The Millionaire's Marriage Demand(33)

Charles clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, son."

"Thanks, Dad," Travis said, investing the words with more than their ordinary meaning. "I'll need all the luck I can get."

"Come and visit us. Anytime," Charles said gruffly.

"I'll do that."

As Charles signaled to Oliver, Travis tramped up the slope. He needed  more than luck. He needed Julie. He said goodbye to Oliver, got in his  car, pulled a U-turn and drove away. This time he was heading for the  airport to meet Bryce, who was flying in from Australia.

Charles, like Leonora, seemed to take it for granted that he loved  Julie. But if this was love, Travis didn't recommend it. It hurt too  much.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





Twenty-four hours later, Travis was aimlessly throwing flat pieces of  slate into the waves at Bryce's cottage, trying to see how many times he  could make them skip into the air. While it was a warm day, the sun  glinting on the water, he felt as blue and unsettled as the swell. He  should never have given in to Bryce's insistence that they spend the day  at the cottage; it was too full of memories of Julie. He'd said  something to. that effect, but Bryce hadn't listened.

Footsteps padded down the sand toward him. "Brought you a beer," Bryce said. "By the look of you, you need it."

Travis wiped his sandy palms down his shorts. "Thanks."

"When are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

At the airport, Travis had given Bryce only the barest of outlines:  Julie had run away, and the wedding was off. Since then, he'd talked  about everything under the sun but Julie. "Did you bring me here in the  hopes I'd spill the beans?"

"You got it."

"You never did fight fair."

"No fun in that," Bryce grinned. The wind tugged at his thick,  sun-streaked blond hair. He was Travis's height, toughly built, his gray  eyes as restless as a winter sky.

"Let's go sit on the porch," Travis said abruptly.

"I've got some nachos and salsa, I'll bring them out. If all else fails, we can always get drunk."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

As Bryce put the bowl of chips on the porch table, he said reflectively,  "I've been thinking. You know what? You're well rid of this Julie.  She's led you around by the nose ever since you met her. You don't need  that."

"She's pregnant," Travis exploded.

"You didn't tell me that." Bryce's gray eyes skewered Travis to the chair. "You sure the kid's yours?"                       
       
           



       

"Dammit, of course I am!"

"No of course about it. Could be anyone's."

"You don't know Julie."

"Not sure I want to," Bryce said. "So do you want this kid?"

"It's mine," Travis said, and heard an uncanny echo of his father's words.

"It's yours and hers," Bryce replied with unarguable logic. "You figure she's after your money? You're not exactly a pauper."

"She'd hardly be running away if that were true."

"Women can be devious," Bryce said, shooting a sideways glance at his friend.

"There's not a devious bone in Julie's body."

"Good body?"

"Back off, Bryce."

Bryce took a handful of nachos. "You're head over heels in love with this broad."

"You're the third person to tell me that in the last two days and don't  call her a broad," Travis said tightly. "I wish everyone'd stop  analyzing my feelings."

"If you don't love her, why do you look like a whipped dog? Although if  you do love her, I don't know why you're sitting on my front porch. You  should be out searching for her."

"She doesn't want me coming after her," Travis said in exasperation.

Bryce drained his beer. "Let's stop kidding around. If I've been pushing  you, it's because I wanted to find out what was going on. Fact one, you  love Julie. Fact two, it's driving you nuts sitting around waiting for  her to come back to Portland. Fact three, a good private investigator  with connections could find out where she's gone in no time, and maybe  that'd put your mind to rest. Fact four, I came several thousand miles  to be best man at your wedding, and I still plan to do that. But to have  a wedding, we need a bride."

"Let's stick with fact three," Travis said in an ugly voice. "You think I  haven't thought fifty times of hiring someone to find out where she is  and then of turning up on her doorstep? But don't you see? If she  doesn't come back to me of her own free will, what's the use? The days  when I could hogtie her and drag her to the altar are gone, Bryce. Julie  wouldn't stand there and say I do, I will. She'd say I don't and I  won't. It's one of the reasons I love her." His last three words hung in  the air. He buried his head in his hands, his voice muffled. "Why was I  the last one to see it? Of course I love her. I fell in love with her  weeks ago when she stood up to meet me on the Manatuck dock and I told  her she was trespassing."

Briefly Bryce rested a hand on his arm. "She'll come back, buddy. She's got to."

"Or you'll be the one doing the hog-tying?" Travis said sardonically.  "Tomorrow morning I'll drive down the coast-you're right, I can't sit  around doing nothing for one more day. The irony is, we've got the next  three days off, both of us, for a honeymoon."

"If you find her tomorrow, you can still use 'em. And now I'm going to  get a couple more beers and throw some pork chops on the barbecue."

Left alone, Travis stared out at the horizon, that knife-sharp edge  where water met air. He was in love with Julie. He wanted her to be his  wife, to live with him and bear his child. But most of all, he wanted  her to love him back.

He wished he shared Bryce's confidence that one day this week there'd be a wedding.





Julie wasn't staring at the horizon that Sunday evening. She was staring  at the television screen. She had been for the last four hours.  Sitcoms, documentaries, and a cooking show. The news and weather were  next.

Her bedroom was very comfortable. So it should be, she thought morosely.  She was paying top dollar for the privilege of sprawling on a canopied  bed with embroidered linens. If she had to be unhappy, she might as well  do it in style.

She was no nearer knowing what she was going to do than she had been  Friday afternoon, when she'd driven all the Way to New Hampshire and  found this uppercrust inn. Yesterday, once she'd gotten over morning  sickness, she'd shopped all day, buying herself a couple of maternity  outfits and falling for two tiny outfits that would be fine for a boy or  a girl. Today she'd hiked in the hills, eating a picnic lunch on an  outlook over the village and sighting several deer.                       
       
           



       

Was unhappiness a measure of love? If so, she was in bad trouble.

Today was to have been her wedding day. Right now, she'd be in Travis's arms.

She got up and paced up and down, her arms folded across her chest in a  futile effort to banish the pangs of desire that had been attacking her  at all hours of the night or day. Then she took out the miniature pale  yellow pyjamas with their teddy bear motif on the collar, gazing at them  as though they could give her some answers. By running away, she was  saying to her unborn child that one parent was enough.

Was that true? Or was she robbing the baby of what every child should  expect as its birthright? Two loving parents and a stable, happy home.

Had her parents taken her advice? Was Leonora right when she said Travis and Julie were meant for each other?

The news had started, beginning with international stories. Julie  clambered up on the bed, fluffing up the pillows, watching an item on  Tanzania with interest. After a recap of the stock markets, the local  news followed. The first segment described a horrific pile-up on the  turnpike just north of here. Julie winced away from some of the images; a  considerable portion of her work at the clinic dealt with the traumatic  aftereffects of car accidents. Then her heart suddenly skipped a beat.  The camera had zoomed in on one particular car. A black sportscar, she  realized, panic-stricken. To her untutored eye, it looked like a Porsche  the same as Travis's. It was crushed between the guardrail and the  wreckage of a camper.

There was no sign of the driver. Even as she watched, two ambulances  left the scene, lights flashing and sirens wailing. It couldn't be  Travis. It couldn't. Or had he been on his way to find her?

What if he were dead?

With a whimper of terror Julie grabbed the phone book from the bedside  table. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely turn the pages.  She found the number she was looking for, and contacted the hospital.  But after a frustrating five minutes of delays, she was informed that  the hospital couldn't give out any names until the next of kin had been  notified.