by Hope Ramsay
Mia’s mouth dropped open. So did Antonella’s. It was stunning to know he could still raise his voice to Mia. But what else was he supposed to do?
Mia sat down, folding her arms across her chest. Her fury didn’t disappear; it morphed into a barely suppressed resentment as the meeting moved on to a discussion of other items on Mia’s list of must-haves, starting with her wish to have two dozen white doves released from two six-foot-tall, white wire birdcages on either side of the gazebo.
“We’re not doing the doves,” Courtney Wallace said.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, are you willing to do any of it? What’s the problem with the doves?” asked Antonella, who had clearly lost her patience.
“Releasing doves bred in captivity is inhumane. Those doves will be easy targets for hawks out here. They won’t survive. And I don’t think you want the animal rights people getting on your case. Besides, we have a corporate responsibility pledge that you can read on our web page that makes it clear that we do not allow the release of doves or the use of rice, paper confetti, or glitter in the ceremony toss. In case you’re wondering, we encourage the use of birdseed, lavender petals, or dried-flower confetti for the ceremony toss, and we have lots of ideas of how to make sure your wedding guests are prepared for that wonderful moment.” Courtney smiled a perfect wedding-planner smile after delivering this speech, which sounded rehearsed to Danny’s ears.
But he had to hand it to Courtney. The moment she said “lavender petals,” Mia perked up and asked a dozen questions.
After that, the conversation got even further down into the weeds, at which point Scarlett, who had been sitting on his lap, got bored. Danny would have left the baby with Mom this morning, but Mondays were Mom’s golf league at the country club day, and Mom regarded golf on Monday the way some people regarded church on Sunday.
“She’s being a total brat, Danny. Make yourself useful and get her out of here,” Mia snapped, when Scarlett started to whine.
The members of Willow’s team, all of whom had behaved like consummate professionals, turned their collective gazes on him. He hated the pity in their eyes.
Most of them had seen Mia in action by now. They knew how she snapped at Scarlett and Danny every time things didn’t go her way. And that, in a nutshell, provided all the reason Danny needed to continue supporting this freak show. So he didn’t argue with his bride. He merely left the meeting carrying his eighteen-month-old baby on his hip like an old hand. They made their way out to the west lawn, where Scarlett practiced her newly found ability to run, chasing after butterflies and bumblebees on her stiff-kneed toddler legs and filling the morning with her joyous laughter.
When she lost interest in the insects, Danny carried her down the footpath to the Old Laurel Chapel. The stone building perched at the edge of a small woods, on a sloping meadow awash in purple violets and yellow buttercups. When he reached the clearing, he put Scarlett down and let her toddle forward while he took in the view of the Shenandoah Valley and the rolling purple ridges of the Allegheny Mountains to the west. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the unmistakable scent of early spring in a verdant land. The sound of birdsong filled the air.
God, it was beautiful here. He’d forgotten how green Virginia was. Living in deserts for the last eight years, he’d grown accustomed to shades of brown and drought-tolerant landscapes. This green place resonated down in his soul, whispering to him that he belonged here in these hills, in this meadow.
He turned his gaze on the newly restored chapel and was surprised to find Roxy Kopp sitting quietly on the church’s steps, her gray slacks and sweater camouflaging her against the building’s fieldstone facade. She smiled at Scarlett, who had covered more ground on her little legs than he’d expected.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he answered.
Silence stretched between them. They hadn’t parted well the last time they’d met.
“Uh,” Danny said, jamming his hands into his pockets, “I need to apologize for being a jerk the other night. I didn’t mean to drive you away. I’m very, very sorry for the frog and my uncouth behavior as a thirteen-year-old…and the other night.”
Roxy continued to watch Scarlett as the baby toddled in her direction. She didn’t raise her gaze or make eye contact with Danny. “Apology accepted,” she said in a husky voice that reeked of sex appeal.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said.
She stood up, dusting off her slacks. “Oh, I took a day off from work to come out here with Brandon and Laurie. Laurie is a little too involved with her wedding plans, but sometimes she has a lot of trouble making up her mind. Anyway, she wanted me here for moral support or something. And Andrew too. I have no idea why the best man and maid of honor need to be consulted about the flowers in the chapel. But she’s a good friend, so here I am.”
She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “She’s been in there with Amy for ages. Andrew gave up about thirty minutes ago. He headed off to the manor house to get himself a Coke. I gave up too. Honestly, I can’t understand how anyone can talk about flower arrangements for more than an hour. When I find Mr. Right, I’m definitely going to elope.”
He chuckled. “I wish I was eloping,” he said. “Mia is back at the manor discussing the exact color of blue—chambray or indigo—she wants for the reception table linens. I don’t even know the difference between those two colors. Do you?”
When Roxy smiled it felt as if the sun came out from behind a cloud. “Well, I think chambray is lighter than indigo. But they’re both a shade of denim.”
“See, it’s a girl thing. To me, blue is blue.”
Roxy took a few steps forward, then dropped down to be on Scarlett’s level. “Aren’t you a pretty girl.” She spoke in a high singsong voice. The kind of “baby talk” most women used when they addressed Scarlett. Most women except Mia.
Mia had been indifferent to the baby almost from the beginning, sending Scarlett off to the nursery without so much as a second glance just minutes after the delivery. To this day, his fiancée obsessed about her stretch marks.
Danny had been the one to give Scarlett her first bottle. Danny had been the one on diaper duty. If it had been left up to Mia, Scarlett would have been handed off to a parade of nannies while Mia went about executing her career plan. Mia wanted a lucrative Hollywood film contract, and nothing, not even a child, was going to get in her way.
She was also seriously delusional about her acting skills, but that didn’t seem to matter. Hollywood had a way of elevating the hollow and untalented, which was why he’d become jaded by the cult of celebrity. Somehow he’d lost his way in Tinseltown.
Roxy continued to interact with Scarlett, and in a matter of moments she’d earned the child’s trust, even though the baby had entered her “stranger anxiety” phase and had been exceptionally clingy the last week or so. But it must have been love at first sight, because Scarlett gave Roxy one of her drooly, but irresistible, smiles.
“Oh, aren’t you precious,” Roxy said, holding out her hands, palms up. “You want to come see the flowers?” she asked.
Scarlett forgot all about her stranger anxiety and took one of Roxy’s hands. They walked together out into the meadow, where Roxy hunkered down again, her head close to Scarlett’s as she showed his child how to smell the buttercups. They finally sat down in the field while Roxy braided a garland of buttercups and violets for Scarlett’s head. And Scarlett babbled in her own nonstop adorable fashion, speaking words that weren’t real but listening intently to every word spoken to her.
This. This was what he wanted. A woman who would braid wildflowers for his baby’s head and talk to her as if having a real conversation. Roxy may have been a pest and a brat as a child, but she had grown into a beautiful and kind human being.
He’d forgotten about kindness. Mia didn’t have a kind bone in her body. And he didn’t even blame her for that. She’d had a rough childhood that had taught her how to be tough and strong and
to ask for more.
In contrast, Danny had enjoyed every advantage money, position, and power could buy. Once upon a time, he’d thought that he could complete Mia, give her the life she wanted. But what she wanted couldn’t be given. Now he wondered if it was selfish for a man like him—born with every advantage—to ask for more.
He didn’t want to marry Mia. He wanted to run away from her. He wanted to come home, back East, where it rained.
But how could he ask for all that and still protect Scarlett? Mia might not give a rat’s ass about the baby, but the minute he made a play for custody, she’d do her best to deny him. She liked his money and would think nothing of holding the baby hostage.
Chapter Eighteen
The summit with the Vegas Girls production people didn’t break up until nearly 1:00 p.m., making it one of the longest pre-event meetings ever. In Dusty’s opinion, the entire thing was a waste of everyone’s time since it mostly involved telling Mia to sit down and shut up. He strolled back to his office, intent on checking his messages before he headed out for an afternoon of fishing. Mondays were technically his day off—not that he didn’t put in plenty of overtime on Mondays when the inn got busy. But today he needed the alone time down on the run, and he resented having to spend almost four hours doing battle over every minor detail of the event setup—from the PA system to the placement of outdoor propane heaters.
At least Amy hadn’t been present at the meeting. Because if she had been, he might have foolishly suggested a continuation of the fishing lesson. But Dusty needed to avoid a fight with Jamie Lyndon, even if a wild, irresponsible part of him wanted to drive up to the vineyard and challenge the dude to a confrontation.
No. If he wanted people to treat him with respect, he needed to be a man worthy of respect. Even if that meant taking an insult and walking away. Maybe that made him a wimp in some people’s eyes, but the majority of folks in Jefferson County wouldn’t approve if he took a swing at Jamie Lyndon.
So it was ironic that, the moment he committed himself to nonviolence, someone grabbed him from behind, spun him around, and laid a wicked right cross to his face that missed his nose by millimeters. The punch slammed into his cheekbone, forcing him to stumble back a few spaces while black dots swirled in his vision.
What the hell?
“You stay away from my sister,” someone said.
Dusty brought his hand up to test his cheekbone. Yup, there was a cut below his eye. He turned toward the guy who’d blindsided him, his slow fuse suddenly flaring to life.
Andrew Lyndon, Amy’s big brother, stood there breathing hard, as if laying one sucker punch had winded him. Oh boy, Dusty would have to treat the sonofabitch with kid gloves. Hadn’t he made it clear that he didn’t want a fight? Apparently not.
“That’s a chickenshit way to punch a guy,” Dusty said. “If you wanted to discuss my relationship with your sister, we could have used words instead of fists.” He moved his jaw from side to side.
“Okay, but it’s chickenshit for a man with your reputation to take advantage of an innocent girl who’s at least ten years younger than you are.” Andrew’s hands curled into fists. He may have been dressed like a gentleman for the ninth hole at the country club in carefully pressed khakis and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, but by the color in his cheeks and the scowl on his face, Dusty figured Andrew Lyndon had truly lost his temper.
Dusty had to hand it to the guy. Sucker punch or no, at least Andrew was trying to protect his sister.
“I admire you for caring about Amy,” Dusty said, taking a step forward, keeping his hands open and down at his sides. “But where were you when she was sleeping in her car? Oh, and by the way, Amy’s not a girl and I’m not ten years older than she is; she’s a woman, and—”
The minute Dusty came within range, Andrew took a wild-ass swing.
Dusty sidestepped and turned his shoulder as Andrew stumbled past. The guy clearly had no clue how to fight. Probably because he’d been raised a little rich kid whose father never took swings at him.
Andrew turned and came at him again with another wild roundhouse swing. Dusty stepped aside again, but this time he deflected the punch with an open hand, then grabbed Andrew’s right wrist and yanked him forward.
Amy’s brother lost his balance and took a dive right onto the gravel footpath. He landed with an audible oof of escaping air and lay there spread-eagled for a moment, catching his breath. Yeah, it was a bitch when you landed on your solar plexus. Dusty had had plenty of practice enduring that sort of thing as a kid.
Andrew eventually rolled over, the palms of his hands scraped and bloody from his fall, his eyebrows lowered in the Lyndon scowl.
“It always amazes me that some people swing first and ask questions later,” Dusty said in his calmest voice. “I suggest you have a talk with your sister before you consider further violence.”
Dusty turned his back on the guy and strolled down the footpath to his office, where his small refrigerator contained a couple of emergency cold packs. He snagged one, laid it against his cheekbone, and sank into his chair, his head pounding.
The front door slammed open. He winced, preparing himself for round two. But instead of Andrew, his little ol’ sister, wearing a furious frown of her own, marched into his office. “What the hell did you do to—oh my God.”
She rushed forward in full Florence Nightingale fashion. “Let me see,” she said, sitting on his desk and pulling his hand and the cold pack away from his cheek. “You’re bleeding.” Concern sparked in her chocolate-drop eyes, and damned if Dusty didn’t fall a little more in love with her right then. Her outrage warmed him from top to bottom.
“We should take you to the emergency room,” she said.
“I’m fine, really.”
“What can I do to help?”
He was tempted to suggest that she kiss it and make it better. But that might hurt.
“I’m okay,” he said stoically.
“I can’t believe you let Andrew punch you. Andrew doesn’t get into fights. He’s like the calmest guy in the world.”
“Really? Because he didn’t seem that way to me, and for the record, I didn’t let him punch me. He coldcocked me from behind. But once he did that, I sure didn’t let him punch me a second time.”
“Oh no, did you hurt him?”
“Only his pride, but that’s what he gets for starting a fight.”
“I’m going to kill him,” she said, standing up. “And after that I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. And just so we’re clear, I don’t want you retaliating by fighting with my father or my brothers or anyone from my family. I had a nightmare about this. I want everyone to be friends.”
Good luck with that. Dusty would never be friends with Andrew Lyndon. That was the important takeaway from this experience.
“Amy,” he said in a weary voice, “we need to learn something from what just happened.”
“What? That my brother has lost his mind and his iron-clad composure?”
“Well, I suppose that’s one lesson. But if your brother has lost his composure, that’s an ominous sign that maybe you and I don’t belong together.” Like Dusty hadn’t realized this was fated from the start. What on earth made him think he could have a relationship with anyone, much less Amy Lyndon?
Her mouth turned down at the corners, and her dark eyes grew round with surprise. He didn’t want to hurt this woman, but he was going to. Wasn’t that what Willow had been trying to tell him from the start? They didn’t belong together, and no matter how much he’d come to admire Amy, he still couldn’t blow a lifetime of work trying to rehabilitate his family name by challenging the Lyndons, especially if they were lining up, taking swings, and accusing him of abuse.
Even worse, he couldn’t fault her daddy or her brother. Hell, if he had a sister, he sure wouldn’t want her hanging out with a guy like him. So for her sake, because he loved her, he needed to call it quits now. But when Dusty tried to speak, something tangled up inside his
chest, choking him. Damn. This was harder than he’d expected. He had to suck in a big breath before he managed to say, “It’s over, honey. It was fun, but I never promised—”
“I never asked for any promises,” she interrupted before he could finish. And she was right about that. Amy had made it clear from the start that she’d been looking for fun times with a “bad boy.”
“So you’re good with this?” he asked, his throat so tight the words almost stuck there. What the hell? He’d never had trouble ending a relationship, and really, when viewed rationally, this particular relationship consisted of one hot hookup and an unfinished fishing lesson.
She bit her lip as if trying to keep from saying something painful. Thank God she stayed silent, because it wouldn’t have taken much for him to change his mind.
But after a long moment, where the silence and his fate hung in the balance, Amy nodded her head. “Yeah, we’re good,” she said, hopping down from his desk. Then she leaned over and kissed his forehead, branding him forever with her lips. “It was fun, Dusty. While it lasted. And I’m sorry about Andrew. But don’t you worry. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
And then she turned and left him, alone.
* * *
Amy had known all along that her crush on Dusty McNeil would end this way. She’d known it even before her father and brother started throwing punches and making threats. But she sure wished her family had stayed the hell out of it.
Resentment and frustration lodged in her throat. If her family thought picking fights with Dusty would change anything, they were wrong. Amy wasn’t going back to the way things had been before Daddy threw her out. So what if she was a little heartbroken right now? A grown-up, fully realized woman needed a little adversity in order to build character.
So when Amy entered the inn, the last people she wanted to see were Andrew and Brandon, standing around in the lobby, clearly waiting for Laurie, who had insisted on speaking with Courtney once the summit was over.