The Accidental Bride

by Christina Skye

  The blasted Walker Effect left Jilly’s throat dry.

  Jilly coughed, wishing she had put a little more effort in dressing. Not that it would have helped much.

  “All ready,” she said with forced casualness. “Let me get my jacket.”

  Without a sound Walker was behind her, helping her into her red fringed suede jacket. It was a little flamboyant, but Jilly loved it dearly. It was the first thing she had purchased with her own money, earned washing dishes after school at the long since closed Summer Island Steak ’N Suds. Jilly could still remember that breezy November afternoon, and the way pride had welled up inside her when she placed a row of crisp dollar bills on the counter for her purchase.

  “Nice boots.” She pointed to the shining tips of the boots under Walker’s well-worn jeans. “Are they new?”

  He rolled his shoulders, flushing a little. “My old ones had holes. Winslow needed a leash. While we were there, the salesperson talked us into a bandanna. A little bit of a splurge, but we haven’t been shopping for a while.”

  “Everything looks great.”

  Walker leaned down and toyed with a row of fringe on Jilly’s cuff. “Nice coat. Not many women could carry it off, but you can.”

  “So you’re saying that I’m flamboyant?”

  He frowned. “I’m saying that you’re an original. Like Jilly’s Naturals. No point in looking for criticism where none was meant.”

  “Just checking. Now I don’t have to pummel you to the ground.” She grabbed her bag from the table. “So where is this cabin of yours?”

  “At the top of a mountain. Winslow and I like our solitude, don’t we, boy?”

  The top of a mountain?

  This is going to be good, Jilly thought.

  * * *

  HE HADN’T BEEN KIDDING about the solitude.

  They climbed for twenty minutes and had passed the last house long before that. Jilly was sorry that she couldn’t get a better view of the rugged terrain in the darkness. She was certain it was spectacular.

  As they drove, neither one spoke, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. Winslow was right behind her seat, with his head on her shoulder, looking very alert.

  “I spoke to Red about those jerky treats. You’ll be glad to know that a new batch is in the works. I wanted to make them myself, but Red wouldn’t hear of it. He keeps insisting that he owes me for the kitchen fire. Stubborn man.”

  “Almost as stubborn as someone else I know,” Walker murmured.

  “I heard that.”

  They rounded a curve. The car lights lit a row of weathered boulders. Stone steps rose, vanishing in the darkness.

  “Hold on.” Walker reached into his pocket and flicked some kind of remote. Instantly the driveway was blanketed in light. And above the stairs, like a jewel glinting above the pine and spruce trees, Jilly saw a three-story house composed entirely of redwood and glass.

  She could only blink. She had seen some grand houses in Scottsdale, but nothing like this. It wasn’t a mansion-size building. It was the thoughtful placement of each level that caught her eye. She didn’t have to look out the windows to know that the view would be perfect from every room.

  “It takes my breath away, Walker. Who’s your architect?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Jilly turned around, staring at him. “No way. Do not tell me what I’m thinking.”

  He shrugged. “Before I joined the marines, I toyed with becoming an architect. I had a few years of school. It wasn’t so hard to brush up on building codes and weight-bearing walls.” He sat in silence, studying the light glinting off the windows. Then he slowly released a breath. “I love this place. The site has called to me since the first time I saw it. My family has a house on the other side of the mountain. But this…this is mine. It was in bad shape when I started working on it. I dreamed the house in my mind, fully formed, the second time I saw this ridge.” Winslow heard something in his voice and pushed between the seats, nudging Walker’s shoulder.

  The bond between the two was as tight as ever, Jilly saw.

  “We’ve been happy here. Haven’t we, pal?”

  “Isn’t it a little lonely?”

  “Quiet. Not lonely. There’s a difference.” Walker scratched Winslow’s head and then turned off the motor. “Ready for your mystery meal?”

  Winslow pressed his body against Jilly’s leg as they climbed the steps to the front door. Far away to her right she saw the faint lights of Lost Creek, down at the bottom of the mountain. Then she understood just how far away from the rest of the world Walker’s home was. Mountains and sky ringed them on every side.

  Walker scraped his boots and ran a hand lovingly over the carved front door.

  “Don’t tell me you made the door, too?”

  “No, a friend carved it. I did the rest of the work here on-site. When I got here it was late February and we had about seven feet of snow, so it wasn’t the best of working conditions. But it was a good distraction. I needed a distraction back then,” he said quietly.

  All her other questions vanished as soon as Walker pushed open the front door. Jilly stood spellbound at the threshold. Her first impression was of glowing wood from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. Neat window seats framed the tall glass that overlooked the valley, and more warmth came from the hand-woven Oaxacan rugs scattered across the floor. A crimson rug hung above the distressed wood mantel that capped a river rock fireplace. Each detail was impressive, yet thoughtful. Power without ostentation.

  It was a tricky mix, Jilly thought. And the mix suited Walker perfectly. She turned slowly, taking in the beautiful room. “All I can say is the world of architecture lost someone special when you decided to change careers. I’ve never seen anything like this house.” On an impulse, she rose to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’ve made a very special place.”

  A muscle moved at his jaw. His hand slid along her hair. Then he leaned down and kissed her back, but this kiss was not nearly so quick. Walker lingered, teased. When her breath caught, he cleared his throat and released her.

  “Welcome to my house. This place has stayed with me during some hard times. It probably saved my life once or twice.”

  He didn’t explain. Jilly watched his hand move over the carved wood mantel and the worn stones of the fireplace. She wanted to ask more, but it felt too intrusive.

  “Why don’t you have a look around? In the meantime, I’ll get things set for dinner. If you find dust balls, don’t tell me.”

  * * *

  JILLY TOOK HER TIME, poking in the corners. She didn’t find any dust balls, but she found beautiful examples of handcrafted furniture and polished beams everywhere. She understood why Walker had run his hand over the stones of the fireplace and the top of the rugged mantel. She found herself doing the same thing.

  Pans rattled in the kitchen and amazing smells drifted her way. Jilly tried to think of the last time anyone had cooked for her, other than her friends, and gave up.

  There had only been work. Only other chefs who had dropped in to share a new recipe with her.

  It felt decadent to let someone else cook, she discovered. And her curiosity was killing her. “Are you done yet?”

  “Close enough. You can come sit down.”

  Jilly followed the sound of Walker’s voice to a cozy room with windows on three sides. Each of the chairs around the big wooden table was slightly different, with hand-carved backs and seats.

  Jilly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I smell chipotle chilies. Tomatoes, of course. What else? Cumin and coriander and caramelized onions. You’ve been a very busy man, Walker.”

  “I figured you’d be a tough judge. The recipe is my sister’s so I can’t claim credit for it.” He set a bottle of wine on the table and turned the label to face Jilly. “I thought you might be game for a glass or two.” When she nodded, he worked on the cork.

  It was a red wine, a California vintage that Jilly had always thought underrated. Clearly, the m
an had good taste in wine, too. Jilly’s doctors had warned her not to have alcohol, but just for tonight, she would indulge in one glass.

  The chili was spicy and perfect. Jilly vowed to work the recipe out of him before the night was over. When she felt Winslow brush against her leg and curl up at her feet, she breathed a little sigh of contentment.

  And somehow between the wine, the food and the good conversation, she let go. She forgot to worry about her health, her restaurant, her future or anything else. They argued about music and movies and the best way to cook broccoli. They laughed and they were silent.

  Through it all Jilly simply sat and enjoyed being alive.

  And that had never happened to her before.

  * * *

  “I DON’T BELIEVE YOU. That’s just a tall tale.” Jilly finished her second bowl of chili and turned it over to prove there was nothing left. “Great recipe. I want it, no matter the price.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “But seriously, Walker. Winslow in Hollywood? Does somebody actually think you would waste him in a reality TV series? He’s got far too much self-respect for that. So do you.”

  “I didn’t put it that bluntly when I told them no. I figured it was a good idea to be diplomatic. But no way is Winslow going to work on a reality TV show,” Walker said gruffly. “Me, either.” Walker stood up and began to clear the table. As he moved, Jilly saw him rub his right shoulder. He had made the same small movements before, and she wondered how much the pain bothered him.

  When he finished, she followed him into the tidy kitchen. “How long has your shoulder been bothering you?” she asked quietly.

  Walker continued stacking dishes in the sink. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I have eyes, Walker. You rub the top of your right shoulder. Sometimes you cup your elbow, too. Working in a busy kitchen, I have a little experience with shoulder pain. Want to tell me about it?”

  He glanced out the window, into the unbroken darkness of night. “Not really.” He took a deep breath. “But you’re right. My shoulder gets stiff. I have some pain, too, mostly when the weather is about to change.” He stretched a little, rolling his shoulders carefully. “I’ve been told it’s something that I’ll have to live with. So I will.”

  Jilly crossed her arms. “Let me tell you a story. I have a friend back in Arizona who’s a fanatic regular at my restaurant. One night I did something to my arm, and I was doubled over in pain. He tracked me down in the back room, explained that he did deep tissue work of some kind, and then proceeded to do some movements on my back. After he was done he told me to sit down and have a cup of tea. By the time I finished, I could move my shoulder again. Most of the pain was gone. Crazy, but true. After that, we had a deal. He taught me a few tricks of the trade and I gave him a free dinner once a month.”

  Walker leaned against the counter, rubbing his shoulder. “And?”

  “And,” Jilly continued slowly, “I may be able to help you. I’m no professional, but I strain my arms fairly regularly. It goes with the territory. Why don’t you let me try a few things to help you?” She read the wariness in his face and moved closer. “Don’t go all silent and macho on me, Walker. What have you got to lose?”

  “That’s nice of you to offer, Jilly. But I don’t think—”

  “See? You’re doing it again, cupping your right elbow. You don’t even know it.” Jilly moved next to him, taking his arm before he could move away. “It won’t hurt. I won’t hammer at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Let me show you.”

  He took a husky breath as she gently traced his shoulder, finding tension spots that she knew from personal experience would hurt the worst. She made little circling movements and moved slowly around to his shoulder blade.

  Watching his face, Jilly made two more small, strumming movements.

  His shoulder twitched. “What did you just do?”

  “That didn’t hurt you, did it? The movements are gentle. They’re not supposed to hurt.”

  “It didn’t hurt.” Walker’s voice was tense. “But I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’ll make it worse?”

  “No.”

  “Then what? I’m trying to help you here, Walker. Can’t you see that?”

  “I can see it. I can feel it, too.” Walker didn’t move. “The problem is, if you keep on touching me, it’s going to be impossible to keep my hands off you any longer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JILLY JUST STARED AT him. “You’re saying…that you think something’s going on here. Between us.”

  “I’m saying.”

  “Oh.” Jilly was seldom at a loss for words. Okay, she was never at a loss for words. But now she could only take short, husky breaths while she got lost in the darkness of his eyes.

  “That big of a surprise, is it?” Walker stared at the carton of double chocolate fudge ice cream and shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to jump you or anything. It’s just dinner. I meant that. You can trust me, Jilly.”

  “I know I can trust you, Walker.” Strangely enough, it was true. Jilly didn’t feel uncomfortable or anxious. The only problem was whether she could trust herself. Right now she was mesmerized by the sadness that darkened his eyes when he stared over the mountains toward the lights in the valley. She was caught by the pain that he worked so hard to hide. He would never complain and Jilly doubted that he would ever ask a favor willingly. That was the kind of man he was.

  Which meant that he was like no man she had ever met before.

  She cleared her throat. “Now we know where things stand. So why don’t I deal with your shoulder first? Then we’ll decide about the rest.”

  Walker put one hand against the counter, wincing a little at the movement. “So things might go…somewhere?”

  Jilly felt the insidious wave of heat snake up to her chest. Suddenly she wanted things to go somewhere. She wanted to trust herself to this man’s careful, strong hands, even if they only had a night or a week together.

  Right here, right now Walker was alive and offering her something she knew they’d never forget.

  One step at a time.

  “Let’s have a closer look at your shoulder. Sit down in that chair and then take off your sweater. The shirt, too. It’s hard to work through bulky fabric.”

  His eyebrow rose. “What else?”

  Jilly felt heat swirl through her face. “You can leave on your T-shirt. I’m not sure I could handle the whole enchilada,” she muttered.

  He reached for the bottom of his sweater. “I heard that. The nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” The sweater came off, and then his crisp white shirt.

  Jilly nodded. “Now get comfortable. We’ll start with your good side.” When he was settled, she rested her hand on the back of his neck, the way she remembered her therapist friend always beginning her treatment. She felt the tension in Walker’s muscles and opened her hands slowly, tracing the tendons and the trigger points that always bothered her.

  Slowly she worked her way down his neck and then lower, making small movements as if she was playing a stringed instrument, plucking gently.

  Walker’s breath drew in sharply. His shoulder twitched. “I don’t know what the heck you’re doing, but—” He shifted in the chair and eased out a long breath. “Whatever it is, don’t stop.”

  Jilly knew just how good release of tension in sore, tight muscles could feel. In Arizona, the winter was her busiest time, especially in December, when families gathered for the holidays. Sometimes she had seen her friend twice a week. The results had always been instant and almost miraculous.

  She moved again, lifting Walker’s arm carefully. “If anything hurts, tell me.” She started at the outside of his arm, making the same small circular movements down his arm, taking time to work near his elbow and then moving to the outside of his wrist. She felt him twitch twice, but he never complained. His muscles tightened when she came to the inside of his elbow.


  “Now turn around. I’m going to do a little maneuver on your arm.” She cupped his arm with one hand the way her friend had shown her, just above and below the elbow.

  Jilly had to smile when she felt Walker shift and give a rough sigh. His body seemed to slide back against the chair, suddenly relaxed.

  She knew exactly how that felt.

  “Now let me do the other side, the one that really bothers you.” He raised his right arm slowly, and Jilly saw a long silver scar running up the inside of his arm. She could only imagine the violence that had put it there.

  Slowly she repeated the gentle movements, watching for signs of a response. He was far more relaxed now and his breath came slow and even.

  Jilly finished his elbow, avoiding the scar, and then stepped back. “Well, what do you think?”

  Walker moved his right shoulder, lifting it up and down slowly. He opened and closed his right hand.

  Then he smiled. “I won’t say that the pain is all gone. But something seems different, like the muscles have shifted. My arm feels lighter, too. I’ve been to a lot of physical therapists, and none of those visits was as pleasant as that, Jilly. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Her voice seemed odd and husky. She was touched by his simple thanks. To cover up her sudden emotion, she turned around.

  Walker was right behind her.

  “Thank you, Jilly. I mean it. I can feel a difference already.” He turned smoothly and his hands slid along her cheek. His thumb traced her lips. “I would have been a lot faster going to therapy if you’d been there.”

  Jilly was still having trouble facing him. She had to get herself under control. “So…what about that dessert you promised me?”

  * * *

  THEY SAT OUT ON WALKER’S porch wrapped in fleece blankets, overlooking a view that went on for fifty miles. Jilly could see the lights of Lost Creek off in the distance, twinkling like calm, remembered dreams.