The Wedding In White. Diana Palmer

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      “Yes, you’re successful,” she conceded. “But you’re a social disaster! You open your mouth, and people run for the exits!”

      “Is it my fault if people can’t do their jobs properly?” he shot back. “I try not to interfere unless I see people making really big mistakes,” he began.

      “Waitresses who can’t get the coffee strong enough,” she interrupted, counting on her fingers. “Bandleaders who don’t conduct with enough spirit, firemen who don’t hold the hoses right, police officers who forget to give turn signals when you’re following them, little children whose shoelaces aren’t tied properly—”

      “Maybe I interfere a little,” he defended himself.

      “You’re a walking consumer advocate group,” she countered, exasperated. “If you ever get captured by an enemy force, they’ll shoot themselves!”

      He started to smile. “Think so?”

      She threw up her hands. “I’m going home.”

      “Good idea. Maybe the English expert will follow suit.”

      “If he doesn’t, you could always correct his grammar,” she suggested.

      “That’s the spirit.”

      She opened the door and got into the car.

      “Don’t speed,” he said, leaning to the open window, and he wasn’t smiling. “There’s more than a little fog out here. Take your time getting home, and keep your doors locked.”

      “Stop nursemaiding me,” she muttered.

      “You do it to me all the time,” he pointed out.

      “You don’t take care of yourself,” she replied quietly.

      “Why should I bother, when you’re so good at doing it for me?” he queried.

      She was losing the battle. It did serve to keep her mind off the way he’d held her earlier, the touch of those strong hands on her bare flesh. She had to stop thinking about it.

      “Keep next Friday night open,” he said unexpectedly.

      She frowned. “Why?”

      “I thought we might take Vivian and the professor over to Billings to have dinner and see a play.”

      She hesitated. “I don’t know…”

      “What’s your exam schedule?”

      “One on Monday, one on Tuesday, one on Thursday and one on Friday.”

      “You’ll be ready to cut loose by then,” he said confidently. “You can afford one new dress, surely?”

      “I’ll buy myself some chain mail,” she promised.

      He grinned. It changed him, made him look younger, more approachable. It made her tingle when he looked like that.

      “We’ll pick you up about five.”

      She smiled at him. “Okay.”

      He moved away from the car, waiting until she started it and put it in gear before he waved and walked toward the porch. She watched him helplessly for several seconds. There had been a shift in their relationship. Part of her was terrified of it. Another part was excited.

      She drove home, forcing herself not to think about it.

      That night, Natalie had passionate, hot dreams of herself and Mack in a big double bed somewhere. She woke sweating and couldn’t go back to sleep. She felt guilty enough to go to church. But when she got home and fixed herself a bowl of soup for lunch, she started thinking about Mack again and couldn’t quit.

      The rain was coming down steadily. If the temperature had been just a little lower, it might have turned to snow, even this late in the spring. Montana weather was unpredictable at best.

      She got out her biology textbook and grimaced as she tried to read her notes. This was her second course on the subject, and she was uncomfortable about the upcoming exam. No matter how hard she studied, science just went right through her head. Genetics was a nightmare, and animal anatomy was a disaster. Her professor warned them that they’d better spend a lot of time in the lab, because they were going to be expected to trace blood flow through the various arteries and veins and the lymphatic system. Despite the extra hours she’d put in with her small lab study group, she was tearing her hair out trying to remember everything she’d learned over the course of the semester.

      She’d been hard at it all afternoon when there was a knock at the front door. It was almost dark, and she was hungry. She’d have to find something to eat, she supposed. Halfway expecting Vivian, she went to the door barefooted, in jeans and a loose button-up green shirt with no makeup on and her hair uncombed. She opened the door and found Mack there, dressed in jeans and a yellow knit shirt, carrying a bag of food.

      “Fish and chips,” he announced.

      “For me?” she asked, surprised.

      “For us,” he countered, elbowing his way in. “I came to coach you.”

      “You did?” She was beginning to feel like a parrot.

      “For the biology exam,” he continued. “Or don’t you need help?”

      “I’m considering around-the-clock prayer and going to class on crutches for a sympathy concession from my professor.”

      “I know your professor, and he wouldn’t feel sorry for a dismembered kitten if it was trying to get out of his exam,” he returned. “Do I get to stay?”

      She laughed softly. “Sure.”

      He went into the kitchen and started getting down plates.

      “I’ll make another pot of coffee,” she volunteered. She felt a little shy of him after the night before. They had such intimate memories for two old sparring partners. She glanced at him a little nervously as she went about the ritual of making coffee. “Wasn’t your science fiction show on tonight?” she asked, because she knew he only watched one, and this was the night it ran.

      “It’s a rerun,” he said smoothly. “Have you got any ketchup?”

      “You’re going to put ketchup on fish?” she asked in mock surprise.

      “I don’t eat things I can’t put ketchup on,” he replied.

      “That lets out ice cream.”

      He tossed her a grin. “It’s good on vanilla.”

      “Yuck!”

      “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he taunted. “You have to experience new things to become well rounded.”

      “I’m not eating ketchup on ice cream, whether it rounds people out or not.”

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