The Wedding Dress(80)

“You coming? I need to go in about a half hour.”

“Just one sec . . .” Tim ran his hand over his cracked, sore ribs. Man, it was hard to recover from a five-hundred-pound bike falling on top of you.

He hadn’t intended to take up with Kim. Didn’t even know she was in town until she called, wanting to get together and catch up. Nice and friendly, right?

Three weeks later she was a constant in his life, and he wondered how he got here, feeling more and more like a heel. More and more like the nincompoop who let go of the tender, beautiful, be-still-my-heart Charlotte.

Tim slipped his cell from his pocket. No missed calls. No Charlotte. She’d reinforced her feelings about him by not coming back to the hospital after Kim broke in on their tender moment. No calls or texts.

Tim had sent Jack. But even his charming little brother couldn’t get her to budge. So why did he miss her? What he needed to do was move on, get over her. A gorgeous, loving, intelligent woman just brought him breakfast, so what was his problem?

His problem? The lingering taste of Charlotte’s lips. The phantom scent of her skin. The light brush of her hair against his cheek. Her sudden laugh that always caught him off guard and made him laugh. The way her eyes danced with her words when she talked shop—wedding gowns and brides. Tim shuddered. Get a grip, man.

She was starting to invade his soul like when he’d first met her. She was an unexpected, beautiful thrill that made flying over a motocross track seem like a kiddie ride. Rather than winning a new job for the Rose Firm, he’d spent the days after their first meeting calculating ways to win her.

He and David had never argued so much.

“Get your head back in the game, Tim.”

After two months, he’d proposed. Slept like a baby that night. Felt right. Moving on with his life, growing up. Thirty-two would be forty-two before he knew it and he wanted a wife and children. But as the wedding neared, the stark reality of merging two lives into one turned tranquility into tempest.

“Hey, Timbo, I’m eating my breakfast, and if you’re not here in sixty seconds, I’ll eat yours too.”

“Kim, please, since when could you eat two breakfasts? I’ll eat mine and half of yours.”

Her laugh bounced down the hall. “You know me too well.”

The nearer he got to June 23, the more he’d panicked. Stuck his head in the sand like a scared ostrich and let go of the best thing in his life.

“Let me make a quick call.” Tim took his phone from his pocket and dialed the number he’d scrawled along the edge of drafting paper the day before the accident.

As the phone rang on the other end, he winced and hobbled to shove the door partway closed. He owed his friend Brooks in the county records office another huge favor for pulling the number Tim just dialed.

He jerked to life when a man answered. “Hello?” Tim said. “Monte Fillmore?”

“Speaking.”

“You don’t know me, but I’m Tim Rose and my fia—friend Charlotte Malone used to live with your mother, Gert.”

“She certainly did. How can I help you?” His businesslike tone told Tim to get straight to the point.

“I was wondering if you knew her father’s name.”

“Charlotte’s father? No. I wasn’t that close to her, or her mother. I was married with kids of my own by the time Mom took Phoebe and Charlotte under her wing.”

“Did your mother ever mention him?”

“Not to me. Phoebe might have talked about him to Mom, but names and news never made their way to me.”

“Do you know of anyone else who might know Charlotte’s father? Grandparents? Aunts, uncles?” Tim paced to the window. Beyond the glass, the June day was composed of blue and white hovering over the Birmingham skyline. “Anything left behind when she moved out, or when your mom died?”

“Don’t know anyone who might have been that close to Phoebe. My mom took Charlotte in after Phoebe died because the girl had no one else. Foster care or an orphanage were her only choices. Can’t think of anything left behind. We did a pretty thorough job of breaking down Mom’s house. Gave away five rooms of furniture, clothes, and appliances. There wasn’t much left. Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to do a favor for a friend. Thanks for your time, Monte.” Tim hit End. When he swung the door open, Kim stood in the hall, arms folded.

“You know, she might not want you digging around in her past.”

“Maybe.” Kim’s eyes—hazel like a hawk’s and twice as intense—bore into him as he headed for the kitchen.

“Sometimes not knowing is the only way to deal with hard stuff, Tim. You can’t just pop into this woman’s life with, ‘I found your daddy,’ and expect to be her hero.”

“Never said I wanted to be a hero.” Tim opened the cupboard for a bowl. He felt like cereal. But truth? He did want to be Charlotte’s hero. He wanted to make up for his stupidity in some way. Do something lasting for her.

“Tim, what’s going on?” Kim leaned against the counter, crossing her long legs at her ankles. Her tailored blouse fit her curves and her slacks hugged her hips. And her heart crawled out of her chest and perched on her arm.

“We’re eating breakfast. That’s what we’re doing.” Smart aleck. His turmoil wasn’t her fault.