The Bride Wore Starlight

by Lizbeth Selvig

  She whipped her head around to find Alec looking down at her. He placed a hand on each handle of her chair and leaned forward. The exquisite scent of spice and musk muddled her head, and all she could fashion for thoughts was that her face flamed hot and he looked like a very tall, cold drink of danger-laced water. She couldn’t even muster up anger at “pretty.”

  “It was a lovely wedding,” she said.

  “Lovely?” He grinned. “That sounds a little understated. I saw you hip-hopping your way out here. Thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

  That did it. The man was nothing but a one-annoying-trick pony. Same lines over and over. Her fog cleared and she leaned forward herself, bringing their faces just inches apart.

  “Knock it off,” she said. “I don’t like the dancing jokes. I don’t like the pretty Joely jokes. Stop ruining the wedding for me.”

  Once again he seemed anything but taken aback. He straightened and smiled. “It won’t seem like a joke once you’ve danced with me.”

  The smallest hint of something more than teasing glinted in his eye, but she couldn’t read it. It had to be the wedding buzz—everything about it, people included, was affecting her brain.

  “I’m not dancing with anybody,” she said.

  He stood and shocked her again by holding out his hand. “Fine. Then at least walk with me down the outside stairs. It’ll be faster than going all the way around the back to use the ramp.”

  “I’m perfectly happy to use the ramp.”

  “No you aren’t. You don’t want to stand out, right? Just stick with me and you won’t.”

  The man was unbelievable. What was his obsession with torturing her?

  “I can grab three strong guys to help me haul you and the chair down together, like a queen on her litter. Would you rather that?”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Not a thing.” He laughed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She couldn’t believe this conversation was taking place moments after a beautiful wedding ceremony, with Bruno Mars still singing the guests out of the church. Alec Morrissey was a lunatic. A borderline mean one.

  “Would you like a run-down?” Petulance and anger mixed to form a sort of hissing retort, like she was a cat being forced to swim.

  “Of what’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Other than being the most defensive maid of honor I’ve ever met, you mean? No. I already know you have a leg that doesn’t function properly, and I totally understand that. I’ve also heard you can stand on your own, so I assumed you could hop down the steps if forced. I’m willing to act as a helper, that’s all. Other than that, the list of what’s wrong can’t be all that long.”

  Cramps and muscle spasms when she did try to hop, a crooked spine that loved to cause her pain, scars on more than her cheek . . . She thought about throwing all the proof of how wrong he was in his face, but a stab of pride kept her from letting them fly. How did he know so much about her anyway?

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why have you chosen me to pick on? Because I’m the poor girl in the wheelchair? Do you have a bet with one of the other guys that you can get me to dance and make a fool of myself? Are you fascinated with disfigurement?”

  “Hey.” He stopped her with the firm word and the first flash of anger in his eyes. “I don’t do things like that. I don’t know anyone who would. And you need to stop doing them to yourself. I saw a beautiful woman who intrigued me, so I asked about her. That’s the whole of it. So stop making yourself more important than you are, stand up, and take my arm.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand, thinking it would hold in a stream of furious retorts. What flowed around her palm instead was laughter—first a snort, then helpless giggling, and finally a full-fledged laugh.

  “Unbelievable,” she said, when she could. “You have to be the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  “As well as a liar. Alec Morrissey. No cowboy my broken ass.”

  He leaned down again and whispered this time. “Your ass ain’t what’s broke. I asked. If it were, we’d have come up with a different plan.”

  Once more her mouth opened in surprise, and then she caught an unmistakable glint in his eyes. She snapped her jaw closed and released a resigned sigh. “I can’t deal with you. Go away.” But the corners of her mouth twitched mutinously.

  “C’mon, Joely.” He took a step back and held out his hand. “I’m not proposing a lifelong commitment. Just let me take you on a short walk, and then you can be done with me.”

  “That’s all it will take?”

  “For now.” He raised and lowered his brows in an abbreviated waggle.

  “Heck,” she said. “That’s no kind of promise.”

  He smiled. For the first time, she noticed he had two shallow, handsome dimples.

  Dang.

  Harper, Cole, Mia, and Gabe had the church doors open and were leading the way outside. Half the wedding party followed, but Russ Wainwright and Raquel appeared next to Alec.

  “Can we help you down the stairs, Joely, sweetheart?” Russ asked.

  She glanced at Alec, who merely shrugged to tell her it was her choice.

  She shook her head and reached for Alec’s grasp. “I think I’ve got it. Would you just grab the chair?”

  “Sure thing.”

  The contact with Alec’s strong, long-fingered hand didn’t do anything to quell the annoyance dancing in her stomach. Or was it attraction? Or just a very long time since a man had taken her hand?

  The reminder that she was a married woman flashed through her like lightning, but it was too late to do anything about it; Alec held her hand fast. And as soon as her way was cleared, he tugged gently and braced his feet so she could stand and get her solid leg beneath her.

  “There you go,” he said.

  Her eyes came level with the button of his simple, flat cross tie. That put him at roughly six feet, she thought inanely, although, in truth, no thoughts but inane ones filled her head. Up close his eyes shone a dark, rich amber, and his full, upturned lips made him appear prone to smiling. His hat looked so natural on him he might well have been born with it on.

  Yeah. Not a cowboy her butt . . .

  “I’m going to let you go, and you take this arm.” He held out his right elbow. “Just think of me as a human hiking stick.”

  He hadn’t said “cane.” He hadn’t said “crutch.” She offered a tentative, grateful smile, took a deep breath, and nodded. Raquel shot her two thumbs-up and took Russ’s arm, pleased as a kid who’d gotten her way.

  What could have been horribly awkward turned out to be an easy experiment in forming a partnership. Alec seemed to know instinctively how to step where she needed him for support, and his arm offered a perfect grip that she could lean into as firmly as she wanted. It took a dozen or so strides to get the coordination right, but slowly she figured out how to step firmly with her right leg and use Alec’s weight to help swing and step quickly with her left. She’d walked like this with two crutches, but this felt so quasi normal—she almost enjoyed it.

  Almost.

  They came to the stairs, and she froze. A flat path was easy. Going up stairs was awkward but doable. But going down threw her weight forward, and she didn’t have the strength or balance to keep from pitching headfirst down the flight.

  “We’re doing great,” he said. “There are only six.”

  Again she noticed the difference in how he spoke to her. “We’re doing fine,” he’d said. She didn’t know this man from any random person, and yet he knew how to speak as if they’d been doing this forever. Most impressively, he didn’t sound like a physical therapist.

  “I really should have a body on the other side, too,” she admitted reluctantly. “I suck at stairs.”

  “Here’s the deal.” He removed her hand from his elbow and took it with his left, then wrapped his right arm loosely around her waist. “It
’s your balance that’s got you spooked. You haven’t practiced with it, but your left leg is strong enough. Trust yourself. You know the drill: bad leg—”

  “First,” she finished. “Yes. But it doesn’t hold my weight.”

  “Eventually it will, but for now we’ll step together, and you lean into me when you’re using that leg.”

  How did he know so effortlessly to tell her what to do? It dawned on her that he’d probably had plenty of bangs and bruises when he’d been on the circuit—this was likely second nature for him. And now lucky for her.

  They navigated the stairs like they’d been doing it for years. She’d never have made it on her own, and such an exercise had been clunky at best with a physical therapist. When she stood at the bottom of the steps without aid of a crutch or two side walkers, her satisfaction had to rival that of any successful mountain climber’s.

  “Wow,” she said, unable to keep the pleasure from her voice.

  “Why are you surprised? You’re a ranch girl; you’re tough.”

  The compliment—because it was one the way he’d said it—took her aback. She hadn’t been anything more than a suburban California trophy wife for four years. And she was the furthest thing there was from tough. Her body had proven to her in a hundred ways over the past eight months just how fragile she was. Already her lower back was tightening and her good leg aching as she stood there contemplating Alec’s words.

  “I’m not really a ranch girl.” She leveled her gaze at him with a sardonic smile. “I only wear the boots because they’re comfortable.”

  To her satisfaction, the slightest deepening of his skin tone proved he caught her jab. Still, he grinned. “Touché.”

  “Do you need this, or shall we put it in the car?” Raquel pushed her chair up beside her and Joely shook her head.

  “It’ll be a while until we leave for the reception. There are pictures to take. I’ll sit.”

  Alec released her waist and held her hands while she maneuvered into the chair seat.

  “Thanks for escorting me out of the church,” he said and flashed his dimples.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at him. He really had said everything perfectly. “My pleasure. Glad I thought of it.”

  He raised her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. The antiquated practice was so unexpected she couldn’t speak. He spoke for her. “Next we dance.”

  “I . . . ”

  He left before she could say another word, and she stared after him, watched him greet Harper and Mia, giving each a huge hug and kiss on her cheek, and marveled at his easy greeting of their grooms—slapping each on the back and shaking hands. He moved like a beautiful, confident athlete, a runner or a . . . well, a bronc rider—with perfect grace and balance. No wonder she’d felt so secure beside him. He walked with a half-swagger, half-rolling stroll that it looked like nothing could topple. She’d spent a brief five minutes in his care, and now she missed it—missed the few seconds of illusory independence his support had given her. It was the first of even that little bit of confidence since the accident.

  With effort she tore her gaze from him and tried to remember how annoying he’d been all morning. And how bossy he was. And how she would plan her escape from his insistence she dance. But as she rolled herself into position for a reception line before pictures, all she could really remember was the feel of his arm around her waist and how effortless it had seemed for him to walk her down those impossible stairs.

  She steeled herself for the rush of guests and their words of greeting and sympathy. After a time, however, she numbed her emotions to cries such as, “Oh, Joely, you’re looking wonderful,” or “We’re so grateful to God that you’re all right.”

  Smiling and nodding grew easier, and eventually she even greeted old friends, whom she was honestly glad to see, with genuine warmth. Her shoulders had relaxed, and her self-consciousness was easing when the last of the guests came through the line. One more duty performed and one step closer to the end, she thought.

  She heard the familiar voice before she saw its owner. For an instant she went perfectly still, knowing her imagination had to be playing tricks on her. Leaning forward in her chair, she glanced down the line, and her stomach made a queasy flip.

  She nudged Harper. “Really? You invited her?”

  Harper looked, and a frown blossomed on her face. “Of course I didn’t. Mia wouldn’t have either. She has to have finagled a date. Wait. Look, who she’s with—Brett Johnson. He’s a friend of Cole’s, and he was on the list. She must be his plus-one.”

  “I thought he was smarter than that,” Harper mumbled.

  “A lot of time has passed,” Harper said gently. “Maybe she’s mellowed.”

  They both knew she hadn’t. Her reputation hadn’t changed since she’d been a teenager.

  Heidi Maria Bisset—emphasis on the second syllable and don’t forget it.

  Joely had built her high school and college reputation on being the girl who got along with everyone. She’d been very good at it, too, with everybody except one person.

  “Hi, Joely. Remember me?” Heidi Bisset stepped in front of her and squatted, her face pained and kindly, as if she were talking to an old woman with dementia.

  “It’s only been five years, Heidi. Oddly enough my brain wasn’t wiped clean in the accident.”

  “The accident!” Heidi gasped, and her hand with its long, exquisitely manicured nails floated down to rest on Joely’s thigh. “I’m so sorry about your face and your leg. What a devastating outcome for you. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “I am. Thank you.” Joely held her tongue.

  “I think you’re so brave,” Heidi continued. “Out and about in public and not being self-conscious of your handicaps. You’re an inspiration.”

  They were twenty-seven-year-old women, but listening to the obsequious whine in Heidi’s false compliments sent Joely all the way back to school again. Heidi was a stunning woman, the way she’d been a stunning girl, with legs to make a thoroughbred racehorse envious and skin still as flawless as fresh cream. Yet she’d been envious of Joely their whole lives. The old rivalry was ridiculous. Especially now when Joely was no longer any kind of competition for Heidi to worry about.

  “You look good, Heidi.” Joely managed not to grit her teeth.

  “Why, thank you!” Heidi’s cloying smile showed she still loved a compliment. “You’ll always look good no matter what’s happened.” Her fingers skimmed down her own cheek. “It’s hardly noticeable.”

  Before Joely could process the woman’s sheer, ballsy rudeness, Harper reached for Heidi’s hands and pulled her into a hug. “It’s such a surprise to see you,” she said.

  Joely owed her sister something huge in repayment for that. She turned to Heidi’s date, the hapless Brett Johnson, who wished her well. The last four guests filtered past and once again Joely was startled to find Alec beside her.

  “So,” he asked, watching Heidi and Brett head off toward their car. “Who’s the beauty queen?”

  Joely stared at him. Did he know how far into his mouth that comfortable cowboy boot of his was, or was he truly clueless?

  “Wanna meet her?” The words came out with a little more piss and vinegar than they should have.

  “Oh, I met her. Heidi Bisset. Her poor date had to stand there while she promised in no uncertain terms to get better acquainted at the reception. Just wondering if she’s anyone I should beware of.”

  “Maybe,” Joely said, fighting a sudden spark of uncalled-for jealousy. “She’s the only person who’s ever threatened to kill me.”

  Chapter Four

  JOELY CROCKETT FOSTER was funny, which was not what Alec had been led to expect.

  He found himself shaking his head and laughing more than once during the next hour’s photo session. As he coaxed Joely more and more often into leaving the confines of her chair for pictures, she loosened up, and he got a tiny taste of her natural humor and ability to perfectly time a great sn
arky comment. After a little while she seemed to lose the little black cloud she’d dragged with her to the wedding.

  “Talk to Joely. Maybe compliment her a little. She needs someone besides her family to cheer her up.” Gabe had come to him that morning, and along with the request he’d told Alec about her horrendous car accident, the interminable rehab she was still undergoing, and its limited success.

  Alec had agreed equitably, with no ulterior motives. Talking with a woman would be easy enough. Bringing her a drink and complimenting her dress were tricks any decent pickup man had learned in high school. All were acts that would be as easy for him as falling off a bronc and just as quick to perform. He’d looked on Gabe’s request as a chance to rack up a good deed for the weekend.

  But from Gabe’s simple request, Alec had formed a mental picture of a sad, shy, somewhat frightened young girl with a broken body. The permanent images in his brain of all the frightened-faced, broken men he’d seen in Afghanistan had only fed the preconception. When he heard “injured limbs,” that’s simply where his mind went.

  He couldn’t have been more mistaken. Joely Crockett was not only crazy beautiful, she was strong and stubborn if a little self-pitying. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t walk a step without help, she had the sculpted, attractive arms of a gym rat, which told him she wasn’t weak. So she had a six-inch scar that zigged from mid-ear to her throat. It took nothing away from her heart-shaped face, flawless complexion, and piercing blue eyes. It was those eyes that had told him how wrong he’d been. They did show sadness, but not in a scared, shy way. Her sorrow went far deeper than the loss of mobility or the insult to her face. It was the kind of sadness that spoke of failure, and he recognized it. He just didn’t know her well enough to understand why she believed she’d failed.

  Once the photographer was finished and Alec had secured all the bridesmaids into a borrowed van with Joely secure in the passenger seat, he climbed behind the wheel and twisted to look at the full load of gorgeous females ready for the trip back to Paradise Ranch.

  “All aboard and settled?” he asked.