The Wedding Dress (3 page)

“It wasn’t like that,” Gareth insisted.

“Come on, there has to be some kind of reason why the papers you needed to serve Anne Farleigh are on my desk rather than with her.”

“That part’s easy. She slipped them into my jacket pocket when I left.”

He didn’t think it was wise to mention that Anne had been hugging him at the time.

Nor did he plan on admitting just how much time he’d spent thinking about her since last night.

“Why didn’t you drive straight back over there to make her take them?” Margaret looked concerned. “Gareth, this isn’t like you.”

“There’s something”—he wasn’t exactly sure how to put it—“different about Anne.”

Margaret raised one eyebrow into a high arch. “Anne?”

He quickly backpedaled. “Ms. Farleigh.”

On a sigh, his assistant asked, “Different how?”

How could he tell her what it had been like watching Anne walking through the rain, smiling as she enjoyed every moment of it? And how could he possibly explain that for the first time since his ex-partner’s lies, something had pushed through the shields Gareth had put up around himself?

Finally, he said, “She’s a nice woman.”

“Nice.” Margaret’s echo came at the same time that she tapped her pencil on the desk in the way she did when she was thinking about how to solve a problem. “Well, regardless of how nice she is, we need to deal with this before Richard Wells hears about it and decides you aren’t the man for the job to deal with little Miss Reverse-Pickpocket.”

“Don’t call her that, Margaret.” He felt strangely protective of the woman he’d met less than twenty-four hours ago. “It’s clear that this situation comes as a complete surprise to her. It can’t be easy to find out that the father she loved and trusted wasn’t so trustworthy and loveable after all.”

“It’s a legal case,” Margaret pointed out. “You know what you have to do, even if it isn’t what you’d like to. I know the deed is considered done whether or not she keeps the papers, but I can guarantee that Richard won’t be at all happy about her sticking them back in to your pocket. You need to give them back to her…and make sure she keeps them this time!” When he didn’t immediately agree, her expression softened. “You know I love you like a son, don’t you? And that I left the precinct with you because I believe you’re the best detective in this city?”

“I know.” And he did. He also knew her well enough to brace for what was about to come next.

“I want you to succeed. I want
us
to succeed. And I know you will. But this case is a big part of building the foundation for our success, so you need to think about how bad you want it, and what you’re willing to do about it.” She paused before adding, “I will accept and go along with whatever decision you make. Just promise me you’ll actually think this situation through first.”

Gareth knew Margaret was right. Only, at the same time, he knew how much this would hurt Anne…and just the thought of her hurting was enough to make his chest clench tight.

And yet, if he didn’t get her to attend the mediation because he was trying to protect her, the case would end up in court. The last thing he imagined Anne would want was a big public discussion of her father’s infidelities.

Margaret waited until he was almost at the door to his office before saying, “One other thing. Brian called. I told him that you weren’t in, and he said he’d try to call your cell number later.”

Gareth fought against the twisting in his gut at the mention of his old partner and closest friend. “Thanks for warning me.”

Was Brian finally calling to apologize? And did he really think that an apology would fix things? He’d deliberately falsified reports so that his girlfriend’s kid wouldn’t be part of a drug possession case. As soon as Gareth had found out, he’d insisted that Brian come clean. Rules were rules, after all, especially for a police officer. But Brian held firm, claiming that the kid deserved another chance in life without a record and that he was going to give it to him.

It had been the most difficult decision of Gareth’s life whether to turn in his friend or not. But in the end, he couldn’t do it, couldn’t ruin his friend’s life like that. All he could hope was that his old friend would do the right thing…or leave the job of his own free will.

When Brian did neither of those things, Gareth knew he was the one who had to go.

And that was why he had to go serve these papers to Anne Farleigh again and make sure she attended the mediation. Because however beautiful and sweet Anne was, he owed his best to his client, to Margaret, and to himself too.

And in a strange kind of way, he owed it to Anne. Because if he could get her into mediation, maybe he could help keep the case from becoming even uglier.

Heading back into Margaret’s office, he picked the water-stained envelope off her desk and said, “I need the address for the Rose Chalet.”

* * *

It was, he had to admit twenty minutes later, a very nice spot by the bay with beautiful gardens. Walking through the main gate, he quickly found an elegant redhead talking to a handyman.

“You’re really telling me that you don’t think you should have worn overalls to mop the floor this morning?” the man asked.

The woman looked slightly shocked. “And have Felicity arrive early and see me like that?”

“I don’t think she’d have minded. She didn’t mind how I’m dressed, did she?”

“You and I both know that’s because she was checking you out…even though she’s getting married here soon. I don’t think I’d get the same reaction.”

“I don’t know,” the man replied. “I think you look good no matter what you wear.”

Just then, the woman saw Gareth. She looked a little flushed, and no wonder, with the way the two of them were flirting.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Rose. Can I help you?”

He quickly put two and two together and realized this was Rose from the Rose Chalet.

“I’m looking for Anne. Is she here?”

“What’s this about?” Rose asked him, a heavy note of suspicion in her voice.

Clearly, she was very protective toward her colleague. Gareth was glad. Even from the short time he’d spent with Anne, he knew she deserved good friends who would look out for her.

Hopefully, her friends would prove more loyal than his had.

Rather than explain the situation to her, he simply said, “I was just hoping to catch her here.”

Rose gazed at him for a long while, and he felt as if she was assessing him top to bottom, inside and out. Finally, she said, “Sorry, you’ve missed her. I believe she headed home a half hour ago.”

Gareth nodded his thanks, then headed back toward his car. Odds were, he was going to spend quite a bit of time standing outside of Anne’s house until she finally emerged again.

Good thing it had finally stopped raining.

Chapter Six

Anne looked at the boxes spread out on the floor in front of her, trying to remember which one held the bolt of fabric her parents had brought back from a trip to India many, many years ago. It would be perfect for Felicity Andrews’s wedding dress.

Assuming, of course, that she could find anything at all in the huge stack of boxes.

There were mementos from her father’s book-signing trips, books that they hadn’t had enough shelves for, newspaper cuttings, even old clothes that still had some wear in them. Too many happy memories for Anne to have thrown any of it away.

Fortunately, the meeting with Felicity Andrews back at the Rose Chalet had gone perfectly, Anne thought as she rooted through yet another box and found a collection of porcelain dolls she’d completely forgotten about. She set the box aside with plans to study the Victorian-era dresses worn by the dolls more closely in the following weeks.

Anne always asked her brides to talk about their fiancés because it was the best way for her to understand the tone of the dress they were looking for, whether sweet or gentle or, in Felicity Andrews’s case, fiercely passionate.

Sitting with Felicity, hearing the woman talk about how deep her passion—and love—ran for her fiancé had immediately sent Anne’s mind drifting to the man she couldn’t seem to get out of her head.

And to wondering just how deep Gareth Cavendish’s passions ran.

But as nice as it was to think about the handsome private investigator, she needed to focus on the Rose Chalet’s most important client to date. Especially given that Felicity was, in large part, responsible for helping Anne regain her usual happy equilibrium that morning. She’d confirmed that her magazine was going to do a special wedding issue, with Anne’s creations having a starring role. Even better, upon hearing that Anne still had her mother’s wedding dress, Felicity had suggested it would make the perfect centerpiece for the shoot.

If only she could find the fabric to make Felicity’s dress. If Rose were here, Anne had no doubt her friend would have systematically inventoried each box and found the fabric within fifteen minutes. But every time Anne opened a box, she couldn’t help but think back to the moments the contents had come from. The tiny teddy bear her mother had given her as a baby. The costume jewelry she and her mother had collected at yard sales over the years and would wear when they pretended to have tea with the queen.

Nothing, however, affected her quite as much as the collection of love poems her father had written for her mother.

As Anne read the poems one by one, she imagined her father’s deep voice reading them to her mother as she sat beside him on the love seat. They’d been so perfect together. So happy.

Inevitably, her thoughts returned to Gareth—to what he’d claimed was true about her father—and a brief flash of anger flowed through her before she pushed it away.

The doorbell rang, and when she went to answer it and saw Gareth standing on the front porch, she felt as if she’d conjured him up out of thin air, simply by thinking of him again and again throughout the day.

“We need to talk,” he said in that low voice that sent thrill bumps moving across the surface of her arms. “Can I come in?”

A part of her had known he’d come back, hadn’t she? Especially when she’d slipped the envelope into his pocket as he was leaving. And while she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with a legal case, she couldn’t deny that, on a purely female level, it was very nice to see him again.

She’d been attracted to him from the moment she saw him, but she still couldn’t quite work out why. Obviously, the “incredibly good-looking” part helped, but it was more than that. Gareth was nothing like the creative novelist her father had been. Instead, there was something stable about him. Dependable.

He promised, “This won’t take too long,” as she stepped aside to let him in. As he headed through to the living room, he couldn’t miss the boxes strewn all over the floor. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

“I’m looking for some fabric,” Anne said. “I’m sure it’s in one of these boxes.” She smiled up at him. “I imagine your office is perfectly neat?”

“Mostly.” He gave her a small smile that made her feel tingly all over. “Thanks to Margaret.”

“Margaret?” Anne felt a twinge of something other than tingles flicker through her. It took her a moment to identify it.

She was jealous. Of Margaret…whoever Margaret was.

“She’s my office manager,” he explained, “though there are days when she can feel like my boss if I’m not keeping up with my schedule.”

Anne smiled. “It can be like that for me sometimes. So many dresses, so little time, and they have to be perfect, don’t they? I mean, I couldn’t let someone get married in a dress that wasn’t perfect.”

Still, even as she spoke, she was reeling from the emotions another woman’s name out of Gareth’s mouth had brought up in her. Because she could only be jealous if…

“This sewing machine must have quite a few years on it,” Gareth said as he put one strong hand on her Singer.

Anne was struck by the contrast between his tanned, masculine fingers and the dainty, faded olive green machine. “My mother had it since I was a child. I can picture her sitting here every time I use it.”

Gareth nodded, then said, “With all these boxes, I thought for a minute…”

She couldn’t resist moving closer to him as she asked, “What did you think?”

“That you were taking the case seriously enough to look for proof that your father didn’t—”

“Why would I need to do that?” Yet again, she had to fight like crazy to push away the new rush of anger and frustration. She picked up the love poems. “Would my father have written these if he didn’t love my mother? So please, don’t start up again with how I have a secret half-sister.”

“Believe it or not,” he said gently, “I really don’t want to do anything to hurt your memories of your parents.”

“Then don’t. Would you like some tea?” Anne asked it automatically, but she was almost grateful when Gareth shook his head. “My friend Rose seems to think that I should take all this a lot more seriously.”

Gareth looked at her, staring straight into her eyes. His gaze was so
intense
. “I met her earlier today. She seems like a good friend.”

“She is. In fact, Rose is the closest thing to a sister I have,” she added pointedly. “Which is why I’d really appreciate it if you’d please tell this woman to withdraw her case.”

But Gareth only shook his head. “If you really believe Jasmine Turner isn’t your sister, then you should prove it before this case gets out of hand.”

“Gets out of hand how?” Anne asked. She had visions of bailiffs showing up at the front door to take everything away from her.

They couldn’t do that. Could they? The world had to be fairer than that.

Gareth reached out as if he would take her hand, but then, at the last second, he put his hand in his pocket instead. “Do you want all of this in the public eye? Because if you don’t come to the mediation, that’s what will happen.”

Anne froze at that thought. The idea of someone dragging her parents’ names through the press like that was almost too much to bear.

“Are you saying you’d tell reporters?” Anne asked incredulously. “You wouldn’t really do something like that, would you?”