Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(55)

“Brandy? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“You sure? Beautiful woman, about five-three, dark blond or real light brown hair and large, dark eyes. Thirty-one, wearing a gold dress…”

“Buddy,” he laughed. “You just described half the women at the wedding. The bridesmaids wore gold. My wife was a flight attendant and the place was crawling with gorgeous women about that age. How’d you lose track of her?”

“You don’t want to know,” Cameron said, looking down briefly. “Turns out I’m not real slick with women anymore.”

“Doc, I’m sorry. I’ll keep your card and ask my wife. Will that help?”

“Not enough, but I’ll take it. Did most of the people at your wedding come from Grants Pass?”

“No, as a matter of fact—most came from out of town. My family is here but Nikki’s family is from San Francisco. And her girlfriends are from everywhere. Literally.”

Cameron was quiet for a minute. “She and I really hit it off.”

“Yet you didn’t get her name and number?” Joe asked.

Cameron laughed without humor. “She asked that I let her get in touch with me. And she hasn’t. I have no idea why. Really, it was…” He gulped. “I have no idea why,” he repeated.

Joe put his hands in his pockets, looked down and shook his head. “Believe me, pal. I feel your pain. I’m just not sure I can help.”

“But you’ll ask your wife?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Cameron said.

A few days later he called Joe only to be told that Mrs. Benson had no friends at the party named Brandy. The description of the woman he was looking for could match three of her girlfriends, all married.

The possibilities were endless. She made up her name, maybe she’d had a fight with the husband, it could be a real complicated divorce. Or maybe she was rethinking the divorce. Or he was. If he had a brain, that SOB wouldn’t let her go.

Whatever the truth was, she didn’t intend to get in touch, or she would have.

That’s it, Cameron said to himself. I’m through. I’m done. No more talking to pretty, lonely girls in bars.

He realized this did nothing to put him in a carefree mood. One of his partners remarked that he’d seemed depressed lately. He brushed him off, saying it was nothing, but he knew what it was. She had disappeared into thin air. He kept asking himself why. Everything he remembered about that night told him they had a chance together. He had concentrated on treating her as though she was the most special human being alive, and in fact, it hadn’t taken any effort. She had been.

One evening when he was the last to leave the medical practice he took it upon himself to tidy up the waiting room. Toys and magazines were scattered everywhere and their current receptionist didn’t do a very good job of straightening up at the end of the day. With just another fifteen minutes, he could have it cleared out so the housekeeping staff could do a thorough cleaning. After stowing away the toys, he began to stack the children’s books and magazines for the parents.

And there she was—her face stared back at him from a little corner photo on the cover of People magazine. He sat heavily in a child-size chair in the waiting room, staring. If it wasn’t her, it sure looked like her. Kid Crawford Divorces Third Wife.

He read the story. Oh, it was her. Kid Crawford, a notorious rock star, had chosen for his third wife a flight attendant he’d met while traveling. They’d been married less than a year. He did some math—she had said she’d been served divorce papers nine months before, which made their actual marriage somewhere less than three months. Ouch. Given the source of his current sulk, he could well imagine how tough that would be on the ego. No wonder she was depressed.

There were more pictures in the body of the story, plus pictures of his first and second wives and the new girlfriend, who he had reportedly lived with for six months prior to his divorce. Perhaps the hardest thing to accept was that this classy young woman, so squeaky clean and sweet, had been married to this awful, bearded, greasy guy in torn jeans, dark glasses, gaudy tattoos and chains.

This would explain her pain and loneliness. He took the magazine with him to Joe Benson’s architectural firm. Joe stood, stretching out a hand. “Hey, Doc. Sorry, I don’t know anything more to tell you about the mysterious wedding guest.”

Cameron flashed the magazine. “Do you know her?” he asked.

The look on Joe’s face said it all. He couldn’t reel in the expression to cover it.

“Abby,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, Doc. I had a feeling it might be her.”

“But you wouldn’t have told me.”

Joe shrugged. “I couldn’t do that, Doc. To tell the truth, I sympathize with you, I really do. But you have to be careful about making women vulnerable to men you don’t know. And even though I’m sure you’re sterling, I don’t know you.”

“I understand,” he said.

“According to my wife, Abby’s had a real bad year. I’d hate to complicate it further.” Joe tapped the magazine. “It’s been just awful.”

Cameron frowned and shook his head. “How’d she end up with a loser like this?”

“Oh, he’s a loser, but this is all theatrics. He doesn’t look like this. I’m sure half his fans wouldn’t even recognize him. His name is Ross and I’ve never met him, but my wife was at their little secret wedding and she says he’s a good-looking, clean-cut, charming kind of guy. Except not for long, I guess.”