Chapter 2 #3
She strode firmly to the closet and took out a huge garment bag, unzipping it and tossing its frothy white contents to the floor next to her trash can.
“Without a doubt, the most hideous excuse for a wedding dress ever, regardless of what Richard thinks.” It had been vastly expensive, and she had waited three months for the designer to meet with her for a fitting.
So what if it had cost a small fortune? It had been her money.
She could do what she wanted with the white netted horror.
No doubt some charitable organization would be calling in a few weeks. They always wanted clothes to sell in their thrift stores. This time she could give them something that had never been used.
She congratulated herself on another decision well made by choking down a sip of the Drambuie. It burned a trail down her throat.
Next she pulled a stack of clothing out of her dresser, things she’d bought for her wedding and honeymoon.
She dropped her towel and slipped into the white lace bra and panties set.
She admired her reflection in the mirror for a moment.
This wasn’t really her style, not the least bit practical as she normally preferred, but it was so beautiful she was keeping it.
A girl deserved a few pretty things. Another sip of the warm liqueur to seal the decision.
Taking the towel off her long damp hair, Cate grabbed the ribbon that had held her grandmother’s wedding dress box and tied her auburn curls into a quick ponytail.
Then she slipped into the emerald silk pajama set she had thought so sexy when she’d seen it hanging on the mannequin.
The elastic waist of the pants hung low, riding on her hips, while the camisole top barely brushed her waistline.
She’d hunted a long time for a set to fit like this.
At not quite five foot four, she found everything was usually too long for her.
So maybe she could stand to lose another ten pounds like Richard said, but just maybe he should see her like this. Not that he would get to. One more little sip. It went down much more smoothly this time.
Cate turned to the dressing table and searched through her jewelry box, choosing the diamond and yellow gold earrings her father had given her for her college graduation.
Normally she never wore anything but her plain silver hoops, but simple diamonds would be appropriate for a wedding.
If there were going to be a wedding. Which there isn’t.
Cate was having a difficult time getting the little studs into her ears.
Her sense of balance seemed just a bit off.
She glanced at the small emerald eternity band lying on her dresser and placed it on her right hand. It had been a birthday gift from her grandmother. Their shared birthstone. She took just one more little sip and stopped to refill her glass.
Next she reached for the long-sleeved silk Asian-style jacket that went with the pajama set, but stopped as her eyes lit on the bag she’d tossed to the bed when she’d first come home. It held her little treasure, the pendant she’d found in the antiques store today before she’d gone to see Richard.
Nope, not going to think about that scene again.
Instead she’d try on the necklace to see if it looked as good on her as it had lying on the velvet cloth in the store.
Cate held the necklace up and admired it as the light sparkled off the multifaceted emerald.
Well, of course it couldn’t be a real emerald, even if light did fairly dance off the jewel.
Nobody sold those for ten dollars. Still, the gold setting and chain looked ancient.
It was so beautiful it had to be the best bargain she’d ever found.
It was the perfect “something old” for her wedding.
If I were having a wedding. Which now, of course, she wasn’t.
With some difficulty, Cate fastened the chain around her neck, and stood back to admire her reflection in the mirror.
“Not bad.”
The pendant felt unusually warm against her skin, causing a tingling sensation that spread to her neck and shoulders. Or was that the drink?
She pulled the ribbon from her hair, allowing her natural curls to fan out, and lifted her glass in salute to her reflection.
“Here’s to you, Richard. Just look what you almost ?” She stopped suddenly when she noticed an odd green glow behind her reflected in the mirror.
“What the ? ?”
Cate turned to see a large sphere of emerald green light forming in the middle of her bedroom, pulsing and growing larger. Even more startling than the unusual glow was the man who gradually materialized in the center of the sphere—he was incredible.
Or maybe she was drunk.
Or actually having that nervous breakdown she’d contemplated earlier. Do drunks having nervous breakdowns suffer from hallucinations about incredibly handsome men showing up in their bedrooms?
“Oh my God. What are you doing in my ? who are ? how did you get in here?” Cate demanded, slamming her full wineglass down onto the dressing table and jerking the chair out in front of her. The little chair wouldn’t do much to stop someone his size, but somehow it made her feel better.
He straightened, pausing for a moment, just staring at her before he spoke. “I am Connor MacKiernan. I’ve crossed time seeking yer assistance, milady. Only you can help me.”
He had the most wonderful Scottish brogue. Cate leaned toward him for a moment and then shook her head to clear it.
“Right.” Stall for time and this hallucination would probably go away. “Through time.” Oh my, he was gorgeous, and with that accent ? !
But one of them must be crazy.
He was dressed like an ancient Scots warrior, boldly standing there with his legs apart and his hands on his hips, in a bubble of green light, in her bedroom, for crying out loud.
Connor cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head questioningly. “I am no used to begging, but if you require it, I will do so. We’ve no much time.”
“Oh, great. Just great. I have Braveheart-slash-Conan standing in my bedroom, and he’s in a big hurry.
” She blew out her breath in irritation.
“What do you want with me? Why am I the only one who can help you ? to do what?” Cate put her hands on her hips, mirroring his stance.
Hadn’t someone said you should take the offensive in these situations?
She almost laughed out loud when she realized that chances were extremely high no one had ever encountered a situation quite like this one.
“Although some do call me brave, I’m no Conan. I told you, my name is Connor. Connor MacKiernan.”
He looked a little annoyed now.
Annoying him might not be such a good thing; he was a really big man. Big and gorgeous.
Is that a knife sticking out of his boot?
“Are you no listening to me, woman? This is important and we hae precious little time.” He shouted the last.
While gaping at him, she’d missed part of what he’d said. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not in the habit of having strange men—strange men with weapons, I might add—pop into my bedroom.” She stared pointedly at his leg.
That is definitely a knife sticking out of his boot.