The Wagon Wheel was lit up, the windows glowing through the cold and very white night. Hard flakes of snow still swirled through the air, biting against Rhys’s cheeks as he parked his truck in front of a growing drift.
They’d all bundled up and left the church a few minutes ago, the procession of vehicles crawling through town to the diner. There was no way they would have made it to the city for dinner. Even with the roads open, visibility was bad enough that there was a tow ban on. The smart thing was to stay put.
Taylor “Bossy-Pants” Shepard hadn’t been too happy about that, though. He’d taken one look at her face and seen the stress that came from dealing with things gone wrong. It was a prime example of why he liked his life simple. If things went wrong out at Diamondback, he might get called to work but the worry belonged to Ty and Sam. Besides, his mother kept him plenty busy with things at the diner when she needed help. There were days he wished she didn’t own the place. That she’d stayed on as a cook rather than buying it from the last owner. There was too much at stake, too much to lose.
Frigid air buffeted him as he hopped out of the truck and headed for the door, his head bowed down as far into his collar as possible. This storm had been a good one. Hopefully it would blow itself out by morning and nothing would get in the way of the wedding. For one, he only wanted to get dressed up in that tuxedo once. And for another, Callum and Avery deserved an incident-free day.
It was warm inside, and smelled deliciously like tomatoes and garlic and warm bread. Rhys stamped off his feet and unzipped his jacket, tucking his gloves into the pockets as he walked toward the back corner. His mom had been right. Other than a couple of truckers waiting out the bad roads, the place was empty.
He stopped and looked at the miracle she had produced in a scant hour.
The Christmas tree was lit, sending tiny pinpoints of colored light through the room. The heavy tables were pushed together to make one long banquet style set up for twelve, and they were covered with real linens in holiday red. The napkins were only paper but they were dark green and white, in keeping with Christmas colors. Thick candles sat in rings of greenery and berries—where had she come up with those?—and the candles lent an even more intimate air to the setting. But the final touch was the ice buckets on both ends, and the sparkling wineglasses at each place setting.
“What do you think?” His mother’s voice sounded behind his shoulder.
“You’re something, Ma,” he said, shaking his head.
She frowned a little. “Do you think it’ll be okay for Taylor? I know she must have had something fancier planned for the rehearsal dinner.”
“You’ve worked a miracle on short notice. And if Taylor Shepard doesn’t like it, she can...” He frowned. “Well, she can...”
“She can what, Rhys?”
Dammit. Her sweet voice interrupted him. He felt heat rush to his cheeks but when he turned around she was looking at Martha and smiling.
“Martha, how did you possibly do all this in such a short time?”
“It was slow in here and I had some help.” She grinned. “Jean from the bakery sent over a cake—they were closing early anyway and she was happy to help with dessert. It’s chocolate fudge.”
“And wine?” Rhys watched as Taylor’s eyes shone. Maybe he’d misjudged her. Maybe she’d just been stressed, because the snooty perfectionist he expected to see wasn’t in attendance just now.
Or, perhaps she understood she was in a sticky place and was making the best of it. He suspected that faking it was in her repertoire of talents. His jaw tightened. When had he become so cynical? He supposed it was about the time Sherry had promised him to stick by his side—until things got dicey. Then she’d bailed—taking her two kids with her. Kids he’d grown very fond of.
You got to see someone’s true colors when they were under pressure. It wasn’t always pretty. Sherry hadn’t even given him a chance to make things right.
He realized his mom was still speaking. “I’m not licensed, so I’m afraid it’s not real wine. But the bed and breakfast sent over a couple of bottles of sparkling cider they had on hand and I put it on ice. I thought at least you could have a toast.”
To Rhys’s surprise, Taylor enveloped Martha in a quick hug. “I underestimated you,” she said warmly. “This is perfect.”
Martha shrugged but Rhys could tell she was pleased. “Heck,” she replied with a flap of her hand. “That’s what neighbors are for.”
The rest of the wedding party arrived, complete with laughter and the sound of stomping boots. The next thing Rhys knew, he was seated at the table next to Avery’s maid of honor, Denise, and things were well underway. Drinks were poured and he found himself chatting to Harry, who was on his other side. The senior Shepard was a very successful businessman, sharp as a tack and charismatic. Rhys could see a lot of his acumen and energy in Jack, the younger son, and the strength and reliability in Callum, the eldest. Rhys noticed that while Harry spoke proudly about Callum’s military career and Jack’s business, he didn’t say much about Taylor’s successes.
What about Taylor, then? She had the dark looks of the Shepard men rather than the more fair coloring of her mother, who sat across the table. But her lips were soft and full, like Mrs. Shepard’s, and the dusting of freckles came from there, too. When he met Mrs. Shepard’s gaze, he saw a wisdom there that he’d glimpsed in Taylor, too. Wisdom and acceptance. He guessed that it must have been hard to be a girl growing up in a household of such strong males. Had she felt pressure to keep up? Or were the expectations lower because she was female? He’d only known her a short time but he understood that she would hate to be treated as anything less than equal to her brothers. And then there was the tension he’d sensed between them at the rehearsal.
To his surprise, Taylor didn’t sit at all but donned an apron and helped Martha serve the meal. When she put his plate before him, he looked up and met her eyes. “Thank you, Taylor.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned to move away but he reached out and caught her wrist. “What you said to my mother, that was very nice.”
Her eyes met his. “I meant it. I apologize for my mood earlier. I was stressed.”
“And here I thought it was because you didn’t like to be told what to do.”
Her eyes flashed at him for a second before mellowing, and then her lips twitched. “I do believe you’re baiting me. Now stop so I can finish serving the meal.”
He watched as she helped put the plates around, smiling and laughing. He’d thought her too proud for serving but she wasn’t. She’d do what it took to pull off an event. There was lots of talking and laughing and toasting around the table, but Rhys frowned. Wasn’t she going to sit and eat? While Martha tended to the few customers at the counter, it was Taylor who refilled bread baskets and beverages. Once he spied her in a corner, talking on her cell and gesturing with one hand. When Callum stood and offered a toast Rhys could see her in the kitchen, slicing cake onto plates.
Maybe it was her job, but it was her family, too. She was part of the wedding party, after all. And no one seemed to realize she was missing out.
When the meal was over the party broke up. Callum and Avery departed with a wave, in a hurry to get home to their daughter who was with a sitter. Mr. and Mrs. Shepard left for the bed and breakfast and Jack, being chivalrous, offered to take Denise with him, since they were all staying there anyway.
Angela and Clara offered to help tidy up, but Taylor shooed them away. “You’ve got Sam and Ty waiting and the kids at home. Go. This won’t take but a minute anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.”
They didn’t put up much of an argument, Rhys noticed. Clara put a hand on her swollen tummy and looked relieved.
As they were leaving, another group of truckers came in, looking for hot coffee and a meal before calling it a night. Marth
a bustled around, attending to them—Rhys knew that on a night like tonight, the tips would be generous.
Meanwhile Taylor grabbed a plastic dishpan and was loading up dirty plates.
She’d missed the entire celebration and was left to clean up the mess. He was pretty sure this wasn’t in the job description, and he was annoyed on her behalf. Her family had been utterly thoughtless tonight.
He went around to the opposite side of the table and began stacking plates.
“What are you doing?”
Clank, clank. The flatware clattered on the porcelain as he picked up the dishes. “Helping.”
“I got this, Rhys.”
He took the stack over to her and put it in the dishpan. “Well, you shouldn’t.”
“Sorry?”
She looked tired. Tiny bits of hair had come out of her braid and framed her face, and her eyes looked slightly red and weary. “Have you even eaten, Taylor?”
“I’ll get something later.”
Lord, she was stubborn. “There’s no one here now to know that this is your job, because I know that’s what you’re going to say. And you know what? This isn’t your job. For Pete’s sake.”
“Are you angry at me? Because I’m not leaving all this for Martha. It is my job, Rhys. When I plan an event, I sometimes have to chip in and help where it’s needed. Even if it’s taking out trash or clearing dishes or providing someone with a spare pair of panty hose.”
“Not this time. And no, I’m not angry at you.”
She lifted her chin. “Then why are you yelling at me? People are staring.”
He looked over. Martha was pretending not to watch but he could tell she was paying attention. The truckers weren’t so discreet. They were openly staring.
He sighed. “I’m angry at your family. They never even noticed that you didn’t sit down. Callum gave the toast without you. And other than Clara and Angela, everyone left without so much as an offer to help clean up. If everyone had pitched in...”
“They had more on their minds.” Her posture had relaxed slightly. “It’s okay, Rhys. Really.”
“Will you go eat, please? Let me look after this.”
She sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll help clear the tables, and then I’ll eat while you put the tables and chairs back to where they normally belong. Deal?”
He could live with that, especially since he figured Taylor wasn’t one to generally compromise. “Deal.”
With carols playing softly in the background, it only took a few minutes to clear the dirty dishes away. Rhys took them to the kitchen while Taylor stripped away the soiled tablecloths and put the centerpieces in a cardboard box. Together they loaded the kitchen dishwasher and then Rhys put a square of leftover lasagna on a plate, heated it in the microwave and poured Taylor a glass of ice water. When it was hot, he added a bit of salad to the side and grabbed a napkin and utensils.
“That smells delicious.”
“Sit. Eat. That’s an order.”
He knew she was tired when she merely smiled and faked a salute as she sat at an empty table. “Yes, boss.”
She’d made a good dent in the lasagna by the time he’d pushed the tables back into place and put the chairs around them. Without a word he went to the kitchen and cut a slice of that chocolate fudge cake she’d missed out on. When he took it to her, she held up her hand. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Yes, you can. It’s delicious.”
“I have a dress to fit into tomorrow.”
“Which will look beautiful.” He put a bit of cake—complete with fudgy frosting—on the fork and held it out. “Trust me.”
“Trust you.” She raised one cynical eyebrow so brilliantly he nearly laughed. “As if.”
He wiggled the fork. She leaned forward and closed her lips around it, sucking the frosting off the tines.
His body tensed simply from the intimate act of feeding her, feeling the pressure of her lips conducted through metal, the way she closed her eyes at the first rich taste. He enjoyed bantering with her. Matching wits. That didn’t happen often around here. But it was more than that. There was an elemental attraction at work. Something indefinable that was more than a physical response to her unusual beauty. She was the most capable woman he’d ever met. So why did she seem particularly vulnerable? Especially around her family?
“That’s good,” she murmured, licking a bit of chocolate from her upper lip.
“I know.” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Have another bite.”
“I shouldn’t.”
In response he put more on the fork and held it out. She took it, and then he took a bite for himself, feeling adolescently pleased that his lips followed where hers had been. The room seemed more silent now, and he suddenly realized that the last few customers had gone, the music had stopped and Martha was turning out lights.
“Oh,” Taylor said, alarmed. “We should go.”
Martha peered through the kitchen door. “Was everything all right, Taylor?”
“It was lovely, Mrs. Bullock. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me. You were the workhorse tonight.” When Taylor moved to stand up, Martha flapped a hand. “Take your time. Rhys will lock up, won’t you Rhys?”
“Sure thing, Ma.” He never took his eyes off Taylor as he answered. They were going to be alone—truly alone—for the first time. Eating cake by the light of the Christmas tree in the corner. The back door through the kitchen shut, echoing in the silence.
“I didn’t mean to...”
He shook his head. “I have keys to the place. It’s okay. I’ve locked up plenty of times.”
“No, what I mean is...”
She stopped talking, looked into his eyes and bit down on her lip.
She was feeling it, too. There was something. Something that had been lit the moment that she’d threatened to make him wear a cravat. She meant they shouldn’t be alone.
She was probably right.
Instead he gazed into her eyes, unwilling to end the evening just yet. “Do you want some milk to go with your cake?” he asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE SHOULD NEVER have had the cake. Or the milk. Or sat around actually enjoying Rhys’s company as the night drew on and on and it was close to midnight and she was still so wired the thought of sleep was ludicrous.
Rhys was bossy and annoying and, at times, growly. He was also the only person to have noticed how she was excluded tonight. When she was working a job she tried to be invisible, behind the scenes. Maybe she’d done her job a little too well, then. Because she’d sure been invisible to her family this evening.
It had stung. In her head she knew she was just doing her job but in her heart it had hurt a little bit, that no one had at least asked her to pause and join the celebration. Not even for the toast.
Except Rhys had noticed.
She was getting used to the sight of his face, rugged and far less refined than most of the men she was accustomed to. Rhys wasn’t pretty. But as she looked into his eyes across the table, with the lights of the tree reflected in the irises, she realized a man didn’t have to be pretty to be sexy as hell.
“It’s getting late. I should get back. Tomorrow’s a long day.” She balled up her paper napkin and put it on her dirty plate.
“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I’ll just put these things in the sink.”
She followed him to the kitchen. “Rhys. Thank you. I know I blew it off before but it did kind of hurt. That they didn’t notice, I mean.”
He rinsed the plate and left it in the sink since the dishwasher was already running. “No problem.”
She gave a short laugh. “Well, at least being away from the table meant I avoided the ‘why aren’t you married with a few kids yet’ s
peech.”
Rhys gave the kitchen a final check. “Why aren’t you, by the way? Or aren’t you interested in those things?”
She shrugged. “I like kids. My dad tends to think in lines of traditional roles, like who the breadwinner is and who does the nurturing.”
“And you don’t?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t. I think as long as a couple has a division of labor that works for them, then who am I to criticize? I suppose I’ll settle down someday, when I have the time. After I’ve proved myself.”
“And how will you know when you get there?”
She looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do you measure that? What do you need to check off on a list to consider yourself a success?”
She floundered. There was no list. “I guess I’ll just know.”
“Or maybe you’ll never know. Let me hit the lights.”
She thought about his words as she put on her coat. What was her “yardstick” for success? A dollar amount? Number of employees? Acceptance from her family?
She was so afraid of disappointing any of them, she realized. Callum was a decorated soldier. Jack had been an elite athlete before he’d become a businessman. She loved her brothers but it was hard to compete with their overachievements.
It was a bit of a shock to realize that she’d picked a business where she was behind the scenes, out of the limelight. Where she was protected just a little bit from visibility if she failed.
When had she become so afraid?
Rhys finished up and when they stepped outside she realized just how much snow had fallen—and it was still coming down. Her car was covered and the snowplow had been by, leaving a deep bank right behind her back bumper. She sighed. She didn’t even have a shovel, just a brush in the backseat for cleaning off the windshield.
“Come on, I’ll take you in the truck,” Rhys said, but Taylor shook her head.
“I have to dig it out sometime and I’m due at the golf club by 9:00 a.m. in order to get everything set up for the reception.”
A Cadence Creek Christmas (Cadence Creek Cowboys) Page 5