Mismatch Read Free Page B

Hers were no delicate sniffles designed for just the right touch of dramatic effect, the kind that barely dampened a monogrammed, lace-edged linen hankie. She sobbed, and the sound was so full of pain and confusion and despair, Wade almost joined in.
    Even as he held her close, stroking his hand over her crunchy, white tulle veil, he cursed himself for being embarrassingly softhearted. There was little room for such a trait in his professional life. On the job he was very much the hard-nosed politician—tough, businesslike, a granite-willed rock of determination. Off the job it was all he could do to walk by a puppy in a pet-store window. He got choked up when an American won a medal at the Olympics or fell in the attempt on the speed-skating oval.
    It wasn’t a trait he liked other people to see. A man was a lot better off having people think he was formidable but compassionate than having them think he was made entirely of putty. So he blinked back the slight mistiness in his eyes and tried to think of what he should do with the woman who was leaning against him like a wilting rose, her tears soaking into his shirt.
    He turned with Bronwynn in his arms and backed the two steps to the sofa, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap. The move wasn’t going to win him any style points, but he doubted Bronwynn noticed. She was about as cooperative as a corpse, dragging her feet then falling onto him, never lifting her head from his shoulder. While she went on sobbing, he tried to arrange her into what looked like a comfortable position, bending her knees and tucking her wedding dress around her bare feet. Then he heaved a sigh and wrapped his arms around her again and wondered why it wasn’t her wedding night.
    She certainly was dressed for the occasion, and the luggage she’d been so set on destroying had been packed with a man’s clothes. So where was the groom? Had he stood her up? Even if Bronwynn Prescott Pierson did seem to be a bit strange, the idea of her standing at the altar, lovely and hopeful, then distraught at the prospect of an errant groom, was enough to break his heart.
    He held her a little tighter, his pulse jumping unexpectedly as he felt the soft round globe of her breast press into his chest. For so slender a woman, she wasn’t without feminine curves. Of its own will his right hand slid down to the flare of her hip and settled there.
    Bronwynn lifted her head and looked at Wade. She sniffled and hiccuped and tried to wipe away some of the moisture from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She looked about ready to reveal some deep, painful secret to him. Fresh tears brimmed up in her eyes and her lower lip trembled as she cried, “I don’t have a hankie!”
    Wade had been holding his breath, waiting for her to say something significant. His shoulders sagged. He leaned forward, reaching into his hip pocket only to find it empty. “I don’t have one either.”
    He could just as well have told her it was the end of the world. Bronwynn dropped her head back to his shoulder and began sobbing all over again. Nothing was right. The man she had trusted, the man she almost had married had betrayed her. She had betrayed herself by almost marrying him when she should have known he wasn’t the right one. The house she remembered as a dream castle had turned into the
Amityville Horror
house. And she was having a nervous breakdown while sitting on the lap of a man she didn’t know from Adam, while he was reaching a hand under her dress.
    “What are you doing?” Bronwynn yelled. She pushed herself away from Wade and tumbled to the floor with a thud as material ripped.
    Wade gave her a look and handed her a large square of silk that had been part of her slip. “Finding you a hankie,” he said.
    “Oh.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”
    Wade watched her dry her eyes and blow her nose. Outside it was almost dark and getting cold. Part of him was dying to know what she was doing there, but