by Jane Porter
Taylor darted a glance at him as Jane and Mitch headed off to the dance floor.
Troy smiled at her. “Yes?”
“Just wondering if you were doing okay.”
The corner of his mouth tugged. “I’m alright. And you?”
“I’m alright, too.”
He lifted her hand, carried it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Do you want to dance?”
“Not if you don’t.”
“I’m happy being with you. Don’t care if it’s here, or on the dance floor—” he broke off as Taylor stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
“Judge McCorkle,” she whispered, nodding at the couple approaching. “I don’t like him.”
Troy looked from the judge and his wife to Taylor. “Why not?”
“It’s… personal.”
“Did he say something to you?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
There was no time to say anything else as Judge McCorkle and his wife were upon them. Troy rose, and Taylor more reluctantly. The judge ignored her but greeted Troy effusively.
It was Troy who introduced Taylor to Mrs. McCorkle. “Sarah, I don’t know if you’ve met Taylor Harris.”
“No, I haven’t,” Sarah McCorkle answered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“She’s the new librarian,” the judge boomed.
“Yes, I know,” his wife answered.
“How is your brother?” the judge asked, fixing his narrowed gaze on Taylor. “Staying out of trouble?”
Taylor squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “How thoughtful of you to remember him.” She smiled at the judge, a wide dazzling smile, thinking she’d kill him with kindness. “I will be sure to let Doug know you asked about him.”
And then Troy saved her, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her close. “If you’ll excuse us, this is our song. We have to dance.”
“Now?” The judge said frowning.
“Yeah, now.” Troy kissed the top of Taylor’s head. “You remember how it was when you fell in love. You’d do anything for your girl.” And then Troy took her hand and, with their fingers laced, drew her after him onto the crowded dance floor.
It was a slow song and when Troy found a spot for them he pulled her into his arms. “You don’t like Judge McCorkle,” he said, settling a hand low on her back.
She shivered at the touch, thinking it was delicious to be held so securely. “No,” she said, tipping her head back to better see Troy’s face. “And I appreciate you standing up for me, but you didn’t have to tell him we were in love—”
“You don’t think it’s going to happen?”
She felt herself flush, color sweeping up her chest into her cheeks, making them burn. “This is pretty much a first date.”
“We’ve been having first dates all week.”
“We barely know each other.”
“Is this your way of telling me you’re not a fan?”
She laughed because Troy—staggeringly good looking as well as smart and loyal and funny—was absolutely swoon worthy. How could she not be a fan? “I just think you’re very optimistic for a bachelor that has managed to remain a bachelor for thirty-some years.”
“Maybe it’s because I was holding out for the right girl.”
She blushed again, and didn’t know where to look. “You’re a flirt.”
“Not flirting, wooing.” He smiled lazily down at her, his blue gaze glinting. “There is a difference. Shall I spell it out?”
“Are we using dictionary definitions, Mr. Sheenan?”
“Absolutely. I intend to use the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition if that meets with your approval.”
She struggled to hold back a laugh. “The Merriam-Webster is an approved resource.”
“Thank you, Miss Harris.” His head dipped and his lips brushed her temple and then her cheek, traveling ever so lightly to the curve of her ear. “Flirting is to behave in a way that shows sexual attraction but is not to be taken seriously.”
His warm breath at her ear and the pitch of his deep voice made her tingle. Her fingers curled around his neck. “And wooing?” she whispered.
“To woo is to try to make someone love you.” He drew back to look her in the eyes. “To try to have a romantic relationship. Which is what I’d like to have with you.”
He’d just thrown the “L” word around again. As well as the “R” word. Love. Relationships. What was the world coming to?
“You’re smiling,” he said, but he was smiling, too.
“I am.” Her heart was doing a mad staccato as well. “I’m also not sure what to think. You’re very bold.”
His lips twitched. “Absolutely brazen.”
“Is this how you get women into bed?”
“No. I just take off my shirt for that. You, my dear, require a plan.”
“A bold one,” she teased.
“Brazen,” he agreed.
“Why so much effort?”
“Because you’re a keeper.” He gazed down at her. “Any other objections right now? Because as much as I enjoy conversation, I’d really rather kiss you right now.”
He was still holding her gaze and she was lost in his blue eyes. He was magnificent. A fairy-tale prince at a fairy-tale ball. “This doesn’t make sense,” she said.
“But when has life ever made sense?”
Chapter Eleven
‡
A half hour later Troy and Taylor wound their way through the crowded dance floor back to their table.
Taylor was breathless as she sat back down in her seat. Troy had loosened his black tie. His cheekbones had a lovely dusky color. He was so incredible. Handsome, witty, kind, sexy…He should be out of her league. He was out of her league.
And yet she felt comfortable with him, at ease in a way she couldn’t have imagined just a few days ago. Was it because of what he said…that he wanted to woo, not flirt? Or, was it the energy between them was warm and exciting in the best sort of way?
Because dancing with him, kissing him made her feel good, and beautiful. She’d never felt so beautiful in her life and it wasn’t just her gorgeous gown or her hair or being here in this ballroom, it was the way he looked at her. The smile in his eyes, and the curve of his lips.
He made her feel truly special. Valuable. And that was a heady feeling. It was such a really, truly lovely feeling that she wasn’t going to question this, or him anymore tonight. She wanted to savor the evening. She wanted to glory in the chemistry and the bright, electric sparks zinging through her.
Maybe Troy wasn’t out of her league.
Maybe Troy was exactly her type.
“You look happy,” Troy said, filling her water glass and then his.
“I am.” Her heart was thumping and it wasn’t just because they’d been dancing like crazed people on the dance floor.
“You had fun out there?” he asked, handing her a glass.
“I did.” She smiled at him. “You’re quite good out there. You have serious moves.”
“I don’t think you get out much.”
Taylor laughed. “I think you know I tend to spend most nights home, with my books.”
“And yet here you are, the belle of the ball.”
“I’m not sure I’m the belle, but I am grateful to you for making this possible.” She lifted her water glass, and held it up in a toast. “To you, Troy, for getting me out and making sure tonight was great fun.”
He clinked his water glass to hers. “And to you, for being such great company. I’m a fan, Taylor Harris. Of you, your laugh, your passion for books, and your intriguing bright mind.”
A waiter materialized with a tray and champagne but Taylor shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough.”
Troy refused the drink, too. “I’m good,” he said, before asking, “Are you always careful with what you drink?”
She nodded. “I’m painfully responsible.”
“So what is your limit?”
“Two if I’ve a ride
, or zero if I’m driving. I just couldn’t live with myself if I made a mistake…hurt someone else because I had to have a good time.”
He smoothed a loose tendril back from her cheek, and studied her face, his gaze lingering on her lips. “I’m beginning to think you’re perfect, Miss Harris.”
“Not perfect,” she said softly. “Far from perfect. There is so much about me you wouldn’t like.”
“Try me.”
“I’m not a city girl.”
“Why would that be a negative?”
“You love big cities.”
“And small towns, and I like this small town girl very much. So what else?”
“I worry a lot.”
“Because you have a big heart.”
“I don’t always compartmentalize well.”
“That comes with time and experience.”
Her chest squeezed, tender. “You know all the right things to say.”
“I don’t know about that, but I do have a feeling you tend to be hard on yourself, and you expect a lot from yourself. Maybe too much.” His blue gaze held hers. “It’s not a weakness to ask for help, or to accept help.”
She didn’t know what to say and the silence stretched. And Troy just waited, lifting a black brow, his expression quizzical, maybe even gently mocking because she knew he wasn’t trying to hurt her, but help, and she did appreciate it. In fact, it might have been the kindest most wonderful compliment he could pay her…that he liked her enough to want to help her.
“You’re used to being independent, and I respect that,” he added after a moment. “But it’s okay to let others help you now and then.”
She struggled to smile around the lump in her throat. Truly it was getting hard to breathe and the lump wasn’t getting smaller, either. “I’ll keep that in mind should I ever need help.”
“I think you could use some help now.” He leaned in, expression intent. “McKenna told me to ask you about Judge McCorkle—”
“No. Troy, no.”
“And I was going to, after the ball, but I heard what he said to you tonight, about Doug—”
“I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
“I don’t know the whole story but I want you to tell me.”
“This isn’t your problem, or your mess. It’s mine. And Doug is my responsibility. I won’t let him be a burden for anyone else—”
“He’s not a burden. He’s your brother. And he’s young. Just a boy.”
His words undid her. They were exactly the right words. Her eyes filled with tears and she had to reach up to dash them away before they could fall. “I can’t cry,” she whispered. “Tonight is supposed to be special.”
“It is special. You are special, and I can’t ignore the fact that Judge McCorkle has really upset you. I need to understand what’s happened. So let’s go talk, somewhere private.”
Somewhere private turned out to be the luxurious owner’s suite on the fourth floor of the Graff.
Taylor suddenly got nervous as they stepped out of the brass elevators into the quiet hallway.
“Is this your bachelor lair?” she asked, trying to be light and funny as he unlocked the door, trying to hide that she’d lost her confidence.
“Is it my man cave when I’m in town? Yes. Do I bring women here? No.” He flicked on lights and shut the door behind her. “You’re the first.”
That caught her off guard and she looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”
He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “Will it disappoint you to know that I’m not much of a man-whore?”
She couldn’t stifle the gurgle of laughter. “I don’t think I ever thought of you as a man-whore. Maybe a bit of a playboy, and that’s only because you’re handsome and charming and wildly successful.”
He opened the small refrigerator in the suite’s sleek kitchen and glanced inside. “Still water, mineral water, fruity bubbly water, white wine…?” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Anything sound good?”
“I’ll do a bubbly fruity water.”
He drew out the glass bottles and unscrewed the caps. “Want a glass?” he asked.
“I’m fine with the bottle.”
“Me, too.” He led the way into the living room and took a seat on the big cream sectional. Taking a seat he patted to the cushion next to him. “Come, sit. Fill me in. On all of it. From the beginning.”
She grimaced. “That could take all night.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
“Well, I should be home before dawn.”
“Then you shall be. But that gives us, uh—” he shook his wrist, and glanced at his watch. “Six to seven hours.”
Taylor’s pulse was beating a little too hard, too fast. She took a gulp of her fruity bubbly water and then told him everything, starting with how Doug had battled depression since he was in high school—probably even before that—but she recognized his struggles in high school and knew he needed clinical help.
She told him how their parents didn’t think he had depression, because they didn’t believe in depression and her father just thought Doug was lazy and self-indulgent. She told him she’d been the one to get him to a doctor and how it took awhile to find the right medicine, but that after awhile sometimes the right medicine stopped working, and that sometimes he needed a new dose, or something else added in. She told him about the day when Doug got pulled over for speeding and how Doug hadn’t been properly respectful and the sheriff arrested Doug. From there, everything just went downhill fast. Judge McCorkle came down hard on Doug, and sentenced him to six months at Hogue, and then instead of letting him finish his probation at home with her, the judge said Doug had to stay at the ranch for another six months.
Taylor wiped away tears as she talked. She hated crying and didn’t want to cry now. She wasn’t looking for pity or help. But it was impossible to talk about Doug, and how he’d been treated by Judge McCorkle without feeling fury and frustration.
“My brother is a good person,” she said, voice cracking. “And yes, he struggles, but that doesn’t make him a bad person. It just means he’s human. But instead of Judge McCorkle having any compassion, he’s determined to punish Doug for having a mood disorder. It makes me so angry. So so angry.” She knocked away another tear. “That’s why I don’t talk about it. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I’m heartsick. Absolutely heartsick. Judge McCorkle is ignorant and his ignorance is hurting others and they’re suffering enough without his contempt—”
She broke off, looked away. She shook her head, regretting saying so much.
She’d learned long ago it was better to not say what you really felt because people didn’t want to know what you really felt. They didn’t want truth, especially if the truth was uncomfortable. Her parents had taught her that, and so had teachers and employers. Never mind Judge McCorkle.
And Taylor did try to be pleasant and agreeable. She was determined to keep things light most of the time, but it wasn’t easy smashing all those strong feelings down, suppressing all her emotions. That’s why she disappeared into her books so often. Books let her think and feel. When she read it was okay to feel intensely, and okay to want things and need things…okay to be angry with people who had let you down, okay to be disappointed that so many people were afraid of complex situations.
But life was complex. And complicated. People were complicated, too.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she could trust herself to speak more calmly. “I’m sorry for getting so upset. I’m sure I made you uncomfortable—”
“You didn’t,” he said quietly.
“It’s so hard to talk about.”
“For good reason. You love your brother and he’s suffering, and so you’re suffering, too.”
She looked at him, struggled to smile, wanting him to know she was grateful for understanding, but he didn’t yet know all of it. He didn’t know that Doug had walked away from the Hogue and once the judge found out it’d be even worse. “Remember how I texted
you earlier that Doug had showed up at the library today? Well, you’re not allowed to leave the ranch, and Doug did, which meant he broke his probation and so he’ll be back in court and Judge McCorkle will lose his mind. But Troy, Doug can’t go back to that ranch. It’s not a good place for him, not a good fit. If you saw Doug you’d see what I’m talking about. He’s got bruises everywhere. His face is a mess—” she broke off, gulped a breath. “He’s not a fighter. He’s never been a fighter. That’s just not who he is.”
“He was beat up?”
She nodded.
“And Kara knows?” he asked.
She nodded again. “She’s staying with him tonight.”
“What does she say about all of this?”
“She said that we need a good attorney, and that a good attorney could prove that the Hogue isn’t protecting Doug and help us sort things out once and for all.”
“If Kara thinks you need to hire an attorney, then hire an attorney, because she wouldn’t give you bad advice. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“I’m going to do it.”
For a long moment Troy said nothing. He sat there, staring off in the distance, his hand running over his jaw, rubbing at the bristles. “Why didn’t you hire someone before?”
Taylor glanced at him, took in his hard jaw and stern expression and realized that although he was gentle with her, he was not a pushover. “Every good attorney requires a retainer. I don’t just have thousands sitting in a bank account.”
“You have a job.”
“Yes, but I also have bills and loans and Doug’s medicine. It’s not covered by my insurance and it is hundreds of dollars every month.”
“Why isn’t it covered by insurance?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Because he doesn’t have insurance that will cover mental health stuff. It’s one of those chicken and the egg things.”
“Your parents don’t help support him?”
“No.”
“Do you get any financial assistance from anywhere for him?”
She shook her head.
Troy was looking at her now, studying her, his dark blue gaze intent. “You’re a good sister.”
