Cinderella's Midnight Kiss

“But then, she’s not the one being inconvenienced, is she?”

Cindy couldn’t help herself. Her eyes sparkled, her lips twitched and she bit back an irreverent retort. Hitch was grinning openly. Had anyone mentioned that he had gorgeous teeth?

And a sense of humor?

Would that crew even recognize, much less appreciate, a sense of humor?

She knew in explicit detail what they thought of his narrow behind and his broad shoulders, and the way his slacks rode low at his waist and sort of bunched up at the fly. Maura said she’d seen him in swim trunks, and he more than lived up to his advertising.

They’d all groaned and then giggled—even Steff, who wasn’t a giggler, and who shouldn’t be thinking that way about her fiancé’s best man.

Cindy, who’d been delivering another round of diet colas at the time, was tempted to mention his nasty disposition and his recklessness behind the wheel, but she’d learned a long time ago to keep her opinions to herself.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened the other day,” he said when she reached the bottom step.

At close range he was even more lethal than he was behind the wheel of a car. Funny how she could remember so much about him after all these years. Such as the way he’d always been so patient with the pesky kids from across the street. Such as the way he’d always risen whenever Mama Mac came into a room.

Such as the way all the girls, herself included, had been in love with him then. Not that he’d ever even noticed her.

And while the intervening years might not have improved his driving skills, they’d done nothing but enhance his dark good looks. Fortunately, Cindy had long ago outgrown her brief infatuation, since the days when she used to gaze at him through the hedge whenever Mac brought him home from college.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time to talk now. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. You’re a rotten driver, and I’m lucky as the dickens, and that’s the end of that, okay?”

“Not okay. I’m usually an exemplary driver, but—”

“No excuses, I told you I don’t have time.” She edged past him and headed for the kitchen.

He was two steps behind her. Where in the world was Maura? she wondered. Where was everyone else? Usually, the house was brimming with people, all with their separate demands. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your role as Mac’s best man?”

“Tonight’s the rehearsal.” The festivities were being held immediately following the rehearsal instead of after the ceremony, as the bride and groom had to leave right after the wedding to make their connections to Bermuda. “Tell you what, save me a dance at the party afterward and we’ll call it even.”

She gave him an exasperated look that in Hitch’s estimation did nothing at all to diminish the effect of those steady blue eyes. “I never—”

“Never say never.” Hitch’s smile, meant to be disarming, faltered as it occurred to him that she might not dance because she was self-conscious about her limp. He started to tell her it was barely noticeable, and thought better of it. “Look, we could just sit and talk, maybe share a glass of champagne and some cake—how about that?”

Cindy always hated it when people were embarrassed by her limp; otherwise, she seldom even thought about it. More often than not when people noticed they assumed she’d hurt her ankle, or had something in her shoe. Sometimes she said she had. It was no big deal. Didn’t even bother her except when she was rushed off her feet, as she had been lately.

“I really do appreciate the offer, and there’s nothing I’d like better, but I’ll be far too busy to join the festivities. You wouldn’t believe how much work is involved in a simple home wedding.” And if that sounded condescending, then it was just too bad. It was a wonder she was able to put two coherent words together, the way he affected her brain.

“It’s being handled by a professional, right?”

“Not even professionals can do everything.” Especially not with Aunt S. second-guessing their every move and Steff constantly changing her mind about details.

“Caterers handling the rehearsal dinner?” he persisted. He happened to know the Macs were footing the bill, although there was no preventing Mrs. S. from running the show.

“We have a houseful of guests. They have to eat three meals a day—more like seven, if you count snacks. And then there’s Charlie….”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember Charlie. How is he?”

“Still into everything, which is one more reason I’ll be too busy to take you up on your kind offer. But thanks.” Looking directly into his cool gray eyes, she smiled, confident she had handled the matter tactfully and efficiently, and that would be the end of that.

Mercy, it had better be! She couldn’t take too many more up-close-and-personal encounters with John Hale Hitchcock.

With the end in sight, Cindy was fervently looking forward to the moment when everyone was busy dining and dancing downstairs and she could have the big old claw-footed tub to herself for more than five minutes. As large as the house was, there were only two and a half baths—none at all, of course, in the attic. She had plans for a long, peaceful, lilac-scented soak followed by an evening spent reading in bed while everyone else was downstairs partying.

Sheer, hedonistic luxury.

Steff poked her head into the laundry room where Cindy was folding sheets. “You put him up to it, didn’t you?”

“Put who up to what?” The last time she’d seen Charlie he’d been pestering the caterer’s helper for samples.

“As if you didn’t know. He wants you to go to the party.”

“Charlie?”

“Not Charlie, Hitch. He told Mama you’d promised him a dance.”

There went her heart again, doing aerobics. “I did no such thing. Besides, I’ve got a date with a good book.”

“Break it. You can put in a brief appearance without dancing. Tell him your feet hurt.” For all her arrogance, Steff could be generous in her own careless way.

“Well, they do, but that’s not the problem. I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t think Aunt S. would be real happy if I turned up in jeans and one of my fancy hats.” She smiled, picturing her aunt’s reaction. Still, it was nice to be invited, even if she had no intention of going.

“Look, I’ll lend you a dress and you can sit on the sidelines. At least you’ll be handy if one of us needs anything.”

Oops. I smiled too quickly.

If Steff had genuinely wanted her there, Cindy might have considered going, but a grudging, last-minute invitation prompted by someone else…

“Thanks, Steff, but I’ll pass if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, the last thing I need is to have Hitch and Mama on my back. Look, I’ll pick out something you can wear and leave it on my bed. Now don’t argue, I don’t have time, and besides, you know how Mama is when things don’t go according to her plans.”

Oh, yes, Cindy knew how Mama was, all right. It was easier to go along than to argue. “Then thanks, I’ll pick up the dress when I go upstairs next time.”

“Great. Is my blue suit back from the cleaners?”

“In your closet. Do you want me to pack it?”

“No, on second thought, I don’t think it’s right for Bermuda. Pack the white linen, instead. It’ll wrinkle, but they’ll have maid service.”

The gown was a sophisticated designer model with matching shoes that Steff had spent a fortune for several years ago. Complaining that the color made her look pasty, she’d worn it only a few times.

Cindy had a feeling the odd shade, somewhere between peach and ecru, wouldn’t do much for her own complexion, either. Instead of basting up the hem, which would have left marks, she shortened the straps, gave up on the waistline and had just slipped the garment over her head when Steff came in to ask which suitcase her jewelry had been packed in. “Speaking of jewelry, I guess you’ll need something. You look sort of drab.”

“A new car?”

Steff actually smiled. “Something smaller. Earrings, I guess. With all those freckles a necklace would be wasted.”

Thank you, ma’am, I really needed that.

“Try to do something with your hair, will you? You should’ve made an appointment with Wade.”

“Twenty-five bucks plus tip for a trim? No thanks.”

Her hair was impossible. She could French braid it and within minutes, curly strands would work loose. Hair spray only made it look like a fright wig. “I could wear a hat,” she said hopefully.

“Don’t you dare.” Cindy’s hats were a joke among the Stephensons, but she no longer took offense. One of these days, she promised herself. One of these fine days…

It was Maura who provided the earrings. “Steff said I had to lend you these. Don’t you dare lose them—they match my favorite ring.” She tossed a pair of sparkling diamond-and-pearl studs on the dresser and left. Evidently she’d heard that Hitch had had something to do with Cindy’s being invited to the party, and resented it.

As if Cindy would be any competition. Maura wasn’t in Steff’s league when it came to looks, but she had her own style of beauty. Compared to either of them, Cindy wasn’t even in the running.

The earrings were for pierced ears. Cindy’s weren’t. Not wanting to make an issue of it, she returned them, leaving them on Maura’s dresser beside her jewelry case, which was always kept locked.

Slipping on her tennis shoes, she hurried down the back stairs and out into the garden, cut two large pink roses and shaved off the thorns. Then, hiking her heavy satin skirt up over her knees, she dashed back upstairs and carefully fastened them to the French braid.

“At least no one can call you drab,” she told her mirror image.

Not that anyone would even spare her a glance, with the likes of Steff and Maura and all their glamorous friends around. The house was already overflowing with men in penguin suits and women in every color of the rainbow, all sparkling and laughing and flirting.

Last of all, she stepped into the shoes that matched her gown. Taking a deep breath, she carefully held up her skirt to keep from tripping, and made her wobbly way down the front stairs, half expecting Aunt S. to confront her and send her back to her room.

Chapter Three

Madam S. was everywhere, keeping an eagle eye on the wedding party, the half dozen or so servants hired for the occasion and the invited guests, who started arriving before the rehearsal was even finished. Hitch actually found himself sympathizing with the woman, who had obviously taken on more than she’d bargained for by insisting on having both the wedding and the party—she called it a ball—at home. She’d have been better served to limit the size and scope, and then turn over full control to the professionals instead of trying to oversee every phase of the production personally.

He felt sorrier still for Mac, but then, after living next door to the dragon and her two fledgling dragonettes all his life, Mac knew what he was getting into. He might look like a harmless hayseed, but he was a lot sharper than most folks gave him credit for being…which often worked to his advantage.

Nothing like being underestimated to give a guy an edge.

The house was a large one, the living room, dining room and front parlor, empty of furniture, spacious. But the space was rapidly filling up with dancers, and the linen-draped buffet was under serious siege. The air conditioner had already surrendered. A few black ties had been tugged askew and several of the ladies were noticeably glowing.

Mac was having a ball. Literally. Even Steff had unbent enough to kick off her four-inch heels and dance.

Maura came up behind Hitch and tucked her hand in his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Forgot something,” he improvised quickly. “Save me a dance later, will you?” He had to get out of here. The acoustics weren’t designed for modern amplifiers. With everyone straining to talk over the band, the effect was deafening.

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