Читать книгу The Best Man Takes A Bride - Stacy Connelly - Страница 12

Chapter Three

“Oh, my gosh! Didn’t Hannah look so cute?”

Seated at a wrought iron bistro table outside the café, Rory smiled as she listened to Lindsay describe every detail on the flower girl’s dress. Not that she minded. The time with the sweet little girl was still playing through Rory’s thoughts, as well.

Which was much better than thinking of the girl’s not-so-sweet but undeniably hot father...

The bride-to-be’s recitation stopped on a sigh as she paused to take a bite of a double-chocolate muffin. “Why did you bring me here?” she demanded. “That was supposed to be my final fitting, and after eating this dessert, I’m going to need to go back and have the seams let out at least two inches.”

Eyeing Lindsay’s slender frame, Rory laughed. “I think you’re safe, and besides, we’re splitting, remember?” she asked before breaking off a piece of the moist top rising above the sparkling pink wrapper. She gave a sigh of her own as rich chocolate melted in her mouth.

“Perfect, so the seams will only need to be let out one inch.” Despite the complaint, Lindsay went in for another bite.

“You have nothing to worry about. Ryder is going to take one look at you walking down the aisle and be blown away.”

The other woman smiled, but as she wiped her fingers on a napkin, Rory could see her heart wasn’t in it. “Hey, everything okay? I know how busy you’ve been between the wedding and the benefit next week.”

As part of her job promoting Clearville and its businesses, Lindsay was helping Jarrett Deeks with a rodeo at the local fairgrounds. The benefit was aimed at raising funds and awareness for the former rodeo star’s horse rescue.

“Everything’s on track. Jarrett lined up enough cowboys to compete, and local vendors have been amazing about donating their time and part of the proceeds from their booths.” Despite the positive words, worry knit her dark blond brows, and she crumpled the napkin in her fist.

“So then what’s wrong...and what can I do to help?” Lindsay was a Hillcrest bride, but she was also a friend. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You might wish you hadn’t made that promise.”

“I never make promises I don’t keep,” Rory vowed, her thoughts drifting back to her ex, Peter, and his many, many broken promises, but she shoved the memories away.

“Okay then,” Lindsay exhaled a deep breath. “Here goes... It’s Jamison. He and Ryder have known each other for years, and I can tell by how Ryder talks how close they are. He’s already told me there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jamison, and I’m sure Jamison feels the same.”

The last part was said with enough worry for unease to worm its way into Rory’s stomach. “And what do you think Jamison’s going to do?”

“I’m probably being paranoid. But my relationship with Ryder... Well, let’s just say we didn’t get off to the best start.” The bride gave a shaky laugh at the understatement behind those words.

Rory might have moved to Clearville recently, but her frequent visits as a teenager had given her a taste of small-town life. Everyone knew everyone’s business. Which was why it was still something of a shock among the local gossips that Lindsay Brookes had managed to keep her son’s—Ryder’s son’s—paternity a secret for so long.

“But the two of you are together now,” Rory reassured her friend, “and that’s all that matters.”

She might not know the whole story of how Lindsay and Ryder had worked out a decade of differences, but she’d seen for herself how in love the couple was. The way Ryder looked at Lindsay—

Rory pushed aside the pinpricks of envy jabbing at her heart to embrace the positive. If Ryder and Lindsay could overcome such odds and find their way back to each other, then surely there was hope for her. True love was out there somewhere, but right now her focus was Hillcrest House and helping her aunt. Her own happily-ever-after would wait.

“I know. Things are going so well, but I can’t shake this feeling that something’s going to go wrong. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“And you think that shoe’s a size-eleven Italian loafer?”

Lindsay laughed. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I think it’s safe to say Jamison’s strung a bit tight for a guy who’s supposed to be on vacation.”

And was it any wonder she was determined to ignore the instant, unwanted attraction? If Rory had a type, she certainly didn’t want it to be Jamison Porter. He was a corporate attorney, for heaven’s sake! A shark in a suit when she was looking for more of a—a puppy.

Someone sweet, lovable...loyal. Someone willing to defend her and stay by her side.

“From what I’ve heard from Ryder, Jamison doesn’t do vacations. Ryder really had to push him to take this time off. I guess Jamison has some big deal in the works, but I think if he would take a day or two to relax, it might give him a different perspective on the whole wedding and, well, on me.”

“Lindsay, Ryder loves you. And as for Jamison, I think he and Ryder need to go out for a couple of beers and a game of pool over at the Clearville Bar and Grille. They can do the whole high-fiving, name-calling, competitive guy thing, and all will be well.”

Even as she said the words, Rory had a hard time picturing Jamison Porter at the local sports bar. He seemed like her ex, Peter, who was more interested in being seen by the right people in the right places. But then again, so much about Peter had all been for show...

“And Ryder’s asked, but Jamison won’t go. He doesn’t want to leave Hannah.”

And that did not sound like Peter at all. Maybe Rory had been too quick in making her comparisons.

“She’s had a hard time since the accident.”

“Accident?”

Lindsay nodded, sympathy softening her pretty features. “A car accident a few months ago. Hannah sustained a mild concussion and a broken arm, but she was the lucky one. Her mother was killed instantly.”

“Oh, no.” That lost look she’d picked up on in Hannah...and in Jamison. Rory had assumed it was nothing more than a single dad on his own with his daughter, far away from the comforts of home. She should have realized it was something deeper... “Poor Hannah. And Jamison, to lose his wife.”

“They were separated, and from what Ryder’s said, things hadn’t been right between them for a long time. But still...”

“I guess you can’t blame him if he has his doubts about love and marriage.”

“That’s what Ryder keeps telling me. Not everything going on in the world revolves around our wedding.”

“You’re the bride, Lindsay. Everything does revolve around the wedding.”

Lindsay dropped what was left of the mangled napkin on the table and leaned forward with a relieved smile. “I knew you’d understand, Rory! You’re the best wedding coordinator ever, and I knew I could count on you to help.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly am I helping with?”

“Well, with Jamison, of course. I thought if you could show him around town, spend some time with him—”

“Wait! What?” she asked in alarm. “Why me?”

“You have such a way with people. Of keeping calm and helping them relax. Not to mention how taken Hannah is with you. You saw that, and I know Jamison did, too.”

Yes, Rory had noticed Hannah’s shy fascination. Knowing the little girl had lost her mother added a sense of heartbreak to the tiny fingers that had wrapped around her hand. But it wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the dark, disapproving clouds brewing in Jamison’s gray gaze.

She’d dealt with enough parental disapproval in her relationship with Peter to last a lifetime.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Lindsay. With everything Hannah and Jamison must be going through—”

“That’s why this is so perfect!” her friend insisted. “Back home they’re surrounded by memories, but Clearville—and you—are a clean slate. I know this isn’t some miracle fix for what they’ve lost. No one expects that. All I’m asking is for you to show them around town. Give them a tour of Hillcrest House. You’re always saying how magical the place is.”

“So no miracles required, just performing a little magic,” Rory said wryly as she sank back in her chair. But she was already caving despite Jamison’s disapproval, despite her own reluctance to spend time with a man who made her heart skip a beat even when he was frowning at her.

Because once upon a time, Rory had found magic at Hillcrest House, and while her belief might have wavered a time or two over the years, it had never left her.

And when she thought about Hannah and the seriousness in her big brown eyes, Rory couldn’t help thinking that belief in happily-ever-after was what the little girl needed.

As for Jamison... Well, there was some magic Rory wasn’t sure even a fairy godmother could perform.

* * *

As a corporate lawyer at Spears, Moreland and Howe, one of the most prestigious firms in San Francisco, Jamison Porter was at the top of his game. He was vying for a promotion that would make him the youngest junior partner in the firm’s history. He had a track record of success and negotiated million-dollar deals for breakfast.

So why was it he couldn’t win an argument with his daughter when it came to eating breakfast?

“I want pancakes.”

Still in her ladybug pajamas, her hair a tangled mess of curls—proof of another battle he’d already lost this morning—Hannah slouched in the dining room chair in a classic pout.

“Hannah...”

The key to winning any negotiation was coming to the table from a place of power, and in this, Jamison had none. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Not after he’d given in to her request for pancakes the day before.

But how was he supposed to say strong when his daughter’s willful tantrum broke down and she’d whispered, “Mommy let me have pancakes,” with tears filling her eyes?

And so he’d given in and learned the hard way a sugar rush was not a myth. Hyped up on the sweet stuff, Hannah had talked almost nonstop after leaving the bridal shop—mostly about the very woman Jamison was trying so hard not to think about.

“Rory says I can wear ribbons in my hair.

“Rory says I’ll get to carry a basket filled with roses and can throw them like it’s raining flowers.

“Rory says...”

But no matter how much his daughter talked, it was Rory’s voice Jamison heard. Her smile that flashed through his mind time and again. Her challenge to him to reassure Hannah that everything would be okay and her misplaced confidence that he would succeed.

His daughter didn’t need him to encourage her to walk down the aisle and be the best flower girl she could be. Rory had done all that on her own. Jamison doubted there was much the woman couldn’t talk a person into if she tried.

Sometimes people let me down.

Whoever the man was—and Jamison would bet the partnership up for grabs that it was a man—he had to be the biggest kind of fool to put that shadow of disappointment in Rory’s eyes.

And Jamison was no fool. He learned from his mistakes and the biggest one he’d made was in believing he could make a woman happy. So he’d be smart and keep his distance from the pretty wedding coordinator before she could learn the hard way he could only be another man who would let her down.

Jamison scraped a hand over his face, feeling the stubble he had yet to shave away. He’d grabbed a quick shower that morning, but Hannah had been up by the time he’d gotten dressed. He had hoped she might sleep in, but she awoke first thing...looking as bright eyed and well rested as if she hadn’t taken ten years off his life when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

His mother-in-law, Louisa, had warned him about deviating from Hannah’s schedule. She’s been through so much. She takes comfort in a stable routine.

In that, they were alike, but lately he’d noticed his daughter’s routine—or more specifically, Louisa’s routine for his daughter—left very little time for him to spend with Hannah.

After the accident, he’d welcomed his mother-in-law’s help. Though not life threatening, Hannah’s injuries had left her bruised and broken, and Jamison had almost been afraid to touch her. Louisa, a former nurse, had the knowledge and experience Jamison lacked. But now that Hannah had healed, it was time for Louisa to take a step back—whether she wanted to or not.

Which was one of the reasons he’d insisted on this extended trip with Hannah. He’d thought his mother-in-law had exaggerated the problems he might cause, but now he had to wonder.

The first night at the hotel, bedtime had been accompanied by multiple requests for night-night stories, drinks of water and trips to the bathroom. Had those delay tactics been something more than a child’s typical resistance to bedtime in a strange location? Were the nightmares that haunted Hannah enough to make her afraid to close her eyes?

Jamison hated the helplessness that gripped him and how the sound of her cries took him back to that horrible day.

On the phone fighting with Monica, Hannah crying in the background...his wife’s shrill scream, the sickening crash of metal and after that...nothing. Just a dead phone clutched in his hand.

Eventually Hannah had drifted off to sleep, her breathing still shaky from lingering tears. But Jamison hadn’t slept a wink. Blinking through blurry eyes, he figured he looked every bit as rough as that sleepless night had felt.

He was relieved Hannah didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects, but the sense of anxiety that had kept his eyes wide-open still lingered. The monster under the bed ready to jump out at any minute, even during the day with the sun shining.

“I’ve already ordered breakfast,” he reminded her now as he sank into a chair and was met with her pouty face.

Stick with the routine, he reminded himself.

When he first read through Louisa’s list of approved foods, dominated by fruits and vegetables, he’d wondered if his mother-in-law wasn’t setting him up for a fall. Really, what kid wanted oatmeal for breakfast? But the pancake incident and last night’s nightmare made him realize he didn’t need to blame Louisa for his failures.

He could fail spectacularly all on his own.

“But I want—”

A quick knock on the door interrupted the brewing tantrum, and Jamison wasn’t sure when he’d felt more relieved. “See, there’s room service now with breakfast.”

“Pancakes!” Hannah finished in a voice loud enough to have him cringing as he opened the door. And then cringing again at who was on the other side.

“Morning!” Looking bright, chipper and far too tempting for so early in the morning, Rory McClaren met his frown with a beaming smile.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that made her look even younger than he guessed she was and brought to mind old sitcoms set back in the ’60s. So did the halter-style dress with its soft floral print and full skirt. His mind still foggy from a sleepless night and too many hours spent thinking of her, Jamison could only stare.

After Hannah’s nightmare, Rory looked like something out of a dream. As the rich, strong scent of caffeine hit him, he belatedly noticed the silver serving cart in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” Still on some kind of sleep-deprived delay, the question didn’t form until Rory had already wheeled the cart between the floral-print couch and coffee table in the living area and into the dining room.

She shot a questioning glance over her bare shoulder. “You did order room service, didn’t you?”

Her blue gaze was filled with wide-eyed innocence, but Jamison wasn’t buying it. Realizing he was still holding the door open, he let go and followed her inside. “Yes, but I didn’t expect the wedding coordinator to deliver it.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Small hotel. Everyone pitches in.” Smiling at his daughter, she asked, “Are you ready for breakfast this morning, Miss Hannah?”

Despite her earlier fascination with the woman, Hannah retreated back into shyness. She drew her bare feet up onto the seat and wrapped her arms around her ladybug-covered legs, looking impossibly tiny in the adult-size chair. “I want pancakes,” she repeated, her voice more of a whisper this time.

Instead of a wave of embarrassment crashing over him, Jamison couldn’t help feeling a little smug as Rory’s cheery expression faltered a bit.

“Um—” she glanced at the ticket tucked beneath one of the covered trays “—it looks like the chef made you oatmeal this morning.” She lifted her gaze to Jamison for confirmation.

He nodded. “Oatmeal’s good for you. Healthy.”

At least that was what his in-laws thought. It wasn’t something his mother would have fixed when he was a kid. Not that his mother fixed much of anything in the way of meals—breakfast or otherwise. Jamison had mostly been on his own and, in all honesty, more than content with sugary cereal eaten straight from the box, parked in front of morning cartoons.

“Good for you. Right...” Rory drew out the word as she pulled the cover off the bowl of plain, beige cereal. No fun shapes, bright colors or magically delicious marshmallows there. “What do you say we make this oatmeal even yummier, Hannah?”

Somehow, Jamison should have known a bowl of mush wouldn’t be enough to throw her off her game.

“How?” A wealth of doubt filled that one word, and just like that Jamison’s amusement vanished.

Yesterday, Hannah had been ready to believe Rory was a fairy godmother who walked on flower petals. And okay, so he didn’t buy into Rory McClaren’s brand of happily-ever-after, but his daughter was still a little girl. Did he want her doubting something as simple as breakfast couldn’t somehow get better?

“I’m guessing Rory has an idea about that,” he murmured.

He caught her look of surprise before pleasure brought a pink glow to her cheeks. “That’s right. Thanks to your daddy, who also ordered some fruit, we are going to turn this into happy oatmeal.”

“Happy?”

“Yep. This oatmeal’s a little sad and plain right now,” she said as reached for the platter of fruit beautifully arranged in the middle of the tray. “But with a little bit of color...” Her hands, as delicate and graceful as the rest of her, sliced up the fruit as she spoke. A moment later, she’d outlined a blueberry smiley face in the bowl of oatmeal, complete with banana-slice eyes, a strawberry nose and an orange-wedge smile.

Scrambling up onto her knees, Hannah peered into the bowl Rory set in front of her and let out a soft giggle. “Look, Daddy, the oatmeal’s smiling at me.”

And his daughter was smiling at him. Jamison would have liked the credit, but Rory McClaren had the magic touch. A woman who thought rainbow was a color and turned plain beige oatmeal into a bright, happy-faced breakfast.

“I like smiley-face yummy oatmeal.” Grabbing the spoon, Hannah leaned over the bowl, ready to dig in, her blond hair falling into her face.

“Oops, hold on a second, Hannah.”

Skirting around the whitewashed oak table, Rory reached up and pulled the peach-colored band from her ponytail. Jamison’s mouth went dry as she gave her head a quick shake and sent her dark hair tumbling over her bare shoulders.

His tongue practically stuck to the roof of his mouth; he fought to swallow, assailed by the image of that silken hair spread out against a pillow or tumbling over his shoulders as Rory leaned down to kiss him...

“Thank you, Miss Rory.” Her riot of curls contained, Hannah beamed up at the beautiful brunette.

Cupping her chin in one hand, Rory bent down until they were eye to eye. “You are welcome, Miss Hannah.”

Hannah giggled at the formality before digging into her breakfast. She bounced up and down in the chair in time with chowing down on a bite of banana, drawing an indulgent smile from Rory.

“And what about you, Mr. Porter?” she asked as she walked back over to the serving tray and waved a hand. “I don’t see another bowl of oatmeal for you.”

“Coffee,” he said abruptly, still trying to get the erotic images out of his mind.

Mistaking the reason for his short response, her earnest gaze met his. “I’m sorry if I overstepped with the ponytail. My only excuse is to say it’s an occupational hazard.”

“So, wedding coordinator, room service attendant and hairstylist?”

“Oh, I’m not a professional stylist by any means. But in my short time as wedding coordinator, I’ve learned to be a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to last-minute emergencies. Whether it’s figuring out how to turn three bridesmaids’ bouquets into four because the bride made up with her best friend at the last second or pulling out a hot-glue gun for a quick repair to a torn hemline, I feel like I’ve already been there, done that. And now it’s like I can’t help fixing things... Not that Hannah’s broken or you need help and—I have got to learn to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself!”

Rory wasn’t the only one with that second problem, but it wasn’t his daughter’s hair Jamison longed to get his hands on. “It’s all right,” he said gruffly, even though it wasn’t. Her actions were innocent. His intentions...not so much. “About the ponytail thing, I mean. Anyone can see I can’t get it right. And I do mean anyone, since even Hannah tells me her hair looks funny when I’m done with it.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

“Are you?” The sympathy in her eyes told him he and Hannah had been a topic of conversation once they left the bridal shop. “Because I’m not sure of a damn thing.”

He half expected some meaningless platitude, but instead she reached for the carafe on the serving tray and poured a cup of steaming coffee. “Rough night?” she asked as she handed him the mug.

His fingers overlapped hers, the warmth seeping through coming more from her soft skin than from the hard ceramic. For a brief second, they both froze, connected by the fragrant cup of coffee. And he found himself desperate for someone to confide in.

“Nightmare,” he admitted as Rory released the mug and took a quick step back. She set about tidying the serving tray, her lashes lowered as she avoided his gaze.

“You or Hannah?”

Jamison gave a quick laugh. “Hannah,” he said as if he hadn’t had more than his share of bad dreams over the past months. Not about Monica, like the dreams that had Hannah crying out for a mother who would never again kiss away her tears, but ones about the accident.

He’d seen pictures of what remained of the run-down sedan Monica had been driving—a mangled wreck of metal Hannah had somehow survived. As if those images weren’t bad enough, his subconscious tormented him even further. In his nightmares, the car burst into flames, plunged into a river or fell from a cliff while he could do nothing but watch.

In reality, Jamison hadn’t seen the accident, but he’d heard it.

Worse, he’d caused it.