A Bravo Christmas Wedding

by Christine Rimmer

  “You know, I guess she kind of did.”

  “Color me impressed.” His blue eyes held hers. She felt a glow all through her, just to have him looking at her in that warm and open way. The past few days, he really had been distant—and too cautious around her, somehow. But he wasn’t distant now. He said, “And it was something special, having the old homestead filled with light and music and people having a good time.”

  “Some of them were seriously misbehaving people,” she reminded him. “And there was more yelling than laughing.”

  “Naw. Overall, I’d say the laughing won out. And who cares about a few tense moments? It was a good time—and now the house is all lit up for Christmas.”

  “And you actually admit that you like it?”

  “I do, yeah. A lot.”

  Well now, that made her feel a bit dewy-eyed. She’d kind of worried he might be annoyed at her for pushing him into throwing the party. But he didn’t seem to be—far from it. “Good,” she said, and realized she was staring at him a little too adoringly. So she lowered her gaze, lifted her cup and took a sip.

  He said, “You know, it’s been...really good, having you here.”

  “Yeah?” She exercised great care to sound merely friendly and interested—rather than ready to jump in his lap and snog the poor man silly.

  “Yeah. You’re kind of helping me to see...” He let the sentence wander off unfinished and stared off toward the tree.

  She really wanted to know what he’d started to say. So she dared put her hand on his bare arm, below where he’d rolled the cuff of his wool shirt. His skin was so warm, dusted with gold hair and corded with lean muscle beneath. He blinked and glanced down at where she touched him.

  She pulled her hand back, cleared her throat and prompted, “Helping you see what?”

  He stared down into his mug, as though something really interesting was floating around in there. “I guess...”

  Look at me, Walker. Please. Look at me.

  And it was almost as though he heard her. Because he looked up and into her eyes, and he gave her the most beautiful, sad smile. “You’re making me see how, after Denise left me, I kind of shut down. I stopped putting in the effort to get out and be with people. So I’ve been thinking that when you leave, I’m going to make a point of being more social.”

  When you leave...

  Oh, but she didn’t want to leave. Not ever. She wanted to stay right here, with him, at the Bar-N.

  Also, at that moment, she wanted to break down and cry.

  Snap out of it, Rory. He had his life, she had hers. They were the best of friends and would remain so. End of story.

  “That’s good,” she said. “I’m glad.” And somehow, she managed to sound upbeat and sincere.

  * * *

  Walker had to wonder: Was he giving himself away?

  It had happened again, just now, when he looked up from his cocoa and into her eyes again.

  Ka-pow! A strike right to the core of him. He wanted to drop the mug and wrap his arms across his chest in self-defense—or wait, scratch that. He wanted to drop the mug and wrap his arms around her.

  God. She was so beautiful, her hair shining in the firelight, her eyes more gold than brown. And her mouth...soft. Pliable.

  What would it feel like under his?

  What would she do if he grabbed her and kissed her? Slap his face?

  Or kiss him right back?

  Oh, come on. No chance of that.

  She was young and beautiful—not to mention a princess for real. She could have any guy just by crooking a finger. No way was she ever going to decide to settle down on the Bar-N with her good buddy Walker.

  And he wasn’t up for the forever thing anyway, wasn’t willing to go there again.

  But, damn, what he wouldn’t give for one night with her...

  He wanted her, ached for her. So much. Enough that he was almost willing to blow off his responsibility to her as her bodyguard—and her friend. Enough that he’d started asking himself if there could be any chance at all she might go for a one-night stand.

  Or wait. One night wouldn’t do it. He needed more than that.

  A Christmas love affair.

  Yeah. Just the two of them, sharing his bed—and the sofa, the kitchen table, that rag rug, right there by the fireplace...

  And any other available surface they happened to stumble on.

  He wanted that; he burned for that: to be her lover for the week and two days left until Rye married Clara and Rory left him to return to Montedoro.

  But she’d never go for it. Long, wet kisses and getting naked together and having sex all over the house wasn’t what they were about—though once, five years ago, not long after Denise messed him over, Rory had made a move on him.

  He stared off toward the glowing lights of the Christmas tree and remembered.

  It had happened in August...

  They’d been camping with Clara and Ryan up in the national forest near a local scenic attraction called Ice Castle Falls. In the early morning, before breakfast, they left Rye and Clara at camp and hiked the rest of the way to the summit, just the two of them. From the summit, it wasn’t far down to the falls. When they reached them, they stood at the top for a little while, admiring the rush and roar of the water rolling off the cliff face, churning and foaming as it dropped to the rocks below. Rory took some pictures. Then she put her camera away and they began the climb down the rocks toward the base of the falls, moving closer to the water as they went. They got soaking wet.

  Dripping and laughing, they stopped on a small ledge and looked up. The view from there took your breath, that long tumble of white water falling from the cliffs above to pound the rocks below.

  He’d said something—about the hike, about the falls?—he didn’t remember what anymore.

  And he’d glanced over at her beside him on that ledge.

  Her face was wet, her hair clinging to her soft cheeks. And she’d had this look, so sweet and hopeful. And he remembered that he’d felt a sudden tightness in his chest at the sight of her staring at him that way.

  “Oh, Walker...” She’d whispered his name, so quietly he could hardly hear it under the roaring of the falls.

  And then she turned all the way toward him. She reached out and grabbed his shoulders and then she was falling—right into his arms. He’d caught her, pulled her close to him, felt her body, so slim and strong and soft in all the right places, pressed up good and tight to his, felt the promise of her—of what might be between them.

  She lifted that soft mouth of hers and her eyes drifted closed.

  And for a second or two, a moment suspended between one heartbeat and the next, he almost just went ahead and took what she offered him.

  But that second passed. And she must have felt his resistance, must have known he was trying to figure out how to gently pull away.

  She opened her eyes.

  And he said her name, regretfully. “Rory. Rory, I...”

  And she shut her eyes again. “Oh, God. Bad idea, huh?”

  He’d babbled out some lame little speech, about how he was tempted, but he didn’t want to take a chance of ruining their friendship. She hadn’t believed him. She shoved at his shoulders and he let her go.

  The words she said next remained burned in his brain: “Hey. Fine. I get it. You’re my friend. My good buddy. And you can dress it up with all kinds of polite excuses, but the plain truth is, you’re just not that into me.”

  “Rory, I—”

  “Don’t, okay? Just don’t.”

  “But you have to know how much I care about you and—”

  “Stop.” She put two fingers against his lips. “I get it. Enough said.” And with that, she backed away from him, crouching, lowering her legs over t
he side of the ledge, climbing down...

  “Walker?”

  He blinked and turned to look at her, sitting there beside him at 3:00 a.m. on that snowy night. “Yeah?”

  “You seem a million miles away.”

  “Sorry. Just thinking...”

  “About?”

  He hesitated, stuck in that narrow space between a safe lie and the dangerous truth—but then he didn’t have to make the choice.

  Because she said, “Never mind. It’s late.” She took his empty mug from him. “Time for bed.”

  He watched her carry the mugs to the sink, wishing he had just gone ahead and told her how much he wanted her, how he couldn’t stop thinking about what her mouth would taste like, wondering how the fresh, clean scent of her body would change, growing musky, when she was aroused. About how it would feel to have her beneath him, calling his name. He thought of those impossible things, and he thought of the girl she’d been five years ago.

  And of the woman she was now.

  She’d been so right. He never should have agreed to be her bodyguard. A week’s worth of constant proximity had broken him down, until she was all that he thought of, day and night.

  If he had any sense, he’d call it off now. Tell her to have her mother send a soldier to look after her.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. Uh-uh. It felt too damn good to suffer this much.

  He felt burned by her, branded. He needed her there with him, needed to be able to look at her and fantasize about what it might be like if he did make a move, if the miracle happened and she said yes.

  The rules he’d established between them—the bedrock of friendship and trust? Those rules were dissolving, like shaved chocolate in hot milk. And he was finding he didn’t even care.

  He just wanted this time with her, whether he ever crossed the line with her or not.

  When she came back to him, he was on his feet, switching off the fire.

  “Good night,” she said.

  “’Night, Rory.” He waited until she’d disappeared down the hallway to the stairs before turning off the rest of the lights.

  * * *

  Rory needed to talk to someone she trusted.

  So when she got to her room, she called her sister Genevra in England. It was a little after 10:00 a.m. there.

  Genny answered on the second ring. “Rory, hey. Aren’t you in Justice Creek?”

  “Yeah. Staying out at Walker’s ranch. Mother hired him to be my bodyguard.”

  “What time is it there?”

  “After three in the morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “Spoken like a very pregnant old married lady.”

  “Oh, stop. I’m only a year older than you.”

  “Are you in the middle of something?”

  “Not a thing—what’s up?”

  Rory almost didn’t want to say it, because it felt as if saying it out loud might make it suddenly only a trick of her overactive imagination.

  And how to describe it? That moment when he’d glanced up from his mug of cocoa—and she knew.

  All at once, it all came together. She got what was going on with him—the faraway looks, the muscular arms folded protectively across his broad chest, the constant feeling that he was keeping something back.

  Oh, God, yes. She’d seen it. She knew it. It was right there in his eyes.

  She knew that look. After all, she’d spent years trying to hide looks like that from him. She ought to know them when she saw them.

  There was heat in that look. And hopefulness. And fear, too.

  Fear of giving in. Of giving over.

  Of the very large chance that it would only lead to rejection—and possibly the end of a wonderful friendship.

  “Rory? You still on the line?”

  “Still here.” She went ahead and said it. “I think Walker almost tried to kiss me tonight.”

  Genny gasped sharply. “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s been acting strangely for days now. You know, avoiding eye contact, staring off into space, acting closed off. I couldn’t figure out what was up with him. But tonight, well, there was something in the way he looked at me. I just knew. It all came clear.”

  “Do you want him to kiss you?”

  “Oh, yeah. I do. I really do.”

  “But I thought that you and he were just good friends.”

  “Yeah. Exactly,” she said glumly. And then she brightened. “But after tonight, I can’t help thinking that everything could be about to change.”

  “And then what?”

  “Genny. Come on. One day at a time and all that. If I think about what will happen later, I’ll probably get cold feet. I’d rather just see where this goes—and you’re too quiet. What? Say it, whatever you’re thinking.”

  “Well, the truth is, I was thinking about Rafe and me.” Rafael DeValery was her husband, the earl.

  Rory laughed. “Go ahead. Make it all about you.”

  “Rafe and I were friends, too.”

  “I remember. Since you were what, five?”

  “That’s right. And the first time I kissed him...really kissed him?”

  Rory felt suddenly breathless. “Yeah...?”

  “A revelation.”

  “Oh, I love that!”

  “But, Rory, I shouldn’t encourage you. It’s dangerous. You could lose what you have with him. Rafe and I almost did.”

  “But you didn’t. You’re so happy. I mean, look at you now.”

  “Well, yes. We have it all—I know that we do. And I am grateful for every day, every hour, every moment at his side.”

  “And do you ever regret taking that chance, sharing that first real kiss?”

  “Not on your life. Even last spring, when things were the toughest...never.”

  “I knew you would say that.”

  Genny was quiet. Then, “When will you talk to him about how you feel?”

  “Did I ever tell you that I tried to kiss him once, years ago?”

  “No. I had no idea...”

  “He turned me down. He said he was tempted, but I was too young for him and had my whole life ahead of me, that I was a real-life princess and he was only an ordinary guy who couldn’t even make his marriage work—and what else? Oh, yeah. He said he would never do anything to threaten our friendship.”

  Genny made a pained sound. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. It was awful. Practically damaged me for life.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “But now it’s his turn to suffer. I mean, I know it’s petty of me, but I’m feeling just a little bit smug.”

  “Don’t make him suffer too much.”

  “I won’t.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Nothing. I’m thinking it’s about time he made the first move.”

  Chapter Six

  Walker didn’t sleep any better in what was left of that night than he had the night before.

  At daylight, when he got up to take care of the horses, Rory was downstairs waiting for him, dressed in jeans, work boots and a heavy sweater, looking fresh and rested and so damn beautiful he wanted to grab her and...unwrap her.

  Yeah. Best Christmas present ever. Rory, wearing nothing but a tempting smile. Once he had her stark naked, her clothes strewn across the stairs, he would lift her high in his arms and carry her back to the tangled bed he’d just crawled out of.

  “Thought you’d never get up,” she teased, and flashed him a dimpled grin that tied the rock-hard knot of hungry desire even tighter inside him.

  God. She would kill him. He’d curl up into a husk of frustrated longing and blow away on the winter wind without ever so much as laying a hand on her. �
��It’s pretty cold out. Why don’t you stay in, get the coffee going?”

  “Not a chance.” She took her heavy quilted jacket from the hall tree. “Let’s get to work.”

  They went out into the predawn darkness. The snow had stopped, leaving a few inches of icy flakes on the ground to crunch beneath their boots as they crossed the yard.

  By the time they finished in the stables, the sun was coming up. “How about a ride?” she asked. “Just a short one, before breakfast...”

  So they tacked up and rode out, taking a trail he knew up into the hills above the Bar-N. A half hour or so after they left the stables, they reached Lookout Point, an outcropping with a great view of the Bar-N below.

  As always, she had a camera with her. They dismounted. She changed lenses and followed him out onto the point. They gazed down at the circle of buildings. Alva and Bud still burned wood. A trail of smoke spiraled up from their chimney. The pines, the land and the rooftops were all dusted with sparkling new snow. She shot several pictures. And then she lowered her camera and simply took in the view.

  “Such a pretty scene,” she said, her breath emerging in a white vapor trail. “You’re a lucky man, Walker.” She slanted him a happy glance that took hold of his heart and wouldn’t let go. “The Bar-N is something special. And you’ve made good choices, fixing up the houses and the cabins, making it as comfortable for visitors as it is beautiful to stand up here and admire.”

  He was admiring, all right. But not the Bar-N. “So it’s been okay for you, staying here?”

  Her smile bloomed wider, and the hand around his heart squeezed a little harder. The pain was delicious. Somehow, the more it made him burn to look at her, the better he felt, the more acutely alive—and the more terrified that he was headed for disaster.

  She said, “I’m loving every minute. Believe me.”

  He wanted to reach for her, to feel her stiffen in surprise—and then melt into his arms. To capture her lips. They would be cold at first from the icy air, but then swiftly growing warmer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah?” So sweet. So hopeful. Reminding him of that long-ago August morning at Ice Castle Falls.

  “Yeah.” Somewhere far overhead, a bird cawed.