Three Brides, No Groom Read Online Free PDF Page A

would need to pry
her off the bike with a crowbar. She looked around and realized they were at the
ocean. Huge rolling waves crashed against the shore, then lovingly stroked a
frothy trail across the sand. Large gray-and-white gulls circled overhead, and
the scent of the sea lingered in the moist air. The sun was a brilliant orange
disk on the horizon, ready to slip out of sight. Already dusk was settling
in.
    “Where are we?” she asked, easing first one leg and then the
other away from the motorcycle. Josh lent her a hand, which she gratefully
accepted.
    “Cannon Beach, Oregon,” he replied.
    Vaguely she recalled crossing the Columbia River at Astoria.
She’d actually kept her eyes closed most of the time, needing to think. At this
rate, she should be home within two days, three at the most.
    With his hands braced on his hips, Josh surveyed the sky. “I
don’t think it’ll rain.” He left her and walked toward the beach. She looked
longingly at the public rest room but followed him, wanting to know where he
intended to spend the night. It went without saying that they wouldn’t be
sharing a room.
    Her shoes quickly filled with sand, and she found keeping pace
with him difficult.
    “We’ll bed down here for the night,” he announced.
    “Here?” she asked, looking around. All she saw was barren sand.
“The beach?”
    “Do you have any better ideas?”
    She glanced over her shoulder at the long row of oceanfront
hotels.
    “For seventy-five bucks you’ll get a room the size of
refrigerator,” he said, his gaze trained on the ocean.
    She squared her shoulders. “Well, then, the beach it is.”
    He grinned as if to say he admired her adventurous spirit.
“There’s a shower in the public rest room, if you want to take one.”
    Gretchen did. She was afraid to look in a mirror, certain there
must be bugs glued to her teeth. Her clothes felt plastered to her body.
    She took what she needed from the saddlebag—a towel, washcloth
and her cosmetic case—and headed for the rest room. It smelled of urine and
ocean, but looked clean enough. The shower stall, minus the curtain, was in one
corner. She stripped off her clothes and stood under the spray. Despite the
lukewarm temperature, it felt luxurious.
    As she turned her face into the water, the ache returned to the
pit of her stomach. She leaned against the back of the open stall and cradled
her middle. That morning she’d awakened thinking all was right with the world.
She had her business degree and within weeks would be wed to Roger. And now, in
the space of a few hours, her reality had changed completely.
    When the water turned from lukewarm to chilly, she reached for
the towel. Once she was dressed, she felt better. It was when she combed out her
long blond hair in front of the metal mirror that she made the decision. She
stared at her distorted reflection, the comb halfway down the side of her
head.
    She had only herself to please now, not Roger. Her fingers
trembled as she dug through her cosmetic bag until she found a small pair of
scissors. Seizing the pale tresses, she snipped at the sides with erratic,
disjointed motions. She hacked and cut until the long strands of hair lay at her
feet like discarded remnants of spun gold. Despite the distorted reflection, she
knew she’d brutalized her once lovely hair. Breathing hard, she waited several
minutes before she gathered up the courage to go back outside.
    By the time she left the rest room, the sun had completely set.
A full moon cast a golden glow across the beach. Josh had spread out a blanket
and lit a small driftwood fire, and was now working his pocket knife against a
stick, whittling it to a point. He glanced up as she approached. He said nothing
about her mutilated hair.
    “There’s a grocery store not far from here,” he said. “I got us
wieners and buns.”
    Gretchen nodded, then self-consciously sat down on the end of a
log and started to shake. Exhaling harshly, she raised her fingers to