The Bride Wore Starlight

by Lizbeth Selvig

  Alec’s heart stopped for one horrible second. He’d seen her fall at the wedding dance but that had caused the kind of concern he’d have felt for anyone. Now the pure fear that she’d been injured overwhelmed him into rare inaction. The kind of frozen inaction he’d experienced in Iraq when faced with the fear he’d felt too often that he was about to lose someone he loved—

  His heartbeat jolted him back with a start. What was wrong with him?

  “Oh my God, Rowan, get off. Damn dog—what the hell is wrong with you?”

  He yelled at himself through the dog and dragged on Rowan’s collar, completely baffled by her behavior. Shoving her out of the way, he knelt beside Joely, who had her hands over her eyes. Gently, more controlled now, he took hold of her shoulders.

  “Honey, are you okay? God, I’m so sorry.”

  A mewling little sound grew from behind her fingers, and Rowan nosed her way back in. When the dog got her tongue deep into the hollow between Joely’s jaw and shoulder, the sound grew into a screech. Of laughter.

  Seconds later Joely was laughing so hard she gasped for breath. She grabbed at the sides of Rowan’s head and manipulated her kissing mouth away from the ticklish spot that was giving her so much mirth.

  “Get away, you stupid hound.” Alec tried again to chase the dog off.

  Joely gasped. “No, it’s okay. She’s all right.”

  “Yeah, but are you? You went down like a shooting gallery target. We need to make sure you’re not hurt. I have no idea what got into her. She’s not normally a jumper once she’s said hello.”

  She waved him off and pushed herself up onto both elbows. “I know why. I think. Maybe.” She shifted one hip and dug beneath herself. A second later she produced Rowan’s ball. A deep, excited woof sounded when the dog caught sight of the toy. Joely gave it an awkward toss, but Rowan couldn’t have cared less for the quality of the throw. She lumbered after it, tongue lolling, eyes shining.

  “I’m really sorry,” Alec said again.

  “She’s a dog doing dog things. I’m fine.”

  “You seem to do a lot of falling around me,” he said.

  “I do. Only we won’t count this one as a fall. It could have happened to anyone standing here.”

  He held out his hand, and she took it with only a moment’s hesitation. Her palm slid against his and an unexpected shiver shimmied up his arm when her fingers clamped around his hand. He tugged her to her feet, but the surprising core strength she used to assist him gave his pull more power than he’d intended. She landed against his chest with a grunt and a shy little laugh. Simple shivers turned to hot electricity. No sign of the girl unsteady on her feet remained. Instead he held an unanticipated bundle of soft, tensile strength in his arms.

  “Hello there,” he said, laughing to cover the chain reaction of pleasure sluicing through his body. “That was easy.”

  “But I’m not,” she said with a quiet, teasing smile. “You can let me go now.”

  He didn’t want to let her go; nonetheless he released her at once. He knew better than to think this was a good time to press his advantage, even though new desire whined at him like a teenage schoolboy. He settled for watching Joely dust off the seat of her jeans, rub at a Rowan-made paw print on her shirt just over her left breast, and twist sexily back and forth through her torso to test her movements.

  “All in one piece,” she said.

  He turned away to break her spell, suddenly annoyed at his mutinying libido. “Good. That scared the crap out of me, by the way. Obviously I need to work on my dog.”

  “I’ll just pay attention from now on. And here she comes. Hullo, baby. You’re pretty in love wif dis widdle ball, aren’t you?”

  Even the baby talk was weirdly attractive. “Jiminy Christmas, she nearly kills you, and now you’re rewarding her,” he said gruffly. “I’m going up to start the steaks. You two have a wonderful time continuing to bond.”

  “Are you jealous?” she asked as he walked away.

  “Hell, yes.”

  Hell. She was definitely a girl worth getting jealous over.

  Rowan let them eat in peace, mostly because Alec put up a baby gate between the eating area and the family room where the dog moped like a prisoner. She’d fallen for Joely as if she hadn’t ever been loved or petted in her life. If Alec hadn’t found the way the two females interacted so fascinating, he might actually have been jealous, but Joely was a different person around the dog—easygoing, comfortable, and sweet natured. Her baby talk juxtaposed with the quick, snarky wit she turned so quickly on him, and he sort of fell for it, too. Not that he’d ever been into baby talk, but it spilled naturally from Joely’s tongue, and he could imagine her speaking to a human baby that way. It was attractive in a way he’d never considered before.

  They talked through dinner like old friends, laughing over the eclectic menu, drinking the red wine, and then switching to a lighter IPA they both declared less stuffy. Time whipped by in a blur. They seemed to be masters of cheerful, inane conversation. He was pleased and satisfied with the evening. Until she found the pictures.

  They were done eating, Rowan had been allowed back into polite company, and Joely held the thick black photo album on her lap.

  He’d dug out the old album after talking to Vince and agreeing to let him use pictures from the past. He’d known Buzz had kept the old photographs, and there were some decent shots. Buzz had loved his camera.

  “Tell me about these pictures. They’re wonderful.”

  “My cousin took most of them. We competed together, and he was the biggest camera buff. He actually sold a few photos to magazines here and there. These were his personal favorites.”

  “So you do think about the rodeo.”

  “I do when people force me,” he replied. “These are what I was talking about—Vince wants a couple for promotion.”

  “This is you!”

  “A lot of them are me. And quite a few are that damn horse. Buzz was determined to catch my eight seconds on him, so every time I drew the sucker we had pictures of the failure. The eight seconds never happened.”

  “That sucks.”

  He stared at her in surprise—again. No one ever said that either. He’d gotten nothing but platitudes from his fellow competitors over the years. After the accident, therapists, doctors, coworkers, too, had all offered words that meant nothing. “Just be thankful you’re still with us; we are.” “There’s a reason for everything—maybe that horse would have killed you.” “Disappointment and adversity makes you stronger.”

  All bull.

  “It did suck.” He didn’t explain further.

  “And now you get to see your old nemesis again.”

  “Believe me. It isn’t because I want to. He’s better left to the past. But I owe Vince, and it’s one quick trip out of my life to go to his place and hand over a few pictures.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean? Sure about what?”

  “Sure this is better left in the past. I remember you. I remember the chanting when you’d be up. It was not an insignificant part of your life.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t. But it’s a past part of my life.”

  “That sucks, too.”

  He swallowed back the resentment this conversation awoke. It wasn’t her fault. He’d left the damn album right out in the open. She didn’t know that he explained his break with rodeo to nobody, but she did need to understand that he wasn’t going to be lured back into anything cowboy by Vince tomorrow.

  “Look,” he said. “I had a great time riding broncs. I was extremely successful. Now I’m successful doing other things, and I like it that way. The pictures are from the past, so don’t romanticize them, honey. There are a lot of things a guy with a missing leg can do. A lot. But nothing is perfect—not even the best prosthetic leg and foot. So, tomorrow? Don’t let Vince Newton convince you otherwise.”

  As he spoke, her eyes turned a clear, searching shade
of blue. She placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed. An unexpected thrill drove up between his legs and nestled there uncomfortably.

  “Is he going to try?”

  “Try what?” His throat was strangely dry.

  “Is Vince going to try and tell me you can do something you can’t?”

  “Vince could sell powdered water in the desert.”

  “He sounds dangerous.”

  “He’ll give you the shirt off his back with no strings attached. But when he’s got a scheme? Yeah, he’s dangerous all right. Like the devil offering you wishes for your soul.”

  “Does he have yours yet?”

  “Why would you ask?”

  “You said you owe him. Just making sure you’re okay.”

  He wasn’t sure what to do with that line. Pure caring—that’s what she offered. For no reason. He wasn’t sure he wanted anything like that without strings—it obligated a person. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, kissing the side of her head before he could think better of it and jostling her hand off his leg. The relief was immediate.

  “I’m fine. He’s a friend, and he’s starting a new venture that’s all. I can afford to help him out.”

  “Then there’s nothing to be worried about.” She winked and actually rested her head on his shoulder.

  He didn’t know about that. Suddenly he was more worried about her than about the past or any ghosts it held.

  Chapter Twelve

  “THIS IS GETTING to be a habit.” Joely smiled as she climbed into Alec’s truck and pleased herself by settling into the seat with much less awkwardness than she had the previous two times.

  He waited for her behind the wheel just as she’d asked him to. She knew he’d have been more than willing to meet her at her door, accompany her down the cracked narrow sidewalk to the street, and help her into the truck, but she’d wanted to do it alone. Her sense of pride at what most people took for granted every day had sent her mood soaring. To get ready, get her own breakfast, clean up her own kitchen, and make her own way out the door without the safety net of a nurse to call or the strong arm of a handsome man to grab was as exhilarating as any barrel race she’d ever run.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Fine.” He cut the curt word short, his voice oddly cool.

  She peered at him and he turned. “What?”

  “You’re not fine,” she said gently.

  “And you know this how?”

  “I have ears?”

  “So I haven’t had my coffee. Buckle up.”

  “Alec, it’s nearly noon.”

  “I overslept.”

  This was not the Alec Morrissey who just last night had grilled one of the best steaks she’d ever eaten and proceeded to make her laugh and chatter away like she hadn’t done in months. Normally, surliness like this would have triggered an avalanche of ribbing, but she knew instinctively it wouldn’t work this morning. This was clearly much more than a lack of caffeine.

  Her mother had always told her that sometimes it was better to ignore an issue while the other person worked out his problems, so she made herself smile and settled back as Alec pulled into Saturday morning traffic on Mountain Street, his eyes straight ahead.

  “Okay,” she said. “Fair enough.”

  Her calm acceptance lasted only two blocks. When she spied Mayberry emerging from Kloster’s Drug Store, his oversized cloth bag over one shoulder and a paper sack in one hand, her good intentions disappeared in a screech of surprise. “There he is!”

  Alec tapped his brakes a little too hard and jerked to a slower speed. “There who is?” He followed the trajectory of her pointed finger.

  “Mayberry. He’s . . . ” She hesitated, still surprised. “He’s coming out of the drug store.”

  “He lives in town,” Alec said. “Stands to reason you might see him.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She watched the old, homeless man as long as she could. “He just surprised me. I figured he’d be scrounging in an alley somewhere not shopping.”

  “That’s not too stereotyped.”

  “I know.” She sank back in the seat. “Sorry. I feel this weird connection to the guy. He looks like he could be anybody’s grandpa and yet—”

  “Yet you found him sleeping on your front stoop.”

  “Exactly. And now I see him shopping like anyone else. Do homeless people shop? His clothes are mostly neat; his shoes are whole. There’s nothing about him that’s quite normal for a homeless man.”

  “So he’s a classy bum.”

  “People don’t say ‘bum’ anymore.”

  Alec hmmphed at her. She turned her gaze back out the window. Seconds later she gasped again.

  “Now what?”

  “I can’t believe it. He’s still here, too.”

  Her husband stepped out of Dottie’s, smart as a billboard model, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Huh. Mr. Foster. What do you know?” Alec said. “I take it you haven’t given him his papers yet.”

  “I haven’t had time to go to the lawyer.”

  “And when you do? What do you want the lawyer to tell you?”

  “I don’t know.” Her heart fell. She had no reason to be hanging onto the papers. How could she explain the deep fear that if she simply gave up on fighting Tim she would give up on any chance of restoring her self-esteem? “There’s probably nothing he can say. I just want Tim to know I made him dangle a while.”

  For one instant Alec raised a brow in amusement. Then he shook his head. “In your opinion, what would be fair for him to give you?”

  She’d actually thought about it. There was nothing concrete left to extract except time and money. It would be nice to be able to pay her bills. Maybe at some point there’d be a settlement from the logging company whose truck had malfunctioned and caused her accident, but that was being fought by the insurance companies at the moment, and she wasn’t holding her breath. “What I want is for him to sell the house and give me a quarter of what he gets. But it’s his property. He doesn’t have to sell it. Besides, he won’t. He loves it—with the pool and the tennis court. He’d never be able to replace it.”

  “Holy shit, you did come from the lap of luxury.” The slight surliness was back in his tone, and this time it irritated her.

  “Look, keep your judgments to yourself, buddy.”

  For a moment his mouth firmed into an angry line. Then all at once his entire face relaxed into contrition.

  “Hell, Joely, I’m sorry. None of my crappy mood is your fault. I’m sorry about Tim. I don’t know what the answer is.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” She stared gloomily out the window. Her good mood from the night before and from the anticipation of today’s outing was gone.

  The touch of his hand on hers surprised her. She looked down, watching and feeling at the same time as he wrapped her fingers with his. It was like a movie with sensation—real and unreal all at once. Tingles shot up her arm and relief flowed through her like salve on a wound. He squeezed.

  “I admit it. I don’t want to do this today. I’d much rather have my dog at a park and be enjoying a great spring day. I wish I’d told Vince to find someone else. There. That’s the wimpy truth. I don’t do wimpy very well.”

  “Well, let me do it for you. I’m an expert.” She squeezed his hand back.

  “You’re tougher than you let on. Haven’t you seen that this week? Why do you think I’m bringing you with me?”

  “I do remember you saying this outing was a good idea.”

  “It’s only a good idea to have you with me. I’m afraid you’re a Band-Aid on a painful decision.”

  “Ahh. And when we’re done are you going to rip me off slowly or get it over with quickly?”

  “Maybe I’ll just leave you on and let you fall off on your own when you’re tired of sticking to me.”

  “I’m telling you again. I have the stupidest conversations with you.”

  “I like it. I�
�m starting to feel like I can say anything to you.”

  For that she had no smart-aleck reply. It was a little bit true. She liked saying any dumb thing that came into her mind to him. She liked laughing at what he said in return.

  She especially liked that he didn’t release her hand, even when they got out of town.

  VINCE NEWTON CALLED his place The Bucking V and advertised it on a massive wooden sign at the start of his long, winding driveway.

  Bucking V Ranch

  Rodeo Roughstock—Bulls and Broncs

  Breeding, Sales, and Rehabilitation

  Vincent and Wendy Newton

  “I’ll be damned,” Alec said. “He’s serious.”

  “You weren’t sure?”

  “Vince is a smart guy with a lot of angles. I’m never sure what’s going on in his head.”

  They rolled up the driveway and found themselves in a spacious yard between an older farmhouse and several weathered but sound buildings, including a large classic barn, an indoor arena, and several smaller sheds.

  “Looks like a real place to me,” Joely said.

  “And it looks like Vince actually does live here.” Alec pointed toward the barn. A tall, slender man who looked older than Alec by a dozen years hustled toward them with a rolling gait, his dark hair lightly salted with gray, and his slender face elongated by a dark, neatly trimmed goatee and mustache. He grinned from ear to ear like a happy spaniel, and Alec raised his brows in resignation. He opened his door and Joely followed suit.

  “Alexander Morrissey, you son of a bulldog. I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

  He reached Alec and enveloped him in a manly hug that included thumped backs and slaps to the cheek.

  “You don’t look any different, you ugly mug,” Alec replied. “I had to come and see if you were lying through your teeth.”

  “No pie in the sky this time, boy. I’m serious about this. Business is already starting to grow. People nowadays want to know rodeo animals are treated well. We know they have been for a long time, but I’m doing my best to preach it to the masses.”