her gift down. “I have only one daughter, Lance. And, as of one o’clock this afternoon, only one son. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my money on than the two of you. Besides, you can’t refuse a wedding gift, it’s bad luck.”
Melanie placed one hand on her hip, suppressing a smile. When she was a little girl, her mother used to get her to do things by telling her that if she refused, it was bad luck. There was always a legend or fable that reflected the situation attached. She was fourteen before she realized that her mother had made all the fables up. “Another legend I don’t know about?”
Nostalgia surged through Margo. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
Lance opened his mouth, but Melanie stopped him. “Don’t bother. Nobody’s ever managed to talk Mama out of anything once she makes up her mind.”
He’d kind of figured that out on his own. “I wasn’t going to talk her out of it, I was just going to say thank you.” Lance looked at Margo, then with a smile, added, “Mom.”
There had to be something in the air today, some allergen that kept making her eyes tear up. Margo blinked twice, struggling not to let a single drop slip down her cheek. “Don’t mention it,” she murmured, embracing him.
Chapter Three
The car with Lance and Melanie in it pulled slowly away from the curb. The sound of the engine was drowned out by the cheers and raised voices, all attempting to outshout one another as they tried to make their own best wishes heard above the rest.
The din seemed to swirl around Margo like leaves caught up in the rush of a breeze, chasing one another in an eternally forward-moving circle.
Margo drew away from the edge of the crowd. She felt oddly removed from what was going on, a spectator who had just happened upon a scene and had yet to become a part of it. There was no denying that her heart was full to overflowing with happiness for her daughter, but at the same time, there was a downside to that joy. A sense of exclusion embraced her, making her feel strangely alone. More alone than she’d felt since she’d walked out of her father’s house all those years ago.
Annoyed with herself, with these emotions that insisted on roller-coastering through her, Margo struggled to regain control.
Oblivious to the people around her, she didn’t realize at first that the handkerchief at her elbow was being silently offered to her. When she did, she raised her eyes to look at the owner. It didn’t really surprise her that it was Bruce.
“Thought you might need this.” When she didn’t attempt to accept the handkerchief, he added, “It’s clean.”
Her mouth curved. “I’m sure your practice of hygiene is beyond reproach, Bruce, but I really don’t need a handkerchief.”
Yeah, you do, he thought, but rather than press the point, he pocketed the offering. Maybe she needed to deny her need more than she needed to wipe away the tears shimmering in her eyes.
“My mistake,” he allowed gallantly. With adroit ability that came from implementing compromises at business meetings, he nudged the conversation along a different path. “That was a very nice thing you did for them, sending Melanie and Lance off on an all-expense-paid honeymoon.”
She merely lifted a shoulder in mute response, then let it drop, her eyes straining to retain sight of the disappearing car until the last possible moment. It was only money, thankfully the least of her concerns these days.
“I tried to do the same thing,” he confessed, a wouldbe contender sharing a mutual, though unattained, goal, “but got turned down. Lance has this thing about being his own man. I can see where it’d be harder for him to refuse you. I mean—”
He didn’t want Margo to think that he meant he thought she was pushy. And when he played the fragment over again in his head, this time it sounded suspiciously like a come-on line. Hell, but he really was out of practice talking to women.
He smiled ruefully when she looked at him, a patient question in her eyes. “Do you always make men feel as if their tongues have gotten too big for their mouths?”
She laughed then, a deep throaty laugh that he thought had a touch of relief to it.
Margo felt relieved that she could still laugh, despite the hollow feeling taking root.
“No, not usually.”
Bruce could only shake his head. It was just as he thought. “Must be me, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe he was the one who was being pushy, but in his estimation, it was for a worthy cause. “I don’t usually do this, but, urn, would you like to go somewhere for a cup of coffee or something?”
Was he trying to ask her out? Amusement began to nudge away the sadness. Margo looked down at the dress she was wearing, then raised her eyes to take in his tuxedo. “I think we might be just a little overdressed for a coffee shop.”
She had a point. Looking at her addled his brain a little. He’d spent half the reception dancing with her and could honestly say he didn’t remember when he’d had a better time in recent years.
“A drink, then.” Bruce turned, nodding toward the building behind them where the reception had been held. All around them, people were breaking up into groups and couples, bound for the parking lot and home, or perhaps to continue the celebration with an evening on the town. “At the lounge downstairs,” he prompted. “You look like you might need a little company.” Before she got any wrong ideas about his motives, he quickly added, “Strictly platonic, of course. In-law to in-law.”
He was like a fish out of water, Margo thought. A very cute, cuddly fish. Why hadn’t he been snapped up by one of the women in his circle yet?
“Platonic, eh?” She snapped her fingers like someone who had just missed an opportunity. “I guess there go all my plans of having my way with you.”
The sound of her laughter slipped under his skin, arousing him before he could steel himself. He banked down the reaction that had no place within the good deed he was trying to accomplish.
“Not that I’m averse to stimulating conversation, or stimulating anything,” she put in, her eyes beginning to reclaim their sparkle, “but what makes you say that I need company?”
Instead of answering, Bruce cupped her chin in his hand and raised it slightly. Taking out his handkerchief again, he lightly dabbed at the corner of her eye where one renegade tear had refused to obey and remain confined.
For one very long moment, as he touched her, her eyes held his. Something warm slipped around her, like a protective embrace. But the next moment, it was gone. Embarrassed, Margo drew back her head.
“Just a hunch.” With a shrug, his eyes still on hers, Bruce tucked the handkerchief back info his pocket. “Maybe it’s me who needs the company.”
He was attempting to be gallant. When was the last time a man had been nothing more than gallant to her? So long, she wasn’t quite sure if she remembered.
Her smile was light, teasing, as she slipped her arm through his. “Well, far be it from me to deny a handsome man his platonic request.”
She made it sound as if she was given to fielding platonic requests all the
