“Someday,” Wyatt said, addressing the back of her head, “you’re going to fall off that damn thing and break your fool neck.”
She took her place at the rear of the gathering. Her other brothers were all there, paired off with their fiancées. An empty feeling flittered through her, and she blocked it. Instead she concentrated on being annoyed at Wyatt. Gritting her teeth together, she half growled, half whispered in his ear.
“That’s something that doesn’t need to concern you. McCall.”
Wyatt stood beside her, his arm brushing against hers as she shrugged out of her jacket. He watched her deposit her jacket and helmet into a pew, a blending of modern with timelessness. Though he wouldn’t say it, he would have hated to see something happen to her.
Leaning toward her, Wyatt replied, “No, but you are my best friend’s sister, and I wouldn’t want to see him unhappy.”
Morgan looked to see if he was serious. She wouldn’t have ascribed one decent feeling to the man. “I’m touched.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, ignoring her sarcastic tone, “I’ve always said that.”
Morgan swallowed a retort. Prickly, it stuck in her throat. She could either voice it and cause a scene right in the middle of Hank’s wedding rehearsal, or keep her peace and let it ride. She chose the latter because she loved Hank and because she had no choice really. By her watch, they had already held up the rehearsal fifteen minutes for her.
But there was nothing stopping her from saying it later. And she promised herself that she would, given the first opportunity.
“Nice of you to join us, Morgan,” Quint commented when Morgan and Wyatt took their places at the end of the line. Before his sister could say anything, he turned toward the man in the dark vest at the altar. “I think we’re ready to begin now, Padre.”
“Doing your Clint Eastwood imitation?” Ginny Marlow asked the man she was going to marry in three week’s time.
Quint grinned as his brother poked him in the ribs. “Every chance I get.”
“She’s sure got your number,” Hank noted.
Love filled his voice as it often did these days. “That she has.”
The exchange of looks between Quint and Ginny made Morgan’s heart swell and ache at the same time. She was glad for Quint—really, truly glad for all of her brothers to have found the women who seemed so perfect for them all during this one phenomenal summer. They were hardly getting engaged before they were getting married. But she was sad at the same time, because something precious was changing, not once but four times. Despite the blasé facade she deliberately tendered to the world, Morgan didn’t really do well with change. And now everything would.
She was sad, too, because in her heart, Morgan knew it would never happen to her. There would never be a special someone who would make her want to see that one face lying beside her, morning after morning. There would never be that special someone who would make her want to hold just one hand, evening after evening. She had never lost her heart that way to anyone, not even once. Her heart never stayed put long enough. She would become attracted and then disinterested faster than bread rose in the oven.
She supposed that her track record for relationships rivaled Wyatt’s.
Now there was a scary thought, Morgan realized, suppressing a shiver. The only difference between her and Wyatt was that there was no marriage in her past.
Or in her future.
“You look pensive.” Wyatt’s whisper, tickling her ear, broke through her thoughts like a sudden cloudburst over the desert.
Morgan could feel every single muscle in her body tighten in response. Her lips barely moved as she answered, “Just counting the minutes until I don’t have to be standing next to you.”
“Me, too,” he lied.
Wyatt didn’t mind standing next to her. Morgan amused him. She always had, once he’d gotten accustomed to the idea that she was a female who, for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, was bent on doing everything her older brothers did.
And there was no denying she was very easy on the eyes. More now than ever before.
Or maybe, Wyatt mused as the priest finished giving his instructions to the bride- and groom-to-be, he’d just taken to noticing it more now that he was back.
With a marriage behind him to show him exactly what he didn’t want in a woman, he had to admit that he enjoyed sparring with Morgan. He’d always appreciated quick wit, and he did like a woman with a sharp mind.
He slanted a look toward Morgan. Too bad that woman came with an ornery streak more than a mile wide.
Morgan could feel his eyes on her. His eyes and his criticism. Now what was he up to? She braced herself, knowing that sooner or later he was going to make some comment, some crack that would set her off. It was going to be a very long three weeks, she thought with an inward sigh.
One wedding up, three more to go, Morgan thought, adjusting the soft blue floor-length skirt of her hastily donned bridesmaid’s dress. She cocked her head, critically giving herself the once-over in the full-length mirror to make sure she’d gotten all the buttons hooked on the long sleeves.
Not too bad, she decided, letting the skirt fall back into place.
She’d gotten through the rehearsal the other evening and the dinner that followed, the dinner Wyatt had treated them all to, with few battle scars. She was proud of the way she’d managed to behave. It helped to concentrate on all the happiness abounding in the room and not on the fact that Wyatt seemed to be always at her side.
Just like a lingering bad dream.
No, more like a reminder.
Morgan frowned as she stared into the mirror, recalling a summer’s evening five years ago. An evening where the whole world had felt like it was crashing down on her twenty-year-old shoulders. Her father had just had a heart attack, and for twelve terrible, excruciatingly long hours, it had been touch-and-go.
Her whole family, as well as Wyatt and Casey, had gathered at the hospital, waiting, hoping, praying. She’d been the most vocal, rallying everyone, boosting their morale.
But underneath it all she’d been unable to handle the dreaded possibility that loomed over them like a dark cloud—the thought that the big, strong, strapping man she’d always turned to might not be there in the morning. Rather than let any of her family see her cry, Morgan had gone outside the hospital to walk around the grounds until she’d emptied herself of the last of her tears.
Wyatt had come looking for her that night. Why, she still didn’t know. But he’d found her. Found, too, a vulnerable girl just barely a woman who needed, oh so desperately, to lean on someone. Because of the insanity of the moment, he’d been that someone. She’d resisted at first, because he was Wyatt and because she was embarrassed. But he’d been so kind, so understanding, that she broke down.
She’d poured out her heart to him that night, her heart and her fears and somewhere along the line, affections had gotten tangled up with all that. She’d never felt so strongly about anyone. Not before, not since.
Wyatt had listened to her so patiently, so kindly that she’d tried to lighten the charged moment with a silly comment. He’d laughed then, a warm, silky laugh that washed over and completely undid her at her moment of weakness. She’d never seen him like that. Sweet, patient, supportive and, yes, she would have even said, loving.
Wyatt had put his arm around her, and he’d held her when she’d suddenly begun to cry again. And then, when she’d looked up, she’d felt as if she’d never seen him before. Looked up and thought she saw a glimmer of her future in his eyes.
Just before he kissed her.
Just before she kissed him back.
Just before she’d made an absolute fool of herself, she thought angrily, her cheeks growing flushed as she remembered. She’d kissed him not as if he were Wyatt McCall, but as if he were…someone. Someone special. Her someone special.
Morgan shut her eyes for a moment, willing the sense of humiliation to recede. After all this time it was still there
, lying in wait.
And then Wyatt had ruined the one moment they’d shared by holding her back at arm’s length and telling her that he was engaged. To Judith Montgomery of all people. A walking, talking, brainless fashion doll.
To his credit, if he could be thought to have such a thing, he didn’t try to add to the humiliation she already felt. As she remembered it, he’d almost sounded as if he regretted having to tell her.
Right, regretted it. She pressed her lips together as she slipped a headband of tiny white flowers into her hair. Regretted it only because he couldn’t put the moves on her once she knew. As for his reasons for telling her, they hadn’t been Simon pure, either. She was sure he’d only told her because he knew she would have cut out his heart had she found out about his engagement some other way, later, after she’d…
The possibilities of what might have happened that evening rose sharply in front of her to mock her.
Well, she hadn’t made love with him, and that was all that mattered. The fact that she’d wanted to, that she’d suddenly been consumed with an overwhelming desire to make wild, passionate love with a man who had heretofore been the bane of her existence could just be chalked up to her bereft state of mind. She was just eternally thankful that Wyatt hadn’t had the time or courage to take complete advantage of her vulnerable state.
Before she’d given Wyatt the verbal tonguelashing he deserved, Quint had found and told them that Jake Cutler had taken a turn for the better.
So here she was, five years later, paired off with the man and required to look happy about it. Her frown deepened. Happy? Not hardly.
Squaring her shoulders, Morgan made her way out of the tiny room that had been set aside for the bridesmaids. Morgan’s future sisters-in-law and Bridgette were gathered before the inner doors of the church. As always, she was the last one to arrive. This one time, she had really tried not to be. She’d timed everything perfectly, and then her heart had gotten the better of her and she’d stopped at Josh Miller’s new home before leaving Butte. Stopped just the way she’d promised him she would.
There was no way she would have broken her word to him. Not when so many other people had already done that.
Morgan tried very hard to keep a professional distance between herself and the cases she handled as a social worker. Tried and usually failed to some degree. Even so, Josh was different. Orphaned a little more than six months ago, he was a brave little soldier who, despite his tender age, struggled not to be undone by the harsh world around him. She would have adopted him herself in a heartbeat if she were allowed.
But her hours were long, her schedule hectic, and she could only provide a single-parent home for a child who desperately needed a balanced life. Family Services frowned on the mere suggestion that she become his foster parent.
With all her heart, she hoped Josh was happy in the home he’d been placed in. All he needed was someone to love who loved him. Mentally she crossed her fingers for the four-year-old before she turned her attention to the wedding at hand.
“You do clean up really well, Cutler.”
The teasing, deep male voice rippled along her skin. Morgan swung around to look at Wyatt, a quip ready.
The words melted on her lips, along with very nearly the rest of her.
No man had a legal right to look that good in a tuxedo, she thought, especially if he had a black heart. She’d stayed away from Wyatt’s wedding, making up some excuse she no longer remembered, so the most formal attire she’d ever seen Wyatt wearing was a suit. He’d looked impressive enough in that. Seeing him like this was like getting hit with a twelve-torpedo assault from a U-boat.
“The same,” she murmured as nonchalantly as she was able to muster, “can be said for you.”
The compliment surprised Wyatt. He peered into her eyes, wondering if she was ill.
“Why, thank you, Morgan.” He glanced toward the closed doors. The strains of the wedding march were beginning and the doors were slowly opening. “Ready to launch your first brother on the sea of matrimony?”
She let out a sigh. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
It was then that she realized he was holding flowers. Her flowers. A simple bouquet of pink carnations set amid a cushion of baby’s breath. Wyatt presented them to her with a flourish that had her smiling against her will.
“The florist couldn’t find you.”
Morgan took the bouquet from him, waiting for him to say something about her breathless entrance. He didn’t. “Thank you.”
Wyatt offered her his arm. She looked at it for a moment as if she was weighing her options. There weren’t any. Putting on her best face, she slipped her arm through his.
“I’ll try not to drag my knuckles on the floor.” He whispered the words softly against her ear, his mouth curving.
He would remember the comment. Morgan nodded, as if accepting the promise. “If you do, just remember that I’ll be forced to step on them.”
His laughter echoed in her head as they walked into the church.
The moment they entered, Morgan could feel her eyes beginning to sting. She blinked twice, determined to keep the tears at bay.
Unwilling to make an emotional spectacle of herself, she concentrated on the man walking next to her, hoping that would counteract any sentimental feelings wafting through her.
It didn’t quite do the trick.
3
“God, I hope I look half that beautiful,” Brianne leaned over and whispered to Morgan. Her wistful comment mingled with the strains of the wedding march vibrating along every available surface within the small, packed church.
Morgan stole a glance at the next Mrs. Cutlerto-be. By the look in Brianne’s eyes, she was not only wistful, she was also itching for her camera. Morgan’s lips curved into a smile. It was a camera that had brought Brianne into their lives. More specifically, into Kent’s. She’d come to photograph a cowboy’s life on a ranch for a magazine series and had fallen in love with her subject For a moment, Morgan forgot her own emotions, stirred up to more than a fever pitch, as she listened to the eternal binding words being uttered.
As if someone who looked like Brianne would ever have to worry about her appearance. There were angels uglier than Brianne.
“You’ll knock ‘em dead and you know it,” Morgan whispered back. Morgan’s glance widened to take in Brianne, Denise and Ginny. “All three of you will.”
And she, Morgan thought, she would be their bridesmaid. Every time. The eternal bridesmaid, marching slowly down the same aisle time and again, clutching a different bouquet, wearing a different gown, but with the same smile pasted to her lips.
Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.
It was a trite saying that suddenly held new meaning for Morgan and bothered her more than she was willing to let on, even to herself.
Though she knew she should be looking at her brother at this most precious of moments, Morgan found her gaze had somehow wandered toward Wyatt, entirely of its own, rebellious volition.
A shiver slid down her half-bare spine when she saw that he was looking directly at her.
Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Morgan squared her shoulders defiantly and looked straight ahead. Just in time to hear the priest ask for the wedding ring. Morgan watched as Will dug into his breast pocket and took out the eternal symbol of union. Hank’s hand was trembling just the slightest bit as he held it out, waiting.
From her vantage point, Morgan would have been hard-pressed to say whose fault it was, whether the ring had fallen from Will’s fingers or slipped from Hank’s. But fall it did to the floor below with a little plink, landing on its side. As Morgan and everyone else watched in fascinated distress, the ring rolled right between Will and Hank on the first leg of its odyssey down the center aisle.
Wyatt snapped to attention as the ring zipped by him. Chasing it down, Wyatt quickly covered the errant ring with his foot, halting its wanton getaway in mid-roll. Triumphant, he stooped down and
picked the ring up, then held it aloft like a trophy.
He grinned at Hank as he handed the ring to him. “You’re not getting out of this that easily, Hank.”
The single breath that the wedding guests had been holding was released in a simultaneous wave of laughter that was instantly followed by a round of amused applause.
At least he was quick on his feet, Morgan thought. Or with them.
“Once again, repeat after me,” the priest prompted when everyone had settled down. “With this ring—”
As she listened, the words seemed to echo in Morgan’s head. She pressed her lips together, telling herself for the umpteenth time that she wasn’t going to cry. She absolutely refused to. The cold that had peevishly chosen today of all days to descend on her was making her miserable enough already. She wasn’t about to compound that effect and give herself a red nose by sobbing, the way her mother quietly was. Mothers were allowed to cry. They even looked radiant doing it. They were supposed to cry. Sisters, on the other hand, were supposed to cheer wildly when a sibling finally left the nest.
Morgan didn’t much feel like cheering. But she would be damned if she was going to let anyone else know that.
She was, Morgan congratulated herself later, doing a hell of a job masking the way she felt. On the outside, she appeared overjoyed to finally see Hank abandon his wandering ways and settle down, especially with someone as sweet as Fiona.
As far as she could tell, everyone seemed to believe her. At times she actually believed herself.
But even at the reception back at the Shady Lady Ranch, amid the music, the dancing and the noise, the sadness within her, once rooted, insisted on growing. It was taking a larger and larger chunk of her as the minutes went by.
The situation wasn’t remedied any by the fact that she had to share a first dance with Wyatt. She’d held off until the rest of the bridal party was on the dance floor. But then there had been no way around it. So, bracing herself for the bittersweet emotional gamut that lay ahead of her, Morgan allowed Wyatt to take her hand and lead her to join the others already on the floor.
A Match for Morgan Page 3