as she ran a finger over the outline of his bad-boy face. Dammit. Why did just the sight of his chiseled features, that thick, jet-black hair, his wide jaw, that nose that had been broken in a teenage fight—why did that face still cause her insides to purr with desire?
And why had Grammy Rose included the photo in Alison’s hope chest, especially now, when another man had proposed to her?
Maybe the photo was to remind her of her spontaneous marriage, the veil a hint to marry in a traditional ceremony this time. Expecting a note of explanation inside the envelope, she hurriedly opened it, but she sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the contents—her marriage certificate and the annulment papers that had ended her marriage to Brady.
Only Wiley and Grammy knew about the short marriage; she’d never even told her sisters. They’d both been away at college, each with their own problems. Did Grammy think Alison needed the papers to get a license to marry Thomas?
She quickly scanned the pages, the blank lines for their signatures, the blank line for the notary… The blank lines? Dear heavens, the papers had never been signed. She skimmed the note from her grandmother. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Wiley asked me to file these, but I suppose I forgot.” Alison’s heart pounded as she realized the implications.
She was still married to Brady Broussard.
Chapter Two
Alison’s head was still reeling the next morning as she headed to the Fourth of July parade. She wiped perspiration from her forehead, half hoping it would rain to alleviate the drought they’d been having. But of course, rain would ruin the day’s festivities.
Making matters worse, yesterday Vivica had shown up to talk about her wedding arrangements, and had informed her Brady was on his way home. Alison hadn’t had time to recover from seeing the annulment papers; now she’d have to face Brady and tell him they were still married.
He hadn’t been home since he’d left for the Air Force.
Could he possibly be returning to see her?
No, he was obviously coming for Vivica’s wedding. He hadn’t contacted Alison in almost a year—ten months and eleven days, to be exact. Not that she’d counted.
Hurt squeezed at her chest again, followed by confusion. All these years apart, she and Brady had both thought their marriage had ended, that they were free to go on and find someone else. Had Brady done that?
The memory of his kiss on her lips, his promise to love her forever brought a fresh wave of pain. But he hadn’t loved her forever. He’d cut her out of his life without an explanation. And she’d given him her heart and soul. And her innocence.
In fact, she hadn’t been able to give herself to anyone else since. Could it be because she’d still felt married to Brady? Heck, technically she was still married to him.
Maybe when she saw him today, she would realize they’d both changed and she’d finally be able to exorcise him from her mind. She squared her shoulders, waved to a few of the people she knew as she searched the growing crowd for her sisters, and tried to brace herself just in case she and Brady crossed paths during the day. Of course, with a ka-zillion people in town for the festivities, that would be unlikely.
Besides, she had to decide what to do about Thomas.
Planning other people’s weddings and seeing her sisters so happily married had definitely given her the bug for a family of her own. Thomas wanted kids, a house in the suburbs, the whole nine yards. His proposal bounced around in her mind, along with all his positive characteristics, just as she rounded the corner and bumped into him.
“Hey, Alison.” A grin lit his green eyes. Kind eyes. Yes, Thomas was a kindhearted, considerate, ambitious, stable man who would make a wonderful husband. He slid his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand, then whispered in her ear, “I was hoping we could talk after the parade.”
Alison’s stomach quivered. Was Thomas expecting an answer today?
BRADY HAD BARELY GOTTEN off the plane when his sister and mother launched themselves into his arms. Then they shoved him in the car to go to the Fourth of July celebration, and he felt himself fast losing control of his life.
“Mom, I told you I didn’t want to go to the parade.”
She smiled sweetly, cranked up her Thunderbird and tore down the highway, ignoring his protests as she launched into complaints about the recent drought. “We haven’t been able to water the lawn for weeks. They’ve got us on one of those rotating schedules.”
“Yeah, the water police come around daily to check,” his sister said with a giggle.
Brady tried to smile, thinking the dying grass and shrubs resembled the way he felt inside.
“Honey, we’re so proud you’re here,” his mother chirped. “You know one reason we have the parade is to honor the veterans, especially men who’ve given their lives for us.” She gestured toward his leg. “And all those who’ve been injured.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Mom, we haven’t been at war lately. And I wasn’t hurt in battle.” Quite the opposite, he thought, as renewed guilt gripped his stomach.
“Nevertheless, your father served our country. He’d want you to be there in his place to honor the veterans just as he always did.”
Brady’s throat closed. That he couldn’t argue with. He did respect veterans and all other soldiers, but he could never take his father’s place. God knows he’d tried. He’d failed miserably, though.
“Relax, it’ll be fun,” Vivica whispered. She leaned over the edge of his seat and patted his leg. “All your old friends will be there. Johnny and Bobby Raye and, oh, Alison will probably be there, too. I think her daddy, Wiley, is the grand marshal of the parade. You know he was in the navy himself when he was young.”
Brady glared at Vivica, but an image of Wacky Wiley Hartwell as grand marshal flashed in his mind, and he couldn’t contain a smile. Wiley had a reputation for cheesy, funny advertising stunts and was somewhat the clown of Sugar Hill. But the last time Brady had seen the man in person, Wiley hadn’t been happy. He’d just discovered he had a son-in-law, had reared up like a mother bear protecting its baby cub, and ordered Alison to get an annulment.
“Is he still as flamboyant as ever?” Brady asked.
“Is he ever!” Vivica said. “I heard he wore a ruffled shirt to Hannah’s and Mimi’s weddings.”
“Last Thanksgiving he had live turkeys in one of his used-car ads,” his mother added with a chuckle. “I thought they were going to gobble up the old coot.”
“Alison said he’s wearing his Uncle Sam top hat and coat for the parade,” Vivica added.
Brady tried not to react to the sound of Alison’s name as he rubbed at his leg. The familiar scenery along the north Georgia highway rolled past, the parched grass and dry ground evidence of the drought across the southeast.
“Is your leg bothering you much?” his mother asked, her voice riddled with concern.
He ground his teeth, not wanting to worry her. “It’s fine, Mom.”
Vivica
