Nan Ryan (51 page)

Shorty was the shy, nervous bridegroom. Hair slicked back, face shiny clean, he wore a dark western-cut suit, stiff-collared white shirt, and bow tie. His hands were folded before him, and his left leg shook so badly his low-riding trousers rippled visibly.

Diane’s fond gaze shifted to the granite-faced best man. Ancient Eyes wore a solemn expression, as befitted the occasion. Wedding ring gripped tightly in his arthritic hand, the aged Ute chieftain appeared to be almost his old powerful self again. Diane was relieved.

He had been so thin and haggard the first time she’d visited him in the Oakland hospital. When she’d walked into his room ahead of the Colonel, she’d read in his black eyes that he had never told what had happened. She’d quickly put her finger perpendicular to her lips and silently signaled “shhh.” He blinked in relieved acknowledgment.

“… And do you, William, take Katherine, to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do,” Shorty said. His scrubbed-clean face turned beet red, but his voice was firm and clear.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Diane, along with all the other well-wishers, threw rice as the laughing pair rushed down the church steps into the foggy afternoon. Her hand raised, she was suddenly struck with a bolt out of the blue.

Stardust
.

The Colonel had said the Stardust Corporation had bailed them out! In a flash of vivid remembrance she recalled old Golden Star telling of the mother who’d left her behind when she was a child. Stardust! Golden Star’s mother was named Stardust.

Diane’s rice-filled hand lowered as her heart began to pound. Was it possible? Had she totally misjudged Star? Had she made the biggest mistake of her life? Had she wrongly accused him of seeking revenge when all he’d ever meant to do was help?

More of Golden Star’s words came to her. Clearly, as if the old Indian woman were standing beside her: “If Starkeeper knew someone was sick or in trouble, he would go out and help. He had that in his blood.”

“Diane! Diane!” Pulled back to the present, she looked up to see the smiling bride calling her name. “Diane, you ready?” Kate lifted her bridal bouquet. “Here goes. Catch!”

Texas Kate tossed the bouquet directly to Diane. Rice spilled from Diane’s hand as she automatically reached up and caught the orchid bouquet. Everyone applauded and whistled.

Texas Kate shouted, “You’re all invited to the reception over at the boardinghouse. Let’s go cut that wedding cake!”

The eager crowd streamed down the wooden sidewalk behind the bride and groom. Diane anxiously searched out her grandparents.

“There’s someplace I have to go, something I have to do,” she told them quickly. “Make my apologies to Kate and Shorty.”

She gave them no time to reply. The aging pair looked at each other as their independent granddaughter turned and sprinted away, racing toward the waterfront, the bridal bouquet clutched tightly in her hand.

Fog hung like limp gauze over the bare-limbed trees as Diane ran anxiously down to the docks. She made it just as the ferry was starting to back away. Out of breath, heart racing, she lifted her long skirts and leaped onto the moving deck as the ferry’s whistle blew a deafening warning.

There were almost no passengers. A few people were scattered around, collars turned up against the chill wind. Diane was oblivious of the cold and fog and damp. She rushed eagerly forward to stand alone up at the bow. Clutching the railing with one hand, the bridal bouquet with the other, she threw back her head and laughed gaily as the steam-driven ferry plowed through the murky waters of the bay.

The winds tossed loose locks of her hair about her head and pressed her clothes against her body. Sprays of salt water stung her face.

Diane didn’t care.

Her heart sang with hope. She braced her feet slightly apart and rode the up and down waves of the choppy bay, her shining violet eyes fixed on the lighted city looming ahead through the fog. There in the middle of that big, blazing city was Starkeeper, and she …

“I say there, old sport, mind if I join you?” Diane’s head turned. A fog-shrouded figure, obviously in his cups, was weaving unsteadily toward her. He wore a silk top hat, a billowing black opera cape, and a lopsided smile. Managing to maneuver up to the bow’s rail, he gripped it and asked, “Do you feel the floor moving? Could it be one of those fearsome quakes one reads about?”

Diane smiled at the drunken Englishman. “No. We’re on a ferryboat. That’s the turbines. We’re moving.”

“Ah! Thank goodness,” he said, nodding, then asked, “And where, if I may ask, are we bound?”

“San Francisco.” Diane chuckled as his look of puzzlement changed to one of delight.

“Splendid. A dynamic city. By Jove, if I’m not mistaken, I know some chaps there. Might just pop in on them.” Diane continued to smile. “And you, my dear?” He bobbed his hatted head at the bridal bouquet she held. “Getting married?”

“I hope so,” she readily admitted. “I’m not sure.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Yes.”

“Your young man is in San Francisco?”

“He is.”

“Throw the bridal bouquet into the bay. If it floats in toward the Embarcadero, you will be married. If it is carried back to Oakland …”

Diane tossed the bouquet into the dark, swirling waters of the bay. She watched with rising despair as the sodden bouquet, riding the ferry’s wake, was carried back toward the port of Oakland. The drunken Englishman saw what was happening. He lifted his hands and covered his eyes.

Leaning anxiously over the rail, Diane squinted. The small bouquet was barely visible through the dense fog. Suddenly the trailing winds freshened, and the bridal bouquet was borne steadily in toward the San Francisco docks.

“You can look now!” Diane happily told her companion.

The Englishman’s hands came down. He smiled and said in clipped Oxford tones, “I say then, my dear, may I be the first to kiss the bonny bride?”

At the Palace Hotel Diane hurriedly crossed the opulent atrium lobby to the long marble counter. A uniformed employee looked up and smiled.

“Benjamin Star,” she casually said, favoring him with a winning smile. “Ben’s expecting me. In his usual suite, I presume.”

“Yes, miss. Just as always. Corner suite eight-one-four.”

In the elevator Diane nervously rehearsed all the things she would say to Star. She stepped into the silent eighth-floor corridor and saw a white-jacketed waiter carrying a covered silver tray. The waiter stopped before the door of suite 814.

“Wait!” Diane called, hurried forward, smiled, and took the tray from the surprised waiter. “I’ll take that. I’m going inside.”

“But—but—” He reached out for the tray.

“No bother, really.” She withheld it. “Thank you, and good evening.”

He frowned, shook his head, and walked away.

Releasing a breath, Diane balanced the tray on one spread hand and knocked firmly on the door.

“It’s open,” came that low, familiar voice from inside, and Diane felt her knees turn to water.

She eased open the tall white door and stepped into the large, lavish suite.

“Just put it there on the table.”

Those same low, flat tones, and Diane, nodding foolishly, looked frantically about, searching for the voice’s owner. Her breath caught in her throat when at last she caught sight of him. Outdoors on the balcony.

Carefully she placed the tray on a marble-topped table, expecting Star to turn any second and see her. She waited, staring at him, unable to take her eyes off him.

He turned his head slightly and was silhouetted for a moment against the rust-orange glow of the city lights.

“Star.” Her lips formed his name, but no sound came.

Suddenly, now that she was in the room with him, all the things she had thought of to say disappeared from her mind.

He was so magnetically attractive, so strikingly handsome standing there with the wind lifting locks of his blue-black hair and billowing his soft silk shirt out from his back. There was still that fierce masculinity about him, and Diane could hardly keep from running, flinging herself into his arms.

“Star.” She audibly spoke his name and saw the wide shoulders immediately tense beneath the white silken shirt, the dark head lift.

Slowly he turned to look at her.

An unguarded smile, a brief flicker of recognition in his dark navy eyes, then that forbidding mask fell into place. Animal appeal and cold fury radiated from him. He said nothing. He turned his back on her.

With her pulse pounding in her throat and temples, Diane crossed the spacious sitting room. She stepped out onto the broad balcony. She stood directly behind Star, less than six feet away.

Star felt her presence, knew she was there. He clamped his teeth tightly together, purposely locked his weakened knees, and gripped the balcony railing for support. He vainly wished that his heart would not beat so feverishly. Wished his palms would not perspire. Wished his legs would not experience this awful pins-and-needles sensation.

He wished she would go away.

Diane moved closer.

She gently eased her arms around him, locked her hands in front of him, and laid her cheek on his back. She felt the immediate tensing of his muscles, heard his sharp intake of air.

“If you’re ever in my arms again,” she said softly, carefully repeating the words he’d once spoken to her, “just one word will do it. The word is
no. No
. That’s all you have to say.
No
. If you mean it, say it.
No
. And I will stop.”

Long seconds passed.

Slowly Star turned in her arms. His dark, tortured eyes met hers. His lean brown hands visibly shook as they lifted to tenderly cup her upturned face. A boyish smile finally lifted the corners of his cruelly sensual mouth.

“Yes,” he said, his low voice rough with emotion. “The word is yes. Yes, Diane, my darling. Yes.”

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

Copyright © 1992 by Nan Ryan

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA