A Bride for a Day Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Pam Binder

  A Bride for a Day

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Dreams become real

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Michael swore under his breath, something about if he couldn’t manage to belt the kilt in place, he’d walk out of the alley naked.

  C.C. suppressed a giggle. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

  “If you promise not to laugh.”

  “I can’t promise anything.”

  “Honesty. Fair enough.”

  She turned slowly, expecting…well, she wasn’t sure what she expected. He had the wool fabric twisted loosely around his waist and draped over both shoulders. He held what looked like a death grip on the bunched fabric at his waist. “You seem to have the main idea,” she said encouragingly. “And you’re not naked.”

  “I will be if I let go. I can’t get it to fit in place the right way.”

  She bit on her lip to keep from smiling. “How can I help?”

  “If you can reach my belt…”

  C.C. picked up the belt from the Campbell kilt on the ground. “You have the plaid too bunched up. You’ll have to let go so I can readjust the fabric.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “We’ll go slowly, then.” C.C. reached up to slip the wool down over his left shoulder. “If I can pull this through…” His breath was warm on her skin as she slipped it around and down.

  “I’m the one who’s done all this research, and yet you know how this type of kilt is worn. How is that possible?”

  “Romance novels.”

  Praise for Pam Binder

  and the Matchmaker Café Series

  “Magical. A Timeless love story.”

  ~Stella Cameron

  ~*~

  “Readers will be drawn in by Pam Binder’s magic touch for blending the natural with the supernatural.”

  ~Romantic Times

  ~*~

  “Light hearted, yet engaging.”

  ~Publishers Weekly

  ~*~

  “Delightful twists and turns.”

  ~Reader to Reader Reviews

  A Bride for a Day

  by

  Pam Binder

  Matchmaker Café Series, Book Two

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Bride for a Day

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Pam Binder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1278-1

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1279-8

  Matchmaker Café Series, Book Two

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my wonderful mother,

  who created my fairytale wedding

  with the man of my dreams.

  Dreams become real

  when they are shared with someone you love.

  Chapter One

  “You can’t marry just anyone.”

  Michael Campbell caught the meaning of his friend’s words as well as the snow-dusted football Harold had lobbed in his direction. Settle down or risk everything you’ve fought to achieve. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that to him.

  He waited as an elderly couple, dressed in wool coats and green plaid scarves, crossed in front of them on their way to the café and their morning cup of coffee. They probably wondered why two grown men were playing catch in the street on New Year’s Eve. He shrugged. Sometimes old habits were all a person had left. With the couple inside, Michael arced the football back to Harold.

  Funny that it had taken traveling to Scotland over the holidays to bring the topic of how to repair his reputation to a head. Like most professional football players, he lived large, or at least that was the story the press told. The truth didn’t sell as many newspapers.

  Harold returned the football, a wild throw arching dangerously close to the waters of the River Ness as it meandered along the perimeter of Inverness.

  Michael jogged to make the catch. His friend’s accuracy was not what it once had been. No matter. His friend had his back.

  Harold Donavan had been his best friend since grammar school. They’d played high school and college football together. They’d tossed the football back and forth while waiting for the bus and planning for the future. And as usual, Harold had a point. But not for the reasons his best friend thought.

  Snow crunched under Harold’s boots as he walked toward Michael. “I’m well aware of my situation,” Michael said, heading back to position.

  “I’m not sure you are.” Harold stuffed his hands into the pockets of his wool overcoat. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing my briefs.”

  “Lawyer joke?”

  “Fact. It’s the dead of winter in Inverness, Scotland, and you’re dressed like it’s springtime in Florida.”

  Michael palmed the football in one hand and opened the door to the café for Harold with the other. “It’s not that cold.”

  “Remind me. Why are we friends?”

  “We never lie to each other.”

  Harold paused at the threshold of the café. Warm air and the earthy smell of brewed coffee and the hum of conversation beckoned. “And I’m not lying to you now. You have to marry the right person.”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m secretly engaged?”

  “I’ve tried. Tatiana’s divorce from her husband is still in the blame-game stage.”

  “I need coffee.” Michael entered the café and headed toward a table overlooking the River Ness. There was a tent card on the table that read Reserved for Michael Campbell. He flipped the card onto its face. He couldn’t escape his celebrity no matter how far he traveled. If he had known his life’s trajectory, would he have made the same decisions?

  He nodded his thanks to Fiona, the barista who brought their coffee. He’d heard Fiona was
one of the new owners of the coffee shop who had recently changed its name from the Water Horse to the Matchmaker Café.

  Harold joined him and slid into the chair opposite, also nodding his thanks to Fiona. He leaned forward. “Need I remind you that you are Michael Campbell, professional star quarterback, that you have a Super Bowl ring you never wear, and that you are up for the lead role in a major motion picture? A role, by the way, that you told me you wanted. Your football fans won’t care who you marry, but the producers of this film do. You need an image adjustment. Marriage to the right person will solve that issue.”

  “You make it sound like I dislocated my shoulder and need to make sure I choose the right surgeon.”

  Harold blew on his coffee. “Now you get it. The world is changing. They like to see their heroes settled down and headed for happily-ever-after.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  Harold chuckled and looked over the rim of his cup. “Your grandmother would send you to your room without dinner for that remark.”

  “I’m sure she would.” Michael took a drink of his coffee and glanced out the window. The waters of the River Ness shone like polished silver, as though lit from below by thousands of fires. Winter winds skimmed over the surface until the water sparkled like diamonds. On a day such as this, it was easy to imagine how legends, such as the Loch Ness Monster—Nessie, to her fans—had come into being.

  And with each passing moment, more of the town woke in excitement to the realization that today was New Year’s Eve. It was time to review the past year’s resolutions and make way for the new. Michael didn’t believe in fantasies or promises. Those were the dreams of children.

  He took another swallow of his coffee. Was this the year he could stop running from his past?

  Harold continued, breaking into Michael’s thoughts. “Tatiana has made it clear that the two of you can’t announce your engagement, let alone marry, until she’s signed the divorce papers. So she’s not an option.”

  Michael finished his coffee. “I know.”

  “If you ask me, Tatiana is deliberately inventing reasons to delay finalizing her divorce.”

  Michael remembered that his grandmother had made the same observation when she’d visited him last week for Christmas. “You keep telling me things I already know. You’re the one who went to law school. Tell me something useful.”

  “We both were accepted into Stanford Law School. You’re the one who chose a football career.”

  Michael tore his gaze from the river and scanned the crowded coffee shop. “Dreams change. You should know that better than anyone. You’re doing your lawyer thing. You’re changing the topic.”

  “So sue me. You look out for everyone, my friend. Someone has to look out for you.” Harold reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. “My advice is that we choose an unknown for your bride. The press finds that romantic.”

  “The press feeds off scandals.” Michael brought his cup up to his lips, then remembered he’d finished his coffee.

  “You’re making my point. That’s another reason for you to play it safe.” Harold flipped open the folder. “She was right under our noses all along. Your girlfriend’s assistant, C.C.”

  Michael clamped his jaws. “Out of the question.” Michael started to rise from his chair. “I need a refill.”

  Harold reached out toward him. “Hold on. C.C. is perfect. A little plain, with out-of-control hair, no fashion sense, and mousey brown eyes, but we can glam her up. The ‘ugly duckling transformed into a beautiful swan’ fairy tale.” Harold drained his coffee. “The press will eat it up. You usually go for the leggy model types. The big plus is that C.C. always smiles. That plays into our story that you need someone to lighten your stone-statue persona.”

  An image of C.C. burst into Michael’s mind as though a door had opened. Outside of his grandmother, C.C. was the kindest person he knew. She had a way of adding sunshine to the gloomiest day. “Her eyes aren’t mousey brown. They’re more like warm honey, sometimes baked cinnamon.”

  Harold shoved his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “Okay. Good to know.” He made a flourish of reaching for a pen in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and scribbling something in the margin. “I’ve made a note. Eyes change color.” He gazed at Michael for a split second before turning the page. “Back to business. The best part is that we found out C.C. has a sick father.”

  Michael narrowed his gaze. Just yesterday C.C. had asked his help to coax a kitten out of tree. He’d almost broken his neck, but it had been worth it. But in all the time they’d spent together over the past three months, she’d never mentioned anything about her father, let alone that he was ill. “Why is C.C.’s father being sick a good thing?”

  The brass bell over the front door chimed as Tatiana and her mother, Alba, made their grand entrance. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, and both were dressed in designer clothes in shades of gray and black. Tatiana’s mother paused as though surveying her kingdom, motioned for Tatiana to find them a table, and then locked onto Michael.

  Alba’s high heels clattered on the wood floor as she headed his way. The woman was a bundle of sharp edges and judgment. Michael braced for the daily confrontation as she approached. He chided himself for his criticism. Alba had been a single mother raising a beautiful daughter. That couldn’t have been easy. Especially when that daughter had attracted the attention of modeling agencies and powerful men. Alba was both manager and mother, orchestrating everything from modeling jobs to boyfriends, and always with the realization that in a blink it could all go away.

  Alba reached Michael’s table and pulled off her gloves. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for tonight’s ceremony? Your wedding is this afternoon.”

  Michael turned to Harold and raised an eyebrow. “I’m getting married? Today?”

  ****

  The sounds of the café closed in around him, ringing in his ears. He tried to calm the rising panic. He was getting married? Today? It was true that he was engaged to Tatiana and theoretically that meant that someday they would be husband and wife. If he were honest, he liked that she kept moving the date.

  “You didn’t tell him?” Alba said, in a shrill whisper.

  “Alba. Could you give Michael and me a minute?”

  Alba pulled her lips together into a thin line. “We don’t have the luxury of time.” She glanced over toward her daughter. Tatiana had a latte in each hand and was making her way to a vacant table near Michael’s, avoiding his gaze.

  Tatiana had been avoiding him since she’d returned from her visit with her soon-to-be-ex husband. Darrell Grant was a quarterback for a rival team and had a solid reputation on and off the field. Tatiana had never mentioned why she and Darrell had split, and it was none of Michael’s business. “Aren’t you and Tatiana joining us?” Michael said.

  Ignoring Michael’s question, Alba poked a finger into Harold’s shoulder. “Convince your friend this is in all of our best interests and our only option. Do I have to remind you that we need to get this settled before my daughter changes her mind? Again.” With a lift of her chin, she walked over to Tatiana’s table.

  When Alba was settled, Michael turned back to Harold. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

  “I was getting around to it. As I mentioned, C.C. has a sick father.”

  Michael leveled his gaze at Harold. “Why is her father being sick good news? If you think that, then you’re the one who’s sick.”

  Harold adjusted his steel-gray tie. “Of course I’m not glad he’s sick. However, this gives us an opportunity. Her father has leukemia and can’t cover all of his medical expenses. C.C. is sending the majority of her paychecks to her brother and two sisters to help with his care. That means she’s had to put off her dream. Care to guess what it is?”

  “She’s good with animals. They love her. She wants to be a veterinarian?”

  “Isn’t everyone good with animals?” Harold said.


  “They hate you.”

  “Hilarious. No, smart guy, C.C. doesn’t want to be a vet. She wants to open a sandwich shop. Like I said, our plan is perfect. We tell her that all she has to do is agree to enter into a fake marriage with you. We’ll offer to give her a very generous bonus that will cover medical expenses for her father with enough left over to help her open the sandwich shop she’s dreamed of. A small fortune for C.C. and her family, but the equivalent of a weekend shopping spree for Tatiana and her mother. The press will be convinced that you’re ready to settle down and abandon your playboy ways. Your football contract will be renewed, and the movie deal to play the lead in Highland Rebel will be a sure thing. Then, after an acceptable amount of time has passed, we release a statement to the press that your marriage was a mistake. Something along the lines of the two of you being different people.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Good,” Harold said. “We’ve reached common ground. By then, maybe Tatiana’s divorce will be final, and you can marry your supermodel. The two of you can produce a litter of supermodels and football players. Everybody wins.”

  Michael watched his friend replace the folder in his briefcase. “Does Tatiana know?”

  “It was her idea. Her mother doesn’t like the plan. Not sure why. However, Alba couldn’t come up with anyone better suited at such short notice. We’re up against a time constraint. The movie studio plans to make their decision the first of January.”

  The brass bell over the entrance to the Matchmaker Café chimed as the door opened again. C.C. entered, carrying a box that Michael knew was filled with sandwiches she had made. She’d shared one of her creations with the owners a few weeks ago, and they’d asked her to supply them with as many as she could make. He didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to turn a simple sandwich into a must-have experience. Michael’s favorite was the Swiss cheese and ham on rye.

  Snow dusted her black wool coat and highlighted the cascade of dark wind-blown curls flowing over her shoulders. Michael started to get up to help her with her packages, but William, the older man from behind the counter, reached her first. William worked with Fiona and reminded Michael of a slim Santa Claus.