True to his word, Sam walked to the entrance of the restaurant at high noon. Fresh from a shower, his hair still slightly damp, he wore the last of his emergency clean clothes. He restlessly paced the sidewalk while he waited for Libby, his thoughts spinning inside his head.
He'd never meant to hurt her this morning, wished he could take back everything he'd said. But he couldn't, and maybe that was just as well. She did exist in a dream world. It was high time for her to realize she was wasting the best years of her life waiting for some joker to come in and sweep her off her feet.
So what do you care?
He abruptly halted his prowl. Why did it matter that Libby had set her goal so high? Because romantic fantasies would only make the closing of Wildwood that much more difficult for him and traumatic for her? Or was there another reason altogether?
Did her dreams upset him because deep inside he knew he wasn't the star of them and would never be able to offer what she wanted?
Maybe, Sam decided. He didn't know for sure. He did know it was past time to escape Wildwood and the spell woven around it. His starry-eyed manager was fast wearing him down. If he didn't watch his step, he'd not only find his house that much more lonely when he returned to Memphis, he just might discover that a successful law practice wasn't a substitute for happiness after all.
Libby wallowed in the romance of Wildwood. Did he, in turn, wallow in the misery of his law practice? Was he—heaven forbid—using it as an excuse to not risk his heart and give happiness another go?
"Hi. Been waiting long?"
Libby's voice jerked him back to reality. He whirled toward the sound, his sweeping gaze missing not one detail of her voile dress, from the gathered skirt to the row of tiny buttons running from neckline to hem. Icy blue in color, the garment had a wide belt that set off to perfection her tiny waist.
He abandoned all thoughts of leaving. "Just got here."
"Good." Libby's attention lingered on him a second longer, anxiously verifying what just might be a good mood. Relieved, she put her hand on the door, pulling it open before Sam could assist, and stepping into the restaurant. She paused just inside, scanning the area for the next two "ghosts," newlyweds named Sally and Dennis, whom Libby had checked into Wildwood late Friday night. Married a grand total of thirty-six hours, they were young and optimistic. Absolute necessities for Ghosts of Marriage Present.
She spotted them almost immediately, sitting in a booth to one side, heads together and obviously lost in love. Perfect, Libby thought, smiling to herself as she wound her way over to them, Sam in tow. She greeted the pair with a smile, introducing Sam before she motioned him onto the seat across the table from the young couple.
Libby turned to her boss, now sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. "These two are from Little Rock. They got married Friday." She smiled. "Sally tells me they hocked Dennis's his motorcycle so they could honeymoon here."
"Congratulations." Sam's tone was dry. "I hope it was worth it."
Libby noted the way his eyes lingered on Sally, who didn't look a day over seventeen with her big blue eyes and riotous black hair. He glanced over at Dennis, a ginger with freckles, who didn't look much older. Libby could tell that Sam thought they were teenagers.
Sally laughed. "It sure is to me. I had a heart attack every time he got on that old thing. He won't need it anymore anyway. We live a block from campus, and I have a very reliable car."
"Dennis is a junior at the University of Arkansas," Libby said at that point, sensing Sam's unspoken questions.
"Really?" Some of the tension left Sam's body. "I got my J.D. there."
"I'm majoring in accounting."
Sam glanced Sally's way. "Do you attend the university, too?"
"I went one semester," she replied. "That's where I met Dennis. When we decided to get married, my parents told me I was on my own. So did his. I guess they were trying to discourage us. None of them think this marriage is a good idea." She shrugged. "Anyway, I quit school and got a job so we could pay the bills and take care of his tuition and books. I work at the university's day care from seven-thirty until four every day."
"In other words, you threw away your education to give Dennis one?" Sam sounded so judgmental to Libby's ears. She looked anxiously toward her guests, hoping her boss hadn't offended them.
"It's just until I graduate," Dennis said, obviously undaunted. "One-and-a-half, two years, tops. Then it will be Sally's turned to go."
"You don't mind that your wife is sole supporter?" Sam asked.
"Oh, he has a job," Sally said. "Dennis works at the Easy Stop convenience store from three-thirty to midnight every night."
Sam's eyes widened. "Let me get this straight. You work from seven-thirty to four. He works from three-thirty to midnight. Just when do you two plan on seeing each other?"
Dennis and Sally both laughed. "From midnight until seven-thirty, of course."
Sam didn't know what to say to that.
Dennis's eyes twinkled mischievously. "We're probably going to lose a lot of sleep, huh?"
His new wife jabbed his ribs with her elbow and then turned to Sam. "It's really not as bad as it sounds. We do have the weekends free—when Dennis isn't at Guard drill, that is."
"He's in the National Guard, too?" Sam couldn't believe his ears. Overwhelmed by the myriad obstacles these two foolish hopefuls faced, he could see no chance of survival for this marriage. None at all. Yet here they sat, all smiles and big plans for a lifetime together. How could they be so optimistic in the face of all their problems?
At that moment Dennis tipped his head to steal a quick kiss from his lady, and the glow of love, multiplied by two, revealed the answer. Dennis and Sally didn't even know they had problems.
Libby dragged Sam to another table not long after to give Dennis and Sally time alone. He ate without tasting his lunch, yet another meal on the house. Lost in thought and oddly depressed, he said little, speaking only when directly addressed. An hour after he and Libby entered the restaurant, they left it again, via the kitchen.
By the time he'd walked Libby to her door, his temples throbbed with dizzying pain. Crediting the uncharacteristic headache to a rather stressful morning, he muttered a hasty goodbye and turned to go.
Libby caught his sleeve in her hand. "What's your hurry?"
"My head's killing me. I want to think. I thought I'd take a walk in the woods...alone."
Sufficiently rebuffed by that qualifier, she quickly released him. "All right, then. Would you like pain killers before you go?"
"No, thanks." Again he turned to leave.
"Sam?"
"Hm?" He kept his back to her.
"Do you think they'll make it?"
Suddenly too tired to bandy words with her, Sam didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. He turned slowly back around. "Oddly enough, I do."
Libby sighed, walking to the log rail framing her porch. She plopped down on it and. "I'm not so sure, myself." She began to count off each reason on her fingers as she told him why.
"They'll make it," Sam said when she'd used up the last available digit.
Libby frowned at him. "What makes you say that? The odds are against them, and you know it."
"The odds might be against them," he said. "But they've got something more important going for them."
"What's that?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.
"Love."
Libby smiled at him. "Love? Did you really just say 'love'?"
"Yes."
"But I thought you said there was no such thing."
"Maybe I've been wrong," he said. "About a lot."
Maybe, indeed. Libby watched Sam stride off in the direction of the old hiking trail. More than a little pleased by the apparent success of Wildwood's latest ghosts, she leaned back against the log posts that supported the porch roof. She closed her eyes, making the best of this precious moment alone to soak in the peace and quiet around her.
"Hey."
She opened her eyes and saw Sam had returned and now stood inches away, his feet on the moss-covered ground, his arms crossed over the porch rail on which she sat.
"Hey, what?" She was intensely aware of his tousled brown hair, so touchable, and the frosty blue of his eyes.
"I was just wondering... How'd you ever talk those two into sharing part of their precious honeymoon with us?"
She grinned. "I bribed them. Free accommodations on their first anniversary."
"I should've known," Sam said with a rueful shake of his head. "And just what are you going to do about them when I sell out tomorrow?"
In danger of falling, she held on to her perch, and her smile, with difficulty. "Something tells me they'd probably settle for a cash donation."
He laughed shortly and left her, headed down the road to the trail and the woods.
Her good mood now in the gutter, Libby gloomily watched his progress. Maybe I should just forget this whole thing. Clearly he had made up his mind, and every minute she wasted trying to make him change it could well prove perilous to her heart.
But what would she do with her time when he left? She tried to picture herself as she had been pre-Sam—working all the time, daydreaming when she wasn't, satisfied to live and love vicariously while she waited for her elusive Mr. Right.
Her heart constricted. She knew she could never go back to that sort of life, and realized with a start that the imminent closing of Wildwood didn't seem to be nearly as distressing to her as the possibility that she might never see its owner again. She leapt to her feet.
"Sam!"
He didn't stop this time, but pivoted to face her, continuing his walk with slower backward steps.
"You won't be long will you? We're scheduled to meet the Ghosts of Marriage Future, first set, in an hour."
Sam halted abruptly, his sagging shoulders and downturned mouth revealing his impatience with the whole thing. "First set? For God's sake, Libby, how many sets are there?"
"Just two."
Nodding weary resignation, he turned and resumed his trek down the narrow trail into the dense woods.
Libby didn't tarry long on the porch, but made her way to the office to verify that her nephew had showed up for work at noon. Minutes later, she took a long walk of her own up to the pool, down by the lake, and over to the little wedding chapel situated not far from it. A graceful blend of stained glass and wood, the chapel had been the site of several intimate ceremonies since the renovation of Wildwood. Libby often escaped to the quiet there to think.
She walked slowly down the center aisle, absently trailing her hands over the carved oak pews on either side. Sunlight streamed through the collage of tinted glass behind the altar, casting a brilliant reflection on the hardwood floor. As she walked deliberately through the colorful rays, she watched the light play over her dress and skin.
She held out her hand as though to capture the kaleidoscope. Her fingers turned first blue and then red, much like her moods of late. Smiling at her foolishness, she walked over to the piano near the front of the room, placed so the person who played it could see the wedding couple. She sat on the bench, her back to the rows of pews, and touched one of the keys, wincing at the tone. The damp air from the lake wreaked havoc. As a result, it had to be tuned before each wedding and was badly in need of it now.
Ignoring the sour notes, she played several of the pieces she'd learned as a youngster, humming accompaniment. When she'd performed every song in her meager repertoire, she glanced at her watch. She had another two minutes left to kill before meeting Sam.
She laid an arm on the music rack and rested her forehead on it. Absently she touched the ivory keys, picking out a tune that she always loved, one that represented her lifelong hopes and dreams.
"Ah, 'The Wedding March.'" A very familiar voice came from right behind her. "Very appropriate."
Libby nearly fell off the bench. She looked over her shoulder at Sam. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard music." He slowly turned to take in every last detail of the room. "Do you have many weddings here?"
"We've had a few."
He nodded. "And were you in them?"
"Only as a witness." She knew she sounded defensive, but since she'd didn't quite trust that icy gleam in his eye or the line of questioning. "When the couple needed one."
"I'll bet you found that damned frustrating."
She got to her feet frowning at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "You're hopelessly hung up on weddings, not to mention honeymoons. And though you say you're single by choice, I expect it must be disappointing to never be in one of your own."
"I'm not hung up on weddings!" Hurt by his sarcasm, she half wished he'd gotten lost in the woods. Obviously all that fresh air hadn't agreed with him.
"You could've fooled me."
"Well, you're wrong, and you're confusing waiting for the right man with being hung up on weddings."
"Does that mean if the right man came along you'd welcome him with open arms—wedding or no?"
"Yes. No. I mean—"
"Never mind." Sam cut short her stammering reply. "I know the answer." He looked at his watch. "Can we please just get on with this?"
"Yes."
"Good. Are our ghosts meeting us here?"
"No. We're meeting them at their cabin, unit twelve."
"That big one at the edge of the woods, right? I walked by it a just a minute ago."
Libby nodded briefly, brushing past him as she stalked up the aisle to the door. Sam stared after her, unrepentant even though he knew he'd riled her again. He'd done it on purpose this time in an attempt to find out if she might be willing to compromise her dreams and settle for a fling with a very lonely divorce lawyer who really wanted her, but couldn't tolerate the thought of a more binding commitment.
She'd given him her answer, loud and clear. Put in his place once and for all, he intended to keep that answer firmly in mind for the rest of the weekend. He also intended to keep his distance. No more stolen kisses. No heady touches. They were lethal, especially in combination with the romantic atmosphere that had caused him all this misery in the first place.