Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  “No, no. Not bad.” She frowned. “Sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” he said, trying to keep it simple. “Just noisy.”

  She looked unconvinced, but sleepy enough that she was more confused than skeptical. “Do you have bad dreams?”

  He thought about lying. But then he realized he simply didn’t want to lie to her.

  “Yes,” he said. “Often, I do. Luckily, Ellen sleeps like a rock, so I don’t disturb her much. I’m really sorry I disturbed you.”

  “I don’t mind.” Her eyes were more focused now. Apparently the night air was clearing her head. “I have bad dreams sometimes, too. About my mother.” She said it quite matter-of-factly, as if it were only natural that some tragedies would live on in the subconscious.

  She moved a couple of steps toward him. She was barefoot, too. “Would it help to talk about it, do you think?”

  For one crazy second, he actually considered it.

  He’d never had the urge to share his story with anyone. His company had sent him to a psychiatrist, but he’d hated the whole process, and eventually he’d just resigned from psychiatrist and company all in one fell swoop.

  Instead, he struck out on his own as he’d always dreamed of doing. Why wait? If Mexico had taught him anything, it was that everything you knew could end in an instant. If death was around every corner, then freedom, satisfaction and courage had better be right here, right now.

  Talking about the past just kept it alive.

  But all of a sudden, he thought that he might like to tell Penny about it. Maybe it would make the whole thing seem less poisonous. Maybe it would be like opening windows in a mildewed room.

  That innocence he had noticed wasn’t just superficial—it was without question a profound part of her essence. But it wasn’t the innocence that drew him toward her right now. Sometimes, when he looked into her eyes, he could tell she knew every bit as much about grief and pain as he did. He had that click of recognition, as if she wouldn’t think it strange that he had to steel himself to walk into a basement, or that the sound of a car backfiring could drop him to his knees.

  A shudder passed through him.

  “You’re cold.” She shrugged the moonlight-blue blanket from her shoulders and held it out. “Here. Take this.”

  Under the blanket, she wore a T-shirt, gray and shapeless. Across her breasts, letters sparkled in the moonlight, spelling out Keep Calm and Paint Something. For a helpless fraction of a second, he couldn’t take his eyes off the soft swelling beneath the cotton.

  Then, below the words, the curve of her hip, and then the pale gleam of her naked legs, like the slim stalks that held a flower.

  Oh, he was in trouble. Big trouble. He wanted her. Every nerve ending in his body had caught fire. He didn’t want to talk to her, confide in her, turn her into his psychiatrist. He wanted to lower her to the deck and make love to her in the moonlight, until neither of them had room for words, or ghosts, or pain.

  The wool of the blanket brushed against his shoulder as she nudged it toward him. He lifted his forearm, an instinctive blocking motion, as if he had to protect himself against the force of her beauty, slamming into his awareness without warning.

  “I’m fine.” He put his arm down, but the rest of him remained clenched. “Penny, listen to me. You can’t be so naive that you don’t see how risky this is. If we’re going to stick to the promises we made the other night, you need to put that back on.”

  She didn’t feign confusion. She was so breathtakingly honest, sometimes... Their gazes met.

  “And what if we decided to break the promises?”

  For a split second, the possibilities glimmered in front of him. Break the promises. Yes, of course. Wasn’t that what the cliché said that promises were actually made to be broken?

  And who would it hurt, really? Couldn’t they just indulge these powerful urges once? Just once, with no one the wiser? They were consenting adults, unmarried. They would be careful. He hadn’t taken a lover in almost a year, not since Lydia died.

  And he hadn’t made love for a long, long time before that. Sex, yes. Empty, ugly nights of pity sex, or duty sex, or last-hope sex, with the wife he tried and tried to make himself love.

  Didn’t he deserve this? Penny was kind, and honest, and pure in a way that had nothing to do with her sexual experience and everything to do with her soul. She could have had a hundred lovers, or none, and it would make no difference to Max. He just wanted to rest himself beside her. Inside her. He wanted to drink from that pure spring of gentle kindness, and be restored.

  What was the harm? He heard the phrase in his head, over and over. What was the harm? He wouldn’t take more than she was willing to give. He wouldn’t leave her sick, or pregnant, or betrayed, or in any way diminished....

  He felt like an addict, trying to rationalize one fix, just one. What could one night hurt?

  But like an addict, he wouldn’t be able to stop with just one. The remaining sliver of honesty inside his hungry body knew that.

  And yet...

  Then, like a life raft floating by, he remembered the one reason he couldn’t ignore. Wouldn’t ignore.

  “Ellen is just inside,” he said.

  Penny bit her lower lip. “Of course,” she answered softly, obviously embarrassed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  She took the edges of the blanket and folded them across herself, so that she once again looked like a tired little girl.

  “Besides...you know you would regret it,” he said, unsure whether he was convincing her, or himself. See? He had already hurt her. She felt unwanted. He cursed himself and tried again.

  “Penny, you’re determined to prove something to yourself, and I respect that. More than you can possibly know. I don’t want to get in the way. I don’t want to be a mistake you regret whenever you remember me. I would like to think that, when I’m gone—”

  “You’re right.” She broke in, as if she didn’t want him to finish the sentence. As if the phrase, “when I’m gone” had somehow slapped her into clarity.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice artificially chipper. “It’s easy to lose track of common sense, when I’m only half-awake...in the middle of the night like this.”

  She turned back toward her kitchen door, moving in her moonlight cocoon of wool. At the last minute, she paused, looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Guess that’s why they put all those infomercials for expensive Fountain of Youth exercise machines on at 3:00 a.m, huh?”

  “Maybe.” He gripped the railing hard. “But just for the record...”

  He took a breath and somehow managed a smile of his own. “You probably should know I don’t find you all that easy to resist in broad daylight, either.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE DAY OF Bree’s nuptials couldn’t have been more perfect. By the time the sun began heading westward, turning Cupcake Creek amazing shades of violet and copper, Penny leaned against the garland-festooned trunk of a loblolly pine and watched the reception get underway with a sense of happy satisfaction.

  The wedding itself had been simple, but heartbreakingly beautiful. Performed on the banks of Cupcake Creek, next to the “glamping” tent where Gray had lived when he first came to work for Bell River—and where he and Bree had fallen in love—the tone had been informal. And yet, somehow, the depth of love these two people felt for each other, and which came through in their personally written vows, had been absolutely magical.

  “Glamorous camping” wasn’t an exaggeration for this large, elegant tent, which overlooked the sweet creek, and was right now about to become the setting for the happiest feast and dance the world had ever seen, with Barton James and the Rockin’ Geezers providing the music.

  Penny sipped her champagne, savoring the lull in the excitement. It wouldn’t be a long o
ne. She could already hear the band tuning up for “Red River Valley,” which would be the newly married couple’s first dance.

  “Congratulations, Penny. This has been a day your sister won’t ever forget.”

  She turned, recognizing Max’s voice, and her heart leaped up in her chest. Silly to react so intensely, but she couldn’t help it.

  He’d arrived early to be sure Ellen was here on time, so he’d been around for hours. But Penny had been so busy she hadn’t been able to do much more than exchange the most basic questions and answers—like, “Have you seen the preacher?” and, “Would you mind helping Mrs. Marvell find a seat?”

  Now she registered once again how elegant he looked in his beautifully cut business suit. Most of the other men were wearing cowboy casual, which she liked just fine. But Max’s crisp white dress shirt and blue rep tie were so...elegant.

  And yet, beneath the elegance, lay those amazing abs, that muscled, tapering back. Aunt Ruth used to say “it’s better to leave something to the imagination,” but Penny had assumed she was, as usual, being a spinster prude.

  Now Penny understood.

  “You’re not leaving already, are you?” She tried not to sound too upset. “No one should miss the Rockin’ Geezers.”

  He looked toward the dance floor. Just a couple of hours ago, the bride and groom had stood on that spot, exchanged vows and rings and kisses. But now half a dozen couples already stood there, waiting for the Geezers to get the party started.

  “I’m not sure I’d have the heart to drag Ellen away,” he said with a smile.

  Penny spotted the little girl in the crowd, clutching her garland headdress, and had to admit it would take a fairly hard heart to do that. Ellen was clearly having the time of her life.

  Penny herself had taken the official preceremony photographs, but since Penny was one of the bridesmaids, Bree had hired Selena Sanchez from town to take the rest of the pictures

  Selena was good, but she couldn’t be everywhere. So disposable cameras had been provided at every table, encouraging the guests to take candid shots. Those had been a big hit, especially with Ellen and Alec, who were running around getting everyone to pose for them.

  They were so adorable in their fancy clothes that no one could resist the request. Alec’s yellow-aster boutonniere had long since come off and, no doubt, been trampled in the grass, but Ellen guarded her lovely blue-and-yellow wildflower crown as if it had been gilded with twenty-four-karat gold.

  “She’s been practicing the electric slide all week,” Max said wryly. “Same song. Over and over. If they play ‘Born to Boogie’ tonight, I may start twitching.”

  Penny grinned. “I’ve been practicing all week, too. I haven’t danced since I was her age, though, and I think I’ve already demonstrated what a klutz I am. I’m hoping I can check ‘dancing’ off the Risk-it List tonight, but we’ll see.”

  Max chuckled, but he didn’t contradict her. She liked that. He had already gone on record as saying she had some kind of inner block that kept her from expressing her physicality—not an actual lack of coordination. She’d recognized the logic of the theory, but she honestly couldn’t think whose voice she might be hearing. Her dad was the most likely suspect, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to any of them to care whether they were good at sports, or dancing. Or juggling.

  Still, she liked that Max didn’t intend to push his theory. Though he had every tool he needed to be domineering—brains, good looks, money, confidence, personal charisma—he clearly just wasn’t the bullying type.

  It was a virtue tailor-made to touch Penny—or any of Johnny Wright’s daughters—deep in the heart. Dangerously deep, in fact.

  They stood in silence, watching as Bree and Gray took the floor for their dance. The delicate, poignant strains of Barton’s fiddle floated in the air like a perfume, and mingled with the burble of the creek behind them. Other than that, the evening was full of a reverent silence.

  Penny’s eyes stung. Bree was always beautiful, so cool and pale and elegant. But tonight she was beyond description. She was as serene and composed as ever, but there was nothing icy about her. She glowed, as if she were a sunbeam that Gray had caught and danced across the floor in his arms.

  As if she were entirely made of happiness and love.

  Penny sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever fates controlled these things. Thank you, she said with her aching heart, for making Bree whole again.

  When the dance was over, Penny took another sip of her champagne to cover her emotions. Everyone was laughing and spilling onto the floor to congratulate the couple and begin the dancing.

  She saw Fanny Bronson, the bookstore owner, scan the crowd, obviously hunting for a dancing partner, and willed the woman to look anywhere but at Max. She didn’t want him to leave her side. Not yet...

  “How about you?” Somehow, Penny kept her voice casual. She realized she was twirling the ribbon streamers of her wildflower headpiece like a flirtatious teenager and forced herself to stop. “I don’t guess big-deal architects in Chicago spend much time line dancing.”

  “I might surprise you,” he said. “I’ll bet I’ve been to more barn dances than you have, considering you came of dancing age as a San Francisco hermit. Before I was a Chicago architect, I was a Carolina farm boy.”

  She looked up at him, too surprised to pretend not to be. “You were?”

  “I was. But when I mentioned that to Ellen, she nearly had a breakdown. I’ve been warned that I’m too old to line dance. Under no circumstances am I to attempt the Tush Push, or she’ll fall right down and die.”

  Penny laughed. “I guess that means the Badonkadonk is off-limits, too?”

  “She didn’t specifically mention it, but I’m guessing yes. She might survive if I waltzed once or twice, maybe.” He didn’t seem terribly disappointed. “Are you still heading up command central, or could you maybe keep me company at the old folks’ table?”

  She felt her heart grow light. “I’m officially off duty, thank goodness. But the old folks’ table sounds terrible. What if we take a short walk?”

  He hesitated a second, then nodded.

  In her long, ecru gown and silly heels, she knew she couldn’t go far, but she could at least put a few yards between them and the crowd. She moved away from the creek, because everyone who wasn’t dancing had congregated there, watching the sun set on the water. Instead, she led Max in the direction of the pine stand, where the shadows were long and cool and deep hunter-green.

  “So,” he said as they slowly made their way over the bumpy grass, “are you glad it’s over?”

  She nodded with feeling. “I’m glad it’s safely over. None of the possible disasters occurred, so I can finally relax.”

  “I had no idea a wedding was so dangerous.” He raised his eyebrows. “What disasters?”

  Penny ticked them off on her fingers. “Let’s see. Rain, cold, foraging bears. Lost rings, torn gowns, missing clergy. Bad food, burned food, dropped food. Jane Eyre–like last-minute objections to the union.”

  “Who on earth could have objected to this union? If ever a marriage seemed made in heaven...”

  “Well, Bree’s obnoxious ex-boyfriend, Charlie, could have shown up. He’s apparently done it before, the sleazeball. That awful Esther Fillmore, the official Silverdell witch and part-time librarian, who thinks the Wright girls are the devil’s spawn, could have crashed. She wasn’t invited, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop her.”

  “Sounds terrible,” he said, obviously amused.

  “She is. And...well, I guess the only other possible problem might have been old Grayson, Gray’s cranky millionaire grandfather. He’s not big on keeping his peace at the best of times. He thinks his money gives him carte blanche to be rude.”

  They’d reached the edge of the stand of trees, as well as the geo
graphical limits of good manners. They were still in sight, but not quite within earshot. She leaned back against the smooth, papery bark of an aspen that was trying to hold its own among the larger pines. She gazed at the wedding scene, now at a discreet distance, like a pretty film they were watching.

  There was Grayson, as if her comments had made him materialize. He was actually on the dance floor, cane and all, with his housekeeper at his side. Penny couldn’t help smiling, thinking how transformed the old guy was. Just being near the kind of love Gray and Bree had was good for people, apparently.

  “For a while there, old Grayson was adamantly against the relationship,” she explained to Max. “He felt sure his playboy grandson would break Bree’s heart.”

  “I wouldn’t put any money on that bet.” Max glanced down at Penny, his eyes tilted with a smile. “Would you? What does your crystal ball, the camera, say?”

  She made a mock-offended huffing sound. “Look, Mr. Thorpe, I know you think I’m crazy, but pictures really do show—”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy.” To her surprise, his eyes sobered, and his voice dropped out of the teasing register. “After we talked the other day, I went home and looked at some of my own wedding pictures. The signs were there. All the ones you mentioned. And then some.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He had never told her that his marriage hadn’t been happy. He’d said only that his wife had died.

  She ran her fingertips over the aspen bark, buying time. “But you and your wife didn’t divorce.”

  “Only because she died—a freak thing, a brain aneurysm. I’d already retained a lawyer, and he was in the process of drawing up a settlement offer. If she’d lived, divorce was inevitable.”

  Why? That was the question Penny always wanted to ask couples like that. If the relationship had been wrong from the start, so wrong the truth seeped out through the wedding photographs, why had they married in the first place?

  “Lydia was pregnant,” he said, as if he’d read Penny’s thoughts. But when she looked at him, she could tell he was merely following his own inner trail. And logic had led him there, to the heart of the labyrinth. Why? Why had he married a woman he didn’t love?