The Best Man Takes a Bride

by Stacy Connelly

  Realizing he was staring, he jerked his gaze away. Falling back on good manners now that good sense seemed to have deserted him, he ground out, “Hannah, you remember Ms. McClaren?”

  His daughter nodded, her eyes too serious for her still-baby face as she peered up at the wedding coordinator. She wrapped her index finger in the hem of her shirt, holding on the same way she had to the pink-and-white blanket Jamison remembered her carrying with her everywhere when she was a toddler. “She’s Miss Lindsay’s fairy godmother.”

  Jamison blinked at Hannah’s unexpected announcement. “She’s... Oh, right.” That was how Lindsay had introduced the woman. The bride had sung Rory McClaren’s praises, complimenting her on finding the perfect music, the perfect flowers, the perfect menu—as if any of that attention to detail would lead to the perfect marriage.

  Jamison knew better. He was cynical enough to wonder if Rory knew the same, but not cynical enough to believe it. Everything about her was too genuine, too hopeful for him to convince himself it was all for show. But even if the wedding coordinator believed what she was selling, that didn’t mean Jamison was buying.

  “She’s not really a fairy godmother,” he told his daughter firmly.

  “Of course not,” the dark-haired pixie said with a conspiring wink at the little girl, who gazed back with shy curiosity. “And you can call me Rory.”

  Jamison’s jaw tightened. No doubt Rory thought the shared moment with Hannah was harmless, but the last thing he needed was for his daughter to put faith in fairy tales. Especially when the one thing Hannah wanted was the one thing no one—not even a fairy godmother, if such a thing existed—could give her.

  Rory’s smile faltered when she glanced up into his face. Straightening, she rallied by getting down to business and glancing between Lindsay and Hannah. “So, are we ready to start trying on some gorgeous dresses?”

  “I can’t wait!” Lindsay announced, clapping her hands in front of her as if trying to hold on to her excitement. “I’ve picked out some of the cutest dresses, and you have got to help me decide which one to choose.”

  “That is what I’m here for. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask!”

  And with statements like that, Jamison thought, was it any wonder Hannah thought the woman was some kind of fairy godmother? Even he half expected a magic wand to appear in the delicate hand she waved through the air.

  Better to leave now before he—before Hannah—could get sucked any further into a belief in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

  “About that. I think Hannah might be a little too young for all of this.”

  Lindsay sank back onto her heels, her earlier excitement leaking out of her. He wasn’t a man to go back on his word, but he never should have agreed to have Hannah in the wedding in the first place. With his in-laws pointing out the need for a female influence in Hannah’s life, he’d thought—hell, Jamison didn’t know what he’d thought. But the whole idea was a mistake. “Trying on clothes isn’t her idea of fun.”

  This time, though, the wedding coordinator’s smile didn’t dim in the least. If anything, an added spark came to her eyes. “The shopping gene hasn’t kicked in yet?”

  “I’m hoping it skips a generation.”

  Rory laughed as though he’d been joking, brightening her expression even more, like a spotlight showcasing a work of art. “You and all fathers everywhere.”

  It was a small thing—Rory categorizing him as a typical dad—but some of the pressure eased in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t so obvious from the outside that he was at such a loss when it came to his own daughter. Best to quit while he was, if not ahead, then at least breaking even.

  But before he could once again make his excuses, Rory turned to Hannah. “Well, maybe Miss Lindsay can go first. What do you think, Hannah? Are you ready to help?”

  “Ms. McClaren—”

  “Why does she need help?” It was Hannah who interrupted this time, coming out from behind him far enough to look from Rory to Lindsay. “She’s a grown-up, and big girls should be old enough to get dressed by themselves.”

  Jamison closed his eyes and wished for a sinkhole to open up in the sidewalk and swallow him whole at his words coming out of Hannah’s mouth. Crap. Was that really how he sounded? So...condescending and demeaning?

  “Hannah...” He’d only pulled out the big-girl card because Hannah was so filled with ideas of what she would do when she was older. Or at least she had been.

  But if Rory was ready to take that “typical dad” title away from him and flag him with “worst father ever,” she didn’t let it show as she knelt down in front of his little girl. Close enough this time that he could have stroked her hair, as dark as Hannah’s was light, and he shoved his free hand into his pocket before insanity had him reaching out...

  “You know, Hannah,” Rory was saying, her voice filled with that same touch of sharing a secret she’d conveyed earlier with that wink, “funny thing about being a big girl...sometimes we still need help.”

  As she spoke, she reached up and slipped the bright pink band from Hannah’s hair. With a few quick swipes of her hands and without a comb or brush in sight, she had the little girl’s curls contained in a smooth, well-centered ponytail. “Not a lot of help. Just a little, just enough to make things right.”

  To make things right... Jamison didn’t have a clue how to go about making things right in his daughter’s world. Especially not when he saw the open longing and amazement in Hannah’s face as she reached up to touch her now-perfect ponytail.

  “So what do you think?” Rory asked as she straightened, her full skirt swirling around her legs. The roses on her dress might have been embroidered, but somehow Jamison still caught a sweet, fresh scent, as if she’d risen from a bed of wildflowers. “Do you want to help Lindsay with her dress for the wedding?”

  Hannah hesitated, and Jamison braced himself for the “I don’t want to” response. Instead, she surprised him, nodding once and sliding a little farther out from behind him.

  “And maybe, after Lindsay’s done, we could find a dress for you. Just to try on—you know, like playing dress-up. And then you can put your everyday clothes back on, because who wants to wear dresses all the time?”

  Hannah reached out and brushed her tiny hand over Rory’s skirt. “You do.”

  Rory tilted her head to the side as she laughed. “You caught me. I do like wearing dresses. But not all the time.”

  Jamison might have only met the woman, but he already sensed how Rory’s clothes—elegant and old-fashioned—suited her. He had a hard time picturing her in anything else.

  Now, if he could only stop himself from picturing her wearing nothing at all...

  Chapter Two

  When Rory McClaren was five years old, she went through a princess phase. Her cousin Evie would likely say she never fully recovered from her belief in true love and happy endings and fascination with gorgeous ball gowns. Or the hidden longing to wear a tiara. On a Tuesday. Just for fun.

  And while Rory had denied those longings throughout her adult life, her new position as wedding coordinator for Hillcrest House brought out every once-upon-a-time memory. She might have laughed it off when Lindsay Brookes had introduced her as a fairy godmother, but it was secretly how she viewed her job.

  Of course, Rory also knew what Evie would say about that.

  Coordinating weddings is a serious business, not a game of pretend. And Hillcrest House isn’t a fairy-tale castle, no matter what you thought as a kid.

  Neither she nor Evie had planned on this recent stay in Clearville, but the two of them were in this together—doing all they could to keep Hillcrest House running while their aunt was going through cancer treatments. Evie, a CPA, was handling the books and the staff while Rory was taking on a guest relations role as well as event planning for the venue.

  So far, Lindsay
Brookes had been a dream to work with, but her wedding to Ryder Kincaid came with some extra pressure. Not only did Rory consider Lindsay a friend, the pretty businesswoman also worked for Clearville’s chamber of commerce. She was constantly promoting the small Northern California town and its businesses.

  Rory wanted to prove all the brochures and promotions touting Hillcrest House as the all-inclusive wedding destination were as good as gold. The weight of responsibility pressed hard on her shoulders, but she was determined not to crumble.

  She could certainly withstand a reticent best man and his shy flower girl daughter. Despite Jamison’s claims that she didn’t enjoy shopping, Hannah was gazing at the elegantly posed mannequins and racks of lacy dresses lining the walls of the small shop while her sharp-eyed father watched from close by.

  With her tiny hands clasped behind her back, the little girl was clearly familiar with the phrase look but don’t touch. Under her breath, she named off the color of each dress she came across in a singsong voice, and Rory didn’t think it would take much to rid Hannah of her uncertainty in her role as a flower girl.

  Her smile faded, though, when she caught sight of the storm clouds gathering in Jamison’s eyes. Something told her erasing his concerns wouldn’t be so easy.

  Rory had hoped her initial impression of Ryder Kincaid’s best friend had been a rush to judgment. She’d told herself that with a good night’s sleep and a chance to relax and unwind, Jamison Porter would be a different man. A man she could handle with professional competence as she guided him through the duties of the best man from suggestions for a fun yet tasteful bachelor party to tips on a heartfelt toast.

  But Jamison Porter was still every bit as intense and edgy as he had been the day before—and not a man easily handled.

  It wasn’t the first time Rory had been to this shop with a reluctant man in tow. Not every couple held to the superstition that the groom shouldn’t see the bride in her gown. But none of the men had seemed so out of place as Jamison did. At over six feet, with rich chestnut hair and cool gray eyes, all rugged angles and sharp planes, he wore the tall, dark and handsome label to perfection. The airy dresses around him seemed as insubstantial in comparison as dandelion fluff, ready to disintegrate with a single puff of breath from his lips.

  Not that Jamison Porter’s lips were anything Rory should be thinking about...

  “So, you’re the best man,” she said, cringing at the exuberant sound of her own voice.

  “That’s what Ryder tells me.”

  The hint of self-deprecating humor loosened a strand in the single father’s too tightly laced personality. One that made him even more attractive than his classically handsome good looks.

  But that was the last thing Rory needed. Their first meeting, as abrupt and tension filled as those moments had been, had sparked an awareness that had her thinking of the handsome single father far too often.

  And just now while standing outside the bridal shop, when she asked what she’d thought to be an innocent question about his first night at Hillcrest...

  The intensity in his expression served notice there was nothing innocent about Jamison Porter. Everything about the man had Rory on high alert, raw nerve endings leaving her jumpy and out of sorts. Off her game at a time when she needed to be at her best.

  Evie had taken a leave of absence from her job at the accounting firm to help out their aunt, confident they would hold her position for her, and had sublet her fabulous condo in Portland.

  Whereas Rory—

  Rory had nothing left. She couldn’t afford not to come to Clearville. Back in LA, she had no boyfriend, no apartment, no job and a reputation left in tatters all thanks to her professional—and personal—failure.

  Pushing thoughts of her short-lived interior design career aside, she focused on the most important aspects of the wedding.

  “Ryder and Lindsay make such a wonderful couple. It’s amazing the way they’ve reunited after so many years, and seeing them together... Well, they’re crazy about each other.”

  Jamison gave a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Crazy is one word for it.”

  “And what word would you use?”

  He paused for a moment, and Rory had a feeling he was searching for the least offensive description. “Sudden,” he said finally. “They just got engaged.”

  “True, but they’ve known each other since high school.” Lindsay had filled Rory in on the couple’s history, how she had been a shy bookworm with a huge crush on the popular quarterback. “They went their separate ways after graduation, but from what Lindsay says, she never stopped loving Ryder.”

  And while Ryder had gone on to marry another woman, Rory had no doubt he was in love with his future bride.

  “She’s a wonderful person. A great mother...”

  The dark clouds in Jamison’s eyes started flashing lightning and Rory’s voice trailed away as she realized that was one box she shouldn’t have opened. Unable to leave well enough alone, she couldn’t help asking, “Have you met Robbie?”

  He gave a quick nod. “I have.”

  “He’s a great kid.”

  “One Ryder didn’t even know about until a few months ago.”

  Rory sucked in a startled breath. Okay, so Jamison was breaking out the big guns to take on the elephant in the room. Fortunately, the curtain to the dressing room opened and Lindsay stepped out before he had time to reload.

  Hannah’s breathless voice broke the silence that followed. “You look beautiful.”

  This was the first time Rory had seen Lindsay in her wedding dress, and she couldn’t hold back a whisper of her own. “Oh, Lindsay. Hannah is right. That dress is perfect.”

  Having worked on the flowers, the music and the table settings for the reception, Rory knew Lindsay had an elegant, timeless vision for the wedding, so it was no surprise her dress reflected that same taste.

  The sheath-style gown was gorgeous in its simplicity; lace sleeves capped a straight column of white satin, and a hint of beadwork decorated the bodice and the lace insert that veed out into a modest train.

  Lindsay gave a self-conscious laugh as she glanced at the silent member of the group. “It’s not bad luck for the best man to see the bride in her gown, is it?”

  To his credit, Jamison tipped his head at Lindsay. “You make a beautiful bride.”

  Lindsay blushed at the compliment, but while the words were right, Rory knew in her heart Jamison thought Ryder and Lindsay getting married was wrong.

  A gentle tug on her skirt distracted Rory from the troubling thought. “Miss Rory, is it my turn to dress like a princess?”

  She smiled down at Hannah. She was an adorable little girl with a riot of blond curls, big brown eyes and a shyness that tugged at Rory’s heart.

  But it was the expression on Jamison’s face that had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. A mix of love and uncertainty that held him frozen in place, as if he, too, were bound by the look, don’t touch mantra.

  “It sure is, sweetie,” Rory said, injecting a positive note into her voice though she didn’t know which of the Porters needed her encouragement more. “Miss Lindsay has a whole bunch of dresses for you to try on.” Tilting her head in the direction of the changing room, Rory asked Jamison, “Do you want...”

  Looking torn between Daddy duty and a man’s typical reaction of running as far as he could from anything girlie, he said, “I, um, think I’ll wait out here.”

  “What do you think, Hannah?” Rory asked when the little girl hesitated. “See, your daddy wants the princess dresses to be a surprise, so he’ll wait in that chair over there.”

  Like father, like daughter. Hannah looked indecisively from her father to the curtained dressing room and back again. Finally her blond head bounced in a nod. “You wait there, Daddy, and no peeking.”

  Rory wouldn’t have thought Jamison Porter
could look any more uncomfortable than he had two seconds ago, but his daughter’s instructions for him not to go peeking into the women’s dressing room had a slight flush darkening his cheeks.

  Rory fought to hide a smile, but judging by the narrowing of Jamison’s eyes, she didn’t succeed.

  Biting the inside of her lip, she shot a stern look in his direction. “You heard the girl, Mr. Porter. No peeking.”

  For a split second, their eyes met, and Rory’s smile faded as something electric and powerful passed between them. Heat flared in Jamison’s eyes, a warning beacon, and she swallowed hard. He might not have looked behind the curtain, but when it came to her attraction to him, Rory feared he saw way too much.

  * * *

  The jingle of metal rings cut through Jamison’s relentless pacing, and he glanced over in time to see Rory slip through the curtain.

  The one his little girl had warned him not to peek behind. His faced started to heat again at the thought. Not because his own kid made him out to sound like some kind of Peeping Tom—she was only four, after all. But because of the moment that had followed.

  The moment when Rory had echoed his daughter’s words and his gaze had locked on hers and there’d been nothing—nothing—in his power that could keep him from mentally pulling back that curtain and picturing Rory McClaren wearing something far less than the old-fashioned dresses she favored.

  Judging by the way her eyes had widened, she’d known it.

  Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is Hannah—”

  “She’s fine. The seamstress is taking some measurements, and Hannah wanted me to make sure you’re still waiting for her. She was a little nervous at first, but I think she’s getting into the spirit of things. So, please...” She nodded her head at the waiting chair. “Sit down and relax.”

  He all but glared at the floral-print cushions that might as well have been covered with sharp thorns. Without some outlet for his excess energy, he’d likely explode. “Relaxing doesn’t come easy to me.”

  “Really?” Rory drawled.