A Bravo Christmas Wedding

by Christine Rimmer

  She hung up the dish towel. “Yeah?”

  “You really are considering moving here?”

  “Yes, I am. You probably ought to start getting used to the idea.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “Is something bothering you, Walker?”

  He closed the cupboard door and straightened. “Not a thing.”

  She didn’t believe him. But she left it at that.

  * * *

  Walker took Rory into town at a little before noon. After acting like a jerk at breakfast, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t act like one again.

  He was determined not to let this sudden yen for her screw everything up. So what if he suddenly had a burning desire to put his hands all over her? He would keep that desire strictly under control. No more acting edgy around her. No more getting into arguments with her over things that never would have bothered him before.

  If she was moving to Justice Creek, terrific. More power to her. And if she had her doubts about how things would work out between Rye and Clara, well, he had his doubts, too, and it was nothing to pick a fight over.

  He would keep it fun and casual and everything would be fine.

  Every year in downtown Justice Creek, right after Thanksgiving, the Chamber of Commerce crew not only hung wreaths from the streetlights, they also strung party lights from all the trees. They kept them on round the clock until the day after New Year’s. Even in daylight, the lights made everything seem a little magical and a lot festive. Outside speakers played Christmas tunes and people strolled from store to store, carrying bags full of gifts and goodies.

  As they made their way down Central Street, Rory took a lot of pictures and wanted to go into every single shop. She seemed happy, just to be there, on the crowded street with all the other Christmas shoppers. And even if Walker had seen more Rocky Mountain Christmases than he cared to remember, somehow, it was better, to be there with her.

  After they’d visited each and every shop on Central, they entered the town hall, which was jam-packed, upstairs and down, with craft, club and food booths and a whole bunch of shoppers. Rory took more pictures and bought a lot of handmade ornaments.

  By the time they got out of there, even she was ready for a break. So they carried her packages to the SUV, which he’d left in the parking lot behind Ryan’s pub.

  “How about a beer?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  They went into McKellan’s, which was just about as packed as the town hall had been. They got lucky, though, and found stools at the long mahogany bar, where they ordered pints and burgers. Rye was there. He waved at them in greeting and went back to expediting food orders.

  Rory took a sip of her beer, wiped the foam mustache off her upper lip and asked, “So when do you put up your Christmas tree?”

  He grunted. “That is assuming I have a Christmas tree.”

  “I knew it.” She gave him a sideways look. “You’re a total Scrooge.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are so.”

  “I could have a Christmas tree,” he offered limply.

  “Oh, yes, you could. And you are.”

  It all came way too clear to him then. “All that Christmas crap you bought...?”

  “Yep. All for you. Say ‘thank you, Rory.’”

  He thought it over and wondered out loud, “Why do I not feel more grateful?”

  “As I said. Total Scrooge. But I’ve decided to help you with that.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “You do have at least a few lights and decorations, right? Up in the attic, maybe? Stuff that Denise bought or your mom had in the olden days?”

  “Denise wasn’t big on Christmas. She put a bunch of shiny balls in a bowl, I think. And strung some fake garland around. And I don’t even remember what happened to that stuff—and look over there, by the front entrance, the twelve-foot tree covered in old-fashioned ornaments and bubble lights?”

  She turned to look where he pointed, next to the hostess stand, just inside the vestibule. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Those decorations were my mom’s. I gave them all to Rye when he opened this place. He uses them every year.”

  She faced him again and she kind of glowed at him, brimming with good feelings and Christmas cheer. “Be right back.” She grabbed her camera from the big purse she’d been toting around and wove her way through the packed tables to take a bunch of shots of the tree.

  By the time she slid up onto her stool again, their burgers had arrived. They dug in.

  While they ate, she told him how it was going to be. “After we’ve eaten, we’re going back to the town hall to pick up more ornaments. Then we’ll visit that big shopping center on West Central to get the lights and everything else we’ll need. Fake tree or real one?”

  “I get to choose?”

  “Don’t give me attitude.”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “Yes, ma’am. Real, please.”

  “Excellent. Finish up. We have a lot of work to do.”

  * * *

  It went the way she wanted it to go.

  They returned to the town hall, where she made a lot of Christmas craft booth owners very happy. They saw two of her cousins, Willow’s oldest son, Carter Bravo, and Sondra’s second-born, Jamie Bravo. She stopped and chatted with them. Both men said they were just leaving. They had that dazed look men get when confronted by too much knickknacky stuff all in one place. As a matter of fact, Walker figured he probably had that look himself.

  He carried the bags while she shopped the craft booths for the second time that day, after which they put the stuff in the SUV and headed for the shopping center, where she bought a tree stand, a sparkly green-and-red tree skirt, way too many lights and a bunch of other junk he didn’t need. Things like little ceramic snowmen and Christmas candles, a music-box tree that played “Silent Night” as it slowly turned, a set of three mercury glass angels and four stockings to hang on the chimney—for him, for her, for Lucky and for Lonesome.

  It was a little after five when she said they could head back to the ranch.

  “You mean we don’t have to go to the Christmas show at the Cascade Theater?”

  “Maybe next year.”

  He put on a hangdog look. “I was really looking forward to that Christmas show.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t push your luck, mister—I do want to check on Clara first, though, before we go. She’ll probably be home by now.” Clara’s café closed at four.

  So Rory called Clara. It turned out she was just finishing up at the café. So they went over there and Clara let them in. She gave Walker a cup of coffee, and he waited at the counter while the women went back in the kitchen and whispered together.

  “She says she’s fine,” Rory told him doubtfully on the way home. “But she looks tired. I’m worried about her. I told her to call me if she needs anything.”

  “She’ll be okay,” he said, and hoped he was right.

  She made a low sound in response to that, a sound that might have meant anything.

  At the ranch, they carried all the Christmas crap inside and piled it up by the window in the great room, where she planned to put the tree. Then they changed to work clothes and went out to tend to the horses.

  Alva had left a roast chicken and potatoes waiting in the oven for them. When they came back inside, they ate. Rory talked about the tree they were going out to chop down together after chores and breakfast the next morning.

  He looked at her across the table as she chattered away between bites of chicken and potatoes and he thought about that first summer she’d come to Colorado.

  She’d been just eighteen, eager to meet the Justice Creek branch of her father’s family, to hike the Rockies and take a bunch of pictures of the Wild, Wil
d West. Walker’s first impression of her was of those big golden-brown eyes and that wide, dimpled smile.

  Back then, before the kidnapping of one of her brothers in the Middle East, her family had been less security-conscious, and Rory had been allowed to travel on her own. She went around in jeans and T-shirts, a pack strapped to her back. If he hadn’t been told she was a princess, he never would have guessed. She’d seemed 100 percent American to him. A great kid, he’d thought. Friendly and not the least pretentious.

  She was still the same, down-to-earth and easy to be with. But a kid? Uh-uh. Not anymore.

  After they cleared off the table, they watched a movie—a comedy that wasn’t really all that funny. They sat together on the sofa. Twice, he caught himself in the act of stretching his arm across the sofa back and hooking it around her shoulders to pull her closer to him.

  Both times, he hauled his arm back to his side of the sofa where it belonged and wondered what the hell was the matter with him. It would be way too easy to get used to this—to having her with him all of the time. Even though he made grim faces over all this Christmas crap she insisted on, he was actually kind of enjoying himself. Rory had a way of putting a whole new light on an ordinary day.

  He really needed to keep some perspective on the situation. He needed not to let himself forget that they were friends and that was all. And nothing else was going to happen.

  Nothing. Zero. Zip. Snowman socks be damned.

  The movie ended. He knew this because the credits came on suddenly. He blinked at the TV and realized he didn’t even remember what the damn thing had been about.

  He grabbed the remote and turned everything off.

  She said good-night and went up to bed.

  And he just sat there, Lonesome at his feet, wondering why he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop wanting to get up and follow the fresh, tempting scent of her up the stairs, to knock on her door and grab her in his arms and kiss her senseless, to strip off all her clothes and sweep her high in his arms, to carry her to the bed and keep her there, naked, all night long.

  And maybe for a while in the morning, too.

  He got up, turned off the fire and the lights and went upstairs, Lonesome right behind him. He did not knock on her door, but went straight to his own room, where a long, ice-cold shower was waiting.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast she told him she’d had an idea.

  He stared across the table at her and almost said, You want to have sex with me? Because if you do, there is no way I’ll be able to say no to you.

  She said, “Walker. You should see your face.”

  He reached up and rubbed his palm along his jaw. “I shaved. Did I miss a spot?”

  She chuckled at him and the sound kind of curled around him, all cute and soft and tempting and reminding him of sex—because all of a sudden, everything she did reminded him of sex. “I mean your expression,” she said. “You look kind of dazed. Did you have a rough night?”

  He pretended to have to think that over. “You know, now you mention it, I was awake kind of late. Thinking.”

  “About?”

  Crap. Walked right into that one. “You know, I don’t really remember what, exactly, I was thinking about...”

  She sipped her coffee, ate a bite of her toast. “You seem...I don’t know. Different, somehow. Kind of vague and unfocused. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

  Lust. He had it. A really bad case of it. Was it incurable? It sure felt as if it might be. “No. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

  She pushed back her chair. He watched her come around the table to him, wishing she wouldn’t, so glad that she was. She stepped right up beside him and put her cool, smooth hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”

  Oh, he was hot, all right. Burning like a house afire. He stared at the soft, amazing curves of her breasts, which just happened to be at his eye level. She smelled of coffee and toast, with a hint of spice and flowers. And he had to hold himself very still to keep from lurching forward and burying his face right between those beautiful breasts he really shouldn’t be gaping at. “I told you, I’m fine.”

  She sighed and shrugged and went back to her chair.

  Somehow, he managed to just sit there and let her go. When she started eating again, he picked up his fork and concentrated on his sausage and eggs.

  After a few minutes of silence between them, he began to feel that he should say something. If he didn’t, she’d be starting in again about how he must be getting sick. He asked, “So are we going out to cut that tree down this morning?” He dared a glance in her direction.

  She got up again, carried her coffee mug to the counter and refilled it. She wore faded, snug jeans. He stared at her backside. By God, it was fine. And then she turned around and held up the pot to him. He remembered to shift his gaze upward, and he was pretty sure she didn’t guess that he’d been staring at her ass. “More coffee?”

  If she came and stood beside him again and he had to smell her and look at her up close, he wouldn’t be responsible for what he might do next. “Uh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”

  She put the pot back and returned to her chair. “So anyway, I was thinking a party. A tree-decorating party.”

  Between this sudden bad case of burning desire for her and two nights without sleep, it took him a minute or two to process. “A party. Here, at the house?”

  “Yes.” She beamed, so pleased with herself.

  “I don’t have parties. You know that.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Yes, Walker. I do know. You’re a solitary man, a loner and all that.”

  He scowled at her. It felt kind of good. If he got mad at her, he might forget for a little while how much he suddenly wanted to get her naked in his bed. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “A little, I guess.” All light and playful. Those amazing bronze eyes full of teasing and fun. God. She was killing him. And then the playfulness faded. She got serious, all sweet and soft and hopeful, which was somehow every bit as exciting as her teasing smiles had been. “I was just thinking how much fun it would be. We’ve got that party at Ryan’s bar on Saturday.” Clara and Ryan had decided to combine their bachelor and bachelorette parties. All of Rory’s crazy cousins would be there Saturday night, and a bunch of other people, too. “So maybe Thursday then, for the tree-decorating party? That gives us a few days to invite everybody and organize things. We could hold off on getting the tree until Wednesday. That way it’ll be nice and fresh. We can invite Clara and Ryan. And any other friends you can think of. We’ll have hot cider and cocoa. And we’ll string popcorn and sing Christmas carols while we do this house up right for the holidays.”

  He stared at her and realized he would probably do just about anything she asked of him. Walk on hot coals maybe, or throw himself off a cliff. And he probably always would have done just about anything she wanted. But before he would have done it fondly, because she was his friend. Now he would do it with a blazing fire inside.

  How had this happened to him? He just didn’t get it. Feeling like this over a woman was dangerous for him. Look what had happened with Denise.

  No way could he take going through that kind of hell again.

  She said, “Well? What do you think?”

  And he said lamely, “You make it sound really great.”

  “Is that yes, then? We can have the party?”

  “Hell, Rory. Sure. You want it, you got it.”

  Chapter Five

  The minute breakfast was over, she called Clara.

  Willing the bulge in his jeans to go down, Walker cleared off and loaded the dishwasher while she talked to her cousin. By tuning her out and concentrating on scraping plates and wiping counters, he got better control of himself and was feeling almost
normal when she hung up.

  He turned around and she was sitting there, staring out the window, her phone on the table in front of her, looking thoughtful. “What?” he asked. “Clara won’t come to your party?”

  She looked at him. Bam. A thrill shot all through him, just from that simple glance. Get a grip, idiot. “It’s your party, Mr. Grinch,” she teased. “And of course she’ll come. She thinks it’s a great idea. She asked me to invite her sisters. All three of them—and Tracy, too.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the counter and shook his head. “You thought she wouldn’t? Come on, you don’t want to have a party and not invite all your cousins.”

  She sank back in her chair. “But you saw how it was Friday. We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other.”

  “They need to learn to get along—before the wedding, if possible.”

  “Yeah. I know you’re right...” She stared out the window some more.

  He watched her, thinking he was doing okay for the moment, acting reasonably normal, keeping the wood down. “It’s going to be fine, Rory. You’ll see.”

  She looked at him again. Ka-pow. Bad as before, like a lightning bolt to the solar plexus. But he took it. He could do this. It was bound to get better, the yearning easier to ignore the longer he worked at it. “Well, all right, then.” A smile curved those beautiful lips he was never going to kiss. “I’ll call the family. You can call Ryan. Who else?”

  He named off a few friends and said he would call them. And then he went to his study at the front of the house and made his calls while she made hers.

  Later, they went riding. That worked for him, getting outside. It was easier to keep from making a move on her when they were on horseback out under the wide Colorado sky.

  Back at the compound, he told her he had some work to do at one of the guesthouses. This time of year, he didn’t have many guests. He made improvements and performed routine maintenance so he’d be ready for the busy season.

  She went along with him to the empty house across the yard, bringing her laptop so she could catch up on her correspondence and do some editing and organizing of the million and one pictures she’d taken since she arrived. The water was off there. He’d drained the pipes so they wouldn’t freeze. But he turned on the propane heat and the place got warm pretty fast.