Martha shook her head. “Between the ceremony and the reception, we’d wind up coming home way passed Molly’s bedtime. And besides,” she interjected, “I don’t want Holly spending all her time at the wedding wheeling me around.” Martha slanted a warm look at her daughter, then shifted her eyes from Holly to Ray. “She deserves to have a little fun instead of being stuck playing nanny to someone twice her age.”
“Pushing you around in the wheelchair isn’t a hardship, Mom,” Holly protested.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t come under the definition of having fun,” Martha insisted. “Ray, would you please get her out of here before she starts to badger me?”
“You heard your mother,” Ray said, pointedly offering Holly his arm.
Aware of every single one of Ray’s actions as if they were transpiring under a high-powered magnifying glass, Holly slipped her arm through his, feeling as if she was moving in slow motion.
“Have fun, you two. That’s an order,” Martha Johnson instructed as she wheeled herself to the door in their wake and closed the door behind them.
* * *
“YOU LOOK REALLY, really good tonight,” Ray told her as he held the passenger door of his freshly washed truck open for her.
It was dusk, and Holly was extremely grateful that the partial darkness hid the annoying blush that she could feel speedily taking possession of her cheeks. She was really going to have to work to get that under control, she lectured herself. She wasn’t a starry-eyed twelve-year-old, she was a woman, and women didn’t blush in this day and age. Even women who were wildly head over heels in love.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “So do you.” Getting in, she buckled up and waited for Ray as he rounded the hood and got in on the driver’s side. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come pick me up.”
“Why not?” he asked, puzzled as he started up the truck. “I said I would.” Pulling the truck away from the front of the house, he turned the vehicle around and stepped down on the accelerator.
Holly avoided his eyes, looking instead at the knotted hands in her lap. “I know, but that was before.”
“Before?” What was she talking about? For the most part, he and Holly understood one another—mainly because she didn’t retort to female speak, something he’d found most women did when they wanted to utterly confuse the man they were talking to. “Before what?”
“Before you and I...” Holly paused, searching for the right, delicate way to word this. She finally settled on, “Got close.”
She was obviously not getting through because, in all innocence, Ray reminded her, “We’ve always been close.”
“Not this close,” she stressed.
The light finally dawned in his head and Ray laughed as he drove them to the church where the wedding ceremony was to take place.
“You have a point, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re my best friend and after the way you came through for Alma, my father would probably skin me alive if I didn’t bring you to the wedding—or if I turned out to be the reason you decided not to show up.” He glanced in her direction. “You do want to attend, don’t you?” he asked. “I mean, what’s going on between us isn’t going to make you feel uncomfortable going to the wedding, right?”
It had never occurred to her that Ray might see the situation from her perspective, thinking that she might not want to be around him rather than the other way around.
Could Ray possibly feel...insecure?
It hardly seemed likely. And yet, how else could she explain that the man whose relationships lasted only slightly longer than the life expectancy of a fruit fly was concerned that she might not want to continue this part of their relationship because it made her uncomfortable to be around him?
“No,” Holly replied quietly but firmly. “What’s going on between us doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable around your family. I just don’t want to cramp your style,” she told him for lack of a better way to phrase her reason for thinking he might not come for her.
“My style,” he echoed, the corners of his mouth curving at the phrase she’d used. “About that,” he began, then paused.
“Yes?” she asked, silently urging him to continue even as she wondered if she’d ultimately regret finding out what he meant.
She was well aware that once things were said, they couldn’t be unsaid. And, as long as they weren’t said, she could go on pretending that everything in Paradise was just perfect. Even though “perfect” was a condition that in all likelihood didn’t really exist.
Oh, God, when had life gotten so very complicated? Holly couldn’t help wondering.
“Just exactly what is my style, Holly?” he asked.
She shrugged, fidgeting inside. “You’re the charmer, the smooth talker, the one who all the unattached—and not so unattached—women gravitate to.” He knew that, didn’t he? Why was he asking her to spell it out? “What’s the matter, Ray, your ego need a boost? Is that why you’re asking me to define your style? You afraid that lingering with me might disturb some sort of equilibrium you have going out there in the universe?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked her, completely confused.
Holly was being honest with him. She’d known Ray far too long not to be, and besides, she didn’t know how to be anything else but straight. There wasn’t—and never had been—a single conniving bone in her body.
She ran her tongue along exceedingly dry lips before she told him, “I’m waiting for the shoe to drop.”
“What shoe?” he asked, no clearer now as to her meaning than he had been a moment ago.
“The shoe,” she emphasized. Didn’t he get it? “The proverbial shoe.”
“What the hell is the proverbial shoe? Those online courses you’re taking scrambling your brain?” he demanded, clearly frustrated that he didn’t understand what she was trying to say. “I’m a plain man, Holly, talk plain.”
She opened her mouth to answer him, and then shut it again as she stared at Ray. Holly. He’d called her Holly. Not Doll the way he usually did, but Holly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him use her given name.
Was that a good sign, or should she really be bracing herself for something serious?
Something bad?
“The proverbial shoe,” she repeated, then went on to add, “Everything that goes up must come down. For every good, there’s a bad. If there’s a high point, there has to be a low—am I making myself clear?” she asked, her voice rising.
Almost at the church, he suddenly pulled over so that he could focus completely on this conversation that wasn’t making any sense to him. Maybe if he wasn’t distracted by driving, it would become clearer.
“If by clear, you mean do I notice that you’re talking in clichés as well as going around in circles, then, yes, I get that. I also know that of the two of us, you’re supposed to be the optimist and I’m the one who’s supposed to shoot down all your red balloons or the bluebird of happiness, or whatever it is that pessimists fantasize about doing to optimists to get them to reverse their opinions. But I’m not feeling any of that,” he insisted, then quietly admitted, “I am, though, feeling a little confused because I’ve never been on this path before.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Ray,” she told him. “What path?”
He’d already said too much, Ray upbraided himself.
He would have laughed if it wasn’t all so damn ironic. Normally, this was a conversation he’d be having with his best friend—with her—about the way he was feeling about the woman he was currently seeing. But in this case, his best friend and the woman he was currently seeing were one and the same, making all of this immensely complicated for him.
He’d always laid his soul bare to his best friend, but never to the woman he was
dating.
Ray sighed, dragging his hand through his hair, trying hard to sort out his thoughts. It really didn’t help.
He started up the truck, fully aware that Holly was staring at him. Waiting for him to continue.
He was going to have to handle and sort out this problem himself. Later.
“Never mind,” he said, tabling the subject indefinitely. Focusing, he suddenly realized that they were almost on top of the church. “We’re here,” he announced, making it seem that he wasn’t going to go into any lengthy explanation about what was going on inside his head because they had arrived at his brother’s wedding. “Don’t want to be late,” he added quickly as he got out of the truck.
By her watch, they were a good fifteen minutes early, but she wasn’t about to point that out. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to come across as pushy. She was going to do her damnedest to continue being his best friend—except even better, she thought.
And what? He’s going to get so overwhelmed by you, by how great you are, and so carried away by Mike’s wedding that he’s going to propose to you? Wake up and smell the rejection that’s coming, Holly. It’s the only way you’re going to survive.
But she knew that she didn’t want to survive. Not just survive. She wanted to be his best friend and the woman he came home to at night—or, at least, the woman he wanted in his bed.
Dream on, an annoying little voice in Holly’s head mocked.
That was probably the right term for it, she thought, making her way into the church beside Ray. A dream. That was all she had and all she ever would have.
No matter what she wished to the contrary, Ray Rodriguez was not the marrying kind. He’d told her only a few weeks ago, when Mike said he planned to marry Samantha on Christmas Eve, that he thought his brothers were surrendering their freedom one by one and he considered Mike to be the last bastion of bachelorhood. With Mike’s fall, he was the very last standard-bearer.
Standard-bearers did not get married, not when they considered themselves the epitome of bachelorhood. Besides, it was a known fact that Ray always had too much fun being single and in demand. What man who had all that going for him would want to give it up for just one woman?
She knew the answer to that.
No man would. At least, not Ray. And she really couldn’t fault him for it.
Which meant she was going to enjoy this interlude she was sharing with Ray and have absolutely no expectations, cast no webs, twine no strings.
This was what it was: decidedly wonderful—and, in all likelihood, decidedly fleeting.
With that in mind, she stood up in the pew, brought to her feet by the beginning strains of “Here Comes the Bride.”
And as she listened, she tried very hard to suppress the tears that rose to her eyes due to the sharp, painful realization that this song would never be played for her.
Chapter Seventeen
Because the weather promised to be colder than they had originally anticipated, it had been decided the day before the actual wedding to shift the site of Mike and Sam’s reception to the Rodriguez ranch.
Those guests who were hearty enough not to be bothered by a little drop in temperature celebrated outside, directly behind the ranch house, where several canopies were set up—brought in for the occasion thanks to Rafe’s wife, Valentine, and her connections with the movie industry where the use of canopies on location shots was commonplace.
Guests of a slightly more delicate constitution celebrated the wedding indoors, easily filling the house to overflowing with their bodies and their laughter.
Faced with the choice, Holly stayed outdoors, where a blanket of stars made the evening seem even more special than it already was. That, and the fact that Liam Murphy’s band had set up outside—close enough to the house to be heard inside, but really resonating outdoors.
To her surprise, rather than mingling and disappearing, Ray had stayed with her for the entire evening, despite the blatant efforts of more than one woman to catch his eye.
It was, all in all, an enchanted evening as far as Holly was concerned. But even fairy tales ended, so this evening had to, as well. She had somewhere to be after midnight.
“You keep looking at your watch,” Ray noted as he brought her another glass of punch. “Is there something I should know?”
She’d really tried not to be obvious about it, and she hadn’t thought that he’d even noticed. The man was more aware of things than she gave him credit for.
“Like what?” she asked innocently.
“Like that you turn into a pumpkin at midnight. You know, the Cinderella thing,” he prompted with a grin. He felt himself getting nervous, wondering if maybe he’d misread the signs after all. Was she anxious to leave the reception—and him?
“No,” Holly said, “I’m not turning into a pumpkin, but I do want to be home around that time so I can get the rest of Molly’s presents under the tree before she wakes up. Christmas Eve, she sleeps with one ear open, trying to catch Santa Claus in the act,” she told him with a laugh. “By the way, that was a very nice thing you did, bringing Molly that gift and telling her it was from Santa.”
He shrugged casually, dismissing the deed. “Well, I’m a very nice guy.”
You don’t have to convince me, Holly thought. I’ve always been your biggest fan.
Out loud she said, “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know.” The truth of it was that he enjoyed it. “There’s just something magical about that age, about believing in Santa Claus and an old man who can bring toys to everyone in one night.”
“To all the kids in one night,” Holly corrected.
About to continue, trying to warm to his real subject, he stopped abruptly. “What?”
“You said to everyone,” she pointed out. “Santa is just supposed to bring gifts to the kids.”
Ray frowned, his brow furrowing. “Is that written down somewhere?” he asked her, looking so solemn that for a second, she thought he was serious.
And then she realized that he was just pulling her leg, the way he always did, and she laughed. “It must be.”
“Well, I never saw it written anywhere,” he continued as if they were having a philosophical discussion. “And until I do, I’ll keep on believing that Santa Claus is supposed to bring gifts to everyone.”
Holly shook her head. “Just how much beer and wine have you had tonight?” she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment. The noise around them seemed to fade into the distant background as he told her quietly, “Just enough to make me see things a little more clearly than I normally do.”
He was dragging this out a little, but she just knew there was going to be some kind of a punch line at the end.
“Uh-huh. You just keep thinking that.” Holly glanced at her watch again. It was getting really close to midnight. She had to get going before she was completely dead on her feet. “Well, it’s been a lovely night and a beautiful ceremony, but I’m going to have to ask you to take me home. Or better yet,” she said, looking around the immediate area, “maybe I’d better ask one of the Murphy brothers to do it.”
“One of the Murphy brothers?” Ray echoed, frowning. “Why?”
Granted, Ray didn’t smell as if he’d been drinking, but something was off. He wasn’t acting like himself tonight, and she just assumed it was because he’d had a bit to drink. She didn’t want him taking any chances.
“Well, Brett and Liam don’t seem to be drinking,” she told him, “and even if we’re not anywhere near the heart of Dallas, it’s still safer to face the road stone-cold sober—especially at night.”
Ray caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers. When she looked at him quizzically, he told her, “There’s still plenty of time to get you home,” he assured h
er. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things.” The next moment, as she began to open her mouth in what he anticipated to be protest, he coaxed, “Dance with me.”
“There’s no music,” Holly pointed out.
Ray held up his free hand. “Wait for it,” he told her, cocking his head and following his own advice.
If she’d only had herself to consider, she would have stood right here beside him until the world ended. But she had Molly to think of and that changed everything. “Ray, I really have to—”
“See? There it is,” he told her as Liam’s band, returning from their fifteen-minute break, began to play again. It was a slow, bluesy number that Ray thought was just perfect. “You just have to be patient,” he told her, drawing her out onto the dance floor that he and his brothers had just constructed for the occasion yesterday. It had taken all of them working together to make it a reality overnight. But that was the kind of thing he and his brothers did—the impossible in a short amount of time.
He took comfort in that now.
“Now that’s funny,” she said as she began to relax a little and follow his lead.
Ray looked intently into her eyes, allowing himself to get lost there just for a moment. “What is?”
“You telling me to be patient.” I’ve been patient all my life, Ray, waiting for you to notice me for just a little while.
His mouth curved a little, despite his attempt to sound as if he was serious when he asked, “Are you hinting that I’m impatient?”
“No, not hinting,” she countered with a laugh that filtered into her eyes. “Saying it outright.”
“Maybe I was,” he allowed magnanimously. “But that was the old me. The new me is very patient,” he informed her.
Yeah, right. Never happen. But for the sake of peace, she played along. “And what is this ‘new you’ being so patient about?” she asked, doing her best not to laugh at him saying his name in the same sentence as the word patient. Everyone knew he was mercurial and the very definition of impatient.
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