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A Risk Worth Taking
Zana Bell
“I want the whole damned picket fence.”
Cressa didn’t know what to say, how to answer Adam’s proclamation. The wide-open spaces of the Galveston coast suddenly seemed too big. She felt swallowed up by it all. She was filled with a need for the green hills of home, for the safety of Aroha Bay. For a world where the scale was reasonable and the people predictable. Where the men were manageable. Only Adam, she thought bitterly, could make a proposal sound like a challenge. But before she could begin to frame an answer, Adam stepped close and clutched her arms.
“Don’t say it,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare.” His face was very close to hers, his breath warm on her cheeks. “You know what, Cressa? I’m going to save us both from repeating patterns. To save you from being the one who quits yet again and me from being the one abandoned. I’ve had one wife walk out on me. This time I’m going to walk away.”
Dear Reader,
Have you taken any risks lately? The gatekeepers to dreams, risks have to be braved before we can move forward or upward. Yet the task of identifying risks can be a slippery one as they are intensely personal; one person’s risk is simply another person’s thrill. Also, while many risks are physical or financial, some of the scariest are emotional. In the worst extremes, we risk our lives. In love, we risk our hearts.
We take the risk when the dream is more powerful than the fear.
We know this. We have age-worn sayings to remind us: faint heart never won fair lady; nothing ventured, nothing gained. We know—and yet all too often we hesitate. Fools rush in, we tell ourselves. We fear failure. We are afraid, even more, of people witnessing this failure.
And so what if we are afraid? It doesn’t need to stop us! I had a lot of fun writing this book in which the daredevil hero and heroine would infinitely prefer to jump out of airplanes than risk confronting their deepest, secret desires and pain. It is a book about past demons, conflicting goals, disguised defences and, above all, love in all its glorious, messy confusion.
Here’s to you and your pursuit of dreams—despite all their pesky attendant risks and fears.
Zana Bell
P.S. I love hearing from readers. Please contact me
c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road,
Don Mills, ON, M3B 3K9, Canada.
A Risk Worth Taking
Zana Bell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Life used to be full of risks for Zana Bell, who grew up in Zimbabwe, went to university in South Africa then lived hand to mouth in Scotland, England and Greece where she took a wide variety of jobs, each of which presented its own challenges. Then she immigrated to New Zealand and she now lives a richly blessed life with her family in a beautiful seaside cottage. Adventures are still to be had in Paradise, however, as on a regular basis New Zealand provides cyclones, floods, earthquakes and even the odd volcanic eruption. But as her deepest fear is public humiliation, signing up for dancing lessons when she lacks any sense of rhythm whatsoever might yet prove to be the scariest venture of all….
To Sally and Alan,
who constantly blaze new trails.
You are an inspiration.
Special thanks also to my splendid editor,
Victoria Curran.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
PROLOGUE
THIS WAS THE HAPPIEST DAY of her life. That’s what everyone said. Cressa stared out of the window of the limousine, as the world spun past her. Everywhere in the city people were going to movies and restaurants or to the beach or playing sports, and here she sat, imprisoned in this white, beribboned Jaguar.
It’s just nerves, she thought to herself. Again. All brides have them.
She glanced at her father, seated beside her. He looked so handsome and proud. He smiled at her and patted her hands, clasped in her lap. “Nearly there.”
He thought she was being impatient. Her stomach rumbled, soured by champagne and doubt, and she rubbed it. Only a month ago she’d carried life there. For such a short time, really, yet it had created a nightmare of intense, conflicting emotions that she still did not know how to deal with. But now wasn’t the time. Not the place. She resolutely pushed the feelings aside.
“Dad,” she said. “I’ve got to pee.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“But…” He gestured helplessly out the window. They were driving through the outskirts of Auckland. The church where Brian was waiting for her was set on a hill surrounded by fields. Perfect, her mother had said, for photos.
“Please, Dad.”
He leaned forward and tapped the chauffeur on the shoulder. “We need to find a restroom.”
The driver flicked her a startled glance in his rearview mirror.
“Better text your sisters,” said Dad. “They can go on and tell people we’re coming.”
“Fine.”
She’d just texted the car behind, containing her four very excited sisters, when the chauffeur said, “There’s a petrol station up ahead.”
“Perfect.”
The car with her bridesmaids shot past them as they turned into the gas station. All her sisters waved madly and pulled silly faces. Cressa would have laughed if she hadn’t been so close to tears. As soon as the Jag stopped, she opened the door, then paused.
“I won’t be long.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “You’re the best, Dad.”
“I know all about performance nerves,” he assured her. “I always feel nauseous before I go onstage. Take as long as you need, sweetheart. This is your day.”
She heard good-natured laughter from the other customers and saw pointing fingers as she dashed through the convenience shop to the loo outback, but she didn’t care. Her veil was a nuisance, though, and it snagged on some boxes of biscuits on one of the shelves. She tugged and several boxes fell as her veil came loose. As she bent to pick them up, she realized she was still clutching her cell phone.
“Don’t worry,” said a teenage girl, rushing forward. “I’ll get them.” She smiled shyly. “You look beautiful.”
Cressa could see envy in the girl’s eyes. What would she have said if Cressa had asked, “Want to swap places?”
Fortunately, the restroom was a wheelchair one, so her voluminous dress wouldn’t get crushed. The size of the cubicle also meant she could pace, two steps forward, two back, her skirts sweeping the concrete floor. She couldn’t bail. Couldn’t do that to Brian, to her parents, to her sisters, to all the guests.
But she couldn’t say the vows, either.
She was sure to the pit of her stomach that she would never be able to utter those two words, I do.
Why did it have to be today that all her fears, all her misgivings had finally crystallized into one big, fat, undeniable conviction that she was on the brink of making the worst mistake of her life? A week ago wouldn’t have been so bad. Yesterday would still have been salvageable. But today? Now? Ten minutes away from the church? To be having these thoughts now was unforgivable.
She crossed to the sink, put her cell phone down and turned on the tap. She wished she could splash water in her face but didn’t dare spoil the lovely makeup that had taken over an hour to do. Instead, she held her wrists under the cold water.
Above the sink, her white reflection stared back at her in a fly-spotted mirror. The light wasn’t good, and the window above the loo had misted glass that probably enhanced her ghostly pallor. The window.
She turned slowly, gazed at it, then shook her head. She couldn’t. Then she thought of standing at the altar, saying her vows and becoming Mrs. Brian McKenzie forever.
Cressa shut off the water, grabbed her phone, flipped the toilet lid down and scrambled up on it. Luckily, the window was hinged at the top and quite wide. She hoisted herself up and landed half in, half out of it. Her veil fell forward over her head and dragged in the dust below. A couple of hairpins dislodged and she felt some of her heavy hair come free from the elaborate bun. The window frame dug into her stomach. Her feet no longer reached the toilet seat, but scrabbled against the wall, tangling in her skirts as she levered herself slowly forward. It wasn’t easy, especially since she still clutched her phone.
Her father would be wondering what had happened to her. At the sound of fabric ripping, she winced. Sorry, Ma. The dress had snagged on the window catch. Cressa wriggled to free herself. Then she was hanging, her thighs on the ledge. Only one way to go now. She gave an extra heave and slithered headfirst down the cobwebby wall to crash onto the grass, banging her elbow painfully. She scrambled to her feet, veil hanging over her face, hair in tangles. With a jerk, she wrenched the veil from her head, causing more locks to fall free. Then she picked up her cell phone, which she’d dropped, and looked around.
Two guys were sitting in a pickup, hamburgers halfway to their mouths, gasping in astonishment. Did white knights come with adolescent pimples and scraggly hair?
She ran over to the truck window. “You’ve got to get me outta here,” she said in a low voice.
They nodded mutely.
“Now!”
At her tone, learned over the years from her mother, a high school principal, they jumped in response. As Cressa pulled open the door, they swallowed their burgers like baby pythons, not stopping to bite or chew. She admired their economy of movement.
“Move over,” she ordered, and hauled herself and her skirts into the tiny cabin, realizing she’d have to crouch at their feet. She squished down, her wedding dress nestling like a marshmallow around her. The cabin was filthy, but dirtying her dress was probably the least damage her actions of the past five minutes would cause. The guys’ boots were eyewateringly malodorous, but she didn’t care. A sense of appalled elation was bubbling up inside her.
“Let’s go,” she urged. “Quick.”
The boys exchanged grins and the pickup roared off with a wheelie that was completely gratuitous, but somehow suited the occasion. She fell sideways as the truck rounded the corner of the gas station, then she was slammed again when the youthful rescuer driving the truck pulled another squealing wheelie as he turned onto the road and sped off.
Her heart was still pounding, but for the first time that day, her mind was completely calm as she began to text her sisters once more.
CHAPTER ONE
Two Years Later
THE HARDEST THING to explain, either to herself or others, was that she had no aversion to weddings as such. There was, in fact, lots to enjoy about them. Right now, Cressa was taking malicious glee in watching her cousin Jake, usually the supercool surfie, straighten his vest for the third time in as many minutes as he stood on the deck of the sleep-out, waiting for his bride to emerge from the main house.
