Free Cara Colter by A Bride Worth Waiting For

himself arrested on some point of pride. And he wasn’t sure how much he’d changed. He loved making these guys into mincemeat on the witness chair.
    The policeman came forward. “Are you, like, romancing your girl?” he asked in an undertone.
    “I’m making her laugh,” he surprised himself by confiding. “It’s been a long time since she laughed.”
    The policeman looked back at her. “It looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it How come she hasn’t laughed in a long time?”
    Adam hesitated. He really didn’t have to tell him anything. Mark’s way, he reminded himself. “Her husband died.”
    “That’s rough.”
    “Yeah. He was a good man. The best.” Adam felt his throat tighten and looked away.
    When he looked back, something had softened in the policeman’s young face and he put away the ticket book. “Why don’t you just take it over to the bike trail across the street?”
    “I was going over there,” Adam said, “but I didn’t want her to die laughing, and I couldn’t get across all the traffic.”
    The policeman shook his head. “I’ll stop the traffic for you.”
    “Hey, thanks.”
    “You a lawyer?”
    “Yeah. How did you know?”
    “Her remark about the solicitor finally sunk in. Remember this next time you’re going to make mincemeat out of a poor working sap like me, okay?”
    “You got it.” It occurred to him that when Tory was around love shimmered in the air. It always had. And it changed things. It had always done that, too. That was what Tory and Mark had had in common. A wonderful decency that changed everything they touched for the better.
    What had he done lately to change anything for the better?
    He didn’t think making the juvenile delinquent who had rented him the ricksha into a millionaire counted.
    With Tory waving like a queen, they crossed the four lanes of traffic that the young man stopped for them. The cop pushed the ricksha from behind so that Adam could get it across the grass and up the hill to the wide paved path.
    “Try not to push anyone into the river,” the policeman advised, shaking his head, and darting back across traffic to his vehicle.
    They rode along for an uneventful mile or two. The river made a swishing noise, and the birds sang.
    It occurred to him that despite the fact he was pulling a ricksha that weighed nearly as much as his hotel, he felt stupidly happy.
    The tire blew out on the front of the bike and nearly sent them over the bank into the river.
    He gave up. “Stay here,” he ordered her.
    “Gladly,” she said, and sank back against the bench of the ricksha and watched contentedly as the runners and the river moved by her.
    He looked at her. Maybe Mark’s idea was working. She seemed to be happier than she had been yesterday. Much happier. The light seemed to have been switched back on in her.
    He dashed across the street to some nifty boutiques and bought a plaid blanket and a basket of goodies from a deli. He spread them out on the grass beside the broken chariot.
    “Did you get smoked oysters?” she asked, pretending hauteur.
    “Of course. And liver pâté. The caviar didn’t look fresh, though.”
    “I can’t stand that when the caviar isn’t fresh,” she said. She went into his arms as easily as if she’d been born to them, and he carried her to the blanket, and set her down. He pulled the cork on the bottle of sparkling water, and offered her the first swig. She took it, wiping her mouth happily, and passing it back. She rummaged through the basket “Oh! You really did get smoked oysters!”
    “Really.” He drained the bottle and pulled out another one. “Jeez, that was hard work.”
    “You’re getting soft.”
    “I know it.”
    But she didn’t think he looked soft at all.
    “You’re still crazy.”
    “I know that, too.”
    Her lip trembled, and she looked away. I’ve missed you. But she did not say that out loud.
    He moved very close to her, his shoulder touching hers companionably.