Appointment at the Altar

Release Date: 2007

Reviews

Jessica Hart’s Appointment at the Altar provides the perfect ending to the Bridegroom Boss duo and give readers their much desired happily ever after with a few twists and some comical situations along the way. Romance Junkies, 4.5 Blue Ribbon Rating

Smart, sassy and sophisticated ... Sparkling with humour and charm and sprinkled with plenty of heart-stopping romance, Appointment at the Altar is a must read for readers who enjoy reading engrossing, heartwarming and uplifting romances! Cataromance, 4 stars

Excerpt

 LUCY leant on the fence and watched Kevin, perched on a rail on the far side of the corral, waiting his turn at bareback bronc riding. In his Akubra hat, checked shirt and dusty boots, he was outback man incarnate. Strong, silent, lean-jawed, quiet-eyed … he made all her other boyfriends look like silly boys.

Not that he was a boyfriend, exactly, much as she would love to have been able to say so. But she was madly in love with him, and he had kissed her the other night. Things could only get better.

She sighed happily. In London now it would be cold and grey, but here she was in the red heart of Australia with its bright, brassy light and its fierce heat. Closing her eyes with a blissful shiver, Lucy turned her face up to the sunlight and breathed in the smell of dust and horses. She could hear the hup! hup! cries of the men coaxing reluctant animals into the chute, and feel the sun beating onto her borrowed hat.

I’m happy, she thought.

‘Well, if it isn’t Cinderella!’

The amused voice in her ear froze her smile and her eyes snapped open. She didn’t need to turn her head to know who was standing beside her. There was only one person out here with that accent.

That English accent, reeking of privilege and most expensive education British money could buy.

Guy Dangerfield.

Lucy challenges Guy to do this!

She had been delighted that morning to find herself squeezed into a truck with Kevin and the other stockmen when they left Wirrindago. There had been no sign of either her intimidating boss, Hal Granger, or his deeply annoying English cousin, which meant that they could all relax and have a good time at the rodeo. But now here was Guy, after all, looking irritatingly handsome and sophisticated and utterly out of place in the outback.

‘Oh,’ she said, not bothering to disguise her lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’s you.’

‘It is,’ Guy agreed.

Lucy hated the way he could say something perfectly unexceptional like that with a straight face and yet still make it sound as if he was laughing at her. It was something to do with the ripple of amusement in his voice, or maybe it was to do with his blue, blue eyes, currently hidden by ridiculously mirrored sunglasses, where a smile always seemed to be lurking, even if he was only asking her to pass the toast.

What’s so funny? she wanted to yell him, but she had the nasty feeling that the answer would be her. Nobody else at Wirrindago seemed to find him annoying. They all thought he was great.

Lucy couldn’t understand it. Guy had the kind of assurance that she always associated with generations of privilege and a gold plated trust fund, and she didn’t trust his practised charm for a moment. The self-deprecating humour and oh-so-engaging smile were completely wasted on her.

‘Why do you always call me Cinderella?’ she asked irritably.

‘Because you’re very pretty and you never seem to be allowed out of the kitchen,’ said Guy.

‘I’m a cook,’ she reminded him a touch of sarcasm. ‘Providing three meals a day for eight men – and the occasional visitor like you – tends to mean that you spend a lot of time in the kitchen.’

She was rather pleased with the subtle way she had managed to dismiss him as an ‘occasional visitor’. It made her feel better to remember that he was just passing through, while she had every intention of staying forever.

‘You certainly seem to work very hard,’ Guy agreed. ‘I’d say a day out is the least you deserve. I quite like the idea of a local rodeo as the outback equivalent of going to the ball, don’t you?’ he said, with one of those smiles that Lucy was sure were meant have her swooning with delight. ‘Hal gets to be the fairy godmother who says you can go, the stockmen’s old truck is the pumpkin that brought you here… now all you need is a Prince Charming!’

He made a show of patting his pockets. ‘You know, I’m sure I had a glass slipper somewhere …’

‘I’ve already found my Prince Charming,’ said Lucy crushingly, and looked pointedly across the ring to where Kevin was watching a snorting stallion being coaxed into the chute. ‘You just get to be an ugly sister,’ she said.

To her annoyance, Guy’s good humour wasn’t even dented, let alone crushed by her dismissive comment. He just laughed, and she sucked in her teeth in irritation. Prince Charming indeed! Of course, he would think that was his role. The man was unbelievably conceited. Yes, he was remarkably handsome – even she couldn’t deny that - but that smooth, blond, blue-eyed look didn’t do it for her. She preferred her men rather more rugged.

Like Kevin, in fact.

‘I didn’t realise that you were coming today,’ she said frostily as she turned back to the arena.

‘Hey, the ugly sisters always get to have a good time,’ he reminded her. ‘And rodeos are always fun – to watch, anyway,’ he added as the stallion made short work of bucking the latest rider off his back. Guy winced as he hit the ground with a thud. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘It’s something different, too,’ he went on. ‘We don’t get a lot of rodeos at home, do we?’

Lucy hated the way he said ‘we’ like that, as if they had something in common. He was always doing that, reminding her – and everyone else – that she was English too and didn’t really belong out here any more than he did.

She had been having such a lovely time at Wirrindago. Employed as a cook-cum-housekeeper, she had been thrilled by the isolation and the fact that the men still found horses the easiest way to move around the wild country. It was all so different from the way she had grown up in England, and she had been quite carried away by the romance of it all.

Until Guy turned up.

Lucy wasn’t used to not liking people but from the moment Guy had strolled into the kitchen a few days ago and introduced himself with that smile – the one that seemed to assume that any woman on the receiving end would instantly swoon at his feet – her normally sunny nature had deserted her. There was just something about him that rubbed her up the wrong way, leaving her irritated and edgy.

Guy might be Hal Granger’s cousin, but it was hard to imagine anyone more different or more out of place in the outback. He was so … so … so English, Lucy decided in frustration. He just didn’t belong, and she wished he would just go back to London and stop getting on her nerves.

The way he was doing right now.

‘I wouldn’t have thought rodeos were your kind of thing,’ she said.

‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Casually, Guy leant on the rails next to her. The sleeves of his pristine white shirt were rolled up to reveal surprisingly powerful forearms, covered with a fuzz of golden hairs that drew Lucy’s eyes in spite of herself as they glinting in the bright light. There was something overwhelming about him when he was that close, and she found herself edging away.

‘I spent quite a lot of holidays at Wirrindago when I was a kid,’ he was saying, apparently oblivious to her unease. ‘I remember coming to rodeos like this one with Hal. They used to lay on bareback sheep riding and catching the greasy pig for the youngsters.’

He grinned at the memory, and she glimpsed a flash of strong, white teeth in his brown, too -handsome face. ‘We had some good fun. I used to want to be like those guys over there,’ he went on, nodding to where the stockmen taking part in the rodeo were sitting on the rails looking for all the world like extras in a classic Western. ‘I told my parents I wanted to be a rodeo rider when I left school.’

Lucy stared at him. ‘A rodeo rider?’ His shirt was dazzlingly white in the glare, and she could see the riders on the rails reflected in his sunglasses. There was a sheen to him, she thought, a kind of glamour that belonged on a yacht in St Tropez or skiing off piste in Gstaad, not here at a ramshackle local rodeo with bull riding and steer wrestling and greasy pigs. ‘You?’

Still leaning on the rail, Guy glanced up at her with another of those film star smiles. ‘Funny, that’s exactly what my father said – and he said it in just that tone of voice, too!’

Lucy wished he would stop smiling like that. It was too much. He was too much. Too vibrant. Too good-looking. Too charming. Too everything. She looked away, annoyed to find that the smile seemed to have been imprinted on her vision so that it was just as vivid even when she wasn’t looking at him.

‘What did your mother say?’

‘She told me not to be so silly.’

His imitation of his mother’s crisp tones was no doubt wickedly accurate, and in spite of her determination not to find him the slightest bit amusing, Lucy was betrayed into a laugh, which she tried to cover by adjusting the old stockman’s hat on her head. She had borrowed it that morning and it was a little big, but it made her feel authentic, unlike Guy Dangerfield, smile or no smile. He might have a closer connection to the outback than she did, but at least she tried to fit in. He just stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. ‘I’m surprised you’re not having a go today if you were that keen,’ she said.

‘I know better now,’ said Guy. ‘I leave the hard stuff to the experts like Prince Charming over there.’

He nodded across the ring to where Kevin was sitting on the rails, looking quietly confident as another wild horse pawed the ground in the chute, impatient for release into ring. ‘You need to be tough to take on bareback bronc riding.’

‘I know,’ said Lucy, deciding to ignore the Prince Charming jibe. ‘Kevin says it’s the supreme rodeo challenge,’ she was unable to resist adding. She was at that stage of infatuation when just saying Kevin’s name was a thrill.

‘Kevin said something?’ Guy straightened from the rail in mock astonishment. ‘When? I didn’t know he could talk!’

‘Very funny,’ said Lucy coldly.

‘You’ve got to admit that he’s not exactly chatty,’ he said. ‘I’ve hardly heard him say a word at meals since I arrived. I mean, we all know about strong silent types, but that’s ridiculous!’

‘There’s nothing ridiculous about Kevin,’ Lucy flared up. ‘He just doesn’t say anything unless it’s worth saying. It’s one of the things that makes him a real man – unlike some,’ she added pointedly.

Guy leant back against the fence and folded his arms, but Lucy was sure that behind those stupid sunglasses, his eyes were dancing.

‘So you think a real man incapable of making conversation?’

‘No, he just doesn’t waste his time spouting stupid rubbish – like giving people silly nicknames, for instance!’

‘Cinders, are you by any chance implying that you don’t think I am real man?’ Guy tsk-tsked. ‘I’m hurt!’

If Lucy had believed for a moment that he had been really offended, she would have been embarrassed, but as it was, she just lifted her chin at him.

‘You’re not like Kevin,’ she said.

‘Apart from the fact that I can string more than three words together at a time, what’s the real difference between us?’

‘Kevin’s tough,’ said Lucy. ‘He’s steady, he’s sensible and he works hard.’ Belatedly, she realised that she hadn’t made him sound much fun, and she waited for Guy to point it out, but he only grinned.

‘How do you know you couldn’t say the same thing about me?’

She eyed him with frustration. Surely he must know how frivolous and superficial he appeared next to someone like Kevin? ‘You don’t seem to take anything very seriously,’ she said at last. ‘Do you even have a job?’

‘Of course I do!’ He pretended to sound affronted. ‘I’m in investment banking.’

‘Oh … banking,’ said Lucy disparagingly. ‘That’s not a real job.’

‘Hey, it’s not all late lunches and corporate jollies, you know!’

‘How did you get into banking?’

Guy smiled crookedly. ‘I have to admit that it’s a family firm.’

Just as she’d thought. No doubt he’d been given a token job with a plush office to sit in while everyone else did all the work, Lucy decided. He probably rolled up at ten and spent most of the day at lunch catching up with pals on the old boys’ network.

‘I don’t think you can compare working in bank with what Kevin does,’ she said, determinedly unimpressed. ‘You don’t need the same kind of skills.’

‘Maybe,’ said Guy, ‘but what can Kevin do that I can’t?’

‘Well … he’s a brilliant horseman.’ Lucy had never, in fact, seen Kevin on a horse. As Guy had pointed out, she was usually in the kitchen when the stockmen were at work, but she had heard them talking about how good Kevin was often enough.

‘I can ride.’

‘I don’t mean English riding.’

‘English riding?’ Guy raised his brows, a smile hovering around his mouth, and she gestured irritably.

‘You know what I mean. Just sitting on the back of the horse and pottering along a country lane. I’m talking about real horsemanship - working with the horse, being able to control it absolutely the way Kevin can. Taming a wild horse, or bringing down a cow without hurting it … all the things he does every day.’

‘I admit I don’t spend a lot of time on horseback in the bank, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be a stockman if I wanted. Could Kevin run an investment bank, do you think?’

Lucy looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you really telling me that you can ride like Kevin?’

‘I’m not saying I’m any good, I’m just saying that I could be a real man if I wanted to.’

As usual, his face was poker straight, but his voice held that undercurrent of amusement that so riled Lucy. She didn’t believe a word of it. He was just teasing her, probably miffed because she thought that Kevin was more of a man.

Lucy’s chin went up. She had had enough of being teased by Guy over the last few days. ‘Prove it,’ she said.