“I haven’t worn flowers in my hair since college.” Since before she’d met Tom. She used to do fanciful things like that, she realized, and gradually she’d stopped. He’d been a master at stifling those silly impulses with an eye roll or an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“There’s a clump of yellow daisies growing right over there.” Chelsea pointed to a spot just beyond the tent. “Go pick one.”
“I don’t need to—”
“Come on. If you don’t, I will.”
“Oh, no, we can’t have that. You’d cancel out Finn’s noble gesture.”
“Then you go. That outfit just cries for a pretty yellow daisy in your hair. Look, there’s a daisy pattern in the material of your skirt! I just saw that. Now you have to do it.”
“Okay.” Smiling, Hope left her seat and walked over to the patch of daisies. Picking one reminded her of childhood summers spent lying in the grass, scribbling in a notebook, making up stories. She brought the flower back and handed it to Chelsea. “I don’t have a mirror.”
“I can do it. Hold still.” Chelsea tucked it gently behind Hope’s ear. Then she leaned back with an approving smile. “Perfect.”
“It doesn’t look silly?”
“No. It looks artistic. Are you, by the way? Phil said you were friends in high school, but that’s all I know.”
“I’m not artistic, but I’m sure you are! Marketing must be a fun job.” A good offense was the best defense.
“I love it. Something new going on every day. I have to stay on my toes, which is how I function best. You’re working in Cody, right? For one of the hotels?”
“I am. Good company. Terrific opportunities for advancement.”
“Sounds as if you love your job, too. What’s the best part?”
“Having people come back from their excursions bubbling over with enthusiasm. That’s a great feeling.” She wondered if her nose would start to grow. Sure, she enjoyed helping people have a good holiday experience, and it was gratifying when they were pleased with the trips she’d set up or the restaurants she recommended.
Bottom line—she liked her job, but she didn’t love it. She could leave it without a backward glance. She’d never admitted that to herself until now. This wedding and Liam were making her question everything about her new and quite orderly life.
And at last, here came that gorgeous man who was so wonderful and so worrying at the same time. He wore snug jeans, polished boots, a white shirt open at the collar and a black Stetson. Sharp. Sexy. Grady looked pretty good, too, but she barely noticed. She couldn’t see anyone but the man with the piercing blue eyes.
He took the chair on Hope’s left, and Grady settled down next to Chelsea. After everyone said hi, Grady and Chelsea picked up the discussion they’d been having this afternoon about marketing his sculptures in Seattle.
Liam smiled at Hope. “How’d you know I’m a sucker for a woman with a flower in her hair?”
“I didn’t. The flower is all Chelsea’s fault. She insisted I needed one.” The scent of his aftershave enveloped her, reminding her of lying in his arms on a blanket under the stars. Last night had been filled with nothing but mutual attraction. She longed to return to that simpler time.
“I don’t know that you need one. You’re beautiful without it.”
“Pretty words.” But they made her heart race.
“Pretty lady.” He reached over and ran his forefinger around the flower’s petals. “You don’t need this to look great, but I love what it says.”
“I picked a talking flower? What are the chances?”
He grinned. “I know. I haven’t seen a talking flower in a long time but you definitely have one right there. It just whispered to me that only very sexy women go around putting flowers in their hair.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear from a daisy.”
“I believe this one.”
Next to her, Grady and Chelsea chattered away about gallery possibilities and shipping options, which left her with the perfect opportunity to talk with Liam. She gazed at him, a man she’d had sex with the night before, a man to whom she’d revealed her darkest secrets only hours ago.
When they were truly alone, they seemed to have plenty to talk about. Or if they weren’t talking, they were kissing, or...best not to think about that now. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Under the circumstances, small talk seemed dumb.
He regarded her with amusement, as if he understood her dilemma and shared it. “Think it’ll rain?”
“Hope not.” And there they were, stuck talking about the weather. If they’d been strangers, she’d have asked him about his job the way Chelsea had asked about hers. “What’s your favorite thing about taking people out on a rafting trip?”
She’d obviously startled him with an out-of-the-blue question. But after a moment, he came up with an answer. “It strips away the nonessentials.”
“Like what?”
“They show up with the gear we require, but it’s the baggage you can’t see that weighs them down. They begin the trip thinking about whether stocks or bonds are a better deal. They’re having an internal debate about whether to sell their house or remodel it. They’re wrapped up in the current political drama or the prospects of their favorite team. Then they get out on the water, and none of it matters. They’re living in the moment, maybe for the first time in their lives.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “That’s a great answer.”
“It’s a great question.”
“I was only trying to—”
“Fill an awkward silence. I know. But when you’re creative, when you’re curious about people and what makes them tick, you naturally come up with stuff. Like I said—awesome question.”
“That’s ridiculous. Anyone could have thought to ask you that.”
He held her gaze. “No, Hope, they couldn’t, and they don’t. Nobody’s ever come up with that question. Grady might if he didn’t already know the answer. We’ve spent hours talking about why we love what we do.”
“What does he love about metal sculpture?” The question was instinctive, but the minute she’d asked it, she wished she hadn’t.
“Being allowed to use his imagination. Bringing something into the world that didn’t exist before, at least not in that form. Because he uses recycled materials, the individual pieces existed but not in that configuration.”
Writers recycled words in the same way, gathering them up and stringing them together to make something new. She felt him watching her, gauging her reaction. She wanted to look away and hide the turmoil he could probably see in her eyes, but that would be the coward’s way out. She and Tom used to talk about the joy of bringing something into existence. “That’s great.”
“It is. I love talking to him because he’s a creative thinker.” He hesitated and his expression softened. “So are you. It’s a special—”
“I believe we were talking about Grady.”
He shrugged. “Then forget I said it.”
“Like I can.” But she’d been the one who’d stumbled into this messy topic, so she couldn’t really blame him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t forget it. “
“Liam, I—”
“And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject, because I don’t want to argue.” He smiled. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to say anything more, either.”
“About anything?”
“That’s right. Talking will only get me in trouble.”
“I don’t know who you’re in trouble with, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”
“I’m not in trouble with anyone. I’m just in trouble, period.”
“Why is that?” His blue gaze searched hers.
<
br /> She swallowed. “Until yesterday I thought I was doing fine, and now I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t panic. You are doing fine.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with her stomach in knots.” She couldn’t believe she’d admitted that, but it was too late to take it back.
He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb as he looked into her eyes. “Am I part of the problem?” His voice was laced with concern.
“You are, but it’s a combination of things, including the wedding. I didn’t realize it would affect me to see how happy Phil and Damon are together, but apparently it does.”
“I can’t fix that, but I can fix my part in all of this. I’ll admit I’ve poked my nose in your business, and I have no right to. Apparently I can’t help myself, so the best thing is for me to back off.”
She tightened her grip on his hand. “Please don’t.”
“I don’t want to cause you any more stress.”
“Sometimes you do, but—”
“Seriously, Hope, we should rethink the plan if I’m making you more anxious. The last thing I want is—”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She lowered her voice. “You’re desperate to help me, and I appreciate that so much. But I’d be lying if I denied that you cause me stress. You make me think about things I’d rather not.”
He sighed. “I know.”
“That’s the bad news. But the good news is...”
“What? Give me some good news, because I’m feeling like a real jerk right now.”
“The good news is that you’re the best stress reliever I’ve ever met.”
12
LIAM DIDN’T FEEL particularly noble for accepting Hope’s flattering statement as a reason to continue their affair. But she was right. Good sex was a time-honored stress reducer, and apparently he provided that for her. She wanted him to keep on providing it until they both returned to Cody.
She’d hinted that she was a little envious of Phil and Damon, and as Liam watched the rehearsal, he felt an unwelcome jab of envy, too. They made it look so easy. Yet Liam knew the relationship hadn’t been easy at all. Damon had told him how he’d stubbornly clung to his belief that he was destined to live alone, and he’d almost lost Phil as a result.
People became damaged in so many ways. Liam counted himself lucky that his irresponsible dad had taken off before he was born. Grady’s dad had stayed a little longer, but their mom had kicked him out just in time. If that loser had been allowed to stick around, he and Grady would have been messed up for sure. Instead they’d been protected by their fierce mother, and when she’d been laid up, unable to do the job, Rosie and Herb had stepped in. Hope’s parents might have tried to keep her safe, but they hadn’t counted on a creep like Tom. They also didn’t know what Tom had done to her, and that was a damn shame. She’d denied herself their comfort.
So now her temporary sex partner—he couldn’t consider himself anything more—was the only person who knew what she’d been through. And he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. He wouldn’t, either, first because he’d promised and second because talking about it caused her stress.
But he had a problem, and it wasn’t a small one. He’d watched Grady blossom and knew that a creative person needed a satisfying outlet. His brother craved time alone in his studio, and Liam’s rafting schedule gave Grady that. When Liam arrived home after a week away, Grady was always glowing with a sense of accomplishment and eager to show off his progress. Grady without his sculpting wouldn’t have been the same person.
Hope had abandoned her writing, so where was that bottled up creativity going? She’d mentioned some crafts, but he didn’t get the feeling she was into any of them. He pictured her imaginative urges building like a pressure cooker about to explode, or worse yet, festering and destroying her zest for life. He couldn’t accept that a person who’d worked on a book for years could suddenly shut down the whole operation.
If he’d been a different kind of man, he could have dismissed those worries and simply enjoyed the sex. Chances were good that a fair amount of her frustration would be channeled into getting it on with him. He was willing to relieve her stress, but he wasn’t willing to siphon off her creativity.
He’d read a book that claimed each person contributed a unique gift to the world. His was introducing folks to the Zen of the wilderness. Grady’s was welding recycled metal into beautiful works of art. What if Hope’s was writing stories to capture a reader’s imagination? She was denying her gift.
He was still holding her hand when the rehearsal ended. “I think that went well.”
“You do? Really?” Grady stood and offered an elbow to Chelsea, who laughingly waved him off as she carefully made her way over to the carpeted aisle.
“Everybody seemed to be having a good time,” Hope said.
“That may be so.” Grady caught Chelsea by the elbow when she stumbled on a wrinkle in the carpet. “But they have no idea who’s supposed to be in charge of the ring.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Hope said. She’d made no attempt to free her hand as they walked behind Chelsea and Grady.
“Then they should draw straws,” Grady said. “It’s nuts having three guys all be the best man.”
“They get points for originality, though.” Chelsea gave in and clutched Grady’s arm as she wobbled along on her stilettos. “I’ve never been to a wedding with three best men and three matrons of honor. I mean, two matrons of honor and one maid. In any case, I like the idea that Phil and Damon thumbed their noses at traditional roles. That bridal hierarchy never appealed to me in the first place.”
“Me, either,” Hope said. “If you have several good friends or cherished relatives, why be forced to elevate one to the privileged position?”
“Exactly.” Chelsea glanced over her shoulder and exchanged a look of solidarity with Hope.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Grady said. “And I’m all for shaking up the status quo, but you need a plan or you have chaos. Hey, Chelsea, here comes your one and only.” He called out to Finn. “I’ve done my best to keep her upright, bro. In return she’s promised to talk me up at a primo Seattle art gallery.”
Finn laughed. “Sounds like a fair exchange.”
“I hate to admit it,” Chelsea said, transferring her hold from Grady to Finn, “but these shoes are a pain in the tuckus.”
“Yeah.” Finn put a supportive hand around her waist. “But they’re sexy as hell.”
“Assuming that she doesn’t fall on her tuckus,” Grady said. “That would really sabotage the sexy.”
Chelsea gazed up at Finn. “Grady’s right, so it looks like you’ll have to keep a tight grip on me throughout the evening so I don’t fall.”
“And you know how I’ll hate doing that.” Finn’s adoring expression telegraphed exactly how far gone he was.
And now Liam envied him, too. He’d never had that reaction to happy couples until today. Maybe he’d become too invested in someone who had no intention of sticking around.
“Yeah, helluva job to be saddled with, O’Roarke,” Grady said. “Come on, everybody. Let’s go get us some eats and drinks. I smell steak on the barbie.”
“Great. I’m starving.” Anyone hearing Hope’s comment would have assumed she was ready to party.
But Liam thought she might be faking it, so as they walked over to the fire pit, he gave her hand a squeeze in a show of support. Her return squeeze was enough to activate his protective instincts, and after years of watching over Grady, he knew how easily he slipped into that role. The trick might be slipping back out at the end of the week.
Grady’s wire mesh over the fire had worked like a charm, and the r
esulting coals were perfect for grilling. Cade, Damon and Finn had appointed themselves cooks for the evening, and Herb was the bartender. Liam offered to help, but he was directed to a bench, where he and Hope were given their beverage of choice and ordered to stay put.
“You can be on cleanup duty after dinner, bro,” Cade said.
“Be glad to.”
“I can help clean up later, too,” Hope said.
Cade grinned at her. “I appreciate the offer, but the guys are gonna handle it. By the way, that flower looks real nice in your hair.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks turned pink.
“It does look great.” Phil walked over and sat on Hope’s other side. “Reminds me of the old days. You could always tell when school was almost out for the summer because a bunch of us girls would pick wildflowers and put them in our hair. It was fun.”
Hope laughed. “They weren’t always wildflowers, either. Remember sneaking into Mrs. Eddleston’s yard?”
“Yes! And then we pooled our babysitting money and bought her four rosebushes because we had an attack of conscience.” She glanced at Liam. “Just to let you know we weren’t really bad girls.”
“Thanks.” Liam grinned at her. “I was worried.”
“We probably could have just asked for the flowers.” Hope turned to him. “But we were afraid of her. There was this rumor going around school that she’d done away with her husband and buried him under the rosebushes.”
“Which we found out wasn’t true,” Phil said. “My dad overheard me talking about it and told me they got a divorce. Apparently Mr. Eddleston was very much alive and living in Idaho. So we bought her the rosebushes. And Hope wrote a song that we all sang when we presented them.”
“Oh, my God, I forgot about that song.”
“Really? I might still be able to sing it.”
Hope turned bright red. “No, don’t.”
Liam went on alert. “Phil...”
“Trust me, Liam. It’s adorable. Mrs. Eddleston loved it. We all did. Besides, I was in choir. I’m a good singer.”
“Yes, you are,” Hope said, “but it’s not a good song. Don’t sing it.”
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