The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain by Kelly Long Page B

mounted the great stone steps to the front door of his family’s home. He noticed her white-tipped fingers against Bear’s lead.
    “Hey,” he whispered, squeezing her other hand tighter. “It’s going to be all right.” All right. All right. It’s going to be all right if only . . . He wet his lips when she nodded. Then he rang the bell.
    It was dinnertime, and probably everyone was in the dining room—or maybe they were out. Out would be good.
    The door opened and his mother stood there, looking poised and beautiful—not a blond hair out of place.
    “Mother . . . I—we’re home.”
    He had to give it to Mrs. Lydia Lyons—her Southern graciousness was equal to the moment, and he and Mary were ushered in with a beautiful welcome, Bear and all. But wait . . .
    “Jude, dear . . . you should have called. And you’ve brought a girl? Amish, am I right? Your skin is flawless . . .”
    “Thank you,” Mary whispered.
    His mother stretched elegant fingers to Mary to touch the blue sleeve of her dress as if touching an exhibit at a museum.
    Jude cleared his throat. “Mother, this is Mary Ki—Mary Lyons, my wife.” For a time. Only for a time . He felt depressed. I’m tired, that’s all . . .
    Lydia Lyons rose to the occasion, though he knew that his mother and Carol were close friends.
    “Your—wife? Jude, you must be joking.” She laughed with faint nervousness.
    Jude frowned and muttered under his breath as his father came into the large, elegant foyer. Ted Lyons looked younger than his sixty-three years, except when he was irritated and his strong-boned face flushed red, as it did now.
    “Lydia, the second course is waiting. What are you . . . Jude, you’re home. Get that smelly dog out of here.”
    Jude accepted the older man’s embrace even as he barked orders, because he knew it was the right thing to do. But inside, he simmered as the familiar smells of expensive aftershave and woodsy cigar smoke enveloped him in negative memories.
    “Ted, dear . . . Jude’s just been playing a joke, and at this lovely Amish girl’s expense too.” Lydia’s voice fluttered like a butterfly drifting toward the glass ceiling.
    “Hmm? A joke? Ha! You’ve brought your so-called work home with you, son? And a fine piece of work she is . . .” His father made to capture Mary’s hands in his own and Jude pulled her back, instinctively protective. His father was a consumer—of companies, goods, people—and Mary was not up for swallowing. Jude slid his hands to her shoulders and felt the reverberation of Bear’s growl against his leg.
    His father frowned at him. “Jude, what is going on?”
    “My wife, sir. Mary Lyons.”
    It was not the first time that he’d thought his father might strike him, but it was the most recent. Mary must have sensed his father’s anger too, and the fine bones of her shoulders straightened beneath his hands as she tensed in reaction and Bear whined.
    “You have a fiancée who happens to be dining in the next room, and this . . . joke . . . is in poor taste,” his father hissed.
    Carol’s here . . . great. Just great.
    Jude clenched his teeth. “Again—my wife, and I’d better introduce her to Carol.”
    “Have you been drinking, Jude?” his mother whispered in a discreet aside. “Or is your sugar low?”
    He suppressed a groan, then looked up as the ominous click of high heels sounded on the marble floor. Carol appeared in the foyer, looking sleek and coldly beautiful. He felt a sudden headache begin to pound at his temples as he prepared to make one of the most interesting introductions of his life.
     
     
    Mary studied the tall, blond-haired young woman with a sinking sensation in her chest. Here was the one the professor was to have married; she was sure of it. And for the first time in her life, she felt the sting of covetousness as she took in the fern green dress made of sleek fabric that seemed to cling in every flattering way it might to the other girl’s body.
    What