Showdown

by Tilly Bagshawe

  He greeted her with genuine warmth: “I’m so glad you could make it,” and proceeded not only to forgive her for her outburst at Ruidoso but to thank her for her plain speaking.

  “It’s funny how sometimes we don’t see the most important things, even when they’re going on right in front of us,” he said. “And I don’t just mean Candy. I’ve realized I’ve been a crappy father to Amy too. She’s a wonderful, wonderful girl.”

  After that there was no stopping him. He bent Milly’s ear all night about how fantastic it was rediscovering both his elder children. He’d finally done what he should have done years ago: reached out to Donny and admitted his share of responsibility for the death of his and Amy’s mother. The two of them were now back on speaking terms. And he was also fighting Candy for custody of the twins.

  “She took them with her when she left, but she only wants them as a tool to screw more money out of me,” he said. “But you know what?” He shrugged. “I don’t care anymore. All I want is my kids and the pleasure of knowing I’ve fucked that son of a bitch Cranborn over. You know Candy left him the day he got indicted?”

  Milly hadn’t known it, and honestly wasn’t sure she cared any longer. But she certainly found herself warming to the new Jimmy Price.

  “What can I do?” she said, closing Amy’s bedroom door behind her now and joining her friend on the bed. “Does anything need pinning? Or perhaps you’d like something from downstairs? Water? Fruit juice?”

  “I’m fine,” said Amy. “Relax. Tell me more about Zac.”

  They’d begun swapping gossip last night after supper and ended up talking into the small hours. Amy filled Milly in on developments at Highwood, as well as giving her all the racing gossip from Palos Verdes and a long, detailed description of Dylan’s courtship. In return Milly told her about her new life in England, rehabilitating the horses, and made her scream with laughter doing impressions of Jasper’s saintliness. She’d also made the odd passing reference to Zac.

  “There’s really not much to tell,” she said. “He’s lovely. He’s really funny and kind. He’s very clever. My mother adores him.”

  “But?” said Amy.

  “But what?” Milly frowned. “There is no ‘but.’ He’s a good man. I’m lucky to have him.”

  “But do you love him?” asked Amy. “I know he’s tall, dark, and handsome and all of that. But how does he make you feel?”

  Milly thought for a minute.

  “Safe,” she said eventually, deftly answering Amy’s second question but not her first. “He makes me feel safe.”

  “Well, I think he sounds lovely,” said Amy firmly. “And very romantic, the way he pursued you and everything. You must miss him, being away.”

  “I do,” said Milly. And she meant it too. Whenever her anxiety about seeing Bobby again threatened to overwhelm her, which was roughly every minute and a half since her plane landed in California, she felt herself longing to call Zac.

  “It will be all right, won’t it?” she said, breaking her self-imposed rule not to wobble in front of Amy. “What if Bobby still hates me? And what about Wyatt and Maggie? How can I face them again after all the trouble I caused?”

  Amy took her hand and squeezed it.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said soothingly. “The McDonalds aren’t the type to hold grudges, you know that. And everything turned out all right in the end, anyway. As for Bobby”—she paused for a moment, as if wondering how best to phrase it—“he’s mellowed too. Trust me. No one’s going to give you a hard time. I wouldn’t have brought you here if they were, now would I?”

  “I guess not,” said Milly, hugging her. “Thanks.”

  But inside she still felt a gnawing sense of apprehension that no words of comfort from Amy, or anyone else, could banish.

  By the time the bridal party pulled into the long driveway at Highwood, the sun was already high in the sky over the ranch and a beautiful winter’s day was in full bloom.

  The adobe barn, which had been transformed for the occasion into a makeshift chapel, looked stunning, as peaceful and spiritual a setting for a wedding as any church. Once all the hay bales and farm machinery had been cleared out, the floor swept clean, and the wooden walls painted bright, gleaming white, it was already almost unrecognizable. But the addition of some old Victorian benches from the big house, four huge bouquets of white lilies and red roses, trailing loops of ivy festooned from the rafters, and hundreds of tiny cyclamen-scented candles in clear glass jars lining the central aisle completed the picture.

  “It looks incredible,” said Bobby to Tara, who was handing out orders of service to the late arrivals at the barn door, kissing her on the cheek. With only a little help from Summer and her mother, Tara had been responsible for the whole thing. “You realize you could make millions as a fancy wedding planner in the city?”

  “And leave all this?” She grinned, waving at the backdrop of green pastures, newly cleared of drilling equipment, behind her. “Never!”

  Shifting awkwardly in his rented tux, Bobby looked about as comfortable as a penguin in the Sahara. Being best man was nerve-racking enough—he must have checked his pocket for the rings at least ten times in the last hour—but waiting for the bride (and, of course, Milly) made it even worse.

  He was well aware that they were all worried about him. Wyatt, Dylan, all of them—they’d all expected him to be swinging from the rafters with joy when Comarco dropped the suit. But the fact that it was Jimmy Price who’d rescued Highwood and not him stuck in his craw, however much Price might have changed. It was like the final blow to his already badly battered pride, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

  Even today, when Dylan was the center of attention, he couldn’t shake the feeling that people were looking at him: whispering about his lucky escape and how foolish he’d been to play fast and loose with Highwood and his inheritance in the first place.

  Not that any of them could possibly judge him more harshly than he judged himself.

  At long last a vintage 1950s Ford pickup truck, decked out in white ribbons and followed by another, identically decorated, pulled into the yard.

  Amy emerged first, stunning in bias-cut organza. Jimmy, beaming with pride, helped her out of the car, waiting patiently while she rearranged her veil. Moments later, the door to the second car opened and Milly stepped out.

  Surreptitiously checking out her regained curves in her figure-hugging green dress, Bobby felt almost angry. Why did she have to turn up here looking so infuriatingly, distractingly beautiful? As if he didn’t have enough to worry about today.

  Though it might be obvious to Summer and anyone else with a shred of sensitivity, Bobby himself was still resisting the idea that he had any lingering feelings for Milly. For Dylan’s sake, he’d agreed to be polite to her today, but that was as far as it went. If she really expected him to just forget what she’d done—forget Todd, forget those tacky ads, forget the way she’d betrayed him . . .

  He stopped himself mid-internal rant when he noticed her taking the arm of a handsome, chestnut-haired boy.

  “Who the hell is that bozo?” he asked Tara, an irrational stab of jealousy making him drop his guard.

  “Why, Bobby?” she teased him. “Is he standing in your spot?”

  “No,” he mumbled, instantly regretting his show of weakness. “Of course not.” But he was blushing so cutely, Tara had to laugh.

  “Relax,” she said. “That’s Donny, Amy’s brother. He’s gay.”

  Bobby’s shoulders loosened visibly.

  “Now, go get back in there and tell Dyl they’ve arrived.”

  He did as he was told, hurrying through the doors and back up the aisle, cursing himself for being such a sentimental fool. What was it to him who Milly was with?

  The congregation all turned and looked over their shoulders as the organ struck up some introductory chords of Handel. Sean O’Flannagan, sitting in the third row from the front, gave Bobby an encouraging wink, which he just had
time to return. And then it started.

  Clinging onto Donny’s arm for dear life, Milly felt every bit as awkward as Bobby, whose eyes she was studiously avoiding. Amy had spent most of yesterday trying to convince her that the McDonalds weren’t the sort of people to hold grudges. But that didn’t stop her feeling mortified. She knew how deeply everyone at Highwood cared about their cowboy culture. Even if they didn’t blame her for Comarco, they must surely despise her for the whole, tacky “English cowgirl” thing, and for dragging their heritage through the mud.

  Luckily, she was distracted by a collective, romantic sigh from all the women in the room as Amy appeared in the doorway and began her stately progress toward the altar on Jimmy’s arm, her eyes locked lovingly with Dylan’s all the while.

  Grow up, Milly told herself firmly. This is their day. It’s not about you.

  Unfortunately, at that moment Bobby also turned around, and for a second the two of them were face-to-face. Despite all the stern talkings-to she’d given herself about having moved on and being with Zac now, Milly instantly felt her organs liquefy.

  She should never have let Zac talk her into coming.

  She’d told herself she wanted Bobby’s forgiveness, his and the McDonalds’. But seeing him now, she knew for sure it was more than forgiveness she wanted.

  Much more.

  Which was a shame. Because if his haughty scowl was anything to go by, he didn’t intend to give her even that.

  If the barn-cum-chapel was impressive, Tara had really excelled herself decorating the big house for the reception. The musty, down-at-heel grandeur that Milly remembered had been replaced by bright, airy rooms filled with color and light. The formal dining room, once the loneliest space in the house, had been transformed into a culinary Aladdin’s cave, its vast table covered with a bright red cloth, on top of which dishes of all shapes, sizes, and colors bore the spectacular wedding buffet. Red and white silk cushions had been strewn everywhere, as people found themselves spots around the living room and parlor to sit down, eat, and talk; and six enormous heaters enabled them to spill out onto the veranda too, amid the bright strings of Christmas lights. An enormous Christmas tree dominated the entrance hall, and a local barber shop quartet were singing a mixture of carols and cowboy favorites as the guests streamed in from the cold and helped themselves from the huge, industrial-sized vat of hot mulled wine bubbling away in welcome in the corner.

  “Cheer the fuck up, would you?” said Sean, accosting Bobby as he stared up the staircase after Milly, who’d gone to use the bathroom. “Your face during the ceremony could have curdled milk.”

  “Sorry.” Tearing his eyes away from the stairs, he forced a smile.

  “Don’t apologize to me,” said Sean. “You’re not my best man.”

  Bobby looked anxious suddenly. “Was I that bad? D’you think Dylan noticed?”

  “Naah,” said Sean. “You’re all right. The way the dopey git was staring at Amy I doubt he’d have noticed if you ran a bulldozer over his balls. But, for God’s sake, if you’ve something to say to the girl, say it. Then you can both start enjoying yourselves. Or at least pretending to.”

  Bobby took his advice, heading upstairs with the grim look of a man preparing for battle. Meanwhile Sean turned back to the party. The first person he saw, as luck would have it, was Summer standing miserably in the corner.

  “You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence,” he said, immediately cursing himself for coming out with something so inane.

  Smooth, Sean. Real smooth.

  “Like I’ve what?” She frowned.

  “An old Irish expression,” he explained, handing her a cup brimming with mulled wine. “It means you look disappointed. And fed up.”

  “Oh, no, not really. I’m fine,” she said, not very convincingly. It was funny. When they e-mailed she felt she could tell him anything. But here, in the flesh, he was almost like a stranger again. She’d seen the way he kept looking across at her during the service. It was flattering, of course—he was an attractive guy—but she simply didn’t think of him in that way. Didn’t think of anybody that way really, except Bobby.

  She smiled nervously.

  “Feel free to tell me to go fuck myself,” said Sean. “But I’d say you’re still in love with him.” He looked up at Bobby’s retreating back. “Am I right?”

  Summer’s smile was instantly replaced with a frown. Since when did she owe Sean an explanation of her feelings?

  Unfortunately for her, Sean found her anger even more sexy. She already looked a knockout in that burgundy suit. But there was nothing like a woman on the brink of losing her temper to bring out the fire within.

  “No,” she said coolly. “You’re not right, as it happens. In fact, you’re way off. I’m just worried about him, that’s all.”

  She turned to go, but Sean was too quick for her. Reminding himself that faint heart never won fair lady, he grabbed her by the elbow before she could get away.

  “He’s not right for you, you know. He’s too bloody moody.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be his friend?” said Summer indignantly.

  “I am,” said Sean. “That’s why I’m telling you this. You’re not right for each other. Bobby doesn’t know what he wants. You need a man who can take the lead.”

  “Oh, do I?” she said. He was so cocky, it was almost funny. “And who might that be? You, I suppose?”

  “Yes,” said Sean matter-of-factly. “Me. I think we should get married.”

  She laughed. He was so ridiculous, it was impossible to keep her anger going. “You’ve got a screw loose, O’Flannagan. You do realize that?”

  “Maybe,” he said, with unnerving confidence. He still hadn’t let go of her arm, and she suddenly felt acutely conscious of the warmth of his grip. It was a not altogether unpleasant sensation. “Or maybe not.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, and she saw that all the jocularity and bravado were gone. He was deadly serious. “I can make you happy, sweetheart. I know I can. Just give me a chance.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Summer said. And pulling herself free at last, she disappeared back into the crowd.

  Upstairs, Milly ignored the GUEST RESTROOMS THIS WAY signs that Tara had carefully positioned along the corridor and made straight for what had once been her room, locking herself in the bathroom. She wondered if that would have changed too, but the copper tub was still there, and apart from a few fresh towels and the vase of short-stemmed roses on the windowsill, everything was much as she remembered it.

  Heading straight for the mirror, she wailed in horror at her flushed cheeks and mascara-smudged eyes. Bloody weddings always made her cry, but Amy saying her vows had been a real tearjerker.

  Getting to work on a makeshift repair job with the concealer and blusher she’d brought with her, she patched up her face as best she could, washed her hands, and opened the door, only to find herself running headfirst into Bobby.

  She was so shocked, she actually screamed.

  “Whoa!” he said, laying one hand on her shoulder, like he would a jumpy mare. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought, you know . . . we should talk.”

  Milly swallowed hard. He was without doubt the one person in the world to whom she had the most to say. Yet now that she was here in his presence, she was barely able to articulate a single coherent word.

  “I feel like a straitjacketed monkey in this son of a bitch suit,” he said, filling the silence.

  Inside, he was kicking himself. Was that really the best he could do? Had he taken the plunge and followed her all the way up here just to make small talk?

  “I know what you mean,” she mumbled. “I’m itching like crazy in this dress. And my poor feet have blisters in places I didn’t know it was possible to rub.”

  Sinking down onto the bed, her old bed, she pulled off her shoe and held up one stockinged foot for his inspection.

  How did she always manage to do this to him? To turn thi
ngs around? He’d intended to have it out with her about Todd, to really say his piece. But instead he found himself cupping her calf tenderly in his hand, trying to stop himself from shaking.

  He hadn’t intended it to be a flirtatious gesture. It just sort of happened. But there was no denying the intimacy of the position, and it wasn’t long before their eyes locked.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asked, horrified to hear his own voice sounding hoarse with desire.

  Milly’s reply was barely a whisper.

  “Everywhere.”

  And that was it. Like magnets hurtling through space, they flew at each other, lips, hands, and bodies grinding and grappling in a frenzy that was part lovemaking, part fighting.

  “I hate you,” said Bobby, between kisses so violent he almost flayed her skin off with his stubble.

  “No, you don’t,” she replied, drinking in his desire like a hummingbird gorging on nectar. God knew she’d waited long enough for him to show it. So long, in fact, that she’d convinced herself her own feelings for him had died.

  As it turned out, all they needed was a little mouth to mouth.

  “Don’t fucking interrupt me when I’m talking to you.” He grinned.

  Pushing her back onto the bed, he propped himself up on his forearms on top of her, pinning her down with the weight of his body while he kissed her again, starting at the mouth, then moving down her neck till she could feel his stubble brushing against the tops of her breasts.

  “Wait,” she said breathlessly. So much was running through her mind. She needed to explain to him. About Todd, and how she’d gone with him in the first place only because he’d rejected her. How after her father died, and Rachel brainwashed her mother and took Newells, she’d so much needed him to understand, but he’d been too wrapped up in Highwood and his horse training to care. And then later, how she’d clung on to Todd and her newfound fame through fear, more than anything, terrified that if she didn’t she’d never make enough to get Newells back and that she’d end up broke and alone.