The Best Man Takes a Bride

by Stacy Connelly

  “Just that strangling that unicorn isn’t helping your mood any. Maybe you think having Hannah around will keep your mind off a certain wedding coordinator strutting her stuff out on the dance floor.”

  “I’m not—she’s—” Cutting himself off, Jamison set the stuffed animal he’d forgotten he was still holding on a nearby table and took another long pull of the beer he no longer wanted. “Rory’s free to dance with whomever she wants.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ryder gave a doubting scoff, and Jamison couldn’t blame his friend. Even the cross-eyed unicorn seemed to be gazing at him disbelief, but it was the truth...

  “Go ask her. Unless you’re afraid she’ll say no.”

  He was afraid she’d say yes. Rory might have been in the arms of another man, but it didn’t matter whom she danced with or how many times.

  That could have been me.

  It should have been him.

  “Hannah! Oh, sweetie, what happened?”

  Lindsay’s cry jerked his attention from the dance floor in time to see three guilty-looking boys leading a sniffling Hannah their way. Tyler and Robbie exchanged a quick glance before Tyler said, “She, um, kinda got sick after we went on the merry-go-round.”

  “Yeah,” the youngest boy chimed in, “it was super gross and—”

  “Brayden, dude.”

  “Oh, right.” The boy ducked his head at his uncle’s reproach and mumbled, “We’re real sorry she got sick.”

  “Daddy, I don’t feel so good.” A flood of tears balanced on Hannah’s lower lids, and Jamison froze.

  The sight of his daughter’s tears instantly sent him back to those first horrible days after the accident when all Hannah could do was cry for her mother and there’d been nothing—nothing—Jamison could do to soothe her fears.

  Lindsay reached out to smooth Hannah’s hair back from her sweaty forehead in the way all mothers seemed to know how to do. “Poor thing. They have a first-aid station set up near the front entrance—”

  Alarmed, Jamison broke out of his paralysis. “You think she’s that sick?” Knowing Hannah’s fear of hospitals—the place where her mother had died—he didn’t want traumatize her further unless a trip to the doctor was absolutely necessary.

  “No, not at all. I think she had too much junk food combined with too much excitement, but they can help clean her up and maybe give her something to settle her stomach.”

  Bending down, he tried to keep his own stomach from roiling as he took in the bluish-purple mess staining the front of his daughter’s T-shirt. What on earth had she eaten that would be that color coming back up? “What do you think, Hannah? Do you want to go get cleaned up and see what we can do to make you feel better?”

  But Hannah shook her head, her lower lip protruding in a trembling pout. “No.” She wobbled. “I want—I want m—”

  Jamison braced himself only to be blown away by a request he never saw coming. “I want Miss Rory.”

  Chapter Ten

  Her heart still in her throat, Rory ducked into the first-aid tent. She barely took in the small space with its two empty cots and a rolling cart stacked with bandages, gauze and bottles of peroxide and iodine before her gaze locked on the third occupied bed.

  “Miss Rory...” Hannah’s brown eyes filled and her lower lip trembled as she spotted her. “I got sick.”

  “I know, sweetie. I heard, and I’m so sorry you don’t feel good.” Hazarding a glance at Jamison, standing like a sentinel near the foot of his daughter’s bed, Rory added, “Your daddy called me and said you wanted me to come see you.”

  She’d heard the reluctance in his voice as he explained how the little girl had gotten sick and that he’d taken her to the first-aid area. How he hadn’t wanted to bother her...

  But Rory had the feeling Jamison was the one who was bothered—by Hannah needing her. And maybe, just maybe, by how he needed her, too...

  The little girl nodded, giving a watery sniff and wiping at a tear with the back of her hand. She was wearing one of the Rockin’ R souvenir T-shirts. The oversize sleeves hung down to her elbows, making her look even smaller and more vulnerable.

  As soon as Rory sat down on the cot, Hannah climbed onto her lap...and right into her heart. Closing her eyes against the undeniable realization, she breathed in the sweet scent of baby shampoo combined with mint toothpaste. Little more than a week, and Rory had fallen hard, and she didn’t dare think about her feelings for the sad-eyed girl’s father...

  “I’m feeling better now,” she mumbled into Rory’s shoulder.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  At Jamison’s dry comment, Rory couldn’t help but glance up at him. He too looked a little pale and green around the gills, and she finally noticed Hannah wasn’t the only one wearing a brand-new souvenir T-shirt.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, but judging by the way he shook his head, she didn’t succeed in hiding her amusement. “So glad you—and everyone—find this so funny.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny, Daddy.” Hannah wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated expression of disgust. “I think it was yucky.”

  “And that,” a female voice chimed in, “is what we in the nursing field would call a spot-on diagnosis.”

  Rory looked up as Theresa Deeks handed Jamison a plastic bag containing Hannah and Jamison’s damp shirt. She hadn’t realized the pretty nurse would be overseeing the first-aid station, though Theresa was certain to be on hand after all the work she and her husband, Jarrett, had put into making the rodeo such a success.

  “I rinsed them out, but they’ll still need a good washing.”

  “That wasn’t necessary.”

  The dark-haired woman laughed. “It was if either of you hoped to wear them again.”

  “That’s my favorite shirt,” Hannah chimed in, her voice forlorn.

  Jamison looked slightly exasperated by his daughter’s “woe is me” sigh but merely said, “Then I thank you for saving my daughter’s favorite shirt.”

  “You’re welcome, and as long as Hannah is feeling up to it, you can take her home.”

  “Come on, kiddo.” Jamison reached out, but the little girl burrowed deeper into Rory’s arms.

  “I want Miss Rory.”

  “Hannah—”

  “It’s okay, Jamison. I’ll ride back to the hotel with the two of you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  At her nod, he leaned down to reach for Hannah. The move brought Rory and Jamison face-to-face, and even with his daughter between them, her breath caught at his nearness. Nerves danced in her stomach as if she’d been the one to have way too much junk food.

  Jamison stood, lifting his daughter from her lap, and Rory was surprised at how empty her arms felt. Picking up the unicorn that had been tucked against Hannah’s side, she was glad to have something to hold on to. Something to occupy her hands and to stop her from reaching out to smooth the oversize shirt over Hannah’s back...or to try to ease the frown from Jamison’s forehead.

  “This is my fault. I should have been paying closer attention to Hannah and not—”

  Watching you.

  He didn’t say the words, but Rory still heard them, and even though he was blaming himself, she couldn’t help feeling like he felt she, too, was somehow at fault. She’d taken more than her fair share of blame when she’d done nothing wrong, and this was one time where she wasn’t going to keep quiet.

  “Mrs. Deeks...”

  “You can call me Theresa,” the dark-haired woman offered over her shoulder as she wheeled the cart out of the way.

  “Theresa, is Hannah the only child to come in with a bellyache tonight?”

  “Are you kidding? We’ve had half a dozen or so little kids come through already. And don’t even get me started on the big kids,” she added as she crossed her arms over her chest. Of
fering a sympathetic smile, she told Jamison, “Your daughter’s going to be fine. In a little while, you can try to get her to drink some flat soda to keep hydrated and crackers or dry toast if she’s hungry. By morning, I’m betting she’ll be back to her old self.”

  Jamison didn’t say much once they left the first-aid tent and headed for his SUV. He strapped Hannah into her car seat, tucking her stuffed unicorn in next to her, and had pulled out of the parking lot before he glanced Rory’s way.

  The fairgrounds were located outside town, connected by a two-lane highway lined with towering pines but not the typical streetlights. Without the passing glow, the interior of the car was too dark for Rory to read his expression.

  Hannah drifted off to sleep, and Rory might have found the soft sound of her breathing soothing if not for the tension she sensed coming off Jamison in waves.

  Was he still blaming himself for Hannah getting sick? For not paying more attention to how much junk food one little girl could eat in a very short time span? They were almost back at the hotel when he spoke.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind for how tonight would end.”

  “And what do you think I had in mind?”

  “I saw you earlier. Dancing. Having fun.”

  She must have been a better actress than she gave herself credit for if Jamison had thought she was enjoying herself. She’d tried. She had, appreciating the effort Drew and Debbie had put into including her.

  But that hadn’t stopped her from wishing Jamison had been on the dance floor beside her, that he had been the man to pull her into his arms and hold her body close as they swayed in time with the music.

  And when her phone rang and his name lit up the screen—

  “Actually, this is exactly how I hoped tonight would end.”

  She didn’t need passing streetlights to recognize the incredulous look he shot her. “Leaving early with a sick kid?”

  “With the three of us spending time together.”

  “Rory.” Jamison made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

  “And if we disagree on what the right thing is? Then what?”

  “We’re leaving in just over a week. If we start something—if we—then what?”

  She knew the answer as well as he did and couldn’t deny the ache in her heart at the thought of saying goodbye. But worrying about the future wouldn’t stop it from coming. All they could do was make the most of the time they did have. As far as she was concerned, that was the only right thing to do.

  “If you left tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss you any less.”

  Rory heard his quick intake of breath, but he didn’t reply as he pulled into the Hillcrest House parking lot and cut the engine. The golden glow from the safety lights bathed the SUV’s interior, and she could see what she’d missed before. The muscle working in his jaw, the tendons standing out in stark relief along his forearms, his hands tight on the steering wheel as if they were flying down the freeway. Holding himself back when every fiber in her being ached for him to hold her...

  Deciding to put her cards on the table, Rory shifted on the passenger seat to face him. “I adore your little girl, Jamison, and I—I like you.”

  His hands clenched around the wheel tight enough that the leather squeaked beneath his grip.

  “I know that makes me sound like a twelve-year-old with a foolish crush—”

  Now he responded, quickly cutting off her words. “I think you’re smart and brave and amazing. Which is why I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend to be the kind of man you deserve. A good father...a good husband...a good son... Name any kind of relationship, and it’s one I’ve already failed. I don’t know what this is between us, but I don’t want it to be—I don’t want you to be one more person I fail.”

  Debbie was right, Rory realized. He really did think he was being noble by keeping his distance. She might have admired his effort if she wasn’t so tempted to smack him upside the head.

  “You only fail when you stop trying. You haven’t stopped trying with your father and you won’t stop trying with Hannah. Not because that’s the kind of man I deserve, but because that’s the kind of man you are. And as for the two of us...” She sucked in a deep breath of her own. “I know how this ends, Jamison. With you and Hannah saying goodbye. Whether we spend those days together or not, that doesn’t change. Whether you kiss me right now or not, that doesn’t change. So the only question is...why not kiss me?”

  * * *

  Why not kiss me?

  The words, the temptation, pounded through Jamison’s veins in time with the blood beating from his heart. At the moment, he wasn’t sure which was more vital. His heart had maintained the steady rhythm for the past thirty-one years, but he’d never felt this...aware. This alive.

  Fortunately—or unfortunately, damned if he knew which—he hadn’t had a chance to answer Rory’s question. With the motion of the vehicle no longer lulling her into sleep, Hannah woke up and he’d lifted his sleepy, grumpy daughter against his chest. She held on tight to her new toy and the stuffed unicorn rode along his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The warm weight of her in his arms, combined with the trust and faith she placed in him, brought an ache to his throat. He pressed a kiss to her tangled curls as he breathed in her baby shampoo scent. Rory was right. He wasn’t quitting on his little girl. He didn’t know how he’d manage being a full-time single dad and a full-time lawyer, but he’d find a way.

  Even though it wasn’t very late, the hotel lobby was quiet—most of the guests were either at the rodeo or out enjoying dinner. Even so, Jamison was conspicuously aware of Rory walking by his side toward the Bluebell suite.

  They needed to talk, to finish the conversation they’d started in the car but—

  Why not kiss me?

  Jamison sucked in a breath as they turned down the narrow hallway. He was going to have one hell of a time focusing on talking when he had Rory alone in a hotel room.

  He carried Hannah straight into the suite’s connecting bathroom and, within minutes, had her surrounded by a tub full of bubbles. Rory joined them a few seconds later, making the small space positively claustrophobic as she placed a hand on his shoulder and set a pair of pajamas on the toilet seat.

  “Can you, um, hand me that washcloth?” The folded cloth at the edge of the tub wasn’t so far that he couldn’t have reached it, but Jamison found himself wanting Rory to stay. As she knelt by his side, helping Hannah hold the washcloth against her face as he rinsed the warm, sudsy water from her hair, it hit him this was the first time he’d ever shared Hannah’s bath-time duties.

  Before their separation, Monica—or, he later suspected, the nanny the Stiltons hired to “help out” their daughter—had been responsible. Now the nighttime duty was his alone.

  I won’t miss you any less if you left tomorrow.

  God, wasn’t that the truth, he thought as Rory wrapped his daughter in an oversize towel, drawing out a sleepy smile. Within minutes, she had Hannah dressed and still giggling from her first attempt to put the little girl’s pajama top on inside out and backward.

  But once Jamison tucked his daughter into bed and Rory kissed her good-night, Hannah hugged her unicorn to her chest, huge tears filling her brown eyes.

  “Oh, Hannah, do you still feel yucky?”

  Nodding her head vehemently, Hannah gave a watery sniff. Then, with a single blink, the dam burst. Silent tears coursed down her chubby cheeks.

  “Sweetie...”

  As Rory sank down on the bed beside her, the little girl threw her arms around her neck. “Can you sleep in my bed tonight?”

  “Hannah,” Jamison started but he could already see Rory melting like Hannah’s cotton candy at the first splash of water. He didn�
��t doubt his daughter wasn’t feeling well. He had a souvenir T-shirt and a possible lifelong aversion to brightly colored spun sugar to prove it.

  But that didn’t mean Hannah wasn’t playing on the grown-ups’ sympathy and using tears to get her way. After all his years with Monica, he’d built up a slight tolerance. Rory had no such immunity.

  “Of course, Hannah.” Curling up on her side next to the little girl, she promised, “I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep.”

  Having done their trick, Hannah’s tears performed a magical disappearing act as she snuggled beneath the covers.

  “Daddy, too.”

  Hannah patted the empty spot on the other side of the bed, and Rory’s eyes flew wide. The startled look and instant color heating her cheeks were reminders that she wasn’t as bold as her words.

  He knew he should play this smart and keep his distance. Starting something determined to end in such a short time made no sense in his logical, well-ordered world. But then again, he’d never met anyone like Rory McClaren in his logical, well-ordered world.

  A little over a week ago, he wouldn’t have believed such a charming, magical woman existed. And the chance to spend eight days—hell, even another eight minutes—with her would make spending the rest of his life missing her a price he was willing to pay.

  * * *

  The last thing Rory expected when she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep was to drift off. But as she lay on the bed with Hannah curled up against her side, keeping her breathing slow and steady—thinking that might encourage her rapidly beating heart to do the same—trying to lull the little girl into a peaceful slumber, she somehow followed right along.

  She woke slowly, taking in the unfamiliar warmth pressed against her side and something soft and furry brushing her face. She blinked as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light shining in from the doorway. Brushing the unicorn’s fluffy tail aside, Rory smiled at the sight of Hannah’s angelic features, sweet and soft in sleep. She looked over the little girl’s blond head to Jamison’s handsome face. Not sweet, not soft.

  Not asleep.