Free Stop the Wedding! by Stephanie Bond Page B

unsettling smugness. A woman Annabelle recognized as the salesclerk who had assisted her mother stood behind the blonde.
    “Yes?” Annabelle prompted, not bothering to hide her impatience.
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” Suzanne said. A grim-faced uniformed guard walked up and adopted a wide-legged stance.
    “Is there a problem?” Annabelle asked.
    “The problem,” Suzanne said, punctuating every syllable with attitude, “is that you were seen shoplifting in the bridal store.” She indicated the other salesclerk, who nodded curtly.
    She knew her mouth had dropped open because she felt the cool air on her tongue. “What?”
    “Let’s have a look at what you’re hiding under your arm,” the guard said, obviously relishing the moment.
    “Hiding?” Outrage billowed in her chest, stealing her voice. These uppity people were high-strung and paranoid. She threw her arms in the air with exaggeration, to prove them liars.
    Then watched the brown and black sheer leopard-print bra and matching high-cut panties fall to the marble floor.
    If the devil had appeared at that moment offering invisibility in exchange for her soul, Annabelle would have considered it. Pure mortification swept over her as her mind raced ahead, predicting how a shoplifting charge would affect her career. Didn’t her employment contract negate the state’s obligation to repay her loans if she were convicted of a crime? Without a good reference, she’d have a difficult time finding a decent job. Without a job, she’d never qualify to buy a house. Sheer panic forced defensive words out of her mouth. “Th-those things are n-not mine.”
    Suzanne scoffed, then bent and scooped the garments from the floor. Holding up the underwear, she scrutinized the orange clearance price tags with a look of disdain. “The bra appears to be your size.”
    High-necked blouses effectively hid her nerve rashes in court, but she suspected her yellow T-shirt offered little concealment today. “I m-mean, I browsed through the lingerie, and I p-picked up—I mean, I considered b-buying the underwear… then I saw Melvin, er, Martin from the other store, and I forgot… ” She trailed off, gesturing with futility. “I… forgot I was holding them.”
    Her excuse sounded weak even to her own burning ears. Inexplicably, her eyes went to Clay’s, hoping her expression wasn’t as vulnerable as she felt. Of all the people she could make a fool out of herself in front of, he was the last person she’d have chosen. His gaze locked with hers. She’d expected smugness, but his narrowed dark eyes pierced her with—anger? He was embarrassed to be involved by association. Clay already thought the worst of her, so he’d probably be glad to see her carted off to jail.
    Despite knowing the hostility he held for her and her mother, Clay was the closest thing she had to an ally at the moment, and Annabelle couldn’t bring herself to look away. His gaze held her as surely as if a cable connected them. Strangely, she felt her body straining toward him, every hair, every nerve, every muscle, but she tensed to remain rooted. And stranger still, his eyes suddenly changed, softening in a way that caused her breath to catch in her chest.
    For a few seconds, everything around them fell away, and voices retreated to a distant buzz. His jaw relaxed and she marveled that he looked younger and less intimidating. Still, something akin to fear crept into her heart—a sensation far more threatening than a trip to the hoosegow. Because she realized she was being given a glimpse of his compassion, an experience that left her feeling oddly privileged. Regardless of his feelings toward her, she somehow knew this man would not allow harm to come to her, and the knowledge warmed her.
    He broke eye contact first, enabling her to breathe again, and put his hand on the guard’s arm. “I believe we can clear up this matter to everyone’s satisfaction. Ms. Coakley