by Jane Porter
‡
Troy was glad that the uncomfortable ninety-minute dinner with Judge McCorkle at the Graff was over and he was now free to sit at the bar at Grey’s and just relax.
Ninety minutes wasn’t long when you were dining with friends or a beautiful woman, but ninety minutes was endless when you were being solicited for a loan.
Judge Joe McCorkle found himself on the wrong side of a business deal and was in financial trouble. Of course he didn’t want anyone in the community to know he’d made some mistakes with his investments, and that he’d already taken out a second mortgage on his house to sort things out only to have just dug himself deeper into debt. He’d already approached both local banks and Big Sky Credit Union, and all three had turned him down. Judge McCorkle was a risk. He was also nearing retirement. How could he ever pay the loan back?
For that matter, how could he save his house? His wife had no idea that they could soon lose their home, and everything they’d worked for.
Troy had listened to all this over a dinner of steak and whiskey. He paid for the dinner. The judge had no money.
The judge knew Troy had money.
What was a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar loan between friends? Hadn’t Troy gone to school with his daughter Susie? (And no, Troy hadn’t. Brock had.)
Troy hadn’t told the judge yes. But he hadn’t told him no. He had to think about it. Had to figure out where the money would come from, and be realistic about McCorkle’s ability to pay him back.
The judge might not ever be able to pay him back.
This wasn’t the first time Troy was approached by a Marietta individual needing assistance. It wouldn’t be the last.
As Troy entered Grey’s, he spotted a half dozen different people he knew. Callan Carrigan was in the far back, shooting pool, with a couple of Brock’s young hired hands. Dawson O’Dell and a young off duty sheriff were eating burgers at a table on one side, while McKenna and Taylor were having drinks on the other side.
Interesting, seeing McKenna and Taylor together. He knew from last night that they were going dress shopping together but he hadn’t expected to see them.
They were talking, quite seriously, from the looks of things. He hoped they’d had a good evening. McKenna would be a good friend for Taylor. McKenna didn’t bullshit and she wasn’t superficial, and she was the first to stand up for the underdog.
Even more interesting was seeing McKenna head his way now.
“Hey,” McKenna said, coming to the bar counter to greet him.
“Hey, yourself,” he said, sliding off the stool. “Hello, Taylor,” he added, nodding at the librarian who was hanging back, as if to give them space. Troy turned his attention to McKenna. “You okay?”
She tucked a long dark red strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry about last night.”
“It’s fine.”
“I wanted to talk to you, but it’s… weird.”
“I get it.”
She shook her head, jaw set, frustration evident. “It’s always such a shock… seeing you… even now. I know you can’t help looking like him, the rat bastard.”
Troy reached out and folded McKenna into a quick hug. “The curse of being an identical twin,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“I should hate you,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“You should.”
She looked up at him, smiling faintly, crookedly. “I don’t.”
“That’s good.” He released her, and watched as she stepped back, moving closer to Taylor. McKenna had been a very pretty girl and she’d grown into an absolutely stunning woman with long auburn hair, light green eyes, high cheekbones and a perfect chin, beneath perfect lips. But beneath her beauty was sadness. Her fire and courage didn’t completely mask her pain. McKenna had lived through a terrible tragedy and then she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t get his shit together long enough to protect her properly so that her wounds could heal. Instead Trey just kept hurting her, making the scars and pain worse.
“How’s TJ?” Troy asked. “Is he doing okay?”
“He’s smart as a whip. And a chip off the old block.”
“Lucky you.”
“Haha.”
Troy glanced at Taylor, not wanting to leave her out of the conversation and yet not sure how to include her, before focusing back on McKenna. “I’d love to come see him while I’m in town. If you’re alright with that.”
McKenna smiled. “That’d be great. He’d love seeing you.” She hesitated. “But it is confusing for him. You look, you know, like his—” she broke off, smiled, even as tears glittered in her eyes. “So how is everyone? How’s your dad?”
“Dad’s not doing well. He’s fading fast. I think it’d be a miracle if he makes it another two weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” She hesitated. “Do you think he’d want… to see… TJ?”
“I’m sure he would. Maybe we can bring TJ by this weekend while I’m still home?”
She nodded and drew a deep breath. “I don’t know if you’ve heard. I’m engaged, to Larry… Lawrence… Joplin.”
“Dillon told me.”
McKenna glanced at Taylor, who was still hanging back, and then at Troy. “I have to do what’s right for me and TJ.”
“I understand.”
“TJ needs stability and security. I need stability and security.”
“We all understand. We do. And we support you. We love you.”
McKenna’s eyes narrowed and she looked away, focusing very hard on a distant point across the bar. “I haven’t told Trey. I’m not going to.”
“Okay.”
McKenna glanced at Taylor again, and struggled to smile. “I understand you’re taking Taylor to the ball.”
Troy saw Taylor’s eyes widen behind her big glasses. She looked positively mortified. “Yes,” he said, checking his smile. “Taylor has most graciously agreed to accompany me to the ball.”
“That was very nice of her,” McKenna said, lips curving. “And that’s because she’s a nice girl, Troy, not like your big city floozies. So please, Troy, be on your best behavior Friday night.” She winked and walked out.
McKenna exited Grey’s front door so fast, Taylor didn’t have a chance to follow. But then, after McKenna’s teasing final remarks, Taylor had no desire to follow.
“That was so unbelievably awkward,” she murmured, her face hot, certain her cheeks were red.
Troy grinned down at her. “The family history, or the comment about my floozies?”
Heat washed through her all over again. “I don’t care about the family history, or if you date floozies. In fact, good for you if you do.”
She started for the door but Troy, reached out, grabbed the hood on her winter coat and kept her from escaping.
“Where are you going so fast?” he asked.
“Home.” She tugged on her coat, trying to free herself. “And I’ve just hurt McKenna’s feelings so let go, before I hurt yours.”
He let her go. “Why did you hurt her feelings?”
Taylor exhaled and shook her head, still upset with herself. “She was being so nice and I’m not that nice. I’m not. And so I said something I shouldn’t have, and I think it made her sad.”
“What did you say?”
“You don’t want to know.” She jammed her hands into her coat pockets and hunched her shoulders. “I still feel terrible for saying it.”
“Now you have to tell me. What did you say to her?”
Taylor’s shoulders rose higher. “She kept talking about you… paying you all these compliments and it was frustrating and so I said… that if she liked you so much, why Trey? Why not you?”
Troy sighed. “Probably wasn’t the best thing to say, no, but if it’s any comfort, I don’t think you hurt her feelings as much as touched on a tender spot. People have been saying that to her for years about Trey and me. But she and I are just friends, and what she and Trey had was… special. It’s
hard to explain but they just… worked. She adored him, and he her.”
“So what happened?”
“Trey loves adrenaline. He takes risks and lives recklessly. It was hard on McKenna, never knowing if he was in trouble, or safe. She worried about him on the rodeo circuit, worried about him drinking, worried about him fighting. It just wore her down, and it made Trey defensive.” He sat back down on his bar stool and extended his long legs out, arms crossing over his big chest. “So how did the dress shopping go? Did she find something?”
“We both did.”
“You both did,” he repeated, confused.
She nodded, looking self-conscious. “I hadn’t bought a gown yet.”
Suddenly he understood. The ball. They’d gone dress shopping for the Valentine Ball. McKenna hadn’t been shopping for her wedding gown. Relief swept through him. “Tell me about your dress.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll see it Friday night.”
“But you love it?”
Taylor flushed. “I wouldn’t say I loved it, but’s nice.”
“A nice dress for a nice girl. Sounds incredibly sexy.”
She rolled her eyes. “As we’ve just established, I’m not that nice. And the dress is nice. It’s appropriate for the ball.”
“So it’s a ball gown?”
“No. At least, it’s not how I’d describe a ball gown, but I’m not going to spend a fortune on a dress I can only wear once, so I bought a dress that’s pretty. It’s long. Formal. And I could still wear it to other things in the future.”
“Like what?”
“Are you really this interested in a dress, or are you just giving me a hard time?”
The deep husky laugh seemed to rumble from his chest. “Maybe I’m just interested in you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You are such a prickly little pear, Miss Harris.”
Taylor ignored that. Wasn’t even going to dignify his comment with a response. “Maybe I couldn’t wear my dress to a wedding, since it’s off-white and that’s kind of a no-no, but I could wear it to another black-tie event.”
“Because you go to so many of those,” he teased, his gaze resting on her lips, making her lips feel tingly and hot.
She looked away, had to look away, flooded with emotions and sensation she didn’t want. She didn’t trust any of this. Troy was charming and obviously good at banter, but she did feel out of her league. Gorgeous men didn’t flirt with her. Gorgeous men never even looked at her. “I might in the future,” she said crisply, glancing back at him and then swallowing hard when she discovered he was smiling at her. Not just a crooked little smile but a smile with his lips and eyes, one of those smiles that made his blue gaze warm. He had beautiful eyes, too, and right now they glowed with a teasing light, knowing light, as if he knew her.
But he didn’t. He didn’t know the first thing about her.
Correction. He did know a few things. He did know she didn’t enjoy balls and black-tie events because she’d told him that. But other than that limited bit of knowledge, he knew very little else about her, and so he shouldn’t smile at her with warm blue eyes and he shouldn’t let his lips curve as if they were having a delightful, playful conversation.
Taylor swallowed hard, and pressed her lips together, trying not to think about how it’d felt when he kissed her at the diner—so good—and how he’d smelled—delicious—and how hard it had been to fall asleep last night when she kept thinking about going to the ball with him and dancing with him and having dinner at the Sheenan table with him and his brothers…
Her heart had raced. Just as it was racing now.
Her imagination had gone nearly wild, creating scenarios that could never happen. That would never happen. Swashbuckling heroes didn’t fall in love with quiet librarians.
Not unless they’d had a learning disability and needed help with reading. Or filing.
She frowned, watching as he leaned back and dragged a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it. His blue denim shirt, rolled back on his wrist, slid towards his elbow, revealing dense, corded muscle in his forearm and lightly tanned skin.
Shameless. He was.
His gaze met hers, held. His lips curved into a wider, crooked smile. His expression seemed to say that he was enjoying her right now, and maybe even enjoying her a great deal.
Which couldn’t be.
It didn’t make sense. It didn’t work. It wasn’t real or plausible.
And did he do this to all women, smile at them and flirt and seduce them with his eyes? Seduce them with the curve of his firm lips?
Taylor wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Apparently back in high school, he was quite the expert kisser. He’d probably graduated in college to expert lover.
Annoying. So terribly annoying.
“Why are you frowning at me, Miss Harris?” he drawled, a lock of dark ruffled hair falling forward, giving him a rakish appearance.
“You’re such a flirt,” she said primly, glancing away, unable to hold his gaze, unnerved by the tension between them.
She felt hot and cold, jittery and nervous, and a little bit dizzy, too. He was projecting some kind of energy, a magnetic energy, and it had heat and intensity and confused the heck out of her.
He laughed softly. “I’m not.”
“You are. And apparently you’ve always been one. Voted Best Kisser your senior year.”
“As well as Most Likely to Succeed,” he added.
“A truly talented man.”
He held up his hands. “To be fair, the vote could have been rigged. My girlfriend was the yearbook editor, and there was some speculation after the results were announced that she stuffed the ballot box.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I can’t think of anything sexier than a beautiful woman with a great vocabulary.”
She laughed because she had to. There was nothing else she could do. “You’re also impossible.”
“I’ve heard that. And for your information, I have always liked book girls. Smart girls. Newspaper editor. Yearbook editor. Girl with the highest GPA. Girl with the perfect SAT score. Girl with the biggest brain.”
She laughed and pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Book girls, huh?”
“Book girls with glasses.”
“Stop.” But she was smiling and feeling easier, better, than she had all day and she was looking forward to the ball Friday, more now than she ever had. “And I should go. We have an early morning staff meeting tomorrow—it’s every Thursday—but tomorrow I’m supposed to present a report on the books I’m recommending we purchase this summer.”
“That’s exciting.”
“Yes, except that Margaret will say we have no money so we can’t buy any of them.”
“Not as exciting.”
“No, but I can try.”
“Where are you parked? Can I walk you to your car?”
“No. I’m just down over a block. I’m good.”
“I think I should walk you there.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary. Marietta has a population of what? Ten thousand?”
“Give or take a few.”
“I’m safe.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Text me when you reach your car.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Then we need to correct that immediately,” he said, fishing into his pocket for his phone. He scrolled through contacts, typed a message and hit send. “Now you do.”
Taylor’s phone buzzed in her satchel. She opened her satchel and took out her phone, reading the new text. Save this number, it read.
Smiling, she added the number to her contacts. “Saved.”
“Don’t you feel better now?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, and it was a lie, because she felt positively fizzy and warm and wonderful on the inside. “And how did you get my number in th
e first place?”
“Jane.”
“Ah.” She blushed. She couldn’t help it. “Good night, Troy.”
“Good night, beautiful.”
Troy watched Taylor leave, her long dark hair hanging halfway down her back, her brown coat hitting at her hip, giving him an excellent view of her legs. She had great legs. He liked her very much in jeans. He thought he’d probably like her very much out of jeans as well…
Grey set Troy’s beer in front of him. “Anything else?” Grey asked.
Troy shook his head. “Nope.”
“Alright.” Grey moved.
Troy took a sip of his beer. The glass was thick and chilled. The beer was perfectly cold, a hint of ice, but not too frosty. This was exactly what he needed after a depressing dinner with McCorkle and a flirtatious conversation with his favorite librarian.
He’d only just taken a second sip when suddenly Callan Carrigan was at his side, ordering a beer and taking a seat on the bar stool next to his.
“Look whose back in town,” Callan said, turning on the bar stool to face him even as she waved off the chilled glass to drink straight from the bottle. “Troy Sheenan, the venture capitalist himself.”
Troy gave Callan a long look as she downed nearly one third of the bottle.
He liked Callan. He’d seen a fair amount of her growing up as she and Dillon used to chum around, despite their parents’ disapproval. But the Carrigan girls weren’t topics of conversation at their house. In fact, the Carrigans were never to be mentioned in their house. The feud between the families had been strong. If Dillon or one of the other boys mentioned Callan or another of the girls, Mom would leave the table in tears, and Dad would start in on his lectures. Or worse.
Troy watched Callan take another long swig from the bottle. Her bottle was nearly empty.
Something was definitely bugging Callan tonight.
“What’s up, kid?” Troy asked, taking a sip from his glass, deliberately dropping the nickname he and Trey had given her way back when, a nickname that always fired her up.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Kid, huh? You do know I’m practically running the Circle C these days?”
“Trailing in your dad’s shadow, more like.” Troy was just teasing but Callan wasn’t in the mood.
