The Practically Romantic Groom (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2)

by Maria Hoagland

  She set down the arrows and picked up the bow, purposefully pretending to look it over but holding it backwards. Ugh. That might have been too obvious. She lowered it and watched him attach the small target to a thick tree trunk. That was going to be challenging, even for a good shot.

  Considering they hadn’t exactly been keeping track with Cody and Danielle, finding scoring way more complicated than they’d intended, and the fact that even when they had gone to the movies, Isaac hadn’t allowed Brooke to pay, she really wouldn’t be earning much more than bragging rights.

  “And if I win?” Isaac asked. “What do I get?” Isaac rubbed his chin and squinted his eyes as if mulling over several possibilities. “I’m thinking dinner. A fancy one in Duckdale Hollow.”

  Brooke pursed her lips. She was good, she knew that. And chances were Isaac wouldn’t let her pay for a fancy dinner anyway, but would she end up in that awkward position between being responsible to pay and him refusing? No, she had this. “You’re on.”

  Isaac laughed out loud. “Keep this up and I’m going to have to sign you up for Gamblers Anonymous.”

  “You’d have to be right there with me, you know.”

  Isaac marked off the distance in loping paces, his mouth moving as he counted under his breath. “If you do all your betting with me, I think you’re okay. I won’t let you lose. Too much.”

  The thing was, Brooke knew he meant it. It felt good to be able to trust a man so completely.

  While she hadn’t really been hurt before, it was only because she’d never exposed her heart enough to be hurt. Her untimely breakup with Isaac way back in eighth grade was the first of an uninterrupted string of preemptive breakups. She was definitely a serial heartbreaker, though she’d become more adept at even avoiding the need to in the past few years, making sure that relationships stopped before they even got to that point—like with Frankie’s now-husband. Before Frankie started dating Logan, she’d set Brooke up with him. Minutes into the date, she said what both of them had to be feeling—that they were obviously more suited to be friends. It kept her safe. In fact, seeing Logan marry Frankie only a few months later wasn’t difficult at all. Brooke had been thrilled for them—but it also left her lonely. And this … this fluttering of fun, this flirtation with commitment, this feeling of completeness was way more fulfilling than flitting about from one pseudo-relationship to another. Maybe she didn’t need to be lonely. Maybe she had finally found someone worth the risk.

  Isaac dragged the heel of his boot through the soft earth, and Brooke joined him at the scratch line. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Ladies first.”

  Oh, he was in for it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brooke couldn’t remember a better afternoon—perhaps in her whole life—but she also couldn’t remember a more tiring one, either. Who knew horseback adventures and a couple of archery competitions—best five out of seven sets, it turned out, because Isaac didn’t want to admit defeat—could zap so much energy? Or maybe it was all the laughing.

  Cradled in the soft leather headrest of Isaac’s car, Brooke fought heavy eyelids as the car jostled her back and forth.

  “Should we do gnocchi another time?” Isaac placed his hand on her knee, so featherlight she had to open her eyes to make sure it actually happened. As soon as she opened them, he pulled his hand away again.

  “No.” The word slipped out so softly, it melted into the background. She needed to be more emphatic if she wanted him to believe it. “No. If you guys are still up for it, it’s no big deal. And a warm, filling meal would help. Though I think we should skip the marinara. I’ve got a quick and easy recipe for a cream sauce that’s amazing.” Her stomach growled its approval.

  Isaac’s chest heaved with a silent chuckle and his eyes slipped to her middle.

  He must have heard the sound, and Brooke clamped her hands over her stomach. “Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, 3M. I think I’m as hungry as you are.”

  Both of his hands were back on the steering wheel, but that didn’t keep her from thinking about all the things those hands had done that day—archery, picking flowers with Gemma (which Gemma divided and presented half to Danielle and the other half to Brooke), steering a horse effortlessly. The best, though, was when he held her hand—closely rivaled by a moment ago with it on her knee.

  The nickname just now caught her attention. “3M?”

  “Maid Marian Merida.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a half grin. “I wasn’t sure which one I should call you, so I improvised.”

  “I see.” Brooke had always been a fan of fairy tales, of course, but she’d probably only watched Brave once. “I don’t know much about Merida, but Aurora, now that’s a princess I can get behind—beautiful, likes flowers, pretty dresses, singing, handsome princes. And sleep. Who doesn’t get behind sleep?” Her eyelids had to be filled with concrete. She had to keep talking to keep herself awake. “I’m not sure I have the hair or the attitude for Merida, but if you’re Robin Hood . . .”

  She couldn’t believe she’d been about to tell him she should be Maid Marian. That was basically forcing a DTR talk, wasn’t it? And it was way too early to define their relationship.

  “Then that makes you Diana?”

  Brooke scrambled to place his reference. “As in Roman mythology?” She saw him nod in her periphery. “Uh, no, more like Katniss Everdeen.”

  “Oh, great.” Isaac feigned horror. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

  “I only have a good side.” She straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin up a notch.

  “Ha.” Isaac took a long moment to look at her. “So I see.”

  Brooke turned toward him, placing her hand against his cheek and forcing his head back to the front. “Eyes on the road.”

  Isaac stuck out his lower lip in a pout for a beat. “As you wish.”

  “That was sword-fighting, not archery,” Brooke countered. “And Princess Buttercup didn’t do anything more daring than jump out a window.”

  “Kind of like Aurora. She didn’t do anything but sleep until her prince saved her.”

  He had a point. “That’s true. I suppose there are better idols.”

  “Although . . .” He drew it out longer than a country road. “I guess you would like that kind of character, Miss Romantic. Aurora is a lot like all those Jane Austen movies—girls who don’t do anything more than dancing.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes even though he wouldn’t see. At least, he shouldn’t. “So now we’re back to you complaining about dancing. I am going to get you to dance with me if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Isaac shrugged noncommittally. “We’ll see.” He made the last turn onto Danielle’s street. “No. No, not today.” It was amazing how quickly his tone changed.

  “What?” She didn’t need an explanation to know that the man standing on Danielle’s porch was not happy—and neither was Danielle. She stood, hands on her hips halfway up her walk, stone-faced and resolute, staring at him while Cody helped Gemma out of the SUV. “Who is that?” Brooke asked.

  Isaac pulled up behind Cody’s SUV and cut the engine. “Evan. Gemma’s dad.” His voice had a sharp edge to it.

  “Where have you been, and who is that strange man with my daughter?” The man’s demanding questions were loud enough Brooke didn’t even have to strain to overhear.

  “It’s not your weekend with Gemma, Evan.” Danielle held her ground, even as Evan stomped down the walk toward Cody and the SUV.

  Despite the panic fluttering in Brooke’s chest, Danielle appeared calm in the face of irrational fury.

  Cody moved to Danielle’s side and placed a hand at the small of her back. Perhaps surprised by the move, Danielle leaned away and Cody dropped his hand, though he didn’t step away.

  “So first you poison our daughter against me, and now you’re replacing me. You can’t do that. I am Gemma’s dad.”

  As if anyone had questioned it.

&nb
sp; Brooke leaned against the door of Isaac’s car, latching it as quietly as she could. As uncomfortable as everyone already was, she didn’t want to draw any attention her way. Perhaps she should have stayed in the passenger seat. Having an audience could only frustrate Evan more.

  Purple-faced and pointedly ignoring Cody, Evan passed him by to crouch in front of his daughter. “Hi, Gemma.” While it sounded like he was talking to someone much younger than seven, Evan’s voice was kind. Gemma didn’t move away, though she wouldn’t lift her eyes to his either. “How are you, sweet pea?”

  Not surprisingly, Gemma didn’t answer.

  “She’s giving me the silent treatment again,” Evan grumbled, aiming his words like an accusation at Danielle. “Gemma, are you mad at Daddy?” He stood looking down at her now, any softness to his voice dissipating.

  Gemma remained mute and still as a garden statue, and Brooke feared Evan would explode. A few more tense moments passed before he stepped to the side, away from Gemma, which left him practically nose to nose with Danielle.

  “I see she’s still being just as controlling and manipulative as before. And you’re letting her. Great parenting, Dan.” Evan didn’t touch Danielle, or even threaten her really, though he was far from pleasant. “Is she somewhere on the spectrum, maybe? Does she need special classes?”

  Danielle physically bristled. “Gemma may not be speaking at the moment, Evan, but she is listening to your every word right now.” The comment was a warning.

  “Good.” He spat into the grass and glared at Gemma. “Because we need to do something to make her talk like a normal kid.”

  “So now you want to punish her for being nervous? Don’t you get that this is an anxiety disorder? You are making it worse by arguing and threatening and accusing.”

  Isaac left Brooke’s side and was beside Gemma in a flash. “Hey, Gem, how about we walk down to Mrs. Beider’s house to check on her. We can make it back by dinner. What do you say?”

  Evan glared at Isaac, but with his reaction, Isaac stood even straighter and held out a hand to Gemma. The two of them left, Gemma leading Isaac toward the end of the block, where they’d obviously been many times before. They were barely a couple houses down when Evan continued. At least he’d given them that long.

  “I refuse to give in to Gemma’s whims, Danielle. I can’t believe you haven’t learned this yet. She would have grown out of this ridiculousness by now if you didn’t let her get away with it.”

  Evan’s words, like a slap in the face, only served to force Danielle into defensive mode. “It’s not a whim. It’s not ridiculousness. It is selective mutism.”

  “Quit labeling our child, Dan. Don’t you see that you are making it worse? She’s shy, Danielle, like millions of other kids her age.” Evan ground his teeth, his jaw moving back and forth. “Except, unlike the millions of other kids who don’t talk to adults, you’ve spoiled her—”

  Cody jumped forward, fists clenched. “What do you know of Danielle’s parenting? What do you know of caring for your daughter?” He stopped, short of breath, though he looked like he wanted to say more.

  “What do you know of Danielle’s parenting?” Evan spat back. “You’ve been in their lives all of five minutes.”

  “Which is five minutes more than you have the past two years.”

  Danielle placed a hand on Cody’s forearm, and he backed away. “Exactly what should I have done differently?” Danielle reclaimed her position in the conversation.

  “Not talk for her, for one. If she had to ask for what she wanted, she would have given in by now.”

  “What, like the week she peed her pants every day at school last year because she couldn’t ask to go to the restroom? Or the time she got on the wrong bus after school and it took us hours to find her? Or even the time a couple of weeks ago when she got separated from us at a school function and she couldn’t ask for help?”

  Okay, this was enough. With Isaac gone and their evening interrupted by the wonderful Mr. Know-It-All-Wrong, Brooke wasn’t going to stick around any longer. She caught Cody’s eye and with a questioning quirk of her eyebrows and darting a glance at his SUV, he got the memo.

  “Dani?” Cody asked gently. “Would you like me to stick around, or would you like some privacy?”

  “I’m fine,” Danielle said, not even sparing Cody a look. “You can go.”

  Really? That was it? Brooke felt bad for Cody.

  But then Danielle seemed to remember her manners. “I had a really great time with you guys today.” Danielle looked to each of them, but her eyes lingered on Cody’s. Maybe she wasn’t completely blowing him off, though to an outsider, it sure seemed she was. “Thank you.”

  As Cody started to turn, dejection hung from his neck like a cardboard sign.

  “I’ll call you,” Danielle said, but Brooke doubted it softened the blow.

  Brooke and Cody climbed into his vehicle, the heaviness that clung to them dampening what had once been a glorious spring day. “Wow.” Brooke exhaled deeply. “Isn’t he a gem?” She didn’t want to say Evan’s name, and she knew she wouldn’t have to. “Do you think Danielle’s okay?”

  Cody’s hands wrung the steering wheel. Noticing this, Brooke regretted saying anything, but she’d wanted to open the door if Cody wanted to talk.

  “The pragmatic side of me says I need to give her space, let her deal with her problems. She’s more than capable, and I know she’ll be okay, but I want her to know I care, that I’m here to help, and that I’m not judging her at all.” He was silent as he maneuvered a couple of turns out of the neighborhood. “Any advice on how I should proceed?”

  That was new. Her big brother, with five years more dating experience than she had, was coming to her for guidance. She had to make sure it was sound. “You’re asking a florist? What do you think I’m going to say?” Brooke gave Cody a sideways glance. “Where words fail, flowers always say the right thing.” She shrugged when he looked at her. “It’s a place to start.”

  But only a starting point. For sure, the flowers would communicate what Cody wanted to—that he was there for Danielle—but would the gesture be enough to save their relationship? Why was dating so stinking complicated? And then throwing in an ex-husband and a daughter . . .

  Brooke was relieved these weren’t complications she and Isaac would have to deal with. And yet, in some ways, it was. Isaac was drowning in failed examples of relationships—at work, his childhood home, and this with his sister. Dysfunctional relationships were front and center every day for him. In fact, that was probably all he saw. No wonder the man had a skewed sense of the sustainability of love. No wonder he was struggling with the desire to take the risk. Earlier, she had thought he might be ready, but was he now? And the other question was, after seeing how quickly a scene can sour, how certain was she that love was worth a shot?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Danielle had ignored Isaac’s texts for far too long. He figured he’d give her a day to wallow in the wake of Hurricane Evan, especially after she’d raged at him to leave her alone Saturday night after everyone else had gone. He’d known Danielle was upset, that she needed someone to hear everything she couldn’t express earlier in the evening, but when she’d ordered Isaac to leave, what else could he do? He’d tried to stay, she’d insisted he not, and that was that.

  Her sullen attitude had persisted in the office on Monday, and she had been less than professional, which was a risk he couldn’t afford to take with his career and name in the community in the balance. But more than that, however, Isaac knew his sister was hurting, and like it or not, he was going to make her talk.

  Their arrangement had Danielle working only during typical school hours, though now in early summer, Gemma was in daycare. Late afternoon calls were forwarded to Danielle’s phone, and she made sure he was well organized for any appointments before she left for the day, but since it had been fairly light and she’d been in a grumpy mood, Isaac had sent her home at lunchtime to “rest.” St
ill, she should have responded to his attempts to reach out, but he hadn’t heard a peep. His brotherly instinct was to worry—especially in the state he’d last seen her. Luckily, the daycare hadn’t called saying she’d forgotten Gemma or anything.

  He checked the time on his computer. While it was barely five o’clock, he was done for the day. He went online and ordered Gemma’s favorite—pepperoni pizza—and locked the office behind him. He would just show up on her doorstep. It was a pretty safe guess that Danielle hadn’t fixed anything for dinner yet, and if she did, well, they’d have something for another time.

  Twenty minutes later, he rang the doorbell embedded in the dusty brick beside Danielle’s red front door. Cobwebs and leaves decorated the porch, looking like leftovers from Halloween more than half a year ago. It was enough to depress anyone.

  “I brought dinner,” Isaac said by way of greeting his niece, who opened the door.

  “Pepperoni?” Her hopeful hands extended to take the pizza, and Isaac complied by handing it over.

  “Hawaiian,” he teased, knowing she’d have something to say about it.

  Her happy expression melted like a spring snowman. “I won’t eat Hawaiian. I don’t like fruit on pizza.”

  “Or anything else on your pizza, for that matter,” Isaac joked.

  Gemma’s face turned defiant. “I like pepperoni.”

  “That you do,” he agreed. It was time to let her off the hook. “Which is why I didn’t get Hawaiian.” He let that sink in. “It’s pepperoni.”

  “Uncle Isaac!” Gemma was as exasperated as any self-important seven-year-old would be.

  By then the two of them had made it the short distance from the front door to the kitchen table, with Danielle still not having made an appearance. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s in her room.” Gemma frowned. “She told me I had to play quietly because her head hurts.” Gemma sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, her legs dangled, but the tips of her toes swept the top of the floor as she swished them back and forth. “She says that all the time. Ever since the horses.” She quieted as her face pinched together in deep concentration. “Is it my fault, Uncle Isaac, because I wouldn’t talk to Dad?”