Bridesmaid Says, ''I Do!''

CHAPTER TWO

THE next weekend, fifteen kilometres from Willara Downs, Zoe heard an unmistakable flap, flap, flap coming from her car’s rear tyre. Her stomach took a dive. Not now. Please, no!

But it was useless to hope. She’d heard that flapping sound too many times in her childhood—her dad had always been changing flat tyres on their bus. Now she knew with sickening certainty that she had no choice but to pull over onto the grassy verge and try to remember what to do.

It wasn’t fun to be alone, though, on the edge of an unknown country road at dusk on a Friday evening. Zoe wished she hadn’t been so convincing when she’d assured Bella she’d be fine to drive on to Willara Downs by herself, while Bella visited her dad.

Two days ago, Bella’s father had been admitted to hospital. Apparently, Kent Rigby had found Mr Shaw in a very bad state and insisted on rushing him in to Willara.

Understandably, Bella had been beside herself with anxiety and Zoe had dropped her in town.

‘Kent’s not answering his phone, so he’s probably out on the farm, but he’ll understand if you turn up alone,’ Bella had assured her.

‘And one of us will come back to pick you up in an hour or so,’ Zoe suggested.

‘Yes, that will be great.’

And so … after expressing the wish that Mr Shaw was much improved, Zoe had set off happily enough—at least she was driving her own car and she felt at ease behind the wheel. And apart from concern about Mr Shaw’s illness, she was dead excited about this weekend away and getting to meet Bella’s fiancé … seeing the wedding venue … being part of the planning.

The very last thing she needed was a flat tyre.

Damn.

Briefly, Zoe toyed with the idea of trying the Willara Downs number to see if Kent Rigby could help. But it was such a bad way to start the weekend, to be seen as a useless city chick who wouldn’t even try to fix a simple problem by herself.

Resigned, she climbed out. The tyre was as flat as a burst balloon, and she went to her boot to hunt for the jack and the thingamabob that loosened the wheel nuts.

Mosquitoes buzzed as she hunted. The jack was, of course, buried under all the luggage—two overnight bags, two make-up bags, two sets of hot rollers.

‘You never know, there might be a party,’ Bella had said.

Now, with their belongings scattered haphazardly on the side of the road, Zoe squatted beside the wheel, positioned the jack and got on with turning its handle.

So far so good … except she didn’t really know how high she was supposed to raise the car. And once that was done … she wasn’t certain she was strong enough to loosen the wheel nuts. They looked mighty tight. And even if she did get them off, would she be able to tighten them up again?

Zoe’s unhelpfully vivid imagination threw up a picture of her car driving off with the back wheel spinning free and bouncing into the bush, while she struggled with an out-of-control steering wheel.

Maybe she should try to ring for help.

Standing again, she reached into the car for her handbag. As usual, because she really needed it, her phone had slipped from its handy side pouch to the very bottom of her bag, so she had to feel around among movie tickets, keys, lipsticks, pens, old shopping lists, tissues …

She was still fumbling when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Her spirits lifted. This might be nice, friendly country folk only too happy to stop and help her.

The thought was barely formed, however, before Zoe felt a shaft of hot panic. If only she hadn’t watched all those horror movies. Here she was—totally alone in the silent, empty bush wondering if the driver was an axe murderer, an escaped prisoner, a rapist.

She made a final, frantic fumble in the bottom of her bag, and her fingers closed around her phone just as a white utility vehicle shot around the curve.

There was only one person in the ute and all she could see was a black silhouette, distinctly masculine. He was slowing down.

Zoe’s nervous heart gave a sickening thud as his ute came to a complete stop and he leaned out, one strong, suntanned forearm resting casually on the window’s rim.

In panic, she depressed the call button on her phone and glanced quickly at the screen.

No signal. She was out of the network. Oh, terrific. There was no hope of a rescue.

‘Need a hand?’ the driver called.

At least he had a friendly voice—mellow and warm with a hint of good humour.

Zoe gulped, and forced herself to look at him properly. She saw dark, neatly trimmed hair and dark eyes. Not threatening eyes, but genial, friendly, and framed by a handsome face. Nicely proportioned nose, strong jaw and a generous mouth.

Already his door was swinging open, and he stepped out.

He was wearing a crisp blue shirt with long sleeves rolled back from his wrists and pale cream moleskin trousers. His elastic sided riding boots were tan and well polished. Zoe had always fancied that look—clean cut with a hint of cowboy. Surely, an axe murderer wouldn’t go to so much trouble?

‘I see you’ve got a flat,’ he said, coming towards her with the easy loose gait of a man of the land. ‘That’s rotten luck.’

He smiled and his eyes were deep, coffee-brown—friendly eyes, with a spark of fun, and with laughter lines fanning from the corners.

In spite of her fears, Zoe couldn’t help smiling back at him. ‘I’ve just about got the car jacked up, but I wasn’t sure how far I should take it.’

‘I’d say you have it just right. The perfect height.’

Perfect. It was fast becoming one of her favourite words.

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she’d been scared of this fellow. There was something about his smile and about his face that was incredibly, importantly right.

In fact … Zoe felt as if a gong had been struck deep inside her, and it took a magnificent effort to force her attention away from this stranger to her problem. ‘I was—um—about to tackle the wheel nuts.’

‘Would you like a hand with them?’ He was smiling again and her skin tingled deliciously. ‘If that doesn’t offend you.’

‘Why would I be offended by an offer of help?’ From a gorgeous man, she added silently.

He shrugged. ‘Thought you might be like my little sister—the independent type. She hates it when guys assume she needs help when she doesn’t.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The mention of his sister relaxed Zoe even further. Actually, she was so relaxed she was practically floating, and she offered him a radiant smile. ‘I’d love to say I could manage this tyre on my own, but, to be honest, I’m really not sure I can manage. I was just about to phone for help.’

‘No need. It won’t take long.’

‘That’s awfully kind of you.’ Holding out the wheel thingamajig, she hoped her saviour didn’t get grease on his clothes.

Clearly not sharing her concern for his pristine trousers, he hunkered down beside the wheel and began working smoothly and efficiently.

Nice hands, Zoe noticed. He was nice all over, actually. Tall and muscular. Not too lean, not too beefy. She suppressed a little sigh, and told herself she was a fool to feel fluttery over the first country fellow she met. Before this wedding was over she’d meet tons of cute rural guys.

But there was something special about this man, something totally entrancing about the warmth in his brown eyes and the quirk of his smile, a subtle something that made her heart dance and her insides shimmy.

Strange she could feel so much when all his attention was focused on her car’s rear wheel.

‘Now for the spare.’ Having loosened the wheel, he was standing up again, and he glanced Zoe’s way.

Their gazes linked and.

He went very still. And a new kind of intensity came into his eyes. He stared at Zoe … as if he’d had a shock, a pleasant, yet deeply disturbing shock.

Trapped in his gaze, she could feel her face glowing hot as a bonfire, and she was struck by the weirdest sense that she and this helpful stranger were both experiencing the same awesome rush. Deep tremors—happy and scary at once—as if they had been connected on an invisible wavelength.

This can’t be what I think it is.

Back to earth, Zoe.

She realised that the stranger was frowning now and looking upset. Or was he angry? It was hard to tell. His brow was deeply furrowed and he dropped his gaze to the ground and his throat worked as he stared at a dried mud puddle.

Zoe held her breath, unable to speak or even think, and yet incredibly aware that something beyond the ordinary had happened.

Then her rescuer blinked and shook his head, as if he was ridding himself of an unwanted thought. He cleared his throat. ‘Ah—the spare tyre. I guess it’s in the boot?’

Turning away from Zoe, he made his way to the back of the car, skilfully stepping between the scattered pieces of luggage.

‘I’m sorry,’ Zoe spluttered, struggling to shake off the unsettling spell that seemed to have gripped her. ‘I should have fetched the spare tyre and had it ready for you.’

‘No worries.’ He spoke casually enough, but when he looked back at her he still seemed upset, as if she’d done something wrong. But then, without warning, he smiled.

His smile was warm and friendly again, and once more Zoe was electrified. Instantly. Ridiculously. She found herself conjuring a picture of him in a farmhouse kitchen, smiling that same yummy smile across the breakfast table at her, after a night of delicious lovemaking.

Good grief. Next minute she’d be imagining him naked.

Could he guess?

‘Excuse me.’

His voice roused her. Blushing, she stepped out of his way as he carried the new wheel and hefted it into position. But, heaven help her, she was mesmerised by the strength of his shoulders and the sureness of his hands as he lined up the wheel as if it weighed no more than a cardboard button, and fitted it into place.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she said.

‘So many times, I could do it in my sleep.’

*********

Zoe wasn’t sure it was wise to let her mind wander in the direction of this man’s sleep. Better to keep the talk flowing.

She said, ‘I’ve watched my dad change tyres on country roads enough times. I should have picked up a few more clues.’

He looked up at her, clearly surprised. ‘Which country roads? You’re not from around here, are you?’

‘No. My parents were in a band and they toured all around the various country shows.’ She hoped any resentment she felt for those nomadic gypsy years hadn’t crept into her voice.

‘Which band?’ he asked, pausing in the middle of tightening a nut.

‘Lead the Way.’

‘You’re joking.’

Laughing, Zoe shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid I’m serious.’

‘Were both your parents in Lead the Way?’

‘Yep. My dad was the lead singer and my mum was on drums.’

‘So you’re Mick Weston’s daughter?’

‘His one and only.’ It wasn’t an admission Zoe needed to make very often. Since she’d started work in the city she’d hardly met anyone who’d heard of her parents or their band.

‘Amazing.’ To her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. ‘Wait till I tell my old man. He’s a huge fan of Mick Weston. Never missed a Lead the Way performance in Willara.’

Fancy that. Zoe beamed at him. It was heartening to be reminded that her dad had been very popular out here.

But, heavens, now she and this stranger had something in common and she found herself liking him more than was sensible. Perhaps encouraging conversation wasn’t such a bright idea.

She busied herself with securing the punctured tyre in the boot and restowing all the bits and pieces of luggage.

By the time she’d finished, her good Samaritan was removing the jack. ‘That’s done,’ he said, straightening and dusting off his hands.

‘Thank you so much. It’s incredibly kind of you. I really am very grateful.’ And just a little sad that we’ll have to say goodbye now …

He stood with his feet apart, hands resting lightly on his hips, watching her with an enigmatic smile. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you sing or play the guitar?’

‘’Fraid not.’ Zoe returned his smile—seemed her face was permanently set in smile mode. ‘The musical genes totally bypassed me.’

‘But you inherited your dad’s talent for flat tyres on country roads.’

‘Yes … unfortunately.’

Wow. Instead of rushing off, he was making conversation with her. And Zoe loved it. She was no longer bothered that he was a stranger. She was too busy enjoying this amazing experience—the most awesome sensation of being swept high and pumped full of excitement, as if she were riding a magnificent, shining wave.

Were her feet still touching the ground?

She’d never felt like this before. Not with a complete stranger. Not with this bursting-from-a-geyser intensity. Rodney the Rat didn’t count. He’d been a work colleague and she’d known him for twelve months before he asked her out.

Truth was—Zoe usually lacked confidence around guys. She guessed it was part of an overall lack of confidence, a problem that stemmed from her childhood when she’d always been the new girl in town, always arriving late in the term when all the friendship groups were firmly established. She’d grown up knowing she’d never quite fitted in.

But this man’s gorgeous smile made her feel fabulously confident and suddenly her biggest fear was that he would simply drive away—out of her life.

‘I’ll tell my dad I met the son of one of his fans,’ she told him.

‘Do you have far to go?’ her helper asked.

‘I don’t think it’s much farther. I’m heading for Willara Downs.’

He stiffened. ‘Willara Downs?’

‘It’s a property near here—a farm.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Now, he was frowning again. ‘It’s my property.’

His property?

Really?

A sudden chill swept over Zoe. He wasn’t.

He couldn’t be.

‘You’re—you’re not—a Rigby, are you?’

‘I certainly am.’ He smiled, but it was a shade too late, and with only a fraction of its former warmth. ‘The name’s Kent Rigby.’ His smile wavered as he asked uncertainly, ‘Should I know you?’

Oh, God, he was Bella’s Kent … Bella’s boy next door.

Kent’s been so sweet, Bella had said.

No wonder he was nice. He was the man her best friend was about to marry.

A cool breeze made icy goose bumps on Zoe’s skin. The purple tinged dusk crowded in and she felt suddenly, terribly weary. And wary.

‘We haven’t met,’ she said quietly, hoping she didn’t sound as ridiculously disappointed as she felt. ‘But we’ll soon have a lot to do with each other. I’m Zoe. Bella’s bridesmaid.’

Kent Rigby’s eyes darkened and his features were momentarily distorted, as if he tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

But if he’d been caught out, he was very good at covering it up. ‘Sorry, I should have guessed,’ he said, speaking smoothly once more, with no hint of disturbance. ‘But I expected you to be with Bella.’

Calmly, he held out his hand.

Unhappily, she felt the warmth and strength of his hand enclose hers in a firm clasp. ‘Hello, Kent.’

‘Hi, Zoe.’

‘I dropped Bella off at the hospital. She tried to call you to explain that I’d be arriving on my own.’

Kent had forgotten to let go of her hand. ‘I’m actually on my way back from seeing Tom myself,’ he said.

‘How—how is he?’

‘Slightly improved, thank God.’

Suddenly he realised he was still holding her hand. Letting go, he cracked a slightly embarrassed grin, then thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. He straightened his shoulders, then looked to the sky in the east where a huge full moon was already poking its golden head above a dark, newly ploughed field. ‘I guess Bella will ring when she’s ready to be picked up.’

‘Yes.’

‘We’d better get going, then. Would you like to follow me? I’ll keep you in my rear vision, so I’ll know you’re OK.’

‘Thanks.’

As Zoe followed Kent Rigby’s ute she tried to laugh at herself. What a fool she’d been, getting all hot and bothered about a stranger she’d met on a road side.

Shouldn’t she have guessed that a hot-looking guy like Kent would have already been taken? Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience with Rodney?

OK, so she was feeling ridiculously disappointed right now, but she’d get over it. She’d been looking forward to this weekend too much to let anything spoil it. She’d been so excited about Bella’s wedding and being her bridesmaid. She’d wanted to be the perfect bridesmaid.

That was still her goal. Having a fan-girly moment over the bridegroom had been a minor hiccup, but she’d recover in no time.

In the fading light of dusk, which just happened to be Zoe’s favourite time of day, the track she and Kent were driving along emerged out of a purple-shadowed tunnel of trees onto sweeping lawns, dusky and magical in the twilight.

Zoe saw an archway of rambler roses and a weeping willow … an elegant, Federation-style house, long and low, with lights already glowing on the veranda.

The car’s wheels crunched on white gravel as she pulled up behind Kent’s ute in front of smooth sandstone steps flanked by garden beds filled with agapanthus and lilies. When Kent got out, she saw him silhouetted against the backdrop of his home. Damn. It was such an attractive image—but she had to stop thinking like that.

She had no choice. This gorgeous man was Bella’s future husband and there was no way she would let her silly imagination give into any more reckless fantasies.

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Kent said with the gracious charm of a perfect host, which showed that he at least knew exactly what his role was.

Zoe followed him down a hallway past an elegant lounge room with deep squishy sofas and rich Oriental rugs to a pretty bedroom that was the epitome of comfort and tasteful country-style décor.

With her things stowed, she was taken out to a wisteria-scented back veranda, and soon found herself sitting in a deep cushion-lined cane chair, sipping chilled white wine while she and Kent looked out in the fading light to the most beautiful view of fields and distant hills.

She suppressed an urge to sigh. Everything about Kent Rigby’s home was as gorgeous as he was. And it was all so beautifully presented she supposed he must have a housekeeper and a gardener. Lucky Bella wouldn’t be a slave to housework.

As a child, looking out of the bus window, Zoe had dreamed of living in a lovely farmhouse like the Rigbys', but she’d never been the jealous type and she wasn’t about to start now.

Very soon Bella would return from the hospital and take her rightful place at Kent Rigby’s side. And Zoe’s silly road side mistake would be a thing of the past.

Clutching an icy glass of beer as if his life depended on it, Kent struggled to ignore the girl sitting beside him. Not an easy task when he was her host and hospitable manners had been ingrained in him from birth.

Problem was, he was badly rattled and he couldn’t really understand how he’d got this way. Anyone would think he wasn’t used to meeting new girls—when the truth was quite the opposite.

He could only assume the problem arose because he hadn’t adjusted to his newly engaged status. No doubt that would explain the crazy chemistry that had gripped him from the moment he set eyes on Bella’s bridesmaid.

Why the hell hadn’t he introduced himself to Zoe Weston as soon as he stepped up to help her? If he’d known who she was, he could have avoided those telling moments—those shocking spellbinding seconds when he’d felt drawn to her, as if a bizarre spell had been cast over him.

Chances were, he’d never have noticed her inexplicable appeal, that special something in her eyes, and in the sheen of her hair or the tilt of her smile—a quality that rocked his easy-going nature to its very foundations.

How crazy was that? He’d exchanged nothing more than a few glances with her.

Kent knew it was nothing more than an illusion. A mistake. It was more than likely that every man experienced a similar difficulty in his pre-wedding weeks. Commitment to one girl didn’t automatically stop a guy from noticing other girls. Learning to ignore their appeal was part of the adjustment to being engaged or married.

In Kent’s case, his commitment was binding on all kinds of levels, and there was no going back. No regrets. He was a man of his word.

Besides, if he was rational about this, there wasn’t even anything particularly special about Zoe Weston. Her brown hair and blue eyes and slim build were nice enough, but her looks were average. Surely?

The imagined attraction was merely a blip, and now he could put it behind him.

That settled, Kent took a deep, reassuring draft of beer, pleased to realise he’d been overreacting.

It wasn’t as easy as Zoe had hoped to relax while sitting beside Kent on his veranda. She found herself crossing and uncrossing her legs, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass, or sneaking sideways glances at her host’s stare-worthy profile. Hardly the behaviour of a perfect bridesmaid.