Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1)

by Heather Burch

  He took her hands in his. “Kristi, I don’t care about that right now.”

  She smiled up at him, thick fake lashes flashing as she blinked. “You’re the best brother anyone ever had.”

  Ian wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Change into some party clothes, sis. I’m not letting you sit this one out.”

  She hauled a ragged breath. “I guess you wouldn’t, would you?”

  To Ian’s surprise, his dad handled the situation well. Explaining there was no longer going to be a wedding, and please don’t ask the bride about the situation. Sometimes people get cold feet and come to their senses later. Only a quarter of the people—Allen’s people—left. The others migrated to the party tent. Ian was glad to find the artists had swooped in and removed much of the “wedding specific” decorations. He held Charlee’s hand as they walked across the tent.

  “Wynona took a bucket and filled it with the little dove accents and the table decorations with the tiny gold rings,” she said.

  “Good call.” Ian tilted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “It’s still pretty fancy, but not so wedding-ish now.” She pivoted to face him, sadness in her eyes. “How’s your sister?”

  “She’s really strong. Got a good dose of that from our mom and just enough of Dad’s stubborn pride, she wouldn’t allow the day to be completely ruined.” Still, his heart ached for her.

  When the orchestra started up, Ian cringed. “Think these guys know anything but wedding music?”

  Charlee shrugged.

  Ian left her and made his way across the floor. Charlee watched as he grabbed a few guys on the way and dragged them to the low stage where the orchestra was set up. Minutes later, he was back beside her.

  “What just happened?”

  Ian pointed. “That’s my Uncle Phil. He plays harmonica. That’s Roy, bass. And over there is my Uncle Jeb. He plays lead guitar in a country band. But he’s only got his banjo with him.”

  “Are they replacing the orchestra?”

  Ian grinned. “Nope. Joining them.”

  Charlee’s eyes widened.

  “They all know country music, Charlee. They may be classically trained, but they live in Oklahoma.”

  She wound her fingers around his forearms. “Aren’t you clever?” And she hoisted herself up to kiss his cheek. Tables lined the outer edge of the tent and as Charlee pressed her lips against Ian’s cheekbone, she spotted Brenna at one of the tables. A Chris LeDoux song filled the space. Almost instantly, the stuffy wedding atmosphere became alive with toe tapping and even some singing along.

  The heaviness of a wedding gone wrong disintegrated. No one even noticed when Kristi slipped into the tent and sat in the far corner, watching.

  Ian left to go find his mom and Charlee took it as a divine signal to search out Brenna. The woman sat alone, her shoulders hunched, eyes far off. Charlee glanced behind her to see what she was looking at and realized Brenna’s fiancé was spending more time at the cash bar than with her. For a quick instant, Charlee felt bad for the girl, until she remembered that Brenna had accepted an invitation to stay at the house.

  “Can I sit with you?”

  Brenna’s shocked expression disappeared with a smile. “Sure.” Her gaze went right back to the cash bar.

  “So, you knew Ian back in his wilder goth days.”

  Brenna seemed surprised by the attempt at conversation, but a fast glance to Charlee softened the shock. “Yes. It was what drew me to him.”

  Okay, she hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

  “Yep. Wanted a bad boy, I did. My dad had always told me I’d end up with a loser. Guess I thought I’d find one and make it a short trip.”

  Wow. Charlee couldn’t imagine. Her dad had always expected so much, too much, she figured she’d be a disappointment if she didn’t become president. But he would have never told her she’d end up with a loser.

  “But Ian was so much more than black clothes and black hair.” Brenna looked directly at Charlee and the tension mounted as they discussed the man who’d obviously made a deep impression on both of them. “He was . . . in a word . . . perfect.”

  Perfect. That was a pretty stiff assessment. And Charlee got the impression Brenna still cared deeply, a little too deeply to suit her. Not that she had any claim on Ian. She didn’t. She couldn’t. But Charlee had the distinct feeling that if she didn’t move forward, she’d one day be sitting alone at a table and looking back. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “What happened between you two?” She couldn’t help herself. She had no right to ask. And knew in her heart, she didn’t want to know, not really.

  “I guess you could say he betrayed me. Once with another girl in high school. I’d broken up with him, but I didn’t really mean it.” She rolled her eyes. “It was high school.”

  But ice spiked through Charlee’s veins. “And the next time?”

  Brenna let out a long sigh. “Not another girl, just wasn’t there for me when I needed him. I probably overreacted. Ian is a loyal guy, but once you kick him to the curb, he’s gone. I shouldn’t have handled it so badly, but old wounds . . . you know.”

  Yes, she did. Across the room her eyes found Ian, who’d just stepped over to his sister. Old wounds. New wounds. They’d all messed up what could be. If she hadn’t met Richard and believed his lies about wanting to build a life with her, she’d feel differently about Ian. But she had, and that had soured every bit of romance in her system.

  Beside her, she heard the words, “Yes, he is.”

  Charlee turned to face Brenna. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Brenna let out a little laugh. “I was agreeing with you. You said, ‘He’s a good man.’”

  She didn’t remember saying that. Was thinking it, though. When Ian held his hand out for his sister to take, Charlee chewed her lip. He was a very good man.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kristi’s eyes were wide. “Ian, what are you doing?”

  He left his hand extended toward her. “Come on. I want to dance with my sister today.”

  She frowned, eyes flittering around the tent where people had started watching them. “I was fine in the corner.”

  He worked the muscle in his jaw. “We’re Carlisles. We don’t hide in corners. And we don’t climb off cliffs. We take the hard route.”

  She stared at the tent ceiling for a few moments. “Not going to let me out of this, are you?”

  “Come on,” he encouraged with the flick of his hand. “Your courage is out there waiting for you.”

  “I’m not up for a samba. Sorry you learned it for nothing.” Kristi placed her hand in his.

  “No samba today.” Although he hadn’t minded the hours of spinning and twirling Charlee beneath the stars at the retreat. He angled to the band. “Tim McGraw,” was all he said. And they started a ballad that was neither slow nor fast, but a comfortable tempo between. Within minutes, the dance floor was littered with other couples swaying and turning to the tune. After a while, his sister pressed her cheek to Ian’s chest and cried.

  Within an hour, Kristi was inundated with a myriad of dance partners, mostly guys from town, old family friends, and she was actually laughing.

  Thomas Carlisle came striding across the dance floor to where Ian stood. He stopped at his feet. “Good job, Ian.”

  Ian blinked, waiting for the irony. Waiting for the sarcasm. When it didn’t come, he uttered, “Thanks.”

  Thomas took him by the arm and pulled him out from under the tent through an opening not far away. The music was muffled there, softened, and the lighting dim. Thomas turned away from his son and toward the house. “I uh . . . wouldn’t have handled things like you did.”

  Here it comes.

  “This was . . . this was good. She needed it. Hold her head high, no scrawny jerk from the city going to make a
mockery of us.”

  Ian closed his eyes, because though he wanted to remind his dad this wasn’t about the Great and Powerful Thomas Carlisle, he knew his dad was trying. “I didn’t want her seeing family at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and having it be the first time they saw her since the wedding. It’d bring it all back. Now it’s done. She can move on.” Ian turned to go back inside but his dad caught his arm, stalling him there.

  “You got this one right, Ian. And . . . I’m sorry about earlier.”

  All the air left Ian’s lungs. His dad had never apologized for anything.

  “It’s okay, Dad.” He started to turn again, but this time stopped himself. “Really.”

  “Think about that job offer, okay?”

  Ian nodded. “Okay.”

  When Ian led Charlee onto the dance floor, he felt better, lighter. And if someone had told him he’d feel this good at his sister’s botched wedding, he’d tell them they were crazy.

  Charlee came easily into his arms, her flesh cool from the night breeze that slipped into the tent, her skin soft as silk. His hand slid over her bare shoulders. “You feel incredible,” he whispered in her ear as he felt a little tremor run through her body.

  Charlee tilted back to look at him. The motion caused her hair to tumble over his hand. “And you look like a man who saved the day.”

  “Careful, I’ll get a big head.”

  “You mean bigger than it already is?” She blinked up at him innocently. And those beautiful eyes, the ones that looked sometimes gray and sometimes blue, beckoned him to kiss her. She wasn’t saying that, of course, but it was there, deep in her gaze. He spun her to the center of the floor where tightly pressed bodies would make a wall for them. When his lips parted and he moistened them with his tongue, Charlee’s gaze went glassy. Maybe it was the spinning, maybe it was the anticipation, whatever. He didn’t care; that look was filled with excitement and expectation. Her body pressed into him, and he relished the feeling of someone who could make him both hot and cold at the same time. Someone who could make him want to move faster, and yet slow time so he could relish every moment. His hands came up to cup her face. For an instant, her eyes drifted shut, and she nuzzled against his touch; when her eyes opened, there she was. The woman who’d traveled four hours to act like his girlfriend, the woman who’d given him a job, not because he was qualified for it, but because she knew he was a soldier who’d just come home. The woman who lay on a floor with him after a nightmare. The woman he . . . the woman he loved.

  Oh God. He was in love with her. The kind of love that plants your feet and makes it impossible to walk away, ever. Ian had been infatuated with Charlee McKinley from the time Major McKinley first started talking about his headstrong, willful, uncontrollable daughter. He’d fallen for a picture of a pretty girl standing in front of a Jeep. But now, now he knew Charlee. Knew everything she was and everything they could be together. And that was both exhilarating and terrifying. “Charlee, I need to tell you something.”

  Her eyes opened and in them he saw his future. He saw everything he wanted in life.

  She blinked, thick caterpillar lashes shrouding her gaze. Her fingertip touched his mouth. “This is a perfect night,” she said. “Tell me something beautiful.”

  And love allowed time when it would rather rush. So he swallowed the words he’d been ready to speak and instead of telling her he loved her, he simply said her name.

  Charlee wound her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. She was a woman who knew how to get what she wanted, and Ian was more than willing to give. The kiss was long, full, and caused the world to spin away from them. The music faded, the colors surrounding them drained until there was only Charlee—the light for his path. And for Ian, a man who’d spent a long time in darkness, she was all he’d ever need.

  When she finally broke the kiss with heat rising from her toes all the way to her cheeks, Charlee glanced around her to see who’d been watching them. To her surprise, no one. And yet she felt bare, exposed and naked though she was fully clothed and in the middle of the dance floor. Her eyes found Ian’s. She allowed herself a tiny laugh. “I guess we put on a pretty convincing act, huh?”

  He pressed into her and every cell of her body screamed. His hand shifted against the small of her back and if he didn’t stop it, she was going to explode. “Did you mess up my lipstick?” she said in a rush, needing to focus on something else, anything else.

  “Yeah.” It was a word and a victory all rolled into one. His dark eyes sparkled and that devastating half smile tilted his cheek.

  Charlee’s heart pounded unevenly. Off to the right, she noticed commotion. “Is that—?”

  Couples were moving to allow room and as the floor cleared they saw it. Charlee sucked a breath. There, Mr. Gruber had Wynona in his arms and for a frail man who walked slowly, he moved along the dance floor with Fred Astaire grace. Wynona’s long hair flowed, a silk white scarf behind them, and she knew just how to snap a turn so that it whipped as they spun.

  Ian pointed. “Did you know he could—?”

  “Un-uh.” That was all Charlee could say with her mouth hanging open. It took her a moment to realize there was a light tap on her shoulder. Her gaze left the two aged artists and focused on Ian for a moment before turning. His look had soured. Charlee pivoted.

  “Could I cut in?” Brenna.

  Ice shot down Charlee’s spine. She swallowed, not trusting her voice to speak. Brenna’s dark eyes were warm and fitted on Ian. His grip on Charlee tightened ever so gently.

  Brenna blinked and turned to look at her. “Just wanting a dance with an old friend. That’s all.” Something about the words, something desperate and pitiful made Charlee start to step away. Again, Ian’s grip tightened, this time obviously, and Charlee watched the motion register on Brenna’s face. Her gaze dropped to the ground and she mumbled, “I’m sorry, never—”

  And that’s when Charlee squirmed free. She gave Ian a hard look and placed a hand on Brenna’s shoulder. “Absolutely,” she said with more vigor and confidence than she would have ever thought possible while turning Ian over to his ex-girlfriend, a woman who still had feelings for him. “I’ll get us some drinks, Ian. Meet me at the table when the song is through.” And she strode away, proud of herself for giving him a one-song limit. The look of anger and shocked betrayal in Ian’s gaze would lessen if he had a nice glass of punch to wash it down. He wasn’t interested in dancing with an old friend. But he had such unresolved emotions about Brenna. Maybe an opportunity to air things out would help him move on. Let him know he was not the screwup his father claimed. Plus, it was his dad who gave Brenna the okay to stay there. If he’d planned to embarrass Ian, seeing Ian and Brenna being civil might send an overdue message to Thomas Carlisle. Your son is a much bigger man than you give him credit for.

  She got two glasses—not three—she didn’t want to give Brenna an excuse to hang around. Charlee found a table where she could see the dance floor and focused her attention on Ian and Brenna.

  “They make a nice couple, don’t they?” The words were slurred and before Charlee could turn around, she knew it was Brenna’s fiancé. His hand fell on her shoulder, heavy and with the scattered clumsiness of a drunk. “Saw you at the bar.”

  Bar came out as brrr and Charlee wondered how rude it would be to hop up and leave.

  “I’m James. Came with Brenna.” Which sounded more like Brennann. “But she’s busy, so I got you a drink.” He plunked a glass on the table with his own. It was three fingers full with two perfectly square ice cubes. The dark amber liquid sloshed a little as he slid it under her nose; the tart bite of whiskey rose in her nostrils.

  Charlee swallowed and wondered if this was going to get difficult to get out of. “No thanks,” she said.

  He drew his chair closer to hers, his shoulders crowding her as he moved. James finally settled with h
is head close enough to hers that when he breathed, the same strong scent rushed into her face. “Come on. It’s a wedding.” Then, he frowned, thought about what he’d said and shoved the drink at her again. “I mean, it was a wedding. Now it’s just a party.”

  Charlee stared down at the glass, then searched for Ian and rescue from the dance floor. His focus was on Brenna, and he seemed to be listening intently as her head shook from side to side, and her shoulders rose and fell with . . . whatever words she was saying. Charlee couldn’t read him from here. The temptation to grab the glass, down it, and allow a little liquid courage to send her across the dance floor was great. When the smell intensified, she realized James was holding the glass just beneath her nose. It smelled like courage. James had gone still, except for the glass that now he touched ever so lightly to her mouth.

  Charlee was surprised when her tongue darted out to find a bit of the liquid on the edge of the glass. The tip of her tongue zinged deliciously. And very suddenly, almost uncontrollably, she wanted more. She snatched the glass from James and started to tip it back, the scent again, fresh and fire, filling her nose. Just as she opened her mouth, another hand closed over hers, stopping her. Charlee blinked, looked up, angry at the interruption to find kind, blue, aged eyes staring down at her. Thick brows in a frown, but the look was softened by the gentle smile on Mr. Gruber’s face. His hand closed more tightly on the glass and though she was reluctant to let go, she did.

  He shifted his weight. “We have a promise to keep to one another, remember?” And Charlee did. As the glass disappeared, along with James, who’d been hustled away by King Edward—heaven only knew what Edward had done to him . . . or shown him . . . to get him to disappear so quickly.

  Ashamed, Charlee stared down at the table surrounded by her artists. Wynona, cheeks still rosy from the dances she’d shared with Mr. Gruber, Wilma, who’d exchanged her rainbow-colored spikes for wedding-appropriate pastel ones, King Edward in his dress kilt, and Mr. Gruber, a recovering alcoholic, sober for eight years now, who had saved her from making a huge mistake just moments ago. “Let’s go home,” Charlee said and rose from the chair.