by Katy Regnery
“I can only imagine,” she answered, her voice thick with laughter. “He is a terrible rascal.”
“But not your type,” said Rory quickly, looking up at her on the ladder and feeling like Romeo in the garden looking up at Juliet.
“No, Rory,” she said softly, her lips tilting up, her eyes tender. “Ian’s not my type at all.”
They locked eyes as Sam Cooke’s strong voice filled the barn with the gentle, lilting words, Folks say that you found someone new…
Rory’s mouth dropped open and he smiled up at her. “Oh, my God. This song. This is such a good song. Come on down here, mo mhuirnín.”
She grinned at him, resting the long strand of lights on the top of the ladder and climbing down to stand in front of him.
Without asking her permission, one of his hands landed on her hip, pulling her close, as the other reached for her hand, clasping her fingers in his. “Dance with me?”
Still smiling, her brown eyes filled with something so tender, it made his stomach flip over. She nodded, stepping closer to him as they started moving to the music.
This love of ours could always start anew…
And just like that, Rory was fifteen again, standing in the shadows of the old barn, watching Brittany Manion dance with one of the Mathison boys. He could still feel it in his gut—that proprietary feeling that made him yearn to smash his fist in Travis Mathison’s face and take his place—to feel Brittany Manion’s hand clasping his instead, her sweet, soft body pressed against his, her kind brown eyes looking earnestly into his.
Just call my name. I know I’m not ashamed. I’ll come running back to you.
Gazing down at her, the past and present intersected seamlessly, his mother’s insistence on no fraternizing somehow dovetailing with the eventuality of holding her in his arms one day. He just wished he’d known then. It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, his adolescent body raging with hormones, hard and desperate, the object of his desire fast asleep down the path in Lady Margaret.
“What are you thinking?” she asked breathlessly.
“What I would have given to do this when I was kid.”
Her nerves betrayed her when her face broke into a too-wide smile. “What? No. You never looked my way.”
“Sweet girl, I was always looking your way.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, her warm breath gently fanning the base of his throat. “Maybe once or twice, but when I caught you, you’d frown and walk away.”
He readjusted his grip on her hand so that their fingers were intertwined. “No fraternizin’, remember?”
“But Ian—”
“—broke the rules and got the spoon.”
He pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. He could feel the points of her nipples through her T-shirt, and blood funneled to his groin. Did she want him too? Half as badly as he wanted her?
“Rory,” whispered Brittany, her lips so close to his ear that his eyes fluttered closed for a split second, “I wish you’d broken the rules.”
His dick hardened as though on command, and he resisted the urge to pull her yet closer, to grind the evidence of his deep desire into the sweet, soft place between her thighs.
“Me too,” he managed to grind out.
I’ve got my pride, but deep down inside, I’m yours and yours alone.
The hand on his shoulder edged its way to the back of his neck, her fingers threading into his hair, her voice soft and deep. “Rory…I’ve been meaning to ask…what does, um, mavorneen mean? You’ve said it once or twice, and I…I was just…”
Mo mhuirnín.
Drawing back from her just a touch, he looked into her eyes before his gaze slid to her lips. “It’s Gaelic for ‘my sweetheart.’”
“Oh.” She gasped, arching her back just a little bit, her lips parting in welcome as he leaned closer—
“Hey, Rory! Tonight, right? For roping the…oh, shit.”
Jolted from the sweetness of the dreamlike moment, Rory’s neck whipped left to find Ian standing in the doorway of the barn.
CHAPTER 12
“Shite,” muttered Ian, looking back and forth between Brittany and Rory with wide eyes before grimacing. “Tá brón orm, Rory.”
I’m sorry.
Brittany stiffened in Rory’s arms, then stepped away from him, laughing nervously as she darted her glance to Ian and then back to Rory. Her dilated eyes and the bloom in her cheeks made his heart ache as she dropped her hand from the back of his neck and untangled her hand from his.
“I should probably go,” she said, her voice low and breathy, her breasts rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Fuck Ian!
“N-No!” stuttered Rory as Sam Cooke wrapped up his song. “It’s fine—”
“Stay!” cried Ian. “I’ll go!”
“Good night, Rory,” she said, grabbing her jacket from the table and sticking her tongue out at Ian as she rushed from the barn into the night.
Rory watched her go, knowing that his dick was straining against the front zipper of his jeans for Ian’s amusement, but he didn’t give a shit. He’d been so close…so close…
“Oh, man…I am so…fucking…sorry,” muttered Ian, still standing by the door.
Rory ran a hand through his hair, considering whether he should run after Britt or let her go. Clenching his jaw and taking a deep breath, he decided to let her go. She didn’t need him—and his overeager dick—racing after her into the night.
He blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Well, that sucked. Thanks a ton, Ian.”
“I guess we got our wires crossed. I thought…”
“I left a message with Tierney, canceling.”
“Huh. Well, I didn’t get it. She was still up at the palace when I left.” He gestured to the half-finished lights, shrugging out of a tan barn jacket. “Looks like you could use my help finishing up.”
“Yeah,” muttered Rory. “Fine.”
Ian looked up at the lights Rory and Britt had already roped. “So…I was pretty sure, but now I’m positive.”
“About…?”
With his usual annoying way of sliding into conversations from the side, Ian rubbed his dark beard and gave his brother a shit-eating grin. “You’re in love with her.”
“Oh, Christ.” She was still healing from her breakup, and Rory wasn’t some asshole to push her when she was vulnerable. In fact, it was probably a good thing that Ian interrupted them when he did, all things considered. “She just got dumped.”
“Mmm. Not really. That was, like, over a month ago.”
“Exactly. It can take a long time to heal from something like that.”
“She looks pretty healed to me.”
Rory clasped the back of his neck where Brittany’s fingers had just been teasing and gave his brother a look. “Can we not do this right now, man? Can you just help me finish up?”
“She’s hot,” said Ian, his tone baiting.
Rory dropped his hand and fisted his fingers. “Do not go there, Ian. I’m serious.”
“Just tell me this,” said Ian, placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side, “are you in love with her or not?”
“I barely know her.”
“Um, no. That’s not true. You’ve let her get closer to you than anyone else…ever. At this point, I’d say she’s edging up on me and Tier. So, answer the question: Do you love her or not?”
“Just shut the fuck up and help me, huh?”
“Sure. I get it.” Ian took a deep breath, climbing up the ladder to resume Brittany’s work roping the rafters. He looked down at his brother. “Well, you know what, Rory? This is kind of great for me, because she’s awesome, and if you’re not into her, I think I’ll ask her—”
“You do it, and I’ll fucking hurt you, Ian,” Rory growled, feeling murderous. “I don’t care if you’re my brother or not. You’ll need a fucking ambulance when I’m done.”
“But you don’t love
her,” Ian mocked from his perch.
“I don’t want to talk about this!” yelled Rory, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration. She was Brittany Manion. His teenage fantasy. An heiress. A woman who’d just gotten out of a shitty relationship. The last thing she needed was Rory making a move on her.
“Fine with me,” said Ian, climbing back down the ladder for another strand of lights. “We’ll stop talking about it…as soon as you admit you love her.”
“I don’t even—”
“ADMIT IT!” bellowed Ian, his voice reverberating off the old barn walls as he stepped forward into Rory’s space, chest to chest with his brother.
“Christ!” shouted Rory, flattening his hands on his brother’s chest and shoving so hard that Ian stumbled backward. “You pushy fuck! Of course I fucking love her…much good it’ll do me!”
“Yes!” Ian pumped one triumphant fist in victory. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
All of the piss drained from Rory, and he leaned back against a wooden column, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He loved her. He loved Brittany Manion.
Well, of course he bloody did. He’d fallen in love with her the night he came home from Tierney’s to find her curled up on his couch in the firelight. All he’d wanted from that day forward was…her.
“She’s vulnerable.”
“She’s tougher than you think,” said Ian, climbing back up the ladder.
“June said to fight for her,” said Rory, opening his eyes.
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”
“No, Ian. Unless you hadn’t noticed, I’m not doing anything! I’m standing around, counting down the days until she fucking leaves!”
“Wrong.” Ian turned to face Rory, his usually jovial expression tightening. “You’re not standing around doing nothing. You’re here. You’re giving her a place. You’re giving her space. You’re letting her know that she’s beautiful and sexy and wanted. Rory, you’re a dumbass if you think all fights require fists and fury. Some fights are quiet, but the battle’s still being waged. Look at me: I’m fighting every single day of my life to stay clean.” He gave Rory that same shit-eating grin before turning back around to wind the lights around the rafter over his head. “You’re fighting too. You’re fighting for her.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“The first step,” said Ian, borrowing a line from AA, and using his most patronizing tone, “is admitting that you have a problem.”
Rory crossed his arms over his chest, watching his brother work. His body was still hard and aching from his dance with Britt, and his heart was in deep chaos. Frankly, he was feeling pissed off in general. “Loving her is my problem, huh?”
“No, man. Loving her is awesome,” said Ian. “It’s only a problem if you deny it or try to hide from it. Because then you’re not giving it a chance.”
“I’m not denying it,” said Rory softly. “I love her. I’ve probably loved her since I was fourteen. I’ve definitely loved her since the day she walked back into my life, looking for a place to marry another man. But what do I have to offer her?”
“I should deck you for asking such a stupid question.”
“I’m serious, Ian. What have I got? An old camp? A dilapidated apartment over an old office building?”
Ian’s voice took on a wistful quality. “You were always the good one, Rory. The smart one. The one who took care of the rest of us. The man with the plan. No matter what shit we were in, one look at Rory and we knew that everything would be okay in the end. You take care of people, and more than anything, that’s what Brittany Manion needs. She’s got houses and money and cars and hotels, but all that bullshit hasn’t made her happy. She needs you, man.”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re the heart of trí ciarde. You know that, don’t you? I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, Rory, and you’re the heart of us.”
“What’s Tierney?” asked Rory.
“The soul,” Ian answered in total seriousness.
Realizing that this cuckoo analysis of their sibling bond was important to his brother, he swallowed his laughter. “Fair enough. What does that make you?”
Ian shrugged, offering Rory a crooked smile. “The entertainment?”
Rory laughed softly then, shaking his head at Ian. But his amusement was short-lived, his thoughts sliding seamlessly back to Brittany. “If I push her too soon, I could end up pushing her away. I don’t want that.”
“There are no guarantees, brother,” said Ian, “but I’ll keep fighting for my sobriety, and you keep fighting for Britt. And hopefully, at the end, I’ll be standing sober…and you’ll be standing next to your woman.”
Ian went back to his work, and Rory whispered under his breath, more to himself than to Ian,
“May it be fucking so.”
***
As she walked back through the woods, with her cheeks burning and belly fluttering like mad, Brittany couldn’t help but wonder:
What would have happened if Ian hadn’t interrupted?
Would Rory have kissed me?
She quickened her pace, following the path back toward the office, trying to get her thoughts, and her still-trembling body, under control.
Yes, she decided. He would have.
And would she have let him?
The answer came quickly: Hell, yes.
Which clued her into something else—something she hadn’t been completely aware of yet:
I’m over Ben. Absolutely. Completely.
Smiling to herself as the office came into view, she turned right onto the main path, following it down to Oxford Row.
Was she still hurt by what Ben did? Sure. When she was eighty years old and looked back on Ben’s behavior, it might still sting that he’d treated her so badly. But during her weeks at Summerhaven, that hurt had been processed and cataloged. It was part of her past now. It wasn’t active. It wasn’t alive anymore.
She sucked in a deep breath of cool, clean mountain air and laughed softly to herself as Lady Margaret came into view. She was free of Travis. She was free of Ben. She was…free. It was like a terrible weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Furthermore, for the first time in years, she realized that she had no plan for her future, but found she was okay with that too. It was okay not to have the next twenty years planned out. It was okay to see what life had in store for her without trying to manipulate it to her liking. In fact, she was finding that when she stopped planning, marvelous things happened—like coming to Summerhaven, like meeting new people and making new friends, and falling for Rory Haven…
She stopped short in front of her cottage.
“Falling for Rory Haven,” she said aloud, her voice breathing life into the words. “Falling…for Rory. Oh, my God. I’m falling for Rory.”
As she let the words find a place in her heart, she unlocked the door to her cottage and stepped inside. Flicking on the lights, she flopped back onto the bed, remembering how it felt to dance with him—his hard body pressed against hers, his voice soft near her ear, the skin on the back of his neck hot under her fingertips, his dark hair like silk. Her stomach filled with butterflies and she clenched her thighs together to quell the throb between them. Sighing with pleasure, she closed her eyes against the marvelous whirling feeling of wanting and being wanted.
She hadn’t been certain about the intentions behind Rory’s teasing comments and flirtatious looks, but now she was. He was interested in her. She was sure of it.
But it made a new question rise to the forefront of her mind: What, exactly, was he interested in?
A fling? Something sweet and casual?
Or something deeper altogether?
Brittany rolled to her side, looking out the window at the moonlight shimmering on the lake.
She wished she was the sort of girl who could have a fling. It would be so easy to offer herself to him if she was. She could even imagine the words tumbling from her lips:
I’m not looking for anything serious either, but I’m always up for fun!
She bent her elbow, resting her head on her arm with a sigh.
The problem was that Brittany wasn’t the sort of girl who had flings. And as much as she wished it wasn’t so, her heart was already involved in this equation. She had feelings for Rory—she was already falling in love with him.
And while she knew that he was attracted to her, and he was certainly very kind to her, she didn’t know if he was interested in something serious with her.
Until I know, she thought wistfully, her eyes fluttering closed, I’d better protect my heart.
***
When Brittany woke up the next morning, it was with a renewed sense of purpose. She spent the sunny morning gathering wildflowers from all over Summerhaven before taking armfuls to the kitchen, where Jamie let her set up a little assembly line to make up her vases. Packing the completed arrangements into empty produce boxes, she loaded them into the back of a golf cart and stopped by the office to pick up the ghost key that opened all the Oxford Row cottages.
“Good morning, dear!” greeted Mrs. Toffle. She picked up her newest read, 53 Letters for My Lover, and flashed it at Brittany. “Have you started yet?”
“Not yet,” said Brittany, “but I can’t wait. I’m just sad that Ms. Attar doesn’t have any more books for us to read.”
“Yet!” cautioned Mrs. Toffle. “I stalk her on the Facebook. She’s writing something new!”
The walkie-talkie on Mrs. Toffle’s desk screeched and she picked it up. “Mrs. Toffle here. Over.”
Brittany couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face when she heard Rory’s voice. “Mrs. T, was Trinity supposed to be configured as two twins or one king?”
“I will check. Over. Hmm…” Mrs. Toffle looked up at Brittany thoughtfully before shuffling through the papers on her desk. “You look lovely today, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
“Like you’re all lit up from inside.”
“Oh, I…”
“Here it is.” Mrs. Toffle picked up the walkie-talkie. “Two twins for Garrison and Hugh Carroll. Grandsons, I think. Over.”
