The Bride Wore Starlight

by Lizbeth Selvig

  After ten minutes his heart stopped hammering from anticipation of an interrogation. It thrummed, instead, in anticipation of a chance to hold her—any part of her: hand, shoulders, waist. He wondered what it would be like to have all of her against him, and a flash of erotic desire sluiced through his body, lodging low and hot in his groin. But sex, while an arousing fantasy, wasn’t what he really wanted this minute. What he craved more than sex—as much as it maybe signaled the end of the world—was to make the healing serenity she exuded part of himself. If only he knew how.

  He should never have gone to Vince’s. Never should have set eyes on that horse. He definitely should have walked out before he’d told the story of the bet.

  On the other hand, he’d faced the specter of having to attend the rodeo, and he’d beaten it back. Vince would try new angles of persuasion—but his biggest gun hadn’t worked. Alec relaxed slightly and took one hand off the wheel to flex it. The motion relieved an unexpectedly high amount of tension. He repeated it with the other hand.

  “There,” she said. “You look better.”

  The words surprised him even though he felt their truth. “I do?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “You? For what?”

  “For not realizing from what you told me before we went to Vince’s how hard it was going to be for you. I should have said it was all right not to go.”

  She wasn’t going to do it—ask a million questions and make him tell her the rest of the Iraq story or the leg story or even the hat story. Against all logic, she would not hound him.

  “You had nothing to do with how hard this was or wasn’t,” he said. “I’m grateful you were there.”

  “It was interesting. Vince Newton is like someone out of a comic book. A fast-talking nice guy with no boundaries.”

  He laughed for the first time since his mentally unstable bout with laughter at Vince’s. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s just a . . . ” What was he?

  “An annoying friend.”

  “Understatement. Look, Joely, I’m the one who needs to be sorry—”

  She reached across the space in the cab and laid her hand softly on his bicep. “I told you. Don’t be sorry.”

  He wanted to argue with her, because that’s where he was most comfortable in their relationship, but he kept his sarcastic replies in check. In response, she stroked lightly down his arm. There was nothing sexual about the touch, and yet his body disagreed. His awareness of her scent—like fresh air and faint flowers—and of the energy in her warm, feminine-soft body, even with a slight distance between them, grew with each passing mile. She shifted in her seat and faced him more fully, her seatbelt pressing between her breasts, defining each as clearly as if she intentionally showed them off. He hardened like an undisciplined teenager. By the time he reached the front of the old stone store that housed her apartment, he wished with all his heart he had the cover of darkness for his walk to her door.

  Or covers on a mattress.

  That wasn’t fair. This was so far from asking for sex. She was only being kind.

  “You really don’t have to get out you know,” she said as he moved to unbuckle his seatbelt. “It’s broad daylight. I can get to my apartment fine.”

  He shifted in his seat, tempted to let her go just so he wouldn’t have to move. He couldn’t make himself end the nondate that way. It may have been only a field trip, but he’d gotten her into it, he’d acted like an idiot, and he needed to at least end it like a gentleman.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It isn’t because I think you can’t do it or even that I’m worried about you. I’m starting to think you could even handle the homeless dude if he was there.”

  “I hope he’s not. I don’t want to handle him. But, yeah. I could.”

  Alec went for honesty. “I just want to end this not being a jerk.”

  “Who said you were a jerk?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Let me walk you to your door.”

  She laughed. “Okay.”

  He managed to get himself under control and follow her slow progression along the sidewalk. No Mayberry camped on her porch. No husband waited for her to produce papers. She turned the key in her lock, pushed open the door, and faced him with a satisfied smile.

  “I have to say, that’s always kind of a rush. No lobby, no night nurses, no check-in routine. Nobody but you knows I was even out. I guess I was living in a cocoon.”

  “Told you, you could do it.”

  “You did.”

  He truly didn’t know what to do without the mocking banter between them. It left him lost for a course of action.

  “Well, thanks . . . ” he began.

  “Would you like to come to Sunday dinner at the ranch tomorrow?”

  Her request came out of nowhere. For one instant he almost said no, and then he comprehended that accepting meant he’d see her again.

  “I wouldn’t be intruding?”

  “Hardly. The more the merrier at Paradise. Not even lying.”

  “Okay. Can I give you a lift?”

  “Why do you think I invited you?’

  She stood there so casually with the little bit of early June breeze lifting stray curls of her honeyed hair and flipping it across the impish smile on her lips. She brushed the strands away with a sexy little flip of her hand. Her eyes shone a pretty ocean blue in the sun, and she set her crutches inside the apartment so she could lean back against her door jamb, her hands behind her. The pose thrust her breasts forward again and tipped her pelvis in his direction, but she had no clue she was striking a provocative pose. Staring at her long legs encased in well-worn denim, and her slender, sexy torso in a heathery blue T-shirt that matched her eyes and hugged her like a whisper didn’t help his imagination or his body any. His fingers suddenly itched to slip around her and pull her close so he could trace up her spine and burrow into her wind-blown hair.

  Her smile softened as they stared at one another, turning as warm as her eyes, as kind as her thank you, and as sexy as the cowboy-booted foot she set flat-soled against the door frame. His body mutinied once again, and he fought for a long moment to come up with an appropriate good-bye. He failed.

  Aw, hell, so much for gentlemanly behavior.

  He reached without warning her, without any kind of finesse at all, and hauled her into his arms. He stole the kiss and thrilled when her lips gave way beneath his, soft but motionless. Too late guilt at the callousness tugged at him, and he drew back, but then her mouth firmed and molded to his, pulling him back into the kiss. Thrills sliced down his body and settled as hard flutters in his stomach. She tasted his mouth, opening and closing her lips on his once, twice, and a third time. He caught her bottom lip gently between his, then worried the soft, hot inside of it with a scrape of his top teeth.

  She touched his lip with her tongue and licks of fire flew down the back of his neck.

  Fast, unplanned, sweeter than hard cider and smoother than good whiskey, they kissed until sense finally returned and Alec pulled away.

  “Okay,” he said, breathing hard and licking his lips.

  She mimicked him, and the sight of her tongue sealing in his kiss, dampening the spot his mouth had just conquered, took the strength out of his knees.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” she said.

  “Unplanned.” He tried to apologize, but he wasn’t sorry for the moment of magic.

  Taking a step back, he cocked his wrists and held his hand up in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You could come in.”

  He shook his head. No way would he trust himself in that small space with her. The only place more dangerous would be back in his truck. “Thanks. I think I need to let that be good-bye.”

  “Yeah.”

  He turned, knowing he should say something but having nothing to say that wouldn’t just aggravate the situation. She didn’t look angry. She didn’t even look confused. Her clear, blue eyes simply searched him as if looking for answers.<
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  “Tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Can you pick me up at one o’clock?”

  He nodded and left her in the doorway, turning around one time just before he took the corner around the building. She had already gone into her apartment. Well, hadn’t he just screwed that up royally?

  The occasion for dinner, Alec discovered, was Harper and Cole’s return from their honeymoon. They greeted him as warmly as if he were family, and he discovered the open friendliness he’d experienced at the wedding wasn’t reserved for special occasions. He also discovered where Joely had acquired her talent for the quick comeback. Ribbing was a way of life at the Crockett dinner table. If you couldn’t toss a verbal dart, you got left behind. And yet there was respect and deference to the two family matriarchs, Sadie and Bella. Alec knew for a fact both women were strong and needed no coddling. Nonetheless, they were treated like queens, especially by Cole and Gabe. The new sons-in-law missed no opportunities to step and fetch for their mother- and grandmother-in-law.

  He compared the picture of the Crocketts’ TV-family perfection with what he remembered of his early childhood and then life with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. His mother had been a high school math teacher and his father an over-the-road trucker. They’d seemed happy enough, but when his father was home, Alec remembered his mother scrambling to make his dad comfortable or happy or relaxed. She’d always lost the crisp efficiency and silly game playing they’d shared when Dad was gone.

  Once he’d moved in with Buzz’s family, life had been less of a roller coaster, but it had been all hard work and little play. His Aunt Christine had been a sturdy, no-nonsense farm wife who gardened, canned, cooked, butchered chickens, and kept house without complaint. Meals were served on time and without fail, and to this day she took great pride in her cooking. His Uncle Rick had been jovial enough, but he’d kept to his up-at-dawn, in-bed-by-dark schedule so that the days rarely varied in their routine, and Alec’s junior high and high school years blended together in his memory. He had few memories of joyous, free-for-all Sunday dinners like this.

  “We’re getting our new house by my birthday in August!” Mia and Gabe’s son Rory announced halfway through the meal.

  “You are?” Harper stopped a forkful of thick, gooey lasagna halfway to her mouth and looked from Rory to Mia. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “We finally got the loan secured the way we want it and the plans finalized. It took a lot of finagling, but they’ll break ground as soon as we return from California.”

  “Where I get to ride Pirates of the Caribbean,” Rory announced. “Pirates and a new house. Pretty cool honeymoon.”

  His audience seated around the massive dining room table burst into laughter. The boy was known for his precocious observations, but Joely had told him the kid could still crack up even the most staid adults.

  “I’d better hear you behaved yourself on this amazing honeymoon,” Sadie told him, waving her fork at him. “Most children don’t go on those.”

  “I know. It’s a fake honeymoon,” he replied. “The real one will be in six months.”

  He garnered more laughter.

  “And we know everyone thinks we’re crazy,” Mia added. “But we all three got married, so it’s only right that Rory comes along.”

  “But I want to go to Disneyland, too.” Harper adopted a high-pitched, whiny voice and held up her fork like a miniscule fencing blade. “No fair.”

  “Then you should have married my mom and dad.” Rory crossed his spoon with her fork, and the two twisted the utensils, clashing like musketeers over the colorful placemats beneath their plates.

  “I’m so glad you’re home again to teach him manners,” Mia said to Harper.

  “I’m bucking for the best aunt award,” Harper replied, the shaft of her fork clinking faster with Rory’s spoon.

  “Just wait until you have kids,” Mia said under her breath.

  Alec caught Harper’s wink at Joely. “Want to join in, Jo-Jo?” Harper asked. “I could use a little help. This kid’s pretty good.”

  “Hah!” said Rory.

  “I’m afraid I’d hurt one of you,” Joely replied. “I’ll get the next duel.”

  “You looking forward to a passel of kids you can let fence at the table?” Alec leaned close and whispered in Joely’s ear.

  It was the closest he’d let himself get to her all afternoon. His impulsive actions from the day before had turned out to have consequences of severe awkwardness. Neither of them knew exactly what to do or say, and he hated the feeling. He was no Clint Eastwood, or his kid, or the dude who played Thor, or whoever else women swooned over these days, but he’d always had plenty of luck with women. He’d been Mayhem Morrissey after all. As of yesterday, however, this woman had him completely off-kilter and flummoxed.

  “It’ll be a long time until I do the kid thing,” she said simply and stared at her plate.

  “Aw, kids are great,” he said, nodding to Rory. “You’d have pretty babies, that’s for sure.”

  He knew the instant the words left his lips that what he’d meant as a compliment to her beauty had come off as clumsy at best and inappropriate at worst. But it was the quick pallor and biting of her lip that sent the words boomeranging back into his thick skull and made him groan. Her husband had just told her his cheater girlfriend was pregnant. He set his hand lightly on her forearm and, this time, leaned all the way to her ear.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “That was the worst thing I could have said. I didn’t mean it to hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said and an anemic smile followed the words. “Forget it, really. It’s just a . . . thing with me at the moment.”

  “He’s a di—”

  “Douchebag,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “And so am I sometimes. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh brother.” She shook her head and finally looked at him. “Foot in mouth syndrome doesn’t make someone a jerk.”

  “All right, you two. Weapons down.” Bella’s voice halted both Alec’s conversation and the dueling silverware. “I’d best not hear of any Crockett boys causing trouble in Disneyland. Dueling stays at home.”

  “I won’t cause trouble,” Rory said, scooping up meat sauce with his spoon. “Aunt Harpo’s not coming, so I can’t.”

  “Whoa!” Harper laughed. “Blaming it on me, huh? You little rat.”

  Rory grinned and then both his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Hey, Uncle Cole. Hang your spoon. Show Alec!”

  Alec was surprised to be included in the child’s table anarchy. He eyed the boy with exaggerated skepticism. “Don’t get in more trouble because of me,” he said.

  “Nah. This is just funny.”

  “Grandma Sadie hates this trick,” Cole said. “We should wait.”

  “But Grandma Sadie does it best of all!”

  “I do hate this,” Sadie said, her voice full of admonishment but her eyes twinkling.

  “Do it. Do it, pleeeease!” Rory batted a pair of long, dark, very adorable-kid lashes. Alec wasn’t quite sure if the child did it on purpose or unconsciously. He was still only ten, but he was a transplanted city kid with no lack of cagey skills.

  “Rory, a little bit of fun at the table is great,” Gabe said. “But it’s not polite to interrupt the entire meal. Why don’t you eat now?”

  But Rory was giggling and pointing, and Alec turned to look. Side by side, Sadie and Cole sat stone-faced with the bowls of their spoons hanging from their noses.

  “You’re kidding me!” he said and failed at holding in a burst of laughter.

  One by one the others followed. Harper, Mia, Bella. When Joely turned to him, her eyes and mouth deadpan but her spoon hanging securely from the tip of her cute nose, Alec lost it. Never, never, ever would he have seen this kind of lunacy at either of his childhood tables. He caught Gabe’s eyes. His former CO was simply shaking his head.

  “I give up. I married into a lunatic asylum,” he said.

  “W
here’s your spoon?” Alec nearly choked on the question.

  “I have not got this particular talent,” Gabe admitted. “The ball and chain has tried to teach me, but my nose is evidently not built for it. Go ahead. Try it.”

  “I think I need to study the technique a little more before I try something so difficult,” he said.

  He looked to Rory, who was placing and replacing his spoon on his nose, only to have it repeatedly slip off into his lap.

  “Don’t give up, kiddo,” Harper said from behind her spoon. “You’ll find the sweet spot eventually, I promise.”

  Alec had no idea how long the contest would have continued, but it ended abruptly with the clearing of a throat at the door between the kitchen and the dining room. A couple spoon hanger participants grabbed the utensil from its spot, and the other spoons clattered onto plates.

  “Kjære Gud,” said the intruder.

  “Hey, Bjorn!” Harper called.

  “I’m, ah, sorry to interrupt.” The ranch foreman scratched the side of his nose as if not daring to say more.

  “Not at all,” Cole said. “What’s up? I know you wouldn’t come all the way in if it wasn’t important.”

  “Yeah, you just showed me why.” He took them all in as if they were hopelessly certifiable. “Even though that image is now burned into my brain and I regret it, a lot, I need to tell you that the little mustang mare is in labor, but there might be a problem. We’ve called Doc Ackerman, but she’s about an hour out.”

  “Damien Finney’s horse? Panacea? What’s going on?” Joely asked, setting her napkin atop her plate and standing. “When did you find her in trouble?”

  “She started pushing about fifteen minutes ago, but nothing’s happening. Baby should be out twenty minutes after they get to this point. Called the doc and she’s with a colic out at the Johnson place. She’ll get here soon as she can, but we don’t have that kind of time.”

  Cole stood up next and Harper patted his leg. “You and Joely are the horse experts,” she said. “Go. We’ll finish up and be down in a few minutes.”