by Tessa Layne
Carolina fought a sigh, and checked her reflection one last time in the vanity mirror. Maybe she could feign illness? Anything to get out of today’s Posse Party for Emma Sinclaire and Millie Prescott. But it would be bad form to blow off the wedding shower her mother and the other matrons in town had worked so hard on. Besides, one scrutinizing look from her sisters, and they’d have her number. She was the world’s worst faker. Somehow, she’d have to plaster on a smile and force herself to get through the next three hours.
“Caro? Are you okay?” Cassie called.
“No. Not at all,” she muttered, stomach hollowing at the thought of seeing her friends giddy with happiness. She’d been dreading this day for weeks. Emma and Millie were just the latest in the ongoing wedding and baby boom taking over Prairie. And while she was truly happy for them, every wedding, every engagement party, twisted the knife a little deeper in her own heart. She was literally the last single girl in Prairie. At least that’s what it felt like. Twice, she’d been in line for happily ever after, and twice it had been snatched from her. She either had bad judgment, bad luck, or both. Both, considering how she’d mucked things up with Cody. His words from their last conversation rattled in her head. And we will fuck, Carolina.
Ha. She made a doubtful noise in her throat and shook her head. She couldn’t even talk to him, let alone anything else, thanks to the burning shame she experienced every time she laid eyes on him. And she hated that. Hated that in spite of her mixed up feelings, she missed him. The way he made her laugh, or flirted with her, even the way he called her out.
“Carolina, do not make me waddle up those stairs,” Lydia called with a note of warning.
“Coming,” she hollered back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It could be worse. It could be a funeral.
Grabbing the tissue stuffed gift-bag off her bed, she headed downstairs to meet her sisters, forcing herself to smile all the way down. By the time she reached them in the front entryway, her smile felt somewhat natural.
Lydia wrapped an arm around her, no longer able to give her a full-on hug, thanks to her burgeoning belly. “I know this can’t be easy for you, but it will be fun. These Posse parties are cruh-azy.”
Cassie nodded vigorously. “Maddie Sinclaire told me that Mama and Gloria McPherson decorated the front porch with pink penises the first time they did this.”
“And they got tiddly.” Lydia giggled.
“Are you kidding? Mama got tipsy?”
“Swear to God.” Lydia raised her right hand. “Cass, you have the shoes?”
“Already in the truck.”
Lydia was one of the most creative people Carolina knew. And the most generous. She’d made wedding shoes, or in some cases, boots, for everyone in Prairie she knew was getting married. A painful ache tugged in Carolina’s midsection. Upstairs, she had the very first pair of shoes Lydia had ever stitched together - white satin ballet shoes, complete with ankle ties to mimic toe shoes, embroidered with winged hearts. For her almost-wedding to Keller Montgomery. In hindsight, Keller playing the runaway groom had been a gift, but the sting of humiliation had never quite left her. Carolina had never gotten to wear the second pair her sister had made - a gorgeous ivory and gold silk peep-toe with a curvy heel. Sometimes, when she needed a good cry, she still took them out of the box and admired them. Always an almost-bride.
The party was out at the Sinclaire ranch, in the hunting lodge that Jamey Sinclaire and her husband Brodie ran, and was in full swing when they arrived.
“Oh good, you made it,” Dottie swept by carrying a tray loaded with sandwiches. “Just put the gifts on the far table. We’re going to eat first.”
Someone pressed a glass of champagne into Carolina’s hands. That would help take the edge off. She downed it in three gulps.
“That bad, huh?” Cassie gave her a wry smile.
Carolina forced a smile. “I’m incandescently happy for the brides.”
Cassie chortled. “Better have another glass. Your speech needs work.” She drifted off, presumably in search of more champagne, leaving Carolina alone at the banquet table.
At least she could drown her sorrows in her mother’s pie. Carolina picked her way through the table groaning with all kinds of sweet and savory finger foods, and found a quiet corner. She’d always been good at making herself invisible, and today that skill came in handy. She slowly cleaned her plate as the noise level grew around her, right along with her sorrow, until she was neck deep in self-pity. It didn’t help that some of the older women still liked to gossip about her. Sure, they tried to be discreet, it was a wedding shower after all. But she’d caught them staring, and heard the hushed whispers as they walked past to refill their plates and flutes. That’s Carolina Grace. Left at the altar twice. Unlucky in love.
Four glasses of champagne didn’t drown out their voices, or the intense squeezing in her chest. But she wouldn’t be so lucky as to have a heart attack. And even if it was, Dr. Winslow, due around the same time as her sister, was in attendance, and would be able to tell if she was having a cardiac arrest.
“Are you okay?” Lydia dropped a hand to her shoulder.
“Never better.” She grinned up at her sister, who narrowed her eyes.
“How much have you had to drink?” she asked sharply.
“Not nearly enough.”
Lydia shook her head, mouth thinning. “Do not make a scene.”
As if on cue, Macey stood by the great fireplace and tapped her champagne flute. “Can I have your attention?”
How did Macey do it? She’d lost a real husband, not an almost-husband, and she looked genuinely happy.
Macey raised her glass. “As many of you know, in a very short time, these lovely women-” She motioned to Emma and Millie. “Will be marrying my late husband’s best friends. Johnny, Jason, and Sterling met each other at West Point during the Beast, which for the rest of us, is basic training on steroids. They shared everything during their time at West Point, and beyond. Hopes and dreams, fears and loss. And I know if Johnny were here today, he’d embrace the two of you with open arms.” Macey’s voice hitched. “Instead, I have that honor, of welcoming you into a sisterhood of shared experience, and most importantly, shared love. You’re gaining more than a husband when you say I do. You’re gaining a family.”
Macey blinked rapidly. “So please raise your glasses with me and toast the women who’ve made Jason and Sterling as happy as Johnny and I were.”
Choruses of “Hear, hear,” rippled through the room as Macey, Emma, and Millie shared a hug.
Millie turned to the room. “Be sure to take one of the fortune cookies Dottie and Jamey are passing out. You know that I believe in fate, and that each cookie has the perfect fortune for you. You just have to reach out and claim it.”
Before Carolina could search the room for her mother, someone pressed a cookie into her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it, pulse leaping. It was ridiculous to think a fortune cookie could hold the answer to her future, or make things right between her and Cody again. Thankfully, her father hadn’t asked why she no longer wanted to take the early morning shift. Cody still made her heart race, and dreams of his kisses still disturbed her sleep. But nothing could help her overcome her embarrassment. She couldn’t approach him again. Could. Not.
It didn’t matter that he was always perfectly polite at Sunday dinners, and at the clinic. He never made an effort to start a conversation, and that told her everything she needed to know. She’d utterly and completely ruined whatever had been blossoming between them. As if she’d sprayed weed killer all over it. And even though she’d occasionally catch him staring, eyes dark and tumultuous, brooding looks didn’t constitute a relationship. Or a signal that they could work things out.
Carolina stood. If she was going to pin her future on a piece of paper encased in a cookie, she needed another glass of courage. With her luck, the fortune would say something like pull your head out of your ass, which was exactly what her sisters t
hought she should do. They didn’t even have to say it. She could tell in the meaningful glances they exchanged with each other. Or, the cookie would contain some bullshit platitude like time heals all wounds.
She made her way to the kitchen and found a half-empty bottle of champagne on the edge of the counter. She brought the bottle to her mouth and took a long swig. No need to bother pouring it into a glass, first.
“You look like you need something stronger than that,” said Jamey, cradling a tiny redheaded baby girl in a sling. She moved around the island and pulled out a bottle of liquor from one of the cabinets. “Twelve-year Redbreast. Magic of the leprechauns right there. Help yourself.”
Carolina heated, embarrassment washing over her in waves. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“Irish whiskey opens the mind. There’s a reason why I call it the crisis bottle. I kid you not, it helps you see your way clear of the trickiest situations.” Jamey cocked her head. “Your mama told me about you, how you’ve been unlucky in love.”
Carolina shut her eyes. Of course, she had.
“Not in a bad way,” Jamey rushed. “She’s worried about you. Thinks you’ve locked up your heart and thrown away the key.”
“What if I have?”
“I think that would be a shame.” Jamey looked down at her baby, a smile of pure adoration on her face.
The moment was so beautiful, Carolina felt like she was intruding. She’d never known that kind of sweetness, and as she watched mother and daughter, a wave of fierce longing filled her. She could drown in the wanting of it.
“I never realized I could love someone so much until I looked into Anne Marie’s eyes for the first time.” Jamey lifted her head. “And that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been too afraid to let Brodie know my feelings. We kept things from each other, at first. And the scariest thing was being brave enough to be vulnerable with him, trust him with my darkest secret. And trust that he was a better man than the previous ones.” She stroked the tiny tuft of copper sticking out from the sling. “All I can say is, I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have any of this.” Her arm swept through the kitchen. “I would have missed out on all this if I’d gone back to Chicago and stayed stuck.”
Jamey reached for the whiskey, opened the bottle and poured a splash into her champagne flute. “Drink up, and read your fortune.”
Indecision wracked Carolina. She felt like she was on the edge of a precipice. Was she willing to take the leap? Maybe it was fate, but she felt like an invisible hand propelled her forward. She downed the whiskey in one gulp, letting the burn fuel her courage. She cracked open the cookie and pulled out the paper with the handwritten note.
A horse can’t leave the barn through two doors.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Beats me. I’m no horsewoman, but Brodie would probably tell you something like if there are two open doors, a horse will just stand still unsure of which door to exit. But if you close one,” she opened her hands. “Out it goes.” Jamey cocked her head. “You got two barn doors standing open?”
Heck if she knew.
Jamey pushed the bottle her direction. “Take this with you. Tonight’s a full moon. Maybe you should go out and have a think.”
Chapter Fourteen
A blood-curdling scream startled Cody awake. Carolina? Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he sat bolt upright, listening hard. Had he been dreaming? A quick glance to his left showed just after midnight. He could have been… he’d fallen into bed early this evening, exhausted from his regimen and evening rounds with Teddy.
The sound pierced the air again, this time, more of a keening sob than a scream. It had to be her. “I’m coming, Caro,” he called, scrambling out of bed and throwing on the pair of jeans he’d left draped over the chair in the corner of the tiny room.
Was she hurt? Had she broken an ankle? Or worse? His stomach hollowed at the myriad of awful visions that passed before his eyes. He yanked on the door, shouting as he ran into the clearing. “Caro? I’m coming.” He breathed a sigh of relief at the full moon hanging not quite directly overhead, casting everything in a silvery glow. At least he’d have no trouble spotting her. A quick look around the ravine turned up nothing.
Dread turned his veins to ice. What if she was over by the watering hole on the other side of the hill? What if she was drowning? It wasn’t as big as the pond next door, on the Resolution Ranch property, but it was big enough that a person with intent could drown.
Breaking into a sprint, he barreled through the underbrush, dodging dead tree limbs. Willow branches slapped his bare skin. He’d have welts later, but he hardly felt them, cursing under his breath as he ran. “Caro? Where are you?” He didn’t know the first thing about giving first aid. And why hadn’t he thought to bring his phone? Not that there was much of a signal in the middle of the fields, but in an emergency, anything was worth a try.
His lungs burned as he crested the hill and stopped short, knees nearly buckling in relief at the sight below. Carolina was alive and well, swaying in the light of a good-sized fire at the edge of the water, in a wedding dress? But not any wedding dress, one that she seemed to be cutting off herself and tossing into the fire piece by piece. “What in the hell?” he muttered, breaking into a run, only dimly registering that he was sprinting. Properly. “Carolina, what the fuck are you doing?”
He spied the whiskey bottle in her left hand. Oh jeezuz. She was drunk. Beyond drunk. She was shithoused. She turned at the sound of his voice, not really seeing him, and raised the bottle. “Jamey said I was ‘posed to drink this if I was having a crisis.”
“And are you?”
“Whatdoesitlooklike?” she slurred, turning around and nearly tripping over the train. “Dammit,” she muttered, taking the scissors to the train and making a cut. Then she grabbed the material and pulled, the sound of fabric ripping through the air. “See that?” She turned back and waved at the fire, snapping merrily. “That was my first one.” She hiccupped, then let out a wail. “I loved that dress, and I stood for three hours at the back of the church waiting for Keller. And everyone kept turning and staring. Only they weren’t happy.”
He stepped forward, hand out. “I know, sweetheart, why don’t you give me the bottle?” If he could just pry the whiskey from her hands, he’d feel so much better. She was standing too close to the fire.
“Mine.” She glared at him and yanked the bottle back.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Only the leprechauns know.” She tore another piece of the dress and hurled it into the flames. “Theyweresupposedtohelpmefigureshitout.”
“What, honey? You’re not making any sense.”
“‘Course I’m not.” She kicked off a shoe, which landed in a shower of sparks. “Don’t tell Lyd I burned her shoes.” The other shoe landed on the far side of the bonfire. “Damn,” Carolina muttered and started around to the other side, wobbling as she went.
Oh, no. He wasn’t going to stand around and watch her torture herself this way. “Caro,” he followed her, grabbing her elbow and spinning her around. “Stop this. You don’t need to do this.”
She stared at him for a long second, then burst into tears, letting out another wail. “I do. I have to let them go.” She waved her left hand in front of his face. “See? I took it off. I had two barn doors.”
What in the hell was she talking about now? “I think you need to sleep it off, sweetheart.”
“NO.” She jerked away from him, stumbling back and nearly falling. “You don’t understand.”
Damn straight he didn’t, but he knew better than to argue with someone who was stone cold drunk. She moved her hands behind her back, wriggling and shrugging until the dress dropped off her shoulders and she stepped out of the remains of satin and tulle that pooled at her feet. “Carolina,” he warned, a feeling of helplessness settling over him. If she was determined to burn what was left of her wedding dress, at least he could make sure she didn’t hurt hers
elf.
“Like what you see, cowboy?” She wiggled her ass as she turned around, showing off the tiny strip of white that was no bigger than dental floss.
Jesus, her ass was perfection. And in an any other circumstance, he’d be thrilled to watch her prance around in nothing. “You’re beautiful, Carolina. I’ve always thought that.”
Her face crumpled. “I never got to wear this on my wedding night,” she sobbed.
“Damn shame.”
“Yes. It is.” Her hand went to her back and with a flick, she unclasped her strapless bra, exposing perfectly round, creamy tits that glowed in the moonlight. They stood high and pert with dark rosebuds that puckered into tight points. He bit back a groan. She was fucking killing him. Then she stepped out of the silky triangle, and dangling both undergarments on one finger, snapped them into the fire.
“That’s it. I’m taking you home.” He stepped forward and scooped her up, willfully ignoring how fantastic it felt to have her skin pressed against his.
But she was having none of it. “No, no, nooooooo. I’m not done yet. I still have two barn doors,” she sobbed hysterically, squirming and wriggling in his arms.
“You’re drunk, you’re not making any sense.”
“I have to finish,” she cried. “Please just let me finish.”
Tears streamed down her face, and her shoulders shook. Fuck. Call him a sucker, or a pushover, but he hated to see her wrecked like this. “Fine.” He put her down, keeping a firm grip on her. “We’ll do it together.” One wrong move, and she’d end up in the fire, too. He led her to the ruined dress, still spread out in the dirt like some kind of macabre tutu.
With a dramatic sniff, she snatched it up and hurled it at the fire. For a moment, it hung suspended in the air, then floated to the ground, not even close to where the fire still burned. She kicked it, and when that didn’t work, dropped to her knees, and pulled it into a tight ball. She bent her head, as if in prayer, and with a sob, flung the dress into the fire. Carolina staggered to her feet, and in an instant, Cody wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, letting her cry it out.