so self-conscious around Becky before.

''The woman said she has strict orders not to reveal who ordered the gifts,'' she told him. ''She did admit that the customer was in a big hurry when he came in on Friday and it's possible he gave her the wrong address.''

''How could it be the wrong address? Your name was on the packages, and they reached you,'' Rick pointed out.

''That's true.'' Becky frowned. ''It had to be Steve. Except, since he was going to be right here with me, why bother to hide the fact that he sent the gifts?''

''At least we know it's not an attempt to win you back, since the gifts were ordered before the wedding,'' Rick muttered. There was no immediate way to clear up the mystery, and his stomach was sending hunger signals. ''How about lunch?''

''Sorry, I don't have a refrigerator you can raid,'' she said.

In Madison, he occasionally stopped by her apartment to make himself a sandwich after work when he had an evening meeting or a game to attend. ''I didn't mean that. Besides, I'd like to take you out for lunch at Tyler's finest.''

''Sunday brunch?'' she asked. ''All-you-can-eat delicacies with champagne?''

''Close enough,'' he said. ''Let's go.'' After all, he was sure she would find something she liked on the menu at Marge's Diner.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rebecca had been dubious when Rick assured her that slacks and a sweater were suitable attire for brunch at Tyler's premier restaurant. She understood better when he parked his car in front of a cafe labeled Marge's Diner.

''This is the best restaurant in town?'' she asked.

''Judging by the company, absolutely. Although some people would swear by the old Heidelburg, it's not as much fun, in my book.''

When he opened the front door, warm air scented with maple syrup, coffee and hamburgers lured Rebecca inside. A radio was playing country music, its rhythms punctuated by the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation.

She was surprised to see so many people here at noontime on a Sunday. Most, she gathered from their suits and dresses, must have come after church.

Several people called greetings to Rick, whom they addressed as Ricky. He greeted them in return but didn't stop to chat.

Once the two of them were seated in a red vinyl booth, Rebecca ordered the blueberry pancakes and, for good measure, a slice of apple pie. Steve would have made some remark about watching her waistline. He always worried about making a good impression on others.

Rebecca hadn't minded, since she liked staying in control of herself with a strict diet and exercise program. But heck, she was an adult. If she chose to splurge once in a while, who needed to live with the weight police?

''A penny for your thoughts,'' Rick said.

She told him.

''Are you sure one slice of apple pie is enough?'' Rick deadpanned.

Rebecca chuckled. ''You have some wonderful qualities, much as I hate to admit it. If you weren't such a playboy, you might make some woman a terrific husband.''

''You think I'm a playboy?'' he asked. ''What gave you that impression?''

''For one thing, the string of girlfriends.'' Rebecca rested her head against the high back of her seat. ''None of them has lasted longer than six months. I counted.''

''You did? I'm flattered,'' he said. ''Now as far as your boyfriends were concerned, I think the longest running was three months, tops. Until Steve, that is.''

''Some of them lasted three months? Who?'' she demanded.

''I think his name was Boyce. The one who grew hydroponic tomatoes in his bathroom,'' Rick said. ''And maybe Frankie—no, Freddie. I never met a guy who owned so many different ties. I think he broke up with you when he realized he might have to repeat one.''

She hardly even remembered Boyce, and Freddie hadn't made a much greater impression. ''I'm surprised you noticed them.''

''I notice everything about you,'' Rick said. He sounded almost serious. Rebecca didn't believe it, though. ''Name three things you've noticed about me.''

''You're allergic to peanuts.'' ''Everybody knows that!'' ''Your hair is naturally red, even though the gossips say it's dyed. I know because you never

have dark roots and the hue never changes,'' he said.

''What gossips?'' she demanded. ''Who says I dye my hair?''

''Everybody.'' He kept his expression sober, but she knew he must be joking. It was typical of Rick to try to get her goat.

''That's two things. What else?''

''You'd look great in a red fur bikini,'' he said.

Rebecca was tempted to toss her glass of water at him, but she cringed at the prospect of making a scene. Besides, Rick wouldn't hesitate to toss his back at her.

The waitress brought their food. It smelled so good that Rebecca decided to stop seeking a retort and let Rick win this skirmish in their war of words.

A distinguished-looking couple in their forties entered the diner. The woman had light blond hair, while her husband was dark. ''Who are they?'' she asked.

Rick turned to look. ''That's Nora Gates Forrester, my old piano teacher. She owns the local department store and serves on the town council. Byron's a terrific photographer.''

''What an interesting combination they make,'' Rebecca said.

''In this town, all sorts of unlikely people seem to fall in love.'' Rick frowned, as if puzzled by what he'd just said.

The Forresters paused to greet him, and seemed pleased to be introduced to Rebecca. She hoped they didn't think she was Rick's latest girlfriend.

After the pair moved on, she said, ''I wondered where you learned to play so well.'' At parties, Rick had been known to toss off anything from rock to ragtime if there was a piano handy.

''I used to hate practicing, until I realized that it impressed people to hear me play,'' he admitted. ''Because of football, most girls saw me as nothing more than a muscle-bound hunk. Throw in a piano and, well, I was irresistible.'' Rebecca laughed. ''And so modest.'' ''My deep and touching humility developed later,'' Rick said. ''That was after I nearly got thrown off the football team for cutting practice and smarting off to the coach. I was a real pain in the neck, let me tell you.''

''There's no need,'' Rebecca said.

''You already figured it out for yourself, huh?''

''I wasn't going to stoop low enough to say so. But I'm sure you've improved, oh, by leaps and bounds.''

''I play piano better than I used to, anyway. Because I appreciate music for its own sake now.'' Rick paused to down another bite of hamburger.

His musical ability, Rebecca mused, was something she'd taken for granted about Rick. Seeing him in his hometown, obviously well-liked by many people, made her realize that there were a lot of things she'd taken for granted. His good humor, for one thing, and his reliability.

Reliability? Was she really using that word in connection with a guy who showed up half an hour late for the ballet and sometimes called at the last minute to cancel pizza plans when he had to work late?

But he was always around when it counted. The time she'd come down with flu and needed someone to run to the pharmacy, he'd not only done it but returned the next day to see if she needed anything else. When her battery died, stranding her at a shopping center, he'd left home in the middle of the World Series to jumpstart her car.

Rebecca felt knocked for a loop. Surely she couldn't be seeing Rick in an entirely new way, after all these years, and yet...

The man sitting across from her wasn't merely handsome. He was warm and kind and generous. And he was always there when she needed him.

Rebecca gave herself a mental shake. In her hurt and confusion over Steve's betrayal, she was seeking refuge with the one man she should never count on too much.

She was trying to fit Rick into the mold of the man she wanted, the man she'd naively thought she'd found in Steve. But Rick wasn't Mr. Responsible. He wasn't a family man, a Rock of Gibraltar, or even her boyfriend. And no amount of wishing would make it so.

''Well?'' Rick said, and she realized he must have asked her a question.

''I'm sorry,'' Rebecca said. ''I'm kind of distracted today.''

''I invited you to tour Casa Travis,'' he said. ''Don't tell me you're not curious about the playboy's lair. As icing on the cake, I promise to play whatever you request on the piano. If I have the sheet music.''

''This isn't a ploy to get me to pick dirty laundry off the floor, is it?'' she teased.

Rebecca no longer felt the uneasiness that had troubled her in the past when Rick invited her to pop down to Tyler to see his house. She'd always managed to find excuses not to come, but now she couldn't remember why.

''I won't even ask you to scrub out the shower, unless you really, really want to,'' he said with mock solemnity. ''The truth is, I've been meaning to build a fire and try out the handheld popcorn popper my brother gave me for Christmas, but it didn't seem right to do it alone.''

''You mean, pop corn right over the fire?'' Rebecca was intrigued. The only poppers she'd ever seen depended on electricity. ''Can you do that? I mean, of course you can do that. What does the popper look like?''

''You'll have to see for yourself. Coming?'' ''You bet.'' She couldn't wait to see Rick's house.

Something strange was going on, Rick admitted to himself as he drove the few blocks between the diner and his house. For one thing, Becky had let him get away with that crack about her looking good in a red fur bikini. It wasn't like her not to come up with a sharp reply.

Of course, he had no doubt that she would look terrific in a bikini. And even better out of one.

These musings reminded him of something else that was odd. Since last night, he couldn't stop thinking about Becky, physically and emotionally.

Not that he'd ever been unaware of her, not since the day she and a girlfriend moved into the spare room of the student apartment he'd shared with another guy. She was too vibrant to ignore. But it had become clear to Rick early on that there would be nothing easy or casual about a romance that involved the two of them.

They would burn hot for a while, then flame out, leaving only ashes. He preferred to keep Becky as a friend.

But since last night, he could barely control himself. Maybe it had something to do with seeing her in a bridal gown. That virginal white, with a hint of cleavage at the neckline, had been delectable.

He knew, of course, that she didn't sleep with guys, because she'd told him so. Maybe that's what had made her so vulnerable to Steve. The woman's suppressed sexuality was overwhelming her better judgment.

Rick had yielded to the temptation to sleep with the wrong woman at times, and later regretted the misunderstandings that resulted. For a guy, passion and lasting love didn't necessarily go hand in hand. Not for some women, either. But with Becky, it would be different.

He knew that, intellectually. Now he just had to convince his daydreams.

The house surprised her. The wood-frame structure looked ordinary enough outside, but inside it had been decorated with exquisite taste.

The wooden floors were burnished to dark gold. The motif of the sprigged curtains was repeated in the decorative wallpaper strips, while traditional-style furniture blended smoothly with what appeared to be a few genuine antiques. As for the framed landscape photographs, with their dramatic lighting and composition, they were far from ordinary.

In his college days, Rick's idea of decorating had been to tack ragged photos of football players to the walls. She couldn't believe he had created this striking effect.

''Who picked all this?'' Rebecca asked. ''Don't tell me you did it yourself.''

''Mostly, but I also consulted with our town celebrity. Ever hear of Susannah Atkins San-tori?'' he asked.

The name rang a bell. ''Doesn't she write books about lifestyles?''

''That's her,'' Rick said. ''I ran into her at the library while I was checking out books on decorating. She gave me a few tips. Even came over here once and made some suggestions. But mostly, this place reflects my choices.''

''I'm surprised.'' She wandered through a doorway, and found herself in the kitchen. Larger than she would have expected, it featured butcher-block counters, tile floors and oak cabinets with beveled glass panes. ''Gee, I'd forgotten that you cook.''

Rick used to whip up omelettes and the occasional gourmet dish when they roomed together. But she hadn't seen him so much as pick up a pan in recent years.

''I haven't had much time, but I figure eventually I will,'' he said. ''Besides, I plan to marry someday and have kids. Susannah says the kitchen is the heart of a home, and I agree.''

A pang of envy gripped Rebecca. one of these days, Rick would share this delightful house with a wife. Who would he pick? she wondered. Maybe there was a hometown girl she didn't know about.

''Got anyone in mind?'' she asked.

''For what?''

''Never mind.'' If he had a girlfriend, he would have told her.

''I promised to play for you, remember?'' He escorted her back into the living room, where he lifted the wooden cover from the keyboard of his upright piano. ''What's your request?''

'''The Moonlight Sonata,''' she blurted. Although she loved the haunting piece of music, she didn't really believe he could play it.

Rick opened the bench, flipped through some sheet music and took out a book entitled Beloved Classics. Placing it on a rack above the keyboard, he sat down to play.

Rebecca took a seat on a chair nearby. She tried not to stare at Rick, but she couldn't help it. With his long legs poised at the piano pedals and his classic profile riveted on the sheet music, he seemed timeless and traditional and infinitely masculine.

She felt certain that, once he married a woman and brought her here, he would never stray. A man who spent so much care creating a home would never treat it lightly.

His hands moved across the keys, and rippling waves of music lifted Rebecca into a starry night. She sensed vast distances and the cold wash of moonlight, but also the saving warmth of a cherished companion.

In the emotional upwelling of the music, she felt the true sensitivity of Rick's nature. This was indeed a different man than the one she'd thought she knew.

This must be the self he would share with a wife. A hollow place opened inside Rebecca at the realization that this part of Rick would belong to someone else.

He stopped playing. ''You look on the verge of tears. Was it that bad?''

''You're terrific,'' she said. ''I didn't realize the music would affect me that way.''

''It's because of what you've gone through. Don't pretend that breaking off a wedding isn't wrenching,'' Rick said. ''I'll tell you what. Why don't I build a fire and we can pop some corn, as promised?''

Although she wasn't hungry, Rebecca agreed. By the time flames leaped in the fireplace and kernels began bursting in a flat wire basket shaken on its long handle, the scent gave her an appetite, after all.

''This is great,'' she admitted as the two of them sat on the couch, sharing a large bowl of salted popcorn. ''The smoke gives it a special flavor.''

''Being together gives it a special flavor,'' he said.

Startled, Rebecca met his moody gaze. Surely he couldn't mean that in any romantic sense. ''You mean sharing it with a friend?''

''Not exactly.'' Rick spoke tightly. ''Surely you've noticed... Haven't you felt anything different between us?''

She couldn't lie about it. ''Yes. I figured it would pass.''

''Do you want it to?''

''What are the options?'' Rebecca said.

''Spoken like a businesswoman.'' He smiled.

''Well, we could avoid being alone with each other until it seems safe. That's number one.''

''I don't care for that option.'' Retreat would be cowardly, she told herself. Besides, she needed her friend at a time like this.

''We could go into therapy and talk this thing to death,'' Rick drawled.

''Yeah, right.'' She waited impatiently to hear option number three.

''There's a riskier strategy, although it has a certain appeal.'' He folded his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs.

''Shoot,'' she said.

''The way I figure it, if we follow our instincts, sooner or later we'll dissolve into laughter,'' he said. ''Or get cranky and start pinching each other. Then this tension will dissipate once and for all.''

Rebecca admitted to herself that she would be disappointed if that happened, but he was right. Her desire to kiss Rick and let him touch her breasts again couldn't possibly lead much further. Not between the two of them.

''I've never gone in for heavy petting,'' she warned him. ''I'm not sure this is a good idea.''

''I'm out of options,'' he said. ''What would you suggest?''

''Give me a minute.'' Restlessly, Rebecca carried the empty popcorn bowl into the kitchen and washed her hands. She heard Rick moving around, running the water in the bathroom sink, and knew he was rinsing his hands, too.

Would it be so terrible to indulge in a few more kisses? Any day now, Rick might meet the woman he would decide to marry, and then Rebecca would have no more opportunities.

Besides, it was a way to armor herself against the next man she mistook for Mr. Right. If she'd realized how strongly attracted she felt to Rick, she would have known that she couldn't spend her life married to Steve, or anyone who failed to arouse the same level of desire.

It was friendship that swayed her, in the end. It would be best to work this nonsense out of their systems so they could get back to being pals.

When she returned to the living room, Rick was again sitting on the couch. With the curtains drawn against the blustery day, the fire bathed him in an intimate glow.

''Okay,'' she said. ''How do we do this?''

He grinned. ''I never thought about it before. The moves are supposed to come naturally.''

Rebecca relaxed. ''Maybe we've already reached the part where we dissolve into laughter.''

''I'll tell you what,'' he said. ''Come sit on my lap and we'll talk about it. Take your shoes off first.'' He'd already followed his own advice, she saw.

Self-consciously, Rebecca removed her walking shoes and tucked her thick hair behind her ears. She wished she'd thought to check her makeup, then remembered that it was likely to get smeared anyway.

''Here goes nothing,'' she said, and sat on Rick's lap.

Instantly, she became aware of him in all sorts of ways. Of his muscular chest, and the alluring scent of his aftershave lotion. Of the way that, beneath her sensitive bottom, a part of him was springing to life.

''Mistake,'' she said.

''You haven't even kissed me yet.''

That would be safe enough, she decided. Kissing was allowable, even on her puritanical checklist. ''Okay.'' Resting one forearm on his shoulder, she tilted her face toward his.

Rick cupped her chin with one hand and stroked his thumb along her jawline. His lips grazed hers. So gentle. So safe.

Rebecca nestled against him. Rick ran his hands through her hair, kissed her lightly again, and reclined her backwards a few degrees in the crook of one arm.

Her breasts tightened in response. Rebecca considered stopping, but last night they'd gone this far, and no harm done.

Rick lowered one shoulder of her V-necked sweater and slipped down her bra. His lips found the nub of her breast and coaxed it to an almost painful peak. Excitement radiated through her.

He eased down more of her clothing, and explored the other breast. Rebecca's back arched as she urged him on.

Any minute now, they would both decide this was ridiculous. Any minute now, they would stop. But not yet. It felt too luxuriously good.

''Let's get these clothes out of the way,'' Rick said, and lifted off her sweater and bra. He tossed his plaid shirt onto the floor beside them. ''Better.''

His hands cupped her breasts as Rebecca knelt facing him, her pants-clad legs straddling his thighs. He pulled her closer, so their chests pressed together. It was thrilling to explore his bare skin with her own.

They kissed again, long and slow. Both of them were breathing hard by the time he lifted his head.

''Having second thoughts?'' Rick asked. She ought to, Rebecca reflected vaguely. But this felt so natural and right. ''Maybe...just a little longer.''

''I want to see what you look like.'' In his voice rasped a hoarse note that she'd never heard before.

''What do you mean?'' ''I'll show you.'' He lifted her and deftly undid her slacks, stroking them down her thighs and adjusting her position so he could pull them clear. ''Now let me look at you.''

Rebecca should have felt self-conscious, but with such obvious admiration shining on Rick's face, how could she? Thank goodness she'd worn lacy underthings, which was all she'd brought on her honeymoon.

Honeymoon. The word reminded her that it should be her husband studying her bare waistline and navel and hips. But Rick was the closest thing to a husband. He was her friend.

He sat her on the couch beside him and slowly ran his palms along the insides of her thighs. Delicious, demanding heat rose inside Rebecca.

She'd been a little afraid of what she might experience when she made love with a man. But this felt enticingly suspenseful. Not that she was going to make love with Rick but at least now she knew there was nothing to be frightened of, and a tremendous amount to look forward to.

''You have a great body,'' she admitted, unable to resist caressing the muscular bulges and smooth stomach. ''And your arms are so powerful. Do you still do push-ups every day?''

''Fifty, if my elbow isn't too sore,'' he said. ''Let me demonstrate.'' ''You're going to do push-ups now?'' ''I'll show you.'' His hands caught her shoulders and lowered her to the couch. From a kneeling position between her legs, he braced his hands on either side of her chest and performed a push-up right on top of her.

Rebecca started to laugh, and then discovered she didn't want to. Not with Rick's chest tight against her breasts and his hardness pressing into her core. She wanted him to do that again, and a lot more.

Instead, he lifted himself away and ran the heels of his hands along her thighs, right to her center. He was touching her in a place she'd never been touched before, stirring her in a new way, making her want fulfillment more than she'd ever imagined she could want anything.

''Rick,'' she whispered, and somehow managed to unsnap his jeans. With his help, she pushed them down. Vaguely, she realized he'd removed her underpants and his own clothing, and that he was unrolling something onto his hardness.

Rebecca couldn't think. She didn't want to think. She ached so fiercely that she could hardly bear the delay.

''Are you sure you want to do this?'' Rick asked breathlessly.

''Yes,'' she whispered. ''Oh, yes.''

He eased her legs apart, and she felt his largeness slowly penetrate her. In the recesses of Rebecca's brain, a warning signal sounded. This was going to hurt.

But she wanted this kind of hurt. Wanted it so much that she caught his hips and anchored herself against him, demanding more.

Unable to restrain himself, he thrust into her. There was a sharp pang, and then the relief of being filled completely by him.

''Are you okay?'' Rick asked.

''More than okay,'' Rebecca said. ''It's wonderful.''

''For me, too.'' He moved in and out, inflaming her already heightened senses. Curving down, he nibbled her breasts, then kissed her again. His tongue mirrored what his body was doing, claiming her, then withdrawing.

''Is it always like this?'' she asked in amazement.

''No.'' His expression softened until she could have sworn his eyes glowed. ''It feels so good I'm not sure I can take as long as I'd like.''

''It's perfect already.''

''You're not even halfway there,'' he said.

She couldn't imagine what ''there'' might be. And then he showed her.

The thrusting grew longer and fiercer. It was exhilarating the way her body responded of its own accord, arching, urging, matching him in intensity.

How had she lived this long without knowing she was capable of such pleasure? And that Rick was the man who could arouse her to it?

She was joyously aware of sharing everything with him. Their connection surpassed anything she'd dreamed of, and yet she was still herself. Not overwhelmed but free.

The sensations intensified. She was out of control, and she loved it. Loved being anchored to Rick, and loved the carnival colors exploding around her.

She couldn't stop to think about the implications. For once in her twenty-seven years, Rebecca stopped calculating and simply let life claim her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rick hadn't meant for them to go this far, even though he'd taken the precaution of bringing some protection from the bathroom. He'd tried to make sure, at every step, that Becky was completely comfortable with what they were doing.

Then he'd lost all caution in the splendor of lovemaking and of his transcendent climax. It wasn't anything physical that caused it, although in his eyes Becky was unquestionably beautiful. It was that, for the first time, he shared true intimacy of spirit and body.

Afterwards, he removed the protection, tucked it into a towel on the floor and lay beside her, holding her tightly against him on the narrow couch. It hadn't been the most elegant of places to make love, but neither of them seemed to mind.

''I hope it was as good for you as it was for me,'' he said.

''Hmm?'' Becky murmured dreamily. Her russet hair enveloped them both, and, in the afterglow, her skin had a rare creaminess.

Usually after sex Rick felt sleepy or hungry or both. This time, he just wanted to lie here holding Becky, to merge her happiness with his own.

''You don't mind?'' he said.

''Mind what?'' She shifted a little.

''That we—that I—you know. Your first time.''

''Neither of us planned it.'' Becky's brain had started working again. He could tell when she wriggled from his arms and sat up. ''It seemed like a reasonable idea to get this out of our systems. Who would have thought...''

She stopped, frowning. Uneasily, Rick followed her gaze to the towel.

''Where did that come from?'' she asked.

He wished he'd hidden the darned thing. ''I thought it was a wise precaution to bring some protection. So you wouldn't have to worry about getting pregnant, if—''

''If?'' she repeated. He didn't like the tension in her voice.

''Let's not get hung up on details,'' Rick said. ''Becky, what happened is special.''

''You planned this.'' Storm clouds gathered in her eyes. ''That whole business about dissolving into laughter, you didn't believe that, did you?''

''I thought it was possible we might start chuckling. Or that we might not.'' Rick finger-combed his hair from his forehead. ''I didn't know how far you'd go. Becky, it's been driving me crazy, thinking about holding you.''

''So you decided to get it out of your system!'' Her forehead puckered, a sure sign of anger. ''You said you didn't know how far I'd go. Obviously, you knew how far you would go, or wanted to go. You manipulated me, Rick.''

Had he? ''Not intentionally,'' he said with a sinking feeling.

''And I thought I could trust you!'' Her voice trembled as she grabbed her clothes off the floor. ''You're just like Steve!''

Indignantly, Rick reached for his own clothes. ''I'm sorry you see it that way, but I didn't betray you.''

''Then why do I feel betrayed?'' ''Because you recently suffered a shock and

it's made you paranoid,'' he said. ''Becky, I would never do anything to hurt you.''

''I'm sure Steve would have gotten around to that line if I'd given him enough time!'' To his dismay, Rick saw tears glistening in her eyes.

''Come here, sweetheart.'' He sat back on the couch. ''We need to hold each other and talk about this.''

''Sweetheart?'' She continued yanking on her clothes. ''Is that what you call all your girlfriends?''

''You're not... I mean...'' He didn't know what he meant. Was Becky his girlfriend now? He didn't think of her the same way as other women he'd dated.

''You're right, I'm not your girlfriend.'' She got her sweater on backwards and, to her obvious fury, had to pull it up and turn it around. ''Take me home, Rick.'' ''All the way to Madison?'' he asked. ''You know what I mean!'' How had things gone so wrong? he wondered miserably. ''Can I put my clothes on first?''

''Whatever.'' She stalked toward the bathroom.

Rick buried his face in his hands. He should have listened to his better judgment and kept a distance between him and Becky.

Why couldn't she accept that what had happened between them was on a different plane than any other experience? They needed to proceed from here, without torturing themselves about motives or might-have-beens.

But maybe that wasn't possible. If he suggested it, no doubt she would accuse him of being self-serving. Life had suddenly become much too complicated, and Rick didn't know how to untangle the mess.

When Becky returned, her face had been washed and her hair combed. And her expression had hardened into an accusation.

''You did send that awful fur bikini and jock strap, didn't you?'' she asked in a low voice.

''What?'' Such a possibility had been the furthest thing from Rick's mind. ''No! Give me some credit, Becky. Besides, you said the guy ordered the stuff on Friday. As far as I knew on Friday, you were going to be honeymooning with Steve.''

She mulled his answer. ''All right. Unless I can figure out some way you could have known about Steve and Esther, you're in the clear about that one.''

''Are you going to accuse me of anything else?'' he asked. ''Running up the national debt? Causing that heavy snowfall last month when you wanted to go shopping?''

''If the shoe fits, wear it,'' she said, and marched out of the house.

Rick didn't like to leave matters this way, but right now Becky was beyond reason. It was his own fault, for pushing her too far, too fast. She hadn't been ready to make love with a man so soon after losing her fiance. He should have known that.

Resigned to at least a temporary coolness between them, he drove her to the Breakfast Inn Bed. The trouble was, he admitted silently as she jumped from the car and ran inside without waiting for him to open her door, that he didn't know what he wanted to happen next. He'd never been in this situation before.

He didn't just want Becky to be his girlfriend. He wanted her with him all the time, even if it meant a lot of fighting along the way.

His house was never going to be the same without her. He would always picture her the way she'd looked today, rumpled and relaxed, bubbling with joy. She belonged in his house, and she belonged with him.

The truth hit Rick halfway down Rose Street. He was in love with Becky.

It was scary. He hadn't felt at such an utter loss since the doctors told him his football career was at a premature end. Maybe not even then.

He'd found another career. He would never find another Becky.

Instinctively, Rick turned right on Gunther Street, then halted in front of the Kelsey Boarding House. He'd turned to his old football coach, Pam Kelsey, for advice after his injury, and she was the best person he could think of to consult now.

Set among middle-class frame homes, the spacious old house had a large porch and freshly painted trim. Johnny and Anna Kelsey had run it for years, and when their son Patrick, the high school basketball coach, married Pam, the pair had moved in here.

Pam had told Rick on his last visit that she'd once dreamed of having a home of her own. With occasional flare-ups of multiple sclerosis, however, and a young son to care for, she'd gladly accepted the hospitality of her in-laws in order to have them close by.

Rick knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a tall, willowy woman whom he recognized as a new waitress at Marge's Diner. Caroline was her name, he recalled. ''Hi. Is Pam here? I'm Rick Travis.''

''I'll tell her.'' With a friendly nod, she ushered him inside.

A minute later, Pam hurried to greet him with welcome shining in her brown eyes. Even in her early thirties, she still had the leanness of the Olympic runner she'd once been. ''It's good to see you. Let's go in the den, where it's private.'' She must have guessed that he wouldn't have arrived unannounced on a Sunday afternoon unless something were amiss. Rick wasn't sure whether he enjoyed being such an open book. ''How are you?'' With Pam, it wasn't an idle question, since there was always the danger that her illness might worsen.

''I have to be careful of my health, but I'm doing really well.'' There was a slight stiffness in her movements, but that might be due to football practice rather than to her chronic illness.

''The team had another winning season, so I'm in everyone's good graces.''

''You don't need to tell me! I go to every game I can manage.'' He could hear conversation drifting from the living room, where the renters often gathered, and a creaking board overhead indicated someone was upstairs as well. ''How's the family?''

Pam grinned. ''Great. Jeremy's such a delight. I can't believe he'll be starting kindergarten next year.''

''Where is the little tyke?'' Rick enjoyed being around children.

''Patrick took him to a birthday party this afternoon. I guess he stayed there to help. He loves this kid stuff, and it gives me a little time by myself.''

''Am I intruding?'' Maybe she was supposed to be resting now, Rick thought guiltily.

''Socializing on an adult level counts as time by myself.'' Pam guided him into the overstuffed den. ''Can I get you some coffee?''

''No, thanks. I'm still full from lunch at Marge's.'' And popcorn, he recalled.

''I heard you had a young lady with you,'' she prompted.

Rick released a long breath. ''News sure travels fast in Tyler.''

''Isn't it delightful?'' Pam made no secret of her love for her adopted hometown. ''Now tell me what's on your mind.''

Even with an old friend like Pam, loyalty to Becky kept Rick from going into detail. All he said was, ''She's someone I like a lot but I've offended her. I guess I didn't realize how much she meant to me until too late.'' ''You had a fight?'' Pam guessed. ''I wish we could fight,'' he said. ''I thought we fought all the time, but in fact what we did was friendly bickering. This time, she kind of froze me out.''

''I take it there's more here than you care to disclose.'' The coach rocked back in her re-cliner, propping up her legs.

''You'd think, at my age, that I'd have all the right moves down pat,'' Rick said. ''But I'm playing on unfamiliar territory here. This is one game I can't afford to lose.''

''Have you told the lady how you feel?'' Pam asked.

''She'd laugh at me.'' On second thought, laughter wouldn't be a bad response. ''Worse,

she'd get angry. She'd think I was making fun of her.''

''You may have to be patient,'' Pam said. ''Work your way back into her good graces.''

''It won't be easy,'' Rick said. ''She had a disastrous experience with another guy and it's made her doubly suspicious of me and my motives.''

''Tomorrow's Valentine's Day,'' she pointed out. ''It's a good time to make a fresh start.''

Rick's spirits rose. Normally, Becky would distrust him even more if he showed up bearing gifts, but on Valentine's Day, it might not seem so out of character. ''That's an idea.''

''One tiff doesn't mean all is lost,'' Pam added. ''Patrick and I had our ups and downs before we got together.''

''Yeah, but that was because he wasn't so sure about having a female football coach,'' Rick reminded her.

''Neither were you.''

''I gave you a rough time, didn't I?'' he said. ''Not as rough as I gave you.'' ''I needed it.'' That year had marked a turning point in Rick's maturity. Without having learned humility and a sense of his own obligations after nearly getting kicked off the team, he'd have had a much harder time dealing with the end of his football career years later.

''Love takes work, as much as any sport,'' Pam said. ''If you care about this woman, you'll stick around until she sees that you're sincere.'' ''I'm willing to do that,'' Rick said. ''I just hope she won't hold a grudge.''

A short time later, he took his leave, not wanting to use up all of Pam's rest time. He felt somewhat better, but couldn't quite share the coach's confidence about his future.

He knew from experience how stubborn Becky could be. She might forgive him, or she might stick him in the same mental category as Steve and keep him there.

Rick's mind whirred with plans as he returned to his car. The ad agency where he worked allowed its employees to take one floating holiday per year, an option he'd never used. Tomorrow he would take the day off and hit the stores as soon as they opened.

One romance, coming up. If he had anything to say about it.

Rebecca couldn't believe she'd managed to lose two men in one weekend. All night, as she

tossed and turned in bed, images played through her mind.

Hardly any of them concerned Steve. Instead, she kept seeing Rick greeting his friends at Marge's Diner and introducing them to Rebecca. Rick playing ''The Moonlight Sonata,'' which in her dream sounded strangely like ''Love Me Tender.'' Rick popping corn over the fire in his house.

Rebecca's whole body echoed with his absence. Once, she awoke from the safety of his arms to find herself alone, and even the quilt couldn't stop her shivering.

She couldn't be friends with him anymore, not after what he'd done. After what they'd done, she amended, willing to accept partial responsibility.

She'd been naive and impulsive. Those traits might be reprehensible in her well-ordered world, but they paled compared to his devious-ness.

In the end, the man she'd believed was her best friend had treated her like any other woman that he wanted to take to bed. That knowledge hurt more than anything.

For Rebecca, making love with him had been an amazing experience. She wasn't sorry she'd done it. She hoped that Mr. Right, when she found him, would understand. In fact, since he wasn't likely to be a virgin himself, he had better understand or she would give him a swift boot out the door.

She used to picture Mr. Right as looking a little like Brad Pitt without the scraggly chin hair. Now the only image she could summon was of a tall, dark-haired, clean-shaven man with broad shoulders and sky-blue eyes.

This too would pass, she told herself. And tried her best to believe it.

After breakfasting in her room on Monday morning, Rebecca dressed in the outfit she'd brought for Valentine's Day. The silky red shell top and matching flare skirt were topped by a heart-covered white jacket with a high collar and puff-shouldered sleeves.

She wore it for herself, to celebrate having survived false love. Besides, Rick might come looking for her. She didn't want him to think she was down in the dumps about what had happened.

No, he would be at work by now, maybe even boasting to some of his male friends about his conquest. That wasn't his usual style, but at this point, she wouldn't put anything past him.

She debated whether to take a stroll around Tyler. It would be fun to explore the shops. On the other hand, what if she ran into someone she'd met yesterday who blithely assumed she was dating Rick?

A loud knock sent Rebecca's heart skittering around her chest cavity. Rick!

She smoothed her skirt and ran a quick brush through her hair, trying not to hurry. It might help, she thought as she observed herself in the mirror, if she wiped that relieved expression off her face. So what if he cared enough to skip work?

The knock came again. ''Open up, Rebecca!'' It was her mother's voice.

Her heart tumbled into free fall. Rick hadn't come. Worse, her mother might have brought the only other man in the world that Rebecca never wanted to see again.

She approached the door. ''Is there anyone with you?''

''Yes!'' her mother said. ''Esther.''

Rebecca didn't particularly want to see her former friend. On the other hand, Diane Salber deserved more respect than to be left standing in the hall.

When Rebecca opened the door, her two visitors gaped at her. Apparently they'd been expecting something other than a fully dressed, beautifully groomed woman. Thank goodness makeup hid the dark circles under her eyes.

''Hi, Mom,'' Rebecca said. ''Isn't this a terrific bed and breakfast? I could get some hot chocolate and a muffin for you.'' Reluctantly, she added, ''You, too, Esther.''

''Thank you, but we've eaten.'' Diane came inside. She wore a pale pink suit that set off her dark hair, but Rebecca detected pallor in her mother's complexion.

''Are you okay?'' she asked. ''I know this weekend has been tough on you, but the worst is over.'' She hoped it was, anyway.

Diane's chin lifted. ''Both of us owe you an apology.''

''Not you! I'm the one who left you to deal with the wedding guests.''

''Yes, I do.'' Her mother squared her shoulders. ''I had a long talk with Esther last night

and discovered you were right. She and Steve, well, did something they shouldn't have. I'm sorry for doubting you.'' ''Oh, Mom!''

''I...'' Esther cleared her throat. ''I'm sorry, too, Becky. I said some mean things. Jealousy is an ugly trait, and I shouldn't give in to it.'' ''And?'' Diane prompted. Esther twirled a finger nervously through her wispy dark-blond hair. She'd worn a bright yellow shirtwaist dress that didn't suit her complexion. ''And I'm sorry about your wedding. My parents were really mad when they found out what happened.''

''Esther's offered to pay part of the costs, and Steve is going to pay the rest,'' her mother said. ''I think that's a positive step.''

A step toward what? Rebecca wondered. ''Good,'' she said. ''Did you really drive to Tyler just to tell me this?''

''Steve wants to talk to you.'' Diane held up one hand to forestall her protest. ''He's absolutely miserable.''

''I'll agree with that,'' Rebecca couldn't resist saying.

''You might give him a chance!'' Esther flared. ''He's so embarrassed. Apparently this whole mess might hurt his business.''

''He's the one who chose to invite some of his best clients and then gave me cause to cancel the wedding,'' Rebecca said. ''I hardly think he's the injured party here.''

''He regrets what he did,'' her mother said.

''No, he—'' Esther halted. ''I mean, yes, he does.''

A nasty suspicion sprang up. In retrospect, one of the reasons Steve might have singled Rebecca out in the first place was that she worked for an accounting firm that was one of his clients, and was known and respected by officers of several other companies whose accounts she handled.

Now Steve was apparently concerned that his ruined wedding had made a bad impression on his contacts. He might have persuaded Esther that he and Rebecca needed to marry, but that he would keep her as his ''true love.'' Was he capable of such duplicity? And was the bridesmaid capable of such gullibility?

''Exactly what is going on between you and Steve?'' she asked.

''N-nothing.''

''Nothing at all?'' Rebecca pressed. ''He wants to marry me because he adores me and can't stand to live without me, is that what he told you?''

''Kind of,'' Esther muttered. ''So he never cared about you.'' She pressed on, trying for maximum provocation to force out the truth. ''It was like he said, just a case of prewedding jitters.''

Esther's eyes flashed. ''No, it wasn't! We love each other.''

''Esther!'' Diane exclaimed. ''We discussed this.''

''I said I would apologize because—well, my parents would kill me if I didn't,'' Esther said. ''And Steve asked me to help out. But I'm the one he loves!''

The coldness of Diane's gaze silenced her. ''I left Steve a note this morning about where we were going. No doubt he'll arrive soon himself and we can straighten this out.''

Esther's indignation withered. ''He might say—I mean, Rebecca's important to his career. That doesn't mean...''

Someone rapped at the door with a fast, self-conscious rhythm.

''Shall I let him in?'' Rebecca asked Esther. ''Maybe you two would like to get your stories straight first.''

''That won't be necessary,'' said Diane, and went to the door.

CHAPTER SIX

Rick's arms ached from the weight of the shopping bag and the spray of red roses. He'd also worn a business suit as a sign of respect. It was going a bit overboard, he supposed, but Becky deserved it.

He was preparing his best laid-back smile when the door opened and he found himself face to face with Diane Salber, whose own smile mutated rapidly into an expression of dismay. ''What are you doing here?'' she demanded.

''The ad agency doesn't pay enough, so I took a second job delivering for the local department store,'' he deadpanned.

''Rick?'' Becky peered around her mother. ''We thought you were Steve.''

So that low-life was expected to show his face here today. Rick couldn't help but be grateful. Why else would there be a reluctant plea for support in Becky's green eyes?

The errant bridegroom had already given Rick one big break by driving her to call off their wedding. Apparently he was providing a second one, forcing her to rely on her pal's support just when he needed to get on her good side.

''I'll stick around, by all means.'' Diane remained planted, blocking him, but Rick edged forward until his roses were practically in her face. No doubt realizing she was on the verge of making a scene, she yielded.

Becky regarded the shopping bag and the flowers in confusion. ''Where did those come from?''

''He's a delivery boy,'' snapped Esther, whom Rick hadn't noticed before. ''Didn't you hear him?''

''That was a joke.'' He angled the flowers toward Becky until she took them. ''From me to you. There's more.'' From within the bag, he handed her a box of candied fruits, which he knew she loved, even though he himself would have preferred chocolates. ''Happy Valentine's Day.''

He left the other gifts out of sight in the depths of the bag. They were too personal to share in front of others.

Emotions fleeted across Becky's face too rapidly for him to read them. ''Thank you,'' she said, and set the candy on a table.

''Sweetheart gifts, huh?'' Esther regarded him with malevolent triumph. ''I knew it!''

Diane fetched a vase from the mantelpiece and set aside the silk flowers it contained. ''I'll get some water.'' She snatched the roses and headed for the bathroom.

''You can't deny the obvious, Becky,'' Esther said. ''You never loved Steve the way I do. It's Rick you wanted all along, isn't it?''

''Don't jump to conclusions.'' It was hardly a declaration of undying love, but it was a lot milder than other things Becky could have said about him, Rick decided. And that she probably would have said if she hadn't had visitors.

''You don't want Steve back,'' Esther went on. ''So why waste his time coming here?''

''As you'll recall, I'm not the one who invited him.'' The words bristled with irritation.

Diane returned and set the roses in a corner. ''You'll talk to him, though. He's a good, steady man, Rebecca.''

''I haven't found him either good or steady.'' Becky was keeping a tight grip on her temper,

Rick could see, but with an obvious effort. ''And I'm only going to listen to him out of respect for you, Mom.''

''I hate this!'' Esther burst out. ''I hate the fact that he's going to kowtow to her when he doesn't even love her! I hate the fact that he considers her a suitable wife to parade in front of his clients even though he loves me. It's love that counts, not other people's opinions!''

''Excuse me,'' Rick said. ''Why are you debating this with Becky? Isn't this something you should take up with good buddy Steve?''

Diane frowned at him. ''I don't see how this concerns you.''

''Of course it concerns him!'' cried Esther. ''Look at the two of them. They're obviously dressed for a date.''

''We didn't have a date,'' he said. ''As far as Becky knew, I would be at work now.''

''So you decided to surprise her?'' Esther's words dripped with sarcasm. ''How thoughtful.''

''It really doesn't matter why he's here,'' Diane said. ''Her groom is about to arrive, and I don't want anything or anyone to interfere. That includes you, Rick.''

''I'm not going,'' he said.

''Neither am I,'' said Esther.

''Rebecca?'' asked her mother. ''Would you please give me some support here?''

Wearily, Becky regarded her stubborn guests. ''Okay. All of you can leave. I'm tired of having other people try to make up my mind for me. Even you, Mom, although I know you mean well.''

Before she could throw them out, however, Molly Spencer appeared in the open doorway with a package. ''This just came.'' She glanced at the crowd of people. ''Sorry for disturbing you.''

''Not at all. Thanks for bringing it.'' Becky's eyes narrowed as she took the package, which bore the same wrappings as the previous two gifts from the novelty shop.

''Where did that come from?'' Diane asked. ''If it's like the other stuff I've received, it was ordered Friday in Lake Geneva,'' Becky said. Discreetly, Molly withdrew.

''What other stuff?'' asked Esther.

''Tacky stuff,'' Becky said, and ripped off the wrappings. From the gift box, she pulled a pair of pink boxer shorts. An oversize red heart enclosed the fly opening.

''Is this someone's idea of a joke?'' Diane asked.

Rick plucked a card from the box and read aloud, ''Right after my honeymoon, I'll be coming over to console you. Who needs that loser of a husband when you can have me? Love from your new admirer, Steve.''

He turned the card over, wondering if this puzzling message came with an explanation. There was no other notation, however.

''He actually signed this one? He must have decided it was time to make his move, but on whom?'' Becky asked. Pressing close to Rick, she reread the note over his shoulder. ''This couldn't have been intended for me, or for Esther, either. She doesn't have a husband.''

They were so close that Rick could smell her flowery shampoo. With an effort, he quelled his instinct to loop one arm around Becky's waist. It might embarrass her. Also, he wasn't eager to get slapped.

''This is a trick you're playing to get back at me, right?'' the bridesmaid demanded. ''You're trying to make it look like Steve was chasing somebody else at the same time he was seducing me. Well, I don't believe it!''

''Maybe you ought to show us the stuff that arrived earlier.'' A steely reserve had replaced Diane's earlier determination.

From the closet, Becky pulled the red fake-fur bikini and jock strap. ''This is what came, with notes of the 'I want your body' variety. They weren't signed, but it would be reasonable to assume they're also from Steve.''

''We called the gift shop,'' Rick added. ''They said a man ordered them Friday in a big hurry. We're assuming he got the addresses switched.''

Diane grimaced. ''Steve must have some good explanation, but I can't imagine what it is.''

''You could search five states and not find anything as ugly as these,'' Rick couldn't resist adding.

''He was probably kidding around,'' Esther said defiantly. ''Obviously, he meant them for you, Becky. It's a joke.''

''A joke about seducing someone else after our honeymoon?'' she asked.

''Excuse me.'' In the hallway, Molly hurried into view. She was a little out of breath from taking the stairs fast. ''There's a man here to see Rebecca. I asked him to wait. It occurred to me you might like a little advance notice.''

''Oh, yes!'' Becky said.

''Please give us about five minutes, then send him up,'' Diane said. Molly nodded and left. ''I think it's best if he and Rebecca have a chance to talk by themselves.''

''I think it's best if I never see him again. But I suppose I have to.'' Becky reached into a drawer and took out a small object. Rick couldn't see what it was and decided not to be nosy.

''I'll stick around if you want me to,'' he offered.

''Sure,'' she said. ''You're my man of honor, after all.''

Diane grabbed Esther's wrist. ''Well, Steve doesn't need to see us. We're going in the bathroom. Now!'' The bridesmaid glowered, but obeyed.

''How're you holding up?'' Rick asked when the other two had retreated.

''Shakily,'' Becky admitted. ''I'm sure I'll run into him sooner or later, so we might as well have it out now.''

''Let's hide the evidence.'' Rick stuffed the gag gifts into his shopping bag, out of sight but close at hand. ''Let me know if you want me to deck him.''

''Feeling protective?'' she asked.

''Very,'' he said.

''Good, because for some reason, I'm feeling in need of protection.'' The warmth in her gaze gave him a ray of hope. Then it vanished.

''I don't really need protection. I can take care of myself,'' Becky said. ''Anyway, after what happened, we can't go back to being the way we were.''

''I know.''

Did he just imagine the alarm in her widened eyes and parted lips? All he'd done was to agree with her. Rick wondered how she'd interpreted, or misinterpreted, his remark.

He never got a chance to find out, because here came Steve, whistling down the hall.

There was nothing in the man's chipper demeanor to indicate he'd lost sleep or even a moment's peace over ruining his wedding. His

slightly pudgy face looked well-rested, his brown eyes were clear, and he was smiling.

''You look great, Rebecca!'' he said. ''Your mom must have told you I was coming.''

''I didn't wear this for you,'' she replied frostily.

He gave her an unwrapped box of candy. It was, Rick saw, peanut clusters. ''Happy Valentine's Day.''

''I'm allergic to peanuts, but thanks anyway.'' She handed the box to Rick. ''He'll enjoy them.''

Steve spared his rival an annoyed glance. ''I'm sure my wife appreciates your sticking around as maid of honor—oh, I'm sorry, that's man of honor, isn't it?—but it's time for you to make yourself scarce.''

''I'd prefer that he stay,'' Becky said. ''First of all, I'm not your wife. And second, anything you want to tell me can be said in front of him.'' ''I'm the soul of discretion,'' Rick added with mock sincerity.

Steve couldn't hide his irritation, but he managed to swallow it. ''All right. I want to apologize for that business with Esther. You know how it is.''

''I do?''

''She made it clear she'd do anything to get me in bed, to spite you.'' He didn't seem to notice the choking sound coming from the bathroom. ''I admit, I was weak. If you hadn't kept me at arm's length for so long, Becky, I'd have had more resistance.''

''So this is my fault, because I didn't jump into your bed?'' ''I didn't say that.''

''In any case, you're not in love with Esther?'' she asked.

''In love?'' he sneered. ''Honey, I can't even think about anyone but my beautiful Rebecca. When I was with Esther, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.''

The knob on the bathroom door rattled, as if someone were struggling to open it and being restrained. ''Air pressure,'' Becky said when Steve glanced in that direction. ''It's an old house, but cozy.''

''Yeah, isn't the bed and breakfast concept too cutesy-pie for words?'' he snorted. ''I can't imagine who recommended this place.'' ''I did,'' Rick said. ''Oh, yeah, now I remember.''

The guy was asking for a fight, but he had to know Rick was too civilized to give him one. Not much too civilized, though.

''So do we understand each other?'' Steve asked Becky.

''I think I understand you loud and clear.'' She fiddled with the small object in her palm. Rick still couldn't see what it was.

''There's one thing I want to know,'' he told Steve.

''Sure. Then go someplace where you might actually be welcome,'' muttered the would-be groom.

''Who were these for?'' Setting the candy aside, Rick pulled the red fake-fur items and the boxer shorts from the shopping bag.

Steve stared at them in shock. ''What are they doing here? Those were for Connie.'' He halted, his arrogance vanishing as he realized what he'd admitted.

''Connie Graf? The banquet manager?'' Becky looked almost as taken aback as Steve.

The tall, striking blonde was, Rick recalled, undergoing a marital separation. That explained the reference to a husband. But he had a hard time believing the nerve of a man who would sleep with one woman, plan to walk down the aisle with another and, at the same time, try to orchestrate the seduction of a third.

It took a monstrous ego and a ruthless willingness to exploit other people's vulnerabilities. The man was even more of a snake than Rick had realized.

The bathroom door flew open. ''You were after Connie?'' Diane flew out with Esther at her heels. ''You planned to honeymoon with my daughter and then jump right into another woman's bed?''

Before he could reply, Esther added, ''You were the one who said you loved me! I did not throw myself at you!''

Faced with both women at once, Steve struggled for words. The first one he addressed was Esther. ''You must have misunderstood. I never said you chased me.'' ''Yes, you did!''

''No, I said...I mean...'' For once, he couldn't come up with an excuse fast enough.

''You ordered those gifts for Connie on Friday,'' Diane said. ''When exactly did he declare himself to you, Esther?''

''On Saturday.'' Her voice quavered. ''He gave me that hangdog look and whined about how he needed someone to show him what real love was like. I can't believe I fell for a complete lie!''

''You might have expected it from a guy who would cheat on his bride,'' Becky said. ''But I'm sorry he hurt you. I'm sorry either of us ever met this loser.''

''Your pride didn't stop you from accepting the diamond necklace I sent. It must have arrived by now, but you haven't even mentioned it, so I presume you intend to keep it.'' Steve drew himself up in a show of injured righteousness.

''What diamond necklace?'' Becky said.

''Don't play innocent with me!''

Her bewildered expression was, in Rick's estimation, completely unfeigned. ''You must have given the jewelry store the wrong address, too.''

''No, I'm sure I didn't...'' Steve paused as his almost-mother-in-law broke into a smile. ''What?''

''Oh, that's where it came from!'' Diane crowed. ''Connie was radiant this morning. She showed me a beautiful diamond necklace and said her husband sent it to her with the most loving note.''

''That was my Valentine's Day gift to Becky!'' Steve said.

''Well, it looks great on Connie,'' Diane told him. ''Joe showed up right before Esther and I left. He had the good sense not to admit the necklace wasn't from him. I think he believes the hotel staff sent it to help patch things up.'' ''I want it back,'' Steve said. ''That thing cost me a fortune. I'll have to make payments for a year.''

''Joe Graf wouldn't be too happy to find out you were trying to seduce his wife,'' Diane said. ''You know, he used to be a professional boxer, and he has a notoriously short fuse.''

Steve's jaw worked as he stood there, fists clenched, absorbing the wreckage he had made of his love life. And, apparently, his finances. ''This isn't fair,'' he said. Diane shrugged. ''I'd say it was more than fair.''

''Obviously, I can't also afford to pay for the wedding Rebecca decided to cancel.''

''I have that note you signed this morning, promising to reimburse half the wedding ex-penses,'' said Becky's mother. ''If you don't pay, I'm not only suing you for damages but for emotional distress and anything else I can think of.''

''Here.'' Becky handed him the object she'd been holding. It was her engagement ring. ''You can sell this. I certainly don't want it.''

Steve pocketed it. ''All right, I'll pay, Mrs. Salber, if you insist,'' he growled. ''But I plan to double-check every penny of those expenses! Come on, Esther, let's blow this joint.''

''Me?'' asked the bridesmaid. ''You expect me to go with you, after what's happened?''

''Those things I told you when we were together, they were true.'' Steve waved one hand vaguely, as if he didn't remember the details. ''You're my sweetheart, right?'' Apparently he was determined to save face by walking out of here with a woman, no matter how little he cared about her.

Tears slipped down the woman's cheeks. Despite what she'd done to Becky, Rick felt sorry for her.

''I'm not going anywhere with you,'' Esther said. ''Because of you and my own petty jealousy, I've damaged the best friendship I ever had. I'm starting over in every way, and that includes having nothing to do with a jerk like you.''

''You expect me to leave here empty-handed?'' Steve demanded. The man's ego was positively dazzling, Rick thought.

''Empty-handed? Certainly not,'' Diane said with a gleam in her eye.

''We wouldn't dream of it,'' said Becky.

Mother and daughter grabbed the red fur garments and threw them into Steve's face. Rick contemplated throwing the box of peanut clusters too, but he didn't want to waste them.

''Now get out!'' Esther yelled, and pitched the pink heart-inscribed boxer shorts onto his head.

Steve backed into the hall, nearly colliding with Quinn Spencer. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow as he observed the garment-bedecked ex-bridegroom.

''Need any help?'' he asked.

Furious, Steve snatched the underpants off his head and the furry bra from his throat. He marched off, seemingly unaware of the red fur jock strap dangling over one shoulder.

Quinn rescued the stray garments from the floor and handed them to Rick before continuing on his way to the upper floor. Esther threw her arms around Becky. ''I'm so sorry!'' she said. ''I was an idiot.''

''It's okay,'' Becky said. ''In the long run, you did me a favor.''

Diane turned to Rick. ''I apologize for giving you a hard time. I'm glad you were here today.'' ''So am I,'' he said.

''Come on, Esther.'' Diane took the younger woman's arm. ''Let's go drown our sorrows in a big lunch, and then I need to go to work.''

After brief farewells, they departed. Rick was alone with Becky, which was exactly where he wanted to be.

He wished he didn't feel so nervous, but this was the most important moment of his life. And if he weren't careful, he might blow it.

Seeing Steve thoroughly vanquished and humiliated should have elevated Rebecca's spirits. Instead, she felt only sadness.

Rick had agreed that they couldn't go back to being friends. It was thoughtful of him to bring the roses and candy as a peace offering, but was this simply a polite way of making an exit from her life?

Her heart had lifted when she saw him standing at the door. Among the confusion, she'd seen him as a rock she could hold on to, until he told her they couldn't be friends anymore.

Now, too late, she recognized that he'd been her rock for a long time. When had she started depending on Rick? Rebecca wondered. Months ago, or years? She couldn't even put a starting date to it.

Restlessly, she perched on the edge of the couch. ''I can't believe Steve mixed up the addresses. Maybe it was a Freudian slip.'' She knew she was babbling to fill the silence, but she couldn't stop. ''At some level, he must have felt guilty.''

''Tell me what you saw in him.'' Rick took a seat beside her. ''What made you think he was the man you wanted to spend your life with?'' He seemed to care very much about her answer.

Rebecca searched her memory. ''I thought he was someone I could rely on. Not like my father, who was always looking for a good time.'' ''The way you thought I was?'' he prodded. Her eyes stung with tears. ''Yes.'' Rick scanned her with an emotion that might almost be taken for tenderness. ''I dated a lot of

people, didn't I? But you were the woman I always came back to.''

''Your best buddy.'' Rebecca's voice caught. ''But I knew you'd never let anyone take away your freedom. With Steve, I thought I could control him. I don't mean like a robot, but that he would share the future I wanted, being married, having children, doing the things that were important to me.''

Rick propped his elbows on his knees as he considered her words. ''You thought he was compatible because he seemed so eager to please.''

''That's right,'' she admitted. ''While you argue about everything.''

''I suppose I do,'' Rick admitted. ''But it doesn't matter, because I happen to want the same things in life that you do.''

Rebecca's throat constricted. If only she could be the woman he wanted those things with. Was there some point in their relationship at which she'd had a chance of becoming his true love instead of his friend? And if so, why hadn't she recognized it?

He stood up and moved away. Fear gripped her, that he would walk out the door. She struggled to find the right words to stop him.

Before she could find them, Rick returned with the vase of roses and set it on a low table next to her. The rich old-world scent made her head swim.

He opened his shopping bag. ''There were a few things I didn't want to give you in front of other people.''

He wasn't leaving yet. Relief swept through her. ''What sort of things?''

''I had a little trouble making up my mind,'' Rick said. ''Let's start with this one.'' He handed over a package wrapped in silver and tied with a red bow.

Rebecca fingered the paper, reluctant to open it. She didn't want to give him any reason to depart.

Disappointment dampened his expression. ''Am I making you uncomfortable? Maybe after what's happened, you'd prefer to be alone.''

''No!'' Feverishly, she pulled at the wrappings. It seemed to take forever to tear them off.

Out spilled a red flannel nightgown covered in white hearts. It reminded Rebecca of a sleep shirt she'd owned when they shared an apartment in their college days.

''It made me think of you,'' Rick said. The fabric was soft and warm. And suitable for giving to one's sister, mother or aunt. ''It's cute.'' After taking a deep breath, she added, ''This is how you think of me?''

''As I mentioned, I had a hard time making a choice.'' He produced a second gift. ''See if you like this one better.''

Rebecca didn't hesitate. In a flash, she tore off the shiny red paper and white bow.

From inside, she lifted a red and black nightgown so slinky it nearly slithered right out of her grasp. The straps were thin and the lace semitransparent. ''It's sexy.'' ''Is that a problem?'' he asked. It was, and it wasn't. She hoped he wasn't implying that they should continue having sex for its own sake. No matter how good it felt, she couldn't separate physical involvement from her need for love and security. ''It depends on what you mean by it.''

''That's the thing,'' Rick said as casually as if they were discussing what movie to see or where to eat lunch. ''I didn't express myself very well yesterday. I was hoping to get another chance, but now that it's here, I'm having trouble finding the right way to say it. So is it okay if I just give you another present?''

''As long as it doesn't have red fur on it,'' Rebecca said.

''No fur, I promise.'' He bent over, trying to reach into the shopping bag, which he'd set on the floor. ''Excuse me. This is a little awkward.'' From the couch, he dropped to his knees and, face averted, scooped something from the bottom of the bag.

''You'll get your suit wrinkled,'' Rebecca said. ''Which reminds me, you must be late to work.''

''I took the day off.'' ''That's a first!''

''This is a first, too.'' Rick held out a black velvet jeweler's box.

''What is it?'' Rebecca tensed, expecting a practical joke. Did they make jack-in-the-boxes this small?

''The jewelry store didn't have a large selection.'' Rick regarded her with a shy expression that made her want to hug him. But he went on talking in that maddeningly impersonal way.

''Your tastes tend to be modern and mine are traditional, so I went with my gut instinct.'' ''About what?'' she demanded. ''This.'' Rising to one knee, he opened the lid. A ray of sunlight from the window glimmered on a diamond set into a sculpted gold band. The design reminded her of a dove.

It was simpler, and at the same time more beautiful, than the one Steve had given her. That one had been chosen to impress other people. This one looked as if it had been picked for its own innate grace.

''Is that real?'' Rebecca asked. ''The local jeweler is very reliable,'' Rick said. ''We could have it appraised, if you like.'' This conversation didn't make sense. This gift didn't make sense. ''I don't understand,'' she said.

''I'm asking you to marry me,'' Rick said. ''Aren't I doing it right?''

It wasn't like him to carry a joke this far. Or to make such a cruel joke, either. ''Why?'' she said.

''Didn't I mention that?'' His cheeks reddened. ''I'm in love with you, Becky.'' She couldn't believe it. ''Since when?''

''A long time, I guess, but I didn't know it,'' Rick said. ''Yesterday was the first time it dawned on me, but by then you were mad at me. I decided to wait until today. It seemed more romantic, being Valentine's Day.''

Any minute, he was going to clap her on the back and shout with laughter, then offer to take her out for ice cream. ''I'm having a little trouble grasping this,'' Rebecca said.

''That's because you're afraid,'' he said gently.

''Why would I be afraid?''

''I was, too.'' Rick gazed up at her wistfully from his position on one knee. ''Afraid of making a fool of myself. Afraid of losing you as a friend. Afraid we wouldn't get along because we fight so much. But none of that matters. I love you, Becky. We can get married any time you say, anywhere you like. I want to be your husband and your best friend for the rest of our lives.''

He was right; she was afraid. Afraid she might burst into tears and spoil everything. Afraid he might change his mind, except she knew he wouldn't. ''I can't believe I was so stupid!'' she wailed.

''Excuse me?''

''I nearly married Steve! What did I have in my head, pencil shavings?''

Rick watched her anxiously. ''Does that mean you're accepting my proposal?''

''Yes!'' Prying the ring from its box, Rebecca slipped it on her finger. It was loose, but that could be fixed. ''I love it.''

''While you're at it, could you spare a few kind words for the groom?'' he prompted.

''I love you, too.'' It was a relief to speak the words aloud. ''You're wonderful. You're the man of my dreams. You don't still leave your laundry on the floor, do you?''

''I take it to the dry cleaners. Even my underwear,'' Rick said. ''Can I get up now? Having a bad elbow is trouble enough. Another few seconds and my knee's going to give way.''

Rebecca wasn't ready to let him up yet. There was something incredibly sexy about having a guy in a jacket and tie kneel in front her. Particularly a guy as handsome and well-built as Rick.

''I have a better idea,'' she said, and took hold of his tie. ''Let's start here and work our way up.''

His response was a teasing grin and a lightning upward attack to seal their betrothal with a kiss.

And, after that, a whole lot more.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A wedding is always a special event in Tyler, Wisconsin. The marriage between the town's former star quarterback and his longtime friend Rebecca Salber was of particular interest.

The Tyler Quilting Circle had been working for some time on a red and white quilt decorated with red hearts, which was the ladies' gift to the future bride and groom. It seemed almost as if they had known that the couple would become engaged on Valentine's Day and plan to marry less than two weeks later in a heart-themed ceremony at the Fellowship Lutheran Church.

Quinn and Molly Spencer refused to take any special credit for bringing the couple together, although the romance had blossomed at their bed and breakfast inn. ''We're just glad it worked out for them,'' was all either of them would say. ''It was a terrific weekend, really, all the way around.''

Football coach Pam Kelsey, who was known to be a mentor to Rick Travis, conceded only that she'd told him to follow his heart. And that she was glad for an excuse to buy a new dress to wear to the wedding.

The details of the forthcoming event were happily examined and approved of by the townspeople. True, Rebecca was wearing the wedding dress she'd bought for another man, but it had been altered and, besides, Rick was said to have a special fondness for it.

One of the bridesmaids, it was rumored, had spoiled the previous wedding. Apparently the bride had forgiven her. Perhaps even thanked her.

It was considered unusual and touching that, although there were three bridesmaids, the bride chose no maid of honor. Her husband was her best friend, she declared, and no one else could fill that position.

On such short notice, it was difficult, of course, to find a place for the reception. That might have explained the couple's decision to entertain their guests at Marge's Diner. Besides, it had always been the groom's favorite local hangout.

The couple would live in Rick's home on Gunther Street, and commute together to Madison. And, naturally, they would honeymoon at the Breakfast Inn Bed.

It was going to be a splendid occasion, and everyone looked forward to it.

Rebecca stared into the mirror as Diane arranged the circlet of red and white roses atop her hair. ''It's not exactly a perfect color scheme,'' she said to her mother.

Behind them in the church dressing room, the three bridesmaids posed for a photograph in their peach dresses. It hadn't seemed reasonable to ask them to purchase new dresses, even though these didn't go as well with the bright red heart theme as with Rebecca's former complementary choice of maroon. Still, the dresses looked pretty.

The trio smiled happily at Byron Forrester, the photographer. Ellen, Rebecca's fellow accountant, and health club friend Cindy had been terrific sports about the change in plans. Esther had been grateful to be included.

''Okay, the colors aren't ideal,'' Diane agreed. ''And you know how I feel about having the reception in a coffee shop! But I'm learning to be flexible.''

''Everything's for sentimental reasons,'' Rebecca reminded her.

They both knew that what mattered wasn't the colors or the reception or the dress, although it looked lovely retrimmed with red hearts along the neckline and cuffs. What mattered was the groom. The right one, this time.

''That reminds me,'' Diane said. ''I'd better go make sure Rick's here. His brother, Tony, was looking for him a few minutes ago.'' Tony served as best man.

Rebecca checked the clock on the wall. The ceremony started in fifteen minutes. ''You mean Rick's late? He only lives half a dozen blocks away!''

''He's probably looking for a parking space. The whole area's jammed,'' her mother said. ''Now stay here.''

Rick should have arrived ages ago. Rebecca couldn't believe he would put her to so much worry on their wedding day.

''Becky?'' Esther approached hesitantly. ''I wanted to let you know something good that's come out of all this. Besides your wedding, of course.''

''What's that?'' Rebecca hadn't entirely forgotten her old friend's cruel words or actions, but she understood the insecurity that had given rise to them. And her happiness was so great, she wanted to share it.

''Do you remember Jimmy Lafferty, who graduated from high school a year ahead of us?'' she asked.

''He won first prize at the Science Fair,'' Rebecca recalled. ''Didn't he wear horn-rimmed glasses?''

''Not anymore. He wears contacts,'' Esther said. ''He's a computer programmer and he's been asking me out for the longest time. After seeing what happened between old friends like you and Rick, I decided to give him a chance.''

''And?'' she prompted.

''We had our first date last night. Becky, I've never enjoyed talking to anyone so much, except you, when we were younger,'' Esther said. ''I really like him. Maybe it will work out.''

''I hope so.'' Rebecca squeezed her hand.

Her other two friends approached, full of compliments for the charming town where the bridal couple would live. It was a few minutes before her mother returned, frowning.

''He's not here?'' Rebecca asked in disbelief. What could have happened? Surely nothing would go wrong on her wedding day, not again!

She knew Rick wouldn't misbehave. He'd been loving and attentive and utterly delightful these past two weeks, even when her temper frayed over the details of rearranging her wedding on short notice.

He couldn't be suffering a change of heart. After all, it was he who'd pushed for the early date.

For one thing, he'd pointed out, she'd already agreed to give up her apartment and might as well move to his place. For another, they knew each other better than most brides and grooms, so what was the point of waiting?

Still, the fates did seem to conspire against her in the wedding department. Not that one disaster constituted a trend, exactly, but the first one had been spectacular enough to make Rebecca wonder if she was jinxed.

What could have happened to Rick? Yesterday after work, they'd shared supper in Madison, and he had picked up a last load of her possessions from the about-to-be-vacated apartment. That was eighteen hours ago, the longest they'd been separated since they got engaged.

She missed him. Surely he missed her, too. He wouldn't stay away on purpose.

''Maybe we should call the police,'' she said.

Diane frowned. ''I think that's jumping the gun. Surely he'll show up any minute.''

''He might be lying somewhere, injured and bleeding!''

''Or, if he isn't, he'll wish he were,'' teased her friend Cindy.

The humor brought Rebecca down to earth. Surely nothing serious had happened. Perhaps a flat tire...

''Hey! You can't go in there!'' called someone in the hall. ''The groom's not allowed to see the bride before the ceremony.''

''It's an emergency.'' That was Rick's voice, out of breath.

Rebecca flew across the room and yanked open the door. ''What emergency?'' Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. His thick brown hair was mussed and his blue eyes bright with exertion. There was a fleck of blood on his

white shirt above the red cummerbund. ''Are you hurt?''

''No. It's not my blood.'' He gave her an apologetic grin. ''I was almost late to my own wedding. Sorry, Becky.''

She pulled him through the flock of fluttering bridesmaids and pushed him into a chair. ''Now tell me what happened.''

At the same time, she reached for a brush. That hair had to be tamed.

''I was coming out of my house when I saw the little boy next door fall and scrape his hands pretty badly on the sidewalk,'' he said. ''He's only five, and his teenage baby-sitter got hysterical. I had to calm them down and get hold of the mother, and wait for her to arrive.'' ''You could have phoned,'' Diane said. ''I tried, honest,'' he said. ''I called Becky's cell phone, but it's turned off. The church phone's been busy.''

''That's true,'' Diane conceded. ''I heard the secretary in the office organizing a pot-luck social.'' She examined the blood on the shirt front. ''Now what are we going to do about that?'' Ellen rummaged through a desk drawer.

''Correction fluid ought to do it. Ah, here's a bottle!'' She hurried to them.

The liquid dried to a pristine white. ''That looks all right,'' Diane conceded.

''I'm sorry you were so worried, but I couldn't leave the kid in tears,'' Rick told Rebecca. ''I kept thinking, what if he were our child? We'd want our neighbor to stick around, right?''

She nodded. She almost wanted to cry, she was so proud of him. ''I'm glad you stayed.''

''You two aren't agreeing on something, are you?'' Cindy teased. Having hung out with them in Madison, she'd seen them squabble over almost everything. ''I don't know if I can take all this peace and harmony.''

''I consider it a nice change,'' said Diane.

After a rap at the door, Tony stuck his head in. A few inches shorter than Rick but of equally athletic build, he'd welcomed Rebecca into the family. So had their father, Albert Travis, a grizzled farmer whose words were few but well-chosen.

''Hey, bro, it's time to get moving,'' Tony said.

''On my way.'' Rick stood up, planted a glancing kiss on Rebecca, and strode away.

Diane lined up the bridesmaids and made sure they had their bouquets. She herself would be walking Rebecca down the aisle.

The foyer was clear of guests as the female members of the wedding party lined up. From within the sanctuary, a procession march began, and the bridesmaids stepped forward.

Becky clutched her mother's arm. ''What if my knees give out?''

''Rick will catch you,'' she said. ''How about you? Won't you catch me?'' ''Not if you knock me over,'' said her mother. ''So don't do it.''

Rebecca had never been so nervous in her life. She hadn't expected it. This was supposed to be a glorious moment, after all.

But the flurry of preparations had driven to the back of her mind the fact that she was making a commitment before her friends and family, before God and the people of Tyler. Now the realization hit her, full force, that for the rest of her life, she would be Mrs. Richard Travis, forsaking all others, cleaving only unto him. It was a tall order.

Too soon, the organist began playing ''Here Comes the Bride.'' Stiffly, Rebecca stepped forward on her mother's arm.

Then she saw him. Standing by the altar, Rick gazed at her with all the warmth of a crackling fire.

Memories flooded over her. Making microwave popcorn together in their college days. A night after the ballet when he'd parodied a pirouette and twisted a muscle. Tossing snowballs at each other during lunch break, and having to go back to work with her hair soaking wet.

How could she doubt for a moment that she wanted to marry this man? They were perfect for each other.

A moment later, her mother handed her to Rick and stepped aside. Next to Rebecca, he felt strong and steady. He was exactly the man she'd been looking for. All these years, he'd been right under her nose.

The pastor moved smoothly into the Lutheran service. Rebecca could only concentrate enough to hear snatches. '' . . . God, who established marriage, continues still to bless it with his abundance...''

Maybe it was a good thing they hadn't rushed into a relationship. They'd needed time to mature and to work out their differences.

When the pastor paused and nodded to them, Rick and Rebecca faced each other and joined hands, as they'd practiced last night. His large, warm hands had comforted a child today, she thought. Someday, she hoped, he would hold their own baby.

Repeating after the pastor, Rebecca said, ''I take you, Rick, to be my husband from this day forward, to join with you and share all that is to come, and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.''

''That goes double for me,'' Rick whispered. Grinning, he said aloud, ''I take you, Rebecca, to be my wife from this day forward...''

Tony handed them their gold bands. They exchanged them, saying, ''I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness.''

At last, they prayed with the pastor. Rebecca could hear the townspeople, family and friends joining with them, and knew they were all treasuring this moment and this sacred promise. The light-filled church seemed at that moment to exist on a different plane from the ordinary world. In all the years of her childhood, when she had dreamed of her wedding day, she had focused on the flowers and her lovely gown, on the fairy-tale decor and the handsomeness of the groom. But now she understood that she had missed the best part.

It was the two of them joining together to walk through the years as best friends. Long after the flowers faded and the fine clothes were packed away, their love would continue to bloom.

Then the ceremony was over and the pastor presented the newlyweds to the congregation, who greeted them with cheers. Rick grinned and nodded while, out of the corner of his mouth, he said, ''Let's go get a hamburger. I'm starving.'' ''How can you think of food now?'' Rebecca demanded.

''I skipped lunch. Didn't you?'' Come to think of it, she had. ''Okay, but...'' ''If we hurry to Marge's, we can beat the crowd.'' Linking arms, he escorted her rapidly down the aisle and out into the crisp late-February sunshine.

''I need a coat!'' she said. ''Not if we run!'' Keeping a tight grip on her arm, he started forward.

Given no choice, she trotted beside him around the town square. People's faces lit up at the sight of the bride and groom and, when Rick waved, everyone waved back.

Afterwards, Rebecca realized how remarkable it was that Marge already had the hamburgers ready. ''I know Rick,'' she said.

At the time, though, Rebecca was too busy chuckling to pay much attention. After being married less than five minutes, she mused, they'd already had their first squabble.

It was a promising start.