by Susan Arden
“That’s what betting blind is all about. I see the outcomes as both being better than great. He’s going down. And, either way, the best part is he’s on his way far away from Annona,” Rory slipped on the button-down shirt, shifting his cell to his shoulder. “That’s a win-win.”
“Something else,” his brother exhaled the words. “The Kincaids want to go into the program being offered by the Feds.”
Shit. Even if Mike was arrested, they probably were into other stuff. He retorted, “That’s not surprising.”
“Yes and no. They liked the idea of a clean break.”
Liked. That sounded past tense. He stopped buttoning his shirt. His mind tumbled at the thought of Sommer’s dad just picking up and leaving town. “When?” he asked carefully.
“Already happened.”
It felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. “I thought we had enough time to get back first. I told Sommer she’d have an opportunity to say goodbye. This is blindsiding us.”
In his mind, he replayed Sommer’s words—her plea to help her get through her dad leaving again. Unlike the last time when he’d had his hands tied, too young to do more than watch. Witness her pain. He’d promised Sommer. Gave her his word. Said he’d help her when Frank Kincaid disappeared, so she wouldn’t have the emotional scar tissue like the last time. There was no do-over. She wouldn’t have another opportunity.
Miller sighed, “It wasn’t the Marshall’s call, from what I can decipher. Part of the case the Feds are working. Apparently, it’s been in play for over a year now. A new piece of intel came to light. It involves Gloria Kincaid. She had a hand in rooking Sommer into Deputy Bell’s debauchery. Gloria acted a head hunter in recruiting victims for Bell.”
God. How he hated that this was on the forefront, and was yet another round of gut-wrenching news he had to share with Sommer. Effectively, he was on the side that had opened a doorway and her dad had stepped through, never to be seen again. That was his fault. What the hell had he been thinking? Even if it meant she never wanted to see him again, she deserved the truth and needed to hear it sooner than later.
“All right. Keep in touch if you hear anything else.”
“Will do. You still coming home tomorrow?” his brother asked.
“That’s Sommer’s call. I’ll let you know.”
He exited the bedroom and raised his eyebrows when he met the expectant stares from the guys waiting in the living room.
“What about having the ceremony on the terrace?” Jeff asked. “Under the stars.”
“Just what we were thinking. I’ll get Sommer,” he replied, wanting to whisk her outside the master bedroom and have Paul perform the ceremony, buying time to find the right words. Soothing words. He silently treaded across the room in thought.
Jeff cocked his head. “Everything okay?”
“Give me a minute to get the bride and we’ll be set.” His heart hammered at a screeching non-stop clip, speeding up with each step he took toward that door. His target. Silently, he reeled at a loss on what he could say to right this torrentially fucked up wrong. Rapping his knuckle on the door, he called her name, “Sommer.”
From inside the room he heard the patter of footsteps on the floor. Had to be her heels clicking against the marble and meant she was near ready. His girl didn’t put on heels until she was fully dressed. The door opened, and he lost his train of thought.
“Impatient much?” She smiled, a steady gleam in her golden eyes.
“Beautiful, we’ve been over this. Affirmative.” He wound his tongue around the word as though he were stroking it across her skin. All too soon his brain reconnected, and he remembered why he’d sought her out. He walked inside, doggedly pressing his lips. He closed the door, the click of the lock echoing loudly behind him.
“Rory…” Her laughter faded, and she held his gaze.
From the sound of his name on her lips, he was ramped up as if walking a tightrope. A vibration jetted under his skin which felt several sizes too small. He stalked closer to her, needing to feel her skin next to his. There was no way for him to hide what was running through his mind, even though she lowered her gaze. She already seemed to grasp the reason he’d barged into the bedroom.
Like clockwork she asked, “What happened?”
Rory took the last two steps, eating up the distance between them, and stopped to capture her hands. He wanted to make her world more than okay, and his frustration burned a hole in his soul. He wanted her so much, only his hunger to possess her crystallized in his head as he absorbed the way she looked and sounded. The way she was his everything. “Sommer, baby. Just heard from Miller.”
“Good or bad news? Strike that. How bad?” Her fingers turned icy in his hands and he tugged her gently toward the bed.
As she walked, her dress floated around her in a dreamlike cloud that notched his level of torture upward. A filmy version of sunrise colors, and against her skin, resembled layers, meant to be peeled away until nothing remained but her, opened to him. Peering at her, he unclenched his jaw and his mouth went dry. She returned his gaze with her golden eyes.
“Your dad and stepmom had to take the deal from the Marshalls.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that her step mom had drawn her into Bell’s fuckery or that Frank had opted to leave town voluntarily, without saying goodbye.
Even if her father had left a note, a sorry excuse for a permanent goodbye, it would still hurt her. She didn’t talk much about her dad. Frank had walked away without doing a lot to see to Sommer’s wellbeing. Now, another facet of Rory’s rage roared to life in his inability to staunch more pain coming to find her.
“Oh,” she said softly. “So he and his family will go into a program for sure.”
All the air in the room vanished as he watched a stream of emotions playing out on Sommer’s beautiful face. She was trying to make sense of it, and he had to say something, not just let her assume her dad would be waiting to say goodbye.
“Baby, your dad and his wife are already in the program. Seems like Mike is involved in worse things, and their entry was imperative. Frank didn’t have a choice. It was out of the Marshalls’ hands on the where and when. The bet won’t matter. Mike is going down.”
She blinked, her hurt-filled eyes shifted away from him, and he felt his chest begin to tear into pieces, shred into tiny, razor sharp bits that threatened to pierce him for every tear she might shed.
“Please. Just let me go.” Pleading, she wrenched her hands from his.
He didn’t try to hold onto her. He had no right.
Sommer walked to the terrace doors and stopped, not exiting the bedroom. She just stood there, her beautiful body so still she looked like one of those statues he’d seen in a museum in Dallas. A Greek goddess poised in flight.
Clueless as to what she was thinking, his mind began filling in the blanks. She’d asked him to help her arrange a goodbye. One she wouldn’t live to regret, but he failed. Broken his promise. If he could return to Annona and fix this mess, he would. But that wasn’t gonna happen.
He approached her, inhaling her mind-blowing fragrance, reaching out to her. Rory laid his hands over her shoulders. “Talk to me, sugar.” Drawing her back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, channeling their fingers together. Gently, he nuzzled his chin to her cheek.
For seconds she didn’t say a thing, just breathed. He looked down and watched her chest rise and fall, holding onto her hands and giving her a chance to digest the news. “A few minutes ago, I tried to phone my dad. To tell him we’re getting married. I can’t believe my father left without saying a word. I checked my messages, and not one was from him. Can you believe it?”
“This news is pretty heavy.” Heavy? Under-fucking-statement of the universe. A concept so cutting in how he felt powerless to help the one person he loved soul-deep.
She might want to call their wedding off. At this juncture, they both were torn. He had to
offer Sommer a choice. So close within his grasp, she was right here next to him. Heart-to-heart. He’d wait forever to marry her. Sommer was more than his everything, but he wanted her to choose him freely. Not as her fall back plan. She was as wild as the wind and he didn’t want to see her crushed.
He grazed his fingers along her hands, savoring her smooth skin. Slowly, he curled his hands around her wrists, rubbing his thumb over the softest skin he’d ever imagined. Unspoken words of what he had to get out were slow to emerge. Rory unclenched and cleared his throat, “Do you want to wait to get married?”
Sommer shifted in his arms, turning until they were face to face. Their gazes locked and unleased an electrical jolt that he felt deep inside his bones. The jolt of fire she lit in his bloodstream nearly had him lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. He was so ready to claim her as his, and never, never let her escape. The longer it took for her to say something, the more insane he started to feel.
Finally, her lips parted and she whispered, “No.”
“No?” he parroted, as hope and dread circled inside him, weary warriors in his head. “No you don’t want to wait. Or no you don’t want to get married, or no you don’t want me—”
Sommer turned in his arms and pressed her fingers to his lips. “No. I don’t want to wait. Listen to me, cowboy. It sucks so many shades of awful that our children won’t have a granddad on my side, but we’ve got enough love to go around. I wish things were different, but I’ll be okay. With you, I’m always fine. Marry me, Rory. We’ll fill our home with love. Let’s make lots and lots of beautiful babies together.”
“Sugar, that’s a promise I look forward to keeping,” he said, shaking his head at the sight of his golden-eyed firecracker and her unshakeable strength. A lioness stared back at him, bearing the weight of disappointment with the grace of an angel.
His angel. His love.
And in a little while, his wife.
He brushed his mouth over hers, tenderly kissing her. “Mine,” he groaned into her mouth.
“And you’re mine,” she returned, smiling up at him. “Did the wedding party arrive without a hitch?”
“All set. If you are?”
“With all my heart, I’m ready,” she said, exhaling and squeezing his fingers.
*
Fifteen minutes ago.
When Rory came into the bedroom and the pained expression in his sapphire eyes transformed into something far worse than a raging storm, Sommer’s smile faltered. A chill skated up her spine as she waited for him to speak. Her fingers turned into popsicles as he relayed the news about her dad and stunned her into silence. From frozen, she felt torched—some freakish icy fire surged across her skin.
“Please, just let me go!” She broke free from Rory’s grasp, blindly searching for something. Anything to keep from crying.
Like what, I’m not worth my dad’s time or energy to say goodbye? This chaos couldn’t be happening again! Staring out the terrace doors, a hot tear slid down her cheek. Batting it away, she wanted to hurl something. Lose herself in the sound of lots and lots of glass breaking. Not dissolve into a cloud of frustration and anger, or miles and miles of hurt and disappointment.
She closed her eyes and fought to inhale. Once again she repeated the mantra: Dad left—walked away, and that was his issue. An old mantra that no longer fit.
Her fingers curled into balls. No way would her father walk away again, and take even more of her with him this time. This wasn’t something she would relegate to oblivion. Numb and in denial wasn’t how Sommer intended to begin her marriage. Starting right now, she’d feel every scintilla of her life with Rory!
On the night of their marriage, this was doorway. She wouldn’t splinter apart because her father made a hurtful choice; took the easier route and had left without a word. There would be no running this time, searching for something she’d had all along. The love of a good man.
If anything, she’d reclaim what she’d let go the last time: the pieces of her dream. The tears she’d shed. These would be her gift to Rory and herself on her wedding night.
Her cowboy drew her to him and she opened her eyes, taking in their reflection in the glass. They stood flush to one another, silent for seconds until he asked, ““Do you want to wait to get married?”
Turning in his arms, she met his intense blue eyes. God, she was totally, irrevocably ready to tie the knot with Rory.
“No,” she said.
Misunderstanding, he launched into a barrage of questions and she quieted him with a tender touch, quickly clarifying what she meant.
“No, I don’t want to wait,” she said at first, capturing his face between her hands. “I’m ready.” She filled Rory in on her plans.
This gorgeous cowboy, the boy who’d stolen her heart, was the man she’d spend the rest of her life loving.
Epilogue
Rory laced his fingers with hers, tugging lightly. They exited the bedroom, free from the burden of getting married just to clear a debt. A lightness dawned in him at the revelation: they were truly getting married! He chuckled at the low gasp that spilled from Sommer’s full pink lips as their bodies bumped and they grabbed on to each other as if they suddenly had trouble walking a step.
“Oh good Lord!” Jeff gushed, jumping up from the sofa. “Here comes the bride!”
Everyone stood and he steered Sommer to meet their guests. Jeff managed the introductions—a good thing, because at the sight of Paul opening the Bible, all Rory’s thoughts became tumbleweeds inside his brain.
Sommer softly laughed at Jeff commenting about getting hitched in Hollywood. When she looked over with a wide, perfect grin on her face, Rory felt a thud that gave way to a sonic boom, echoing in his chest. Paul began the traditional ceremony.
Rory tore his gaze away from Sommer’s beautiful face as the preacher said his name. Holding hands, he and Sommer were about to get hitched!
Standing out on the penthouse terrace, under the hazy glow of the stars, Paul announced that Rory could kiss the bride. Her. With a dose of his Texan charisma, her cowboy’s mouth crashed down on hers and it was like they were on a deserted island. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist, nothing short of bands of steel, and he hauled her close, and then closer to him in a kiss that couldn’t be quenched, not on the first go round.
Nervous laughter from the sidelines erupted. She and Rory sucked in their breaths, laughing a little as they shared a scorching glance. His full of fire and promise, flash burning her in sparks and sent tingling jolts racing through her body while she bit her bottom lip in anticipation.
“Lucky lip,” he whispered, brushing his cheek near her jaw. “It’s mine, just so you know, Mrs. McLemore.”
The cork from the champagne bottle popped, actually flying upward and she let out a little screech. “Can you believe it?” She leaned against Rory’s hard body and giggled. “We’re married.”
He leveled her with another seismically hot gaze. Long, unblinking blue fire, all at once powerful as it was cocky when coupled with his dimpled grin and cocked eyebrow—hers until kingdom come. “And I plan on delivering each of my promises, sugar. In due course.”
She smiled, and then softly gasped, recalling one hot promise about his palm and her bottom. “All of them?”
“Every last one.” He winked before piloting her toward the champagne being poured.
Paul passed out the flutes, pressing one into her hand. “To Mr. and Mrs. Rory McLemore.” Glasses clinked, each person to another, and the sounds of ringing crystal filled the night air.
She and Rory tapped their glasses together, then drank the fruity effervescence. A cloud of bubbles glided over her tongue, tickling her nose as the alcohol went straight to her head.
“A little something.” Anthony presented her with a small box, wrapped in white paper with a silver bow.
“Don’t open that right now,” Jeff patted her hand. Sipping his champagne, he winked over a
t her and smiled. Anthony, his partner, was just as cute as a button, feigning an austere front that gave way to teary eyes. Obviously his cover was blown, down deep Anthony was a card carrying romantic.
“Thank you for everything.” She leaned over and whispered to Jeff, “I’ll never, ever forget you.”
“Nor me, you.” He winked, giving Anthony’s arm a squeeze. “By the by, I sent Anthony’s sister a link to your shirt featured on Diehard’s website, and we need to talk. Serious talk. She owns a boutique in Beverly Hills. Nice Stuff. Just over yonder.” Jeff pointed his finger over the edge of the terrace railing.
“I’ll keep in touch, and not just because of fashion,” she vowed.
“Anthony, Paul. It’s getting late,” Jeff announced. “Nearly one in the morning and these kids need to get some rest.”
“Ah, yes.” Paul chuckled, shaking both of their hands simultaneously. “It was a pleasure marrying you. Sommer, you’re a lovely bride, and congratulations to you, Rory. Best wishes to you both.” The minister joined her and Rory’s hands and squeezed.
“Paul, thanks for marryin’ us on the fly. A fitting ceremony.” Rory removed a white envelope from his pocket.
“Goodnight.” Anthony smiled, his eyes tearing up again. He appeared as though he were about to walk past, but abruptly stopped, and reached out for a mini group-hug.
Rory thumped him on the back in that decidedly male way. So sweet to see someone crying at their wedding. Their wedding. In a snap her throat tightened, clogged by a mad rush of joy expanding inside her body.
Blinking away the mist stinging her own eyes, she released her own ecstatic giddy bubble with a giggle. “Thanks for coming, and for the gift.”
