Loe raamatut: «The Best Man Takes A Bride»

Chapter One

This was going to be a disaster.

Jamison Porter eyed the dress shop with a sense of dread. Early-morning sunshine warmed the back of his neck and glinted off the gilded lettering on the plate glass window. Frilly dresses decorated with layer after layer of lace and ribbons and bows draped the mannequins on display, a small sample of the froth and satin inside. All of it girlie, delicate and scary as hell.

The forecast promised a high in the low seventies, but Jamison could already feel himself breaking into a sweat.

He swallowed hard against the sense of impending doom and fought the urge to jump in his SUV and floor it back to San Francisco. Back to his office and his black walnut barricade of a desk, matching bookshelves lined with heavy law books, and rich leather chairs. All of it masculine, substantial—the one place where Jamison never questioned his decisions, never doubted his every move—

He felt a tug at his hand and looked down at his four-year-old daughter’s upturned face. Big brown eyes stared back at him. “I wanna go home now.”

Never felt so useless as he did when he was with Hannah.

His daughter’s barely brushed blond curls tilted to one side in a crooked ponytail. Her mismatched green T-shirt and pink shorts, both nearing a size too small, were testimony to the crying fit that ended their last attempt at clothes shopping. Jamison at least took some small comfort that Hannah had been the one to leave the store in tears, and not him. Because there were times...

Like now, when he didn’t even know which home Hannah was referring to. Back to Hillcrest House, the hotel where they’d be staying for the next couple of weeks? Back to his town house in San Francisco? To her grandparents’ place? To the house where she’d been living with her mother...

“I know, Hannah Banana,” he said, fighting another shaft of disappointment when the once-loved nickname failed to bring a smile to her face. “But we can’t go home yet,” he added as he set aside the question of where his daughter called home for another time. “We’re here to meet Lindsay, remember? She’s the lady who’s getting married to my friend Ryder, and she wants you to be her flower girl.”

Hannah scraped the toe of a glittery tennis shoe along a crack in the sidewalk. “I don’t want to.”

Her lack of interest in playing a role in Lindsay Brookes’s wedding to Ryder Kincaid didn’t bother Jamison as much as her patented response did. Not because of all the things Hannah didn’t want, but because of the one thing she did.

The bell above the shop’s frosted-glass door rang as the bride stepped outside. Dressed in gray slacks and a sleeveless peach top with her dark blond hair caught back in a loose bun, a smile lit Lindsay’s pretty face. “Hey, you made it! Not that I thought you wouldn’t.” She waved a hand, the solitaire in her engagement ring flashing in the sunlight. “I mean, it isn’t like any place around here is hard to find!”

Ryder had told Jamison his hometown near the Northern California coastline was small, and he hadn’t exaggerated. Victorian buildings lined either side of Main Street and made up the heart of downtown. Green-and-white awnings snapped in the late-summer breeze, adding to the welcome of nodding yellow snapdragons, purple pansies and white petunias in the brick planters outside the shops. Couples strolled arm in arm, their laughing kids racing ahead to dart into the diner down the street or into the sweet-smelling café across the way.

It was all quaint and old-fashioned, postcard perfect and roughly that same size. Jamison figured it had taken less than five minutes to see all Clearville had to offer even while obeying the slower-than-slow posted speed limit. “No trouble. Didn’t even need to use the GPS.”

Finding the shop had been easy. Making himself step one foot inside, that was a different story.

“Good thing,” Lindsay said with a laugh, “since cell coverage can be pretty spotty around here.”

Jamison fought back a groan. In a true effort to focus on Hannah and leave work behind, he hadn’t brought along his laptop. But he’d been counting on being able to use his phone to read emails and download any documents too urgent to wait for his return. “How does anyone get things done around here?” he grumbled under his breath.

She lifted a narrow shoulder in a shrug. “Disconnecting is tough at first, but before long, you find you don’t miss it at all.”

“Can’t say I plan to be in town long enough to get used to anything,” he replied as the driver of an SUV crawling down Main Street called out to Lindsay and the two women exchanged a quick wave.

And despite his own words, Jamison couldn’t help thinking that, back in San Francisco, had a driver shouted and stuck an arm out the window, the gesture wouldn’t have been so friendly.

“That’s too bad. Clearville’s a great town. A wonderful place to raise a family,” she added with a warm glance at Hannah, who dropped her gaze and retreated even farther behind his back.

So different from the adventurous toddler he remembered...

He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to focus on whatever Lindsay was saying.

“But why don’t we get started? I’m here for my final fitting, and I’ve picked out some of the cutest flower girl dresses. Our colors are burgundy and gold, but I think that would be too strong a palette for Hannah since she’s so fair. Instead I’ve been leaning toward a cream taffeta with a sash at the waist—”

Catching herself, Lindsay offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Ryder’s already warned me I tend to go into wedding overload on even the most unsuspecting victim. The other day, I talked a poor waitress’s ear off and all she asked was if I wanted dessert. If there’s something else you need to do, you don’t have to stay—”

“No! Daddy, don’t go!” Hannah’s hands tightened in a death grip around his as she pressed closer to his side.

Lindsay’s expression morphed into one of sympathy that Jamison had seen too many times and had grown to despise over the past two months.

But not as much as he hated the tears in his daughter’s eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, disappointed but not surprised when his promise didn’t erase the worry wrinkling her pale eyebrows.

“Pinkie promise?” she finally asked, holding out the tiny, delicate digit.

Jamison didn’t hesitate as Hannah wrapped him around her finger. Love welled up inside him along with the painful awareness of how many times he’d let her down in her short life. His voice was gruff as he replied, “Pinkie promise.”

“Your daddy can stay with you the whole time,” Lindsay reassured Hannah gently. “I bet he can’t wait to see you try on some pretty dresses.”

Jamison had thought Hannah might enjoy being a flower girl, but the truth was, he didn’t have a clue what would make his little girl happy anymore. Sweat started to gather at his temples along with the pressure of an oncoming headache. “Look, Lindsay, I appreciate you thinking of Hannah and wanting her to be part of the ceremony, but I don’t—”

“Sorry I’m late!” The cheery voice interrupted Jamison’s escape, and every muscle in his body tensed. That need to run raced through him once more, but his feet felt frozen in place. Still, he couldn’t help turning to glance over his shoulder, bracing himself for the woman he could feel drawing closer.

The wedding coordinator.

Ryder and Lindsay had introduced them not long after he’d checked into the sprawling Victorian hotel. He’d been exhausted from fourteen-hour workdays, worn out from the long drive from San Francisco and far more overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of Hannah on his own than he dared admit even to himself.

That was the only logical explanation he’d been able to come up with for why that first meeting with Rory McClaren had sent a lightning bolt straight through his chest. Her smile had stopped him dead in his tracks and her touch—nothing more than a simple handshake—had shot a rush of adrenaline through his system, jump-starting his heartbeat and sending it racing for the first time in...ever, it seemed.

But logical explanations failed him now. One look at Rory, and Jamison was blown away all over again.

Big blue eyes sparkled in a heart-shaped face framed by dark, shoulder-length hair. A fringe of bangs, thick lashes and arched eyebrows drew him even deeper into that gaze. A sprinkling of freckles across her nose kept her fair skin from being too perfect, and cherry-red lipstick highlighted a bright smile and a sexy mouth Jamison had no business thinking about again and again.

A white sundress stitched with red roses revealed more freckles scattered like gold dust across her delicate collarbones. The fitted bodice hugged the curves of her breasts and small waist before flaring to swish around her slender legs as she walked.

She looked as fresh and sunny as a summer’s day, and Jamison almost had to squint when he looked at her, like he needed sunglasses to shield him from her stunning beauty.

He sure as hell needed some form of protection, some barrier to establish a safe distance from this woman and the unexpected, unwanted way she made him feel. If his disastrous marriage had taught him one lesson, it was that he far preferred being numb.

“Mr. Porter, nice to see you again.”

Her smile was genuine, but Jamison couldn’t imagine her words were true. He’d been abrupt the day before, unnerved by his reaction and bordering on rude. “Ms. McClaren. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this morning.”

“All part of Hillcrest House’s service as an all-inclusive wedding venue,” she said with a smile to Lindsay before turning that full wattage on Jamison. “But we are a hotel first and foremost, so I hope you enjoyed your first night under our roof.”

He’d heard his share of come-ons in his lifetime. There was nothing the least bit seductive in her smile or her voice. But his imagination, as suddenly uncontrollable as his hormones, had him picturing an intimacy beyond sleeping under her roof and instead sleeping in her bed...

Jamison didn’t know if his thoughts were written on his face, but whatever Rory saw had enough color blooming in her cheeks to rival the roses on her dress. Her lips parted on an inhaled breath, and Jamison felt drawn closer, captured by the moment as the awareness stretched between them until she dropped her gaze.

“And Hannah!”

That quickly, the enticing image was banished, but not the pained embarrassment lingering in its wake. He wasn’t some gawky teenager lusting after the high school cheerleader. He was a grown man, a father...a father with a daughter he was terrified of failing—just like he had her mother.

“How are you this morning?” Undeterred by the lack of response, Rory’s lyrical voice rose and fell, and Jamison didn’t want to think about the slight tremor under the words. Didn’t want to think she might be as affected as he was by the chemistry between them. “Do you like your room at the hotel? You know, the Bluebell has always been my favorite.”

The Bluebell...

What kind of hotel designated their rooms by a type of flower?

“It’s all part of Hillcrest’s romantic charm,” Rory had explained.

He had no need for romance or charm or bright-eyed brunettes. He wanted logic, order. He wanted the normalcy of sequential room numbers, for God’s sake!

But the Bluebell was one of the hotel’s few two-room suites and, while small, it offered a living space and tiny kitchenette. The comfortable room was subtly decorated in shades of blue and white.

If only it wasn’t for the name...and the reminder of flowers that had him thinking far too often of Rory’s dark-lashed, vibrant blue eyes.

“I like purple,” Hannah answered, surprising him too much with her willingness to talk to a virtual stranger for him to point out bluebell wasn’t a color.

“Me, too,” Rory agreed as she caught on to his daughter’s twist in the topic.

Hannah’s forehead wrinkled. “You said you like blue.”

“Actually, Hannah, rainbow is my favorite color...” The wedding coordinator bent at the waist so she and Hannah were almost eye to eye as she shared that piece of nonsense with the little girl. “That way I never have to pick just one.”

A lock of her hair slid forward like a silken ribbon and curved around her breast. The dark strands were a stark contrast against the white fabric, but it was the similarities that had Jamison sucking in a deep breath. Soft cotton, soft hair, soft skin...

Realizing he was staring, he jerked his gaze away. Falling back on good manners now that good sense seemed to have deserted him, he ground out, “Hannah, you remember Ms. McClaren?”

His daughter nodded, her eyes too serious for her still-baby face as she peered up at the wedding coordinator. She wrapped her index finger in the hem of her shirt, holding on the same way she had to the pink-and-white blanket Jamison remembered her carrying with her everywhere when she was a toddler. “She’s Miss Lindsay’s fairy godmother.”

Jamison blinked at Hannah’s unexpected announcement. “She’s... Oh, right.” That was how Lindsay had introduced the woman. The bride had sung Rory McClaren’s praises, complimenting her on finding the perfect music, the perfect flowers, the perfect menu—as if any of that attention to detail would lead to the perfect marriage.

Jamison knew better. He was cynical enough to wonder if Rory knew the same, but not cynical enough to believe it. Everything about her was too genuine, too hopeful for him to convince himself it was all for show. But even if the wedding coordinator believed what she was selling, that didn’t mean Jamison was buying.

“She’s not really a fairy godmother,” he told his daughter firmly.

“Of course not,” the dark-haired pixie said with a conspiring wink at the little girl, who gazed back with shy curiosity. “And you can call me Rory.”

Jamison’s jaw tightened. No doubt Rory thought the shared moment with Hannah was harmless, but the last thing he needed was for his daughter to put faith in fairy tales. Especially when the one thing Hannah wanted was the one thing no one—not even a fairy godmother, if such a thing existed—could give her.

Rory’s smile faltered when she glanced up into his face. Straightening, she rallied by getting down to business and glancing between Lindsay and Hannah. “So, are we ready to start trying on some gorgeous dresses?”

“I can’t wait!” Lindsay announced, clapping her hands in front of her as if trying to hold on to her excitement. “I’ve picked out some of the cutest dresses, and you have got to help me decide which one to choose.”

“That is what I’m here for. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask!”

And with statements like that, Jamison thought, was it any wonder Hannah thought the woman was some kind of fairy godmother? Even he half expected a magic wand to appear in the delicate hand she waved through the air.

Better to leave now before he—before Hannah—could get sucked any further into a belief in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

“About that. I think Hannah might be a little too young for all of this.”

Lindsay sank back onto her heels, her earlier excitement leaking out of her. He wasn’t a man to go back on his word, but he never should have agreed to have Hannah in the wedding in the first place. With his in-laws pointing out the need for a female influence in Hannah’s life, he’d thought—hell, Jamison didn’t know what he’d thought. But the whole idea was a mistake. “Trying on clothes isn’t her idea of fun.”

This time, though, the wedding coordinator’s smile didn’t dim in the least. If anything, an added spark came to her eyes. “The shopping gene hasn’t kicked in yet?”

“I’m hoping it skips a generation.”

Rory laughed as though he’d been joking, brightening her expression even more, like a spotlight showcasing a work of art. “You and all fathers everywhere.”

It was a small thing—Rory categorizing him as a typical dad—but some of the pressure eased in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t so obvious from the outside that he was at such a loss when it came to his own daughter. Best to quit while he was, if not ahead, then at least breaking even.

But before he could once again make his excuses, Rory turned to Hannah. “Well, maybe Miss Lindsay can go first. What do you think, Hannah? Are you ready to help?”

“Ms. McClaren—”

“Why does she need help?” It was Hannah who interrupted this time, coming out from behind him far enough to look from Rory to Lindsay. “She’s a grown-up, and big girls should be old enough to get dressed by themselves.”

Jamison closed his eyes and wished for a sinkhole to open up in the sidewalk and swallow him whole at his words coming out of Hannah’s mouth. Crap. Was that really how he sounded? So...condescending and demeaning?

“Hannah...” He’d only pulled out the big-girl card because Hannah was so filled with ideas of what she would do when she was older. Or at least she had been.

But if Rory was ready to take that “typical dad” title away from him and flag him with “worst father ever,” she didn’t let it show as she knelt down in front of his little girl. Close enough this time that he could have stroked her hair, as dark as Hannah’s was light, and he shoved his free hand into his pocket before insanity had him reaching out...

“You know, Hannah,” Rory was saying, her voice filled with that same touch of sharing a secret she’d conveyed earlier with that wink, “funny thing about being a big girl...sometimes we still need help.”

As she spoke, she reached up and slipped the bright pink band from Hannah’s hair. With a few quick swipes of her hands and without a comb or brush in sight, she had the little girl’s curls contained in a smooth, well-centered ponytail. “Not a lot of help. Just a little, just enough to make things right.”

To make things right... Jamison didn’t have a clue how to go about making things right in his daughter’s world. Especially not when he saw the open longing and amazement in Hannah’s face as she reached up to touch her now-perfect ponytail.

“So what do you think?” Rory asked as she straightened, her full skirt swirling around her legs. The roses on her dress might have been embroidered, but somehow Jamison still caught a sweet, fresh scent, as if she’d risen from a bed of wildflowers. “Do you want to help Lindsay with her dress for the wedding?”

Hannah hesitated, and Jamison braced himself for the “I don’t want to” response. Instead, she surprised him, nodding once and sliding a little farther out from behind him.

“And maybe, after Lindsay’s done, we could find a dress for you. Just to try on—you know, like playing dress-up. And then you can put your everyday clothes back on, because who wants to wear dresses all the time?”

Hannah reached out and brushed her tiny hand over Rory’s skirt. “You do.”

Rory tilted her head to the side as she laughed. “You caught me. I do like wearing dresses. But not all the time.”

Jamison might have only met the woman, but he already sensed how Rory’s clothes—elegant and old-fashioned—suited her. He had a hard time picturing her in anything else.

Now, if he could only stop himself from picturing her wearing nothing at all...