Going to the Chapel

GOING TO THE
CHAPEL

Debra Webb

Praise for Debra
Webb:

"Breathtaking romantic
suspense that grabs the reader from the beginning and doesn’t let
up. Riveting."
~Allison Brennan, NYT
bestselling author

"Webb keeps the suspense
teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another
on her way to a chilling conclusion."
~Publishers Weekly

"Outstanding reading. Take a
deep breath and enjoy!"
~Romantic
Times

"Impossible to put
down."
~Romance Novel TV

"Bestselling author Debra
Webb intrigues and tantalizes her readers from the first
word."
~SingleTitles.com

"Masterful edge-of-your seat
suspense."
~A Romance Review

"Romantic suspense at its
best!"
~Erica Spindler NYT bestselling
author

"Fast-paced, action-packed
suspense, the way romantic suspense is supposed to be. Webb crafts
a tight plot, a kick-butt heroine, a sexy hero with a past and a
mystery as dark as the black water at night."
~Romantic Times

This book is a work of
fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real
locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011, WebbWorks,
LLC

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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respecting the hard work of this author.

GOING TO THE
CHAPEL

Debra Webb

Chapter one

“Damn,” Caroline
grumbled.

Every Friday night it was
the same. The neighbors hosted a blowout party, and one of the
numerous party-animals parked their Jags or BMWs in Caroline’s
space. At least tonight it wasn’t past midnight and she wasn’t bone
tired. Tonight, for the first time in almost two years, Caroline
Gregory had taken off early from the hospital. Mercy Hospital’s ER
would just have to manage one Friday night without her.

Caroline parked her old
Buick in an empty slot a dozen spaces down from hers and slid from
behind the wheel. She took a deep breath and smoothed one hand over
her sexy, short silk dress. She had never worn anything that could
be described with so many daring adjectives, but tonight was
special. A tingle of anticipation zipped through her. Tonight was
her last night as a single woman. Tomorrow, after a first-class
flight to Las Vegas, she would marry Dr. Tristan
Rodgers.

With a contented sigh,
Caroline reached back into her car and retrieved the bottle of
champagne and the two elegant, crystal champagne flutes her
co-workers had given her as a wedding present. Tonight she would
prove to Tristan that work wasn’t all she cared about. Tonight he
wouldn’t be able to accuse her of being preoccupied and
distant.

Caroline smiled a secret
smile as she strode up the walk toward their townhouse. Beneath the
slinky black dress, she wore a matching set of sinfully decadent
lingerie she would never in a million years have purchased for
herself. Knowing that fact all too well, her girlfriends had
surprised her with a serious lingerie shower. The lingerie had
served as a catalyst for Caroline to take stock of the rest of her
definitely out-of-style wardrobe. She certainly couldn’t pack her
tired excuse for attire in the elegant new luggage Tristan had
given her as an early wedding present.

A smile curled her lips
upward. A brand new beginning required a new, more suitable look,
didn’t it? To Caroline’s way of thinking it did. She had every
intention of starting off the first day of the rest of her life in
style. Several particularly feminine and undeniably fashionable new
outfits were carefully packed in her suitcase in the trunk of
Tristan’s car. Ready for tomorrow’s journey toward ever
after.

Caroline was ready too.
Ready for a night of quality time with her husband-to-be. Ready for
a glamorous weekend in a glitzy city. And ready to take the next
step in the relationship she and Tristan had nurtured for eighteen
months.

She set her shoulders and
refused to allow that little twinge of doubt to cloud her
determination. Tristan was a good man, excellent marriage material.
He had signed on with one of the largest, most elite reconstructive
surgery clinics in St. Louis. Tristan had a bright future ahead of
him, as did she.

Who needed earth-shaking
passion? That kind of thing only happened in romance novels anyway.
This, she told herself once more for good measure, was real life.
Besides, she had her career as an ER physician, she didn’t need
mind-boggling sex. Sex with Tristan was good...enough.

The annoyingly handsome
image of another man flitted across Caroline’s mind before she
could block it.
He
was the past, she reminded herself as she ruthlessly forced
the memory away. Caroline would not look back. She had left
him
as well as her small
town roots behind long ago. Besides, she didn’t need passion. She
had position. Why worry about hot, throbbing sex? She had financial
security.

Did that kind of needy,
lust-arousing love even exist in anyone over the age of
twenty-one?

Caroline shook her head.
She doubted it. And even if it did, she and Tristan had no time for
such nuisance. They were both too busy for anything other than a
perfunctory physical relationship.

But tonight was going to be
special. She squared her shoulders. And it had nothing whatsoever
to do with proving that she could rally a storybook response to the
man she was about to wed.

Nothing.

Her fiancé’s cherry-red
Porsche glistened all sleek and sexy beneath the moonlight. Concern
drew Caroline’s lips into a decline. It wasn’t like Tristan to
leave the convertible top down. She glanced at the brilliant stars
and equally bright moon. Even without any predictions of rain, he
was usually very careful about his new toy. Leaving the top down
was something she would do. She was forever forgetting
something.

She shrugged and hurried up
the walk to her front door. Crystal and glass clinked as she
shifted the items she carried to one arm then reached to insert the
key into the lock.

The door swung inward when
she touched it. Adrenaline surged, prickling her skin. Caroline
licked her lips nervously and stepped across the threshold, careful
not to make even the slightest sound. If a burglar was in the house
she didn’t want to alert him to her presence. Another shot of fear
slammed into her at the thought that Tristan may have already done
just that.

A Tiffany lamp lit the
entry hall. Music from the party next door wafted through the
walls, a slow, muffled staccato intended to stir the
blood.

Silently she moved to the
hall table and the telephone sitting next to the lamp. The
answering machine’s message light blinked as if in warning. Her
hand trembling, Caroline reached for the receiver. Before her
fingers closed around the sleek black instrument, something in her
peripheral vision brought her up short.

Clothes
.

No, not just clothes. A
trail of clothing littered the plush beige carpet gracing the
staircase. Caroline walked cautiously to the bottom of the stairs.
Her mind churning, grasping for comprehension, she frowned, then
nudged aside Tristan’s gray pinstriped jacket with the toe of one
shoe. This wasn’t right. Perfect order. It was one of Tristan’s pet
peeves. Everything had to be in its place. Tidy, tidy, tidy. The
man was obsessed with orderliness.

Caroline took three steps
up and kicked aside a crisp, white dress shirt and a red silk tie.
Her frown deepened. Four more steps brought her to haphazardly
shucked loafers and gray trousers. Her eyes widened in disbelief
when at the top of the stairs she found his silk paisley boxers.
The ones she’d bought him for Christmas last year.

In morbid fascination, she
stepped over one sock and then the other. Half way down the
corridor leading to the master suite, a new trail of clothing
began.

Female
clothing
.

Caroline’s heart stilled,
then pounded fiercely. Her grip on the neck of the champagne bottle
tightened. No, no, no, her mind screamed against the only feasible
conclusion. There had to be some other, more acceptable
explanation.

The door to the master
bedroom stood wide open. Three paces before reaching it, Caroline
paused. The bold burgundy of the sheets she had selected when they
moved into the townhouse caught her eye first. She had marveled at
how perfectly the color matched the small glass accent tiles in the
master bath.

Knowing she could not deny
her eyes any longer, Caroline lifted her gaze above the edge of the
mattress to what she didn’t want to see. There, in the middle of
the comfort-technology king size bed, was Tristan,
her fiancé
, tangled in a
knot of arms and legs with his big-breasted, blonde receptionist,
Heather.

Unable to speak, Caroline
turned and quietly walked away.

~*~

Despite everything, the sun
still rose the next morning.

Caroline yearned to stop
and watch the splendor of that beautiful summer morning. To
acknowledge that the world kept turning and that life marched on no
matter that last night the entire future she had planned had
shattered.

Besides, she didn’t know
where in the hell she was. She desperately needed directions. She
had driven all night. Memphis couldn’t be very far now, she had
crossed the Tennessee state line a while back. But miles and miles
of road construction and numerous detours had confused her. Sleep
deprivation had evidently affected her sense of direction as well
as her reactions. Finally, the dense woods that had formed an
ominous canopy over the road for the past ten or so miles suddenly
opened to reveal a pink streaked sky and flowing, grassy
meadow.

“
Oh...my...God.” Caroline
slowed to a near stop in the middle of the deserted road to stare
across the familiar landscape.

The
chapel
.

The wedding
chapel.

She hadn’t realized that
she was so near home.

Home
.

Why did her subconscious
still call Lucy’s Branch home? She hadn’t officially lived in the
small Tennessee town in more than eight years. Hadn’t even visited,
not once. Bittersweet memories flooded her weary mind as Caroline
pulled the Porsche to the side of the country road that overlooked
Garrett County’s legendary wedding chapel.

Even in the gray and pink
hues of predawn light, she could clearly distinguish the charming
features of the one-hundred-fifty-year old structure. The elegant
stained glass, the wide, formal entrance. The ancient bell in its
tower. Her mind instantly conjured the image of the polished oak
floors that glistened beneath row after row of handcrafted wooden
pews. Red carpet lined the aisle that people came from miles around
to walk down on their wedding day. And a cathedral ceiling with
heavy wooden beams reigned proudly over it all.

As a girl she had dreamed
of going to that chapel on her wedding that. But that had been a
lifetime ago.