Someone Old: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 1)

by Lacy Williams

  Someone Old

  Susan Crawford

  Lacy Williams

  Contents

  Exclusive invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Exclusive invitation

  Someone New sneak peek

  Also by Susan Crawford

  Also by Lacy Williams

  Exclusive invitation

  Are you a member of Lacy’s or Susan’s email newsletter? Right now you can receive a special gift, available only to newsletters subscribers. Someone Blue is a 50-page novelette and will not be released on any retailer platform—only to newsletter subscribers.

  What happened to Nicholas? Will he ever find his own happily-ever-after?

  Click here to subscribe and get your free gift. Unsubscribe at any time.

  Chapter 1

  I can't do this.

  Claire Davidson held the notecard in trembling hands, her eyes blurring with tears and obscuring the words that were now burned into her brain. Not right for each other. Mistake.

  They’d been planning their wedding for four months, and the morning of the big event was when it occurred to Nicholas that she was wrong for him?

  She couldn't move. It was an hour to go time, and her groom had just sent a note—a note!—to call off their wedding.

  "Is he in his room?" she asked Wilder, the groom's older brother, best man, and note-deliverer, who was hovering in the hall doorway and making eyes at her maid of honor, Quinn, across the room.

  Quinn hadn’t noticed yet that anything was wrong. She studiously ignored him as she sat in the curved alcove that housed a built-in window seat and stared out through a decades-old glass pane. And thank goodness, because Claire couldn't handle a budding romance right now. Even if it was her best friend.

  The entire wedding party had been sequestered at the Sawyer Creek Bed & Breakfast for two days, preparing for her wedding to Nicholas. The mother-of-the-groom and Claire’s other bridesmaid, Shelby, had gone downstairs to welcome the arriving guests. Until a few minutes ago, Claire had watched from the upstairs window as several people in their wedding finest emerged from their cars.

  An ache spread through her chest, and she realized she was white-knuckling the notecard. She had to stay calm.

  "Is he?" she demanded of Wilder, who was still gazing at Quinn. Claire stepped toward him, the massive amounts of tulle in her skirt whispering delicately.

  It was enough to snap him out of his distraction. He shook his head. "What? No. He's gone."

  Her groom. Gone.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  This couldn't be happening.

  "Gone? Who, Nicholas? Where?" Quinn's voice was full of force as she stood from the window seat.

  "I don't know." Wilder's misery was plain to see in the tight way he held himself, the frown he wore. Something had definitely been going on between him and Quinn this weekend. Claire had been sure of it. But now her best friend was avoiding Wilder's eyes, and she'd been quiet all morning.

  Claire didn't have time to wonder about her best friend's love life. Especially since her own was currently crashing to a halt. "Is he still on the property?"

  The B&B had a lovely lawn—which had been spread with white wooden chairs—and a sprawling garden, a gazebo, and even a thicket of pine trees at the far end where the property hadn't been developed yet. If Nicholas was still around somewhere, she could talk to him. Make him explain himself.

  Was this just a case of cold feet? It had to be, right? It was like something from a bad romance novel. In real life, a groom didn't run out on his bride right before it was time to walk down the aisle.

  "I don't know if he's still around," Wilder said, breaking her from the train wreck of her thoughts.

  "I'll find him." Quinn stood with a rustle of satin. The wine-colored floor-length gown she wore made her seem even taller than her five feet ten inches. She pulled a pair of flip flops from the open suitcase and slipped them on—an image that was so very Quinn. "Maybe Shelby knows something." Nicholas's younger sister was a long shot, though. She'd been away from Sawyer Creek a long time. Claire had asked her to be a bridesmaid mostly out of courtesy. She’d been shocked when she agreed.

  "I'll go, too," Wilder said.

  Quinn hadn't looked at him once since he'd appeared in the doorway, tense and unhappy. Now her gaze snapped to him.

  He winced under its intensity.

  "I think you've done enough," Quinn mumbled as she headed for the door.

  "Quinn—"

  Whatever Wilder said to her was lost as the door closed behind them. Claire knew something had happened between them, but her friend's broken heart was a worry for later.

  Mistake. Not right for each other.

  How could Nicholas write those things?

  Her knees wobbled, and the emotion she'd been trying to hold at bay hit her like a tidal wave.

  She took one step and leaned her shoulder against the wall. With the layers of her petticoat and the massive tulle skirt of the wedding dress itself, there was no way she could sit.

  Standing here gave her a perfect view out the large window, framed with gauzy white curtains. More cars were arriving, spilling onto the overflow parking area and blocking in the cars parked nearer the B&B, which was really an older farmhouse that had been lovingly restored.

  Was Nicholas's car still here? Was he?

  Her eyes strained to see.

  Not right for each other.

  They were right for each other. She'd spent the last two and a half years of her life proving it.

  From the moment he'd asked her out in a coffee shop after her Complex Nursing Care class, Claire had done everything in her power to be what he wanted. Because she loved him, and she refused to lose this one.

  When he'd deferred to her, she'd chosen restaurants for their dates that he'd mentioned he liked. She'd worn feminine dresses he appreciated. Because he was a physician, she'd read more medical books than her nursing degree required, so she'd be able to converse intelligently about family medicine. She'd even let her dad back into her life after years of separation. All because Nicholas had encouraged her to.

  And her dad was supposed to walk her down the aisle in—she glanced at the time—half an hour.

  Claire glanced away from the pearl face of her gold wristwatch, a gift from her late grandmother when she'd been a teenager. How had so many minutes slipped away already?

  Where was Nicholas?

  A black truck turned down the B&B’s driveway and parked at the far end of a haphazard row of cars. It looked brand new, not even a hint of the layer of dust that the cars and trucks in this small farm town tended to carry.

  The man who emerged was not Nicholas. Nicholas had dark hair while this man was blond.

  But Not-Nicholas seemed familiar to her, even from this distance. His body was mostly blocked by the bed of his truck. All Claire could see were his head and a pair of broad shoulders. Was he wearing a T-shirt? She couldn't tell for sure, but it sure didn't seem he was dressed for a wedding.

  And then, his head turned, and he seemed to stare straight at her.

  Her breath caught.

  Oh, she'd seen him before all right. For a time back in college, and then again on every third billboard along the highway as she'd driven here from Austin. Someone in the MLB's marketing department had come up with a brilliant idea to plaster his image
—his sexy, smiling face beneath a Dallas Coyotes ball cap—with the slogan Prodigal Pitcher Returns.

  Claire hated baseball.

  And she hated Jax Morris even more.

  What was he doing here? He wasn’t approaching the B&B. He held a cell phone to one ear. He stood casually, one hand on the bed of his pickup truck. While her life imploded.

  He had some nerve showing up at her wedding. When they'd dated—could the brief fling they'd had even be called dating?—he'd never come to Sawyer Creek with her. But now that he was a local celebrity, the town gossips would have a field day.

  Then a terrible thought occurred to her. Was he crashing the wedding to break it up?

  It seemed preposterous, given that she hadn't seen him in three years.

  Except... she was missing a groom.

  Was it possible the two were related?

  Had Jax done this? Had he somehow pushed Nicholas to run out on her?

  She'd kill him.

  She didn't think as she crossed the room and stormed down the back staircase of the B&B. She emerged at the side of the big farmhouse and pushed out onto the wrap-around porch, the humid summer air blasting her skin and draping her like a sticky blanket.

  She rounded the house, grabbing handfuls of her skirt to hold it above the ground as she stomped through the gravel parking lot toward the man who'd been the first—no, second—to run out on her.

  With each step closer to his massive black truck, her head of steam grew.

  I can't do this.

  The words Nicholas had written were an echo of what Jax had said to her so long ago. The hurt from it had dissipated by now, but anger remained. And the anger propelled her toward him.

  Someone called out to her from the other side of the parking area, but she ignored the arriving wedding guest.

  Jax rounded the truck as she approached and stood there with his hands in his jeans’ pockets, a crooked smile on his gorgeous face. One that had made her stomach swoop in a former life.

  Not now.

  "Claire. You look good."

  She slapped him across the face. Hard.

  Jax shouldn't have come.

  Claire’s slap had been hard enough to snap his head to one side. His cheek stung and his ears rang.

  He'd known this was a mistake, but then he'd never been the smartest kid on the playground. Or the ball field, as it were.

  He exhaled the air that her blow had caught in his chest.

  He'd probably deserved that. For leaving like he had, and for so much more.

  "Where is he?" she demanded.

  Her hazel eyes were bright and her color was high, her cheeks flushed behind the striking makeup. Her blond hair was in some kind of twist, and that dress... It was a heart attack waiting to happen to the guy at the end of the aisle.

  Who was, regrettably, not Jax. "Where's who?"

  Her right hand fisted at her side, and Jax rocked back on his heels. She wouldn't catch him unaware again. He couldn't show up for photo day with a black eye. The P.R. people would hate him. And he figured he was only getting one shot at the majors.

  "Nicholas." She hissed the word. "Where is he? What'd you say to him?"

  Her rapid-fire questions made no sense whatsoever. Jax dug his hands out of his pockets to hold them up in surrender.

  He instantly regretted that move. He'd stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her like his inner caveman wanted to do.

  Mine.

  Not his. Not anymore. "Who is Nicholas?"

  A split-second was all it took for her to lose the fiery anger that had been directed toward him. Her face crumpled, and she pressed the fingers of one hand against the bridge of her nose. Was she crying?

  "Whoa. Hey—" Like metal to a magnet, his hand stretched toward her. As soon as his fingers connected with the bare skin of her upper arm, she shook him off.

  "Don't touch me!"

  Right. Hands off.

  She half-turned away from him, staring across the parking lot. Like she wanted to look anywhere but at him. "What are you doing here?"

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

  He tried to marshal his thoughts, but seeing her again had been like taking a fastball to the helmet. He felt a little concussed. Nauseous and dizzy and short of breath.

  She was getting married. Now. All dolled up and dressed up, and he'd lost his chance when he'd walked away.

  "I got called up to the Coyotes." He wanted to kick himself for the inane statement.

  She seemed to want to kick him, too, if the flash of anger in her eyes and still-fisted hands were any indication. "So you...came home to Texas and decided to look me up?"

  Came home.

  Nope. Home wasn't even in his vocabulary. He may have returned to the state he'd grown up in, but he'd never go back to the double-wide black hole in the wretched little town he'd scratched and clawed his way out of.

  "You might've picked a better day for your blast to the past,” she said. “Or whatever this is."

  Yeah. No kidding. He should go.

  But Claire was near tears, her gaze scanning everywhere.

  He'd upset her. On her wedding day.

  And something inside him wouldn't let him walk away.

  He was surprised he still had the power to hurt her, at least to the point of tears. The Claire he'd known had been fiercely independent and guarded with her emotions. He'd fallen in love quickly, but he'd had his own reasons for keeping his feelings to himself. It'd taken her almost a month to confess how she felt—the fact that she'd loved him at all still shocked him all these years later.

  He'd come this far hoping some kernel of what she'd once felt was still alive. And maybe it was, if she was crying over him.

  But suddenly, it hit him that she hadn't been paying attention to him at all, even while she'd been talking to him. She was looking for someone.

  "Who's Nick?" he asked again.

  "Nicholas," she repeated softly, her neck craning now.

  Looking for her groom?

  "Claire!" A man's voice rang out, and Claire whirled to find the source. An older man was frantically weaving his way through the parked vehicles toward them.

  She picked up her skirt and started that direction.

  Jax followed her. He had to. Because, like a perfect pitch, she'd just flown through his strike zone, and he couldn't not take a swing.

  "Dad, what—?"

  Dad. She'd been estranged from her father when Jax had known her. Unless this was the groom's dad. But no, the man's eyes were the same color as Claire's. And the shape of his jaw... this had to be her father.

  "I just ran into Quinn in the foyer," the man said. "She said Nicholas is missing?"

  Ah, good old Quinn. Claire’s best friend had never liked Jax. Smart girl.

  The older man shot a suspicious glance over Claire's shoulder to him. Jax had been on the receiving end of that look too many times, but within seconds, both recognition and surprise flared in the man's eyes. They’d never met before, so he must’ve been a baseball fan.

  "He's not missing. Not exactly." Claire shot a glance over her shoulder, too, but it was full of fury. And a little secrecy.

  "Then, where is my future son-in-law?" Her dad was breathing heavily, and he leaned one hand on the side of an SUV for balance.

  Jax experienced a moment of elation. He'd been right. She was looking for the groom. Who had... abandoned her?

  Hope fluttered, reviving his battered heart. If she wasn't getting married today, maybe there was still a chance for him. For them.

  "Claire…" He’d barely gotten her name out when all the color leached from her father's face. The man staggered and collapsed.

  "Dad!" Claire cried.

  Jax jumped forward, but she beat him there. Kneeling on the ground near her dad's head, it seemed she'd totally forgotten about her wedding dress. Miles of fabric were in the way as she tried to shift him from his face-down position.

  "Let me he
lp," Jax said.

  She hesitated, her hands poised as though she might slap him away.

  "You want me to roll him over?"

  She nodded.

  Jax gently turned the man to his back.

  With steady movements, Claire pressed her fingers to her dad's neck to check his pulse and bent close to listen to his breathing. Her demeanor was controlled. Clinical. Had she finished her nursing degree? Gone on to work as a nurse? The questions stalled in his throat. Now wasn't the time.

  "His pulse is weak," she said. "He needs a doctor. Can you call 911?"

  "Is there someone inside...?"

  She shook her head quickly. "No one on the guest list."

  Her father moaned and then seemed to rouse. His eyes blinked open slowly. "What—?"

  Claire's hand on his shoulder kept him down. "You fainted, Dad. We need to get you to the hospital to get checked out."

  "I'm fine." The fact that the man's mumble was barely audible and his eyes were sliding closed again seemed to bely his statement. "Just got...dizzy...for a minute."

  "You didn't just get dizzy," she said. "You collapsed."

  "Just take me inside."

  Claire's lips set in a tight line, one that Jax remembered as a sign of her stubbornness. Some of the color—not all—had come back to her dad's face, and he continued to insist he was fine. Jax understood Claire's concern, but the man did seem to be recovering quickly. A trip to the E.R. was probably unnecessary.

  "We're going to the hospital." Her tone left no room for negotiation. “It’ll be faster to drive than wait on an ambulance.”

  Still pretty as a paint and stubborn as a mule.

  Jax blurted out, "I'll drive."

  The only reason Claire agreed to get into Jax's truck was proximity.

  He'd parked at the very edge of the parking area, while many of the other cars—including hers—were blocked in.

  It would take far too long for an ambulance—and the volunteer crew—to reach the rural B&B. She would've ignored Jax completely except for the fact that her dad was leaning heavily on him to get to the truck.