“Ah, but that’s when the house’s luck changed. After it stood empty for years, a wealthy industrialist from back east came to California and fell in love with a young woman. He bought Hillcrest as a wedding present for his bride. The story goes that their plan was to have a dozen or so kids—”
“A dozen?”
“At least,” Rory emphasized, smiling at the overwhelmed expression on his face as he glanced down at his lone child. “Sadly, they were unable to have children, but as time went on and more and more people were traveling to California and taking vacations along the coast, they decided to turn Hillcrest into a hotel so its rooms could still be filled with families and children and laughter—even if those families only stayed for a short time.”
The reminder was one Rory needed to focus on. Jamison and Hannah were only staying for a few weeks. She couldn’t allow herself to be drawn in on a personal level, to let herself start to care too much, too quickly. But with the little girl’s hand tucked so trustingly in hers as she sang under her breath, Rory couldn’t help wondering if it was already too late.
Hannah’s shy sweetness reminded Rory of a kitten she’d once rescued. The frightened Siamese had been all eyes in a skinny body covered with matted fur. It had taken time to build up enough trust for the kitten to allow her to pet it and even more time for the tiny bundle of fur to completely come out of its shell. To learn to run and play and chase. But Rory hadn’t given up, because even at the beginning, underneath all the wariness, she had sensed the playful kitten longing to come out.
And as much as the kitten had needed to be rescued, Rory had needed something to save. She couldn’t compare her experience as a child to what Hannah was facing in losing her mother so young, but Rory understood a little of what the girl was going through.
That beneath the sadness and loss, a silly, playful girl was struggling to break free.
“And what’s your family’s connection to the hotel?”
The summer breeze blew a lock of chestnut hair across Jamison’s forehead and let loose a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He was so good-looking, she forgot the question, forgot everything as she met his gaze over his daughter’s head.
“Rory.”
Heat flooded her cheeks as she tore her attention from the heat shimmering between them and back on what should have been her focus all along. “Right...my family’s connection to the hotel. Um, the couple owned the hotel for decades, but with no children to leave it to, they put it up for sale. My grandparents met at Hillcrest—”
“Another romantic story?”
“Exactly,” she answered, pleased with his guess despite the cynical tone of the question. “My grandmother was working the front desk and my grandfather was a guest here. Years later, when they heard the hotel was available, they bought it as an investment. They visited all the time but never lived here.
“My father and my uncle both worked here when they were younger, but the hotel and the hospitality industry were never their calling. Not like it was for my aunt Evelyn. Everyone knew she would run Hillcrest one day. She’s smart and strong and independent.”
Rory’s worry over her aunt’s health stung her eyes, but she blinked, banishing the tears before they could form. Her aunt wouldn’t appreciate Rory getting teary in front of a guest. Not even if that guest was ridiculously handsome with the kind of broad shoulders and strong arms where a woman would be tempted to find comfort.
“And you and your cousin are here helping out?”
That was the explanation she and Evie had been giving people. Their aunt kept a strict line drawn between her personal and professional life, and she didn’t want anyone outside of family to know of her health problems.
“Hillcrest House has always been a popular location for weddings with the locals in Clearville and Redfield,” Rory said, naming another nearby town, “but last year my aunt decided to expand Hillcrest as a wedding destination. The couples now have the choice of an all-inclusive ceremony, with the hotel handling everything from the cake to the music to the photographer.”
“And that’s where you come in.”
“I work with the couple to get a feel of the type of wedding they’re looking for and design all the elements to match that theme.”
Jamison shook his head at the notion of a wedding theme, which had Rory wondering what his wedding to Hannah’s mother had been like. Not that she was about to ask.
“You’re good at this.”
Feeling her cheeks heat at the surprising compliment, Rory shook her head. “I’ve had Hillcrest House facts drilled into my head since I was a little girl. I could recite this information in my sleep. A couple of times, in the midst of wedding madness, I think maybe I have!”
“Not just the tour. I mean the way you dealt with the guests and the staff earlier. You’re friendly and encouraging but firm enough to get your point across.”
“I—thank you,” Rory said, far more pleased by the compliment than she should have been. She didn’t like thinking of herself as hungry for approval, but after her failure at the interior design firm in LA, finding success—especially at Hillcrest House—was so important to her. “I didn’t expect...”
“Expect what?”
She gave a small laugh. “You and my cousin Evie have quite a bit in common when it comes to the whole wedding thing.”
Jamison and her by-the-book cousin likely had more in common than their negative views on weddings and marriage. A CPA, Evie was smart, well educated, as razor sharp as the blunt cut of her dark, chin-length hair. She was practical, pragmatic and more than a little cynical—the kind of woman Rory figured would impress a successful businessman like Jamison.
Ignoring the stab of jealousy at the thought of Jamison and her cousin forming their own mutual-admiration society, Rory said, “Evie’s a genius when it comes to handling the books and the last person to believe in fairy tales, but sometimes she acts like I pull off these weddings with nothing more than a wave of a magic wand. She doesn’t seem to notice the hard work that goes into them.”
“Look, Daddy!” Hannah’s impatient tug on their hands brought the conversation to a halt as they reached a curve in the pathway. An intricate lattice-arched entry led to the rose garden—a favorite spot for many brides and grooms to say their vows. Pink, red and white blooms unfurled amid the dark green bushes and the thick, rich lawn.
Turning to Rory, Hannah asked, “Is that where you grow the flowers for the flower girls?”
Not about to ruin the moment for the child, especially when she saw some of that curiosity shining through in her big brown eyes, Rory said, “It sure is. Why don’t you go look for the perfect flower? But don’t touch, okay? Some of the roses have sharp thorns.”
Hannah’s pale brows furrowed as she glanced between the rose garden and back again. “Will you stay right here, Daddy?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Hannah Banana.”
A small smile tugged at the little girl’s lips, and Rory swore the sweet expression was somehow tied to the strings around her heart. She couldn’t help smiling as Hannah tucked her hands behind her back before racing—somewhat awkwardly—over to the garden.
But it was Jamison and the unabashed tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at his daughter that had Rory’s emotions all tangled up in knots.
He was a guest. And like any other guest who passed through Hillcrest House, Rory would quickly forget all about him. She’d forget all about this day, about walking with Jamison and Hannah beneath a cloudless sky. About the warmth of his skin as his arm brushed against hers. About the rich, masculine scent that tempted her to move closer and breathe deeper. About the longing to reach out and take his hand, knowing how something as simple as entwining her fingers with his would form a bond she would feel right down to her bones...
Yes, indeed, she would forget all about that. Might just spend the rest of her
life forgetting all about that.
The strict talking-to had Rory straightening her shoulders and adopting a polite smile, neither of which were any protection against the power behind Jamison’s gaze.
“I’ll say it again, Rory. You’re good at what you do,” he repeated, the intensity behind his words preempting any denial she might have made. “Anyone who doesn’t appreciate you is a fool.”
* * *
“Like this, Miss Rory?” Hannah asked over her shoulder as she placed a single rose petal on the verdant green grass.
“Just like that!”
Jamison shook his head at the beautiful brunette’s unrelenting encouragement. “You do realize, at that rate, it’ll take her an hour and a half to walk down the aisle?”
“She is the flower girl, and they are her flowers. She has every reason to enjoy her moment.”
How was it that Rory McClaren seemed to enjoy every moment? A hint of pink touched her cheeks, and he couldn’t help wondering if it was from the midmorning sun—or in response to the words he shouldn’t have spoken.
Mouth shut and hands to yourself, Porter, he repeated, glad he’d at least stuck to the second part of the mantra despite the serious temptation she posed at every turn. His finger itched to discover the softness of the dark hair that trailed down her back, to trace the splash of freckles across the elegant line of her collarbones, to strip away the strap of her dress marring the perfection of her shoulder...
He hadn’t touched, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from speaking. He’d seen the self-consciousness she tried to hide as she talked about her aunt and cousin—smart, successful women—as if she were something less. And everything in him had rebelled at hearing it.
Yes, Rory was beautiful, but desire was something he could control. Listening to her put herself down, even if the words had been unspoken, that was something he couldn’t let go. Not after all she’d done for Hannah in as little as two days.
And yeah, it scared the hell out of him, when at times his daughter still felt like a stranger to him. When he felt at such a loss for what to do or what to say. When he felt himself start to shut down like he had when he was a kid and his parents’ fighting was enough to send him underneath the covers—or sometimes even underneath the bed—where he’d cover his ears and close his eyes and wish himself away.
But right now, in this moment with Hannah jumping from one spot to the next, playing some kind of flower-petal hopscotch, he wouldn’t have wished himself anywhere else in the world.
“Thank you.”
Rory blinked in surprise. “For what?”
“For Hannah. I haven’t seen her this happy in—I’m not sure I remember when.”
She shook her head. “It’s not me. It’s Hillcrest. This place is magical that way.”
When Jamison offered a disbelieving snort in response, she held up a silencing hand. “Hear me out.” And when that hand came down and she entwined her fingers with his, he couldn’t have said a word anyway.
Holding hands hadn’t made it into his fantasy, but it might have if he’d known how something so simple would make his pulse skyrocket, his heart race, his stomach muscles tighten in response. The softness of her skin seemed to telegraph through his entire body until he swore he could feel her caress...everywhere.
He wasn’t sure how he got his feet to move as she led him over toward a white wrought iron bench. Tucked off to the side of the garden, the shaded spot offered a perfect view of Hannah playing a few yards away.
“Rory—” His voice was a strangled croak, and even when she let go, the feel of her hand gliding away branded him. It was all he could do not to scrub his palm against his pressed khakis.
She patted the spot beside her. “Have a seat. Please,” she added when he stood ramrod straight at her side.
Somehow, he made his muscles move and forced himself to sit on a bench too small for the arm’s-length distance he needed between them. So small the cool breeze carried the sunshine-and-wildflower scent of her skin closer and a strand of her hair danced over his biceps like a caress.
It took everything in his power to focus on the words she was saying rather than following the tantalizing movement of her lips, but the seriousness in her blue eyes soon caught his complete attention. “I have an older brother, Chance, who I adore. He’s four years older than I am, and growing up he was always my hero. The big brother who looked out for me. When I was a few years older than Hannah, he was in an accident.”
Even though years had passed, Rory sucked in a deep breath before telling the next part. “He was showing off for his friends, fell off his skateboard doing some crazy jump and hit his head. He ended up in a coma. The doctors did everything they could, but for a long time, they didn’t know if he would wake up or what kind of shape he would be in if he did.”
“I can imagine how hard that must have been on you and your parents.” Hannah’s injuries hadn’t been that severe, but it was the months leading up to the accident when he hadn’t known if he would ever see his daughter again and the agonizing hours after that final fight with Monica when he hadn’t even known if Hannah was still alive that gave him an idea of what the McClarens had gone through.
“It was. Our family had always been so together, so strong, but Chance’s accident proved how everything could change. Like that,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “As the weeks went by, and his condition didn’t change, eventually my dad went back to work. Not because his job was more important than Chance, but because—I just don’t think he could sit there, feeling so hopeless, anymore.
“My mom refused to leave my brother’s side—eating, sleeping, living at the hospital. She never came out and said so, at least not when I was around, but I think she resented my dad for not doing the same.”
“And what did you do,” Jamison asked, “during all that time?”
Rory met his gaze before ducking her head, looking almost embarrassed that he’d asked about her. He could imagine she must have felt like the forgotten child, the healthy, happy one no one had the time or energy to pay much attention to.
“I split my days between school and the hospital. I mostly tried to be quiet and stay out of the way, but as the weeks went on... I don’t know, maybe I got to be more like my dad, where I couldn’t sit there and watch anymore. And then one day, after my mom had run down to the cafeteria for coffee, she came back and I was kneeling on the bed, shaking Chance and shouting at him to stop messing around and to wake up.”
“Rory.”
Shaking off his sympathy, she talked faster, as if eager to get through the worst of it. “After that...incident, my aunt and uncle, Evie’s parents, brought the two of us here for an extended vacation. We ran and laughed and played and explored every inch of this place.
“Not that I forgot about Chance. Every game of pretend Evie and I played over the summer had something to do with breaking a curse or casting a spell or rescuing him from a dragon. I knew if I believed strongly enough, one day Chance would open his eyes and wake up... And one day, he did.”
“I’m glad your brother got better, and I can see why, as a little girl, this place would seem so magical, but Rory—” Jamison stopped short and heaved out a heavy sigh. “Hannah’s mother isn’t going to open her eyes and wake up. Not for all the faith or magic or fairy tales in the world.”
“No, she isn’t. And Hannah’s been through a horrible tragedy, but she’s still a little girl who wants to run and laugh and play again, and she needs to know it’s okay for her to do those things.”
“Of course it’s okay.”
“And she knows this...how? By watching you? When was the last time you ran or laughed or just enjoyed life a little?”
“Give me a break, Rory. I’m a grown man, not a kid.”
“Right. But you’re a grown man with a kid. A child who’s lost her mother. She’s looking to yo
u to see how she’s supposed to react to a loss she isn’t old enough to understand.”
Jamison jerked away from Rory’s imploring gaze to focus on Hannah. She was no longer dropping petals but was instead gathering them up, one by one. Picking up the pieces...
He didn’t want to admit Rory was right, but the truth was he’d spent his entire life burying his feelings. Was it any wonder he’d done the same when Monica died?
But he hadn’t thought about how his emotions—or his lack of emotion—were affecting Hannah. He’d seen how she had retreated into herself after the accident, so different from the smiling, laughing girl he remembered.
How had he not seen his own reflection staring back at him when he looked at his daughter?
“Even before...Monica,” he confessed, “I wasn’t the running and laughing kind of guy.”
A small smile played around Rory’s lips, telling him she wasn’t shocked by his confession. “And that’s why I wanted you to come along today. So you could see that here, at Hillcrest House, you can be.”
“Wait a minute.” Jamison reared back against the wrought iron bench and waved a hand in the direction of the path they’d taken. “You’re telling me this whole tour was for my sake and not for Hannah’s?” It was by far the most ridiculous—and quite possibly the sweetest—thing anyone had ever done for him.
“Hillcrest House is special that way,” she told him. “Its magic seems to touch whoever needs it the most.”
Somehow his scoffing laugh stuck in his throat. There was no magic, and hadn’t he already decided there couldn’t be any touching? He wasn’t the kind of romantic fool who would buy into such whimsical nonsense.
But in the peaceful setting with the dappled sunlight streaming through the trees and the gentle understanding reflected in Rory’s midnight blue eyes, Jamison almost wished that he was.
Chapter Five
Jamison Porter had to think she was the world’s biggest fool. Had she really spent the past five minutes trying to convince a corporate lawyer, a man who lived his life based on rules and regulations, to believe in magic?
The Best Man Takes a Bride Page 5