She yanked again, getting nowhere, when she heard her mother’s voice, soft and faintly breathless, talking to someone.
“I’m sure Susan won’t mind if you come along in. We’re having a little trouble with the dress....”
She saw him first in the mirror, towering over her diminutive mother. For a brief, startled moment she met his gaze, and then she turned, yanking the dress back up around her shoulders.
He looked like a cross between Indiana Jones and an aging hippie. He was somewhere in his midthirties, deeply tanned, his shaggy hair sun streaked, his blue eyes light in his dark face. He was wearing travel-stained khakis that could probably raise a cloud of dust, he hadn’t shaved in several days, and he wore an amulet of some sort around his neck. Susan just looked at him in astonishment.
“Susan, this is a friend of your godmother’s, Jake... I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your last name,” Mary said, Mary whose command of social niceties was inbred, Mary who never forgot a name. She was looking oddly pleased to see him.
“Jake Wyczynski,” he said in a deep, drawling voice. “I don’t blame you for having trouble with it.”
“And this is the bride herself. Jake’s brought presents from your godmother, Louisa.”
Susan held out one hand, holding the dress up with the other. “I wish you’d brought my godmother,” she said ruefully. “I’m thirty years old and I’ve never even met her.”
He had a strong, hard hand and a good grip. “Louisa’s a character,” he said. “Never stays in one place for long, I’m afraid. She wanted to come for your wedding, but she’s still in the middle of her funeral journey, so she sent me in her place.”
“Funeral journey?” Susan echoed, astonished.
“Her husband died last year, and she’s scattering a little of his ashes at each of their special places. Considering that they spent their lives traveling the globe, it’s taking her some time.” He tilted his head sideways. “Are you having trouble with that dress?”
“The zipper’s stuck.”
“Let me try it.”
She hesitated. She was only wearing the skimpiest of bra and panties beneath the hated dress, and for some reason she didn’t want his hands on her bare skin. Big, strong hands.
“Yes, let him,” Mary said. “I’ve given up.”
With a sigh she presented her back to him, holding her breath. She could see him in the mirror, his shaggy head bent, she could feel his warm breath on her back, His fingers as he touched the dress.
“Sure is stuck,” he murmured. “The zipper’s a little rusty.”
“It’s an old dress,” Susan muttered.
“I figured it must be. You wouldn’t have chosen it if it didn’t have some sentimental meaning.” His fingers brushed against her skin, and she jumped.
“It doesn’t have any sentimental meaning for me,” she said. “It’s my fiancé’s mother’s dress. I hate it.”
“Do you?” He smelled like sun and wind, she thought abstractedly. Edward always smelled like designer cologne.
“I’d give anything not to have to wear it...” Her voice trailed off at the sound of polyester ripping.
He stepped back, an enigmatic expression on his face. “Sorry,” he said. “I think I ruined it.”
The dress had fallen down around her, and she only managed to preserve her modesty by clutching it to her. She whirled around to survey the damage.
It was ruined, all right Ripped from bodice almost all the way to the hem, and not a nice, neat tear along the seam. He’d managed to destroy it with one yank.
“Oh, my heavens,” Mary murmured, aghast.
Susan turned back, stunned, the ruined dress clutched around her. And then she laughed out loud, unable to help herself. “It’s ruined. You’ve just given me the best wedding gift of all. I hope you’re planning on staying for the ceremony?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promised your godmother I’d give her a full report,” he said in a lazy drawl.
“Let me make arrangements for a place for you to stay...” Mary began, but he shook-his head.
“Don’t worry about me, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve already taken care of that. I promised Louisa I’d drop off the first present as soon as I got here, but then I’ll make myself scarce.”
