Man of Honor

by Lori Wilde

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured because she was too busy staring at his gorgeous face to process what he was saying.

  “But we’re also strong and hardworking and we’re going to pull off a damn fine wedding for Ellie and Brady.”

  “That might be why they asked us to be their attendants.”

  “Lucky them.” His roughish grin unraveled her, leaving Meg feeling that he knew exactly what she looked like naked. “And lucky me that you’re Brady’s best friend.”

  Breathe, she reminded herself.

  “I’m glad you didn’t tell her what I said.” Meg glanced over at Ellie, who was gazing at Brady as if he hung the moon. “I like her a lot and I was too hasty in my judgment.”

  “Brady’s not bad either,” Shane said. “Even if we don’t believe in this love-at-first-sight, soul-mate bunk, doesn’t mean they don’t have a fighting chance.”

  “We suspend our disbelief.” She carved up a smile, serving it on a platter for him like a willing servant girl. Good grief, what was she doing? “For their sake.”

  “I’ll try if you will.”

  “Deal.”

  “Looks like they’re finished opening gifts,” he said. “Time for me to do my duties and announce food is served.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “Naw. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the evening.” He headed over to Brady and Ellie.

  Leaving Meg at loose ends. She grabbed a plate and joined the line queuing up at the buffet.

  She’d cleared the air, apologized, made things right with Brady and Ellie and Shane. She should be feeling better and ready to embrace this wedding and her duties as best woman.

  Instead, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she’d missed. Something she wasn’t addressing. Something that could get her in a lot of trouble and mess up this whole affair.

  Then Shane turned and gave her another knee-melting stare, and Meg realized what that something was.

  Insatiable, red-hot, sharp-tipped desire.

  * * *

  Three hours after the bridal shower, Shane finally tumbled into bed, exhausted. It had gone well, yeah, but in truth, being a man of honor was much harder than he had anticipated.

  The pressure cooker of the tight timeline increased the stress load. Not that he minded stress. He was a fighter pilot, after all. He ate stress for breakfast and went back for seconds.

  Rather, it was the überfeminine stuff, like shopping for Ellie’s wedding dress, that triggered him. Sitting for hours, watching Ellie try on one fluffy white gown after another, drove Shane nuts. They all looked identical to him.

  Ellie sensed his restlessness even though he thought he’d done a damn good job of not squirming, and apologized.

  Unfortunately, there was no one else to help her. Just like Shane, she had no parents, no siblings, no extended family she knew of. It was the two of them against the world, the way it had always been.

  No. Not just the two of them. Not anymore. Brady was in the picture now.

  And Megan.

  Meg.

  Of the long legs, sexy body, thick hair, and plush lips.

  Thinking of her, his mouth watered and he started to get hard. Normally, when he wanted a woman this much, he simply went after her.

  And he rarely struck out.

  But Meg was off-limits for obvious reasons.

  However, he couldn’t deny that she’d been looking at him the same way he looked at her. With hungry eyes. Plus, she’d been sending all kinds of come-get-me signals. Leaning in close, licking her lips, laughing in a deep-throated way, blushing whenever their eyes met. Toying with her hair.

  Oh, she was game all right.

  Nope. Not gonna do it. Not this time.

  He wasn’t going to make a pass at Meg even though every masculine bone in his body spurred him to do exactly that. He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize his best friend’s happy day.

  But he liked Meg’s intensity. Whenever he was around her he felt charged up, like he did in the cockpit. Excited. Powerful. Brave.

  He appreciated her practical approach to life and he could tell she wasn’t the kind of person who let people down. You could rely on Meg Stoddard. Of that he had no doubt.

  She had style and flare. She didn’t mince words. She spoke truthfully and from the heart and he respected her.

  He admired the way she stood up to him. They could go toe to toe. He hadn’t ever been in a romantic relationship with someone who would stiffen her spine, stare him right in the eye, and call bullshit.

  He liked it. He liked it a lot.

  You’re not in a romantic relationship with her.

  No. But he wanted to be. And Shane was accustomed to going after what he wanted. Balls to the wall.

  And that was the danger.

  New rule: no more fantasizing about Meg.

  Easier said than accomplished.

  Whenever he closed his eyes he saw her. He gritted his teeth, willed his thoughts to something else. But every time his mind wandered back to Meg. The way she’d looked at the party tonight. A knockout in a hot red tunic top, black leggings, and red cowgirl boots.

  And her scent.

  Even now, here in the dark, he could smell her. An erotic aroma of magnolias, heat, and apricots. He loved apricots. Loved the sweet taste of the ripe flesh.

  Did Meg taste as good as she smelled? His erection tightened.

  Jesus, Freemont. Have some self-respect. Control. Get in control.

  Excellent advice. But how?

  Cold shower. The horny bachelor’s old standby. It had worked for centuries for a reason.

  Shane rolled out of bed. Bounced the painful distance to the bathroom. Grunted when the cold water hit his skin.

  He heaved in a shocked breath of air, stuck his head under the flow, felt the icy water deflate his arousal and wondered just how many dunkings he was going to have to take between now and the wedding.

  And just how long did it take for a guy to get frostbite from too many cold-assed showers?

  Chapter Four

  The wedding was four days away and the pressure was on. Meg was over at Brady’s ranch daily, working with him and the wedding planner to finalize the details, helping him write his vows, reassuring him that everything was going to go smoothly on the most important day of his life.

  And it was her job to make sure everything was perfect.

  That included providing security, not just to keep out the wedding crashers but to chase away the paparazzi who’d gotten wind that Brady’s second cousin, Travis Whitely—Austin’s latest “it” guy country-and-western music star—was coming to the wedding.

  Both Meg and Brady had gone to high school with Travis, back when his name was Brian Dobbs. Brian, aka Travis, had called Meg personally and convinced her a big security presence was necessary. He was paying for it, but Meg was the point person.

  As another part of her best woman duties, she was in charge of the getaway vehicle Brady and Ellie would leave in after the wedding. Brady didn’t want his brand-new Ford King Ranch pickup truck decorated, so they’d planned on using Ellie’s Prius. But driving the low-slung Prius over the bumpy pasture roads out to the chapel on Meg’s dude ranch presented problems for a quick departure.

  Until Meg came up with an alternate proposal.

  Let everyone think they were taking the Prius, so the couple’s friends and attendants could have fun decorating it, but leave on horseback to Brady’s ranch, where they would transfer to his pickup for their drive to the airport.

  Ellie loved the romance of a horseback getaway and Brady liked the idea he wouldn’t have to drive the highway in an attention-getting vehicle shoe-polished with JUST MARRIED and dragging streamers of tin cans.

  To travel the escape route as rehearsed, Meg took out Jiggs, a high-spirited gelding that didn’t get ridden as much as he should because the dude ranch guests generally wanted tamer horses, and headed for the cowboy chapel located at the back of the ranch.
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br />   The chapel was quite a distance from the main house, guest bunkhouses, and the other amenities because it had been built a hundred years earlier, when it had served the residents of a small town that no longer existed.

  Meg’s ancestors had brought the chapel land as part of their ranch deal, and they’d kept the chapel to hold church services for their ranch hands, with circuit riding preachers rotating through. Nowadays, Meg rented it out for cowboy weddings.

  It had started off as an insufferably hot June morning, but the wind had changed direction, bringing in clouds and cooling things off. Maybe they’d get some rain out of it.

  Jiggs was lively, living up to his name, pulling at the bit to have his way. Dancing gracefully along the dirt path. Meg could feel his need to expend pent-up energy. She gave him his head, allowing him to break into a canter.

  No gallop, though. Not with this horse. Jiggs leaned toward high-strung and required a strong hand. If she let go of control, he’d run away with her.

  But man alive, could the horse move.

  He was powerful, magnetic, compelling. His personality reminded her of Shane. Fearless. A warrior. Wild at heart.

  Meg’s own heart fluttered.

  She’d only seen Shane once since the night of the bridal shower, and that had been briefly, when she’d gone with Brady for the tux fittings. Shane was going to wear his Air Force dress blues, but he’d come along to the fitting with Ellie.

  Afterward, they’d all gone out to eat. Shane and Meg had sat on opposite sides of the table, but they’d been unable to stop making eye contact.

  And smiling.

  They’d both been smiling a lot.

  Yearning.

  Or maybe she’d been yearning alone and reading something into his smile that wasn’t really there.

  Meg ducked her head, concentrated on slowing her breathing, realizing too late that Jiggs had taken advantage of her distracted mind and was galloping. His long legs eating up the ground that flowed beneath them. Hooves rasping against the earth.

  What most of the guests who came to her ranch didn’t know was that horseback riding was about bringing two beings into harmony though each had their own center of gravity. They didn’t understand that in order to ride gracefully, smoothly, you had to re-center the horse’s sense of gravity with the rider on his back.

  With a start, it occurred to Meg that the same was true when two people had sex. That you had to re-center in a relationship as intimacy developed. Each person with their own center of gravity, trying to balance with the other.

  She thought again of Shane, squelched it.

  Focus.

  Raising her head, she glanced around, saw that the clouds overhead had curdled, darkened. The wind blew stronger, cool air from the north mingling with the hot summer breeze from the south, sending dust eddies across the pasture.

  Uneasiness raised the hairs on Meg’s arms. She hadn’t bothered to listen to the weather that morning, but she’d lived in Texas long enough to know tornado potential when she saw it.

  Instinct told her to go back, but Jiggs was a bullet train, blasting over the prairie. She drew back firmly on the reins, urging him to slow down.

  Jiggs didn’t want to comply, but Meg persisted, and gradually, he slowed. By the time she had him under control again, they were at the chapel.

  And the sky was malevolent.

  She studied the dark thunderclouds, tried to gauge whether she had time to make it back to the stables or whether she should hightail it to the church’s storm cellar.

  But if she went inside, she’d have to abandon Jiggs to the weather. He was fast. At a gallop they had a chance to make it back to the stables before the storm hit.

  Meg whirled the horse around, nudged him in the ribs, yelled, “H’ya.”

  At the same moment, a fork of yellow-blue lightning shot from the sky, fried a tall oak tree just a few yards away with a sizzling crack of hot heat and a thunderclap as loud as a Smith & Wesson .44 magnum going off at close range.

  Jiggs let out a whinny of terror and reared up on his back legs.

  Meg struggled to stay in the saddle, but it was a hopeless cause. Gravity took hold of her, and when Jiggs bolted in the direction of the ranch house, Meg’s feet slipped from the stirrups and she fell to the hard-packed earth.

  The impact knocked the air from her lungs. She stared at the sky, gasping for breath, watching the clouds swirl and churn above her, and thought, Some best woman I am. If I get killed by a tornado, it’s going to ruin the crap out of Brady’s wedding.

  * * *

  Shane had called ahead before arriving at Hawk Creek Dude Ranch. The woman who’d answered the phone told him Meg had ridden a horse out to the chapel. Perfect. As the man of honor, he needed to see the wedding venue in person, get the lay of the land.

  By the time he arrived at the ranch, the sky was moody dark. He didn’t like the looks of those clouds. The weather had come up fast, seemingly out of nowhere.

  But he was a pilot, had seen severe storms merge in a matter of minutes. It was Texas after all, and they were in the southern tip of Tornado Alley. In the spring and early summer months, you had to expect the unexpected.

  At the dude ranch check-in desk, he found a beleaguered-looking middle-aged woman with vibrant purple hair, ample cleavage, and a deep furrow between her eyebrows. She was on her cell phone, while at the same time the landline was ringing off the hook.

  Her name tag identified her as Harrie. Short for Harriett?

  “Hi, Harrie,” he said, friendly as could be. “I’m Shane. I called ahead. I’m here to check out the chapel for the wedding. Is Meg around?”

  “Just a sec.” The woman held up a hand. Hung up the cell phone, answered the house phone, identified the caller, and asked if she could call the person back.

  While he waited, Shane picked up a folded map of the ranch that showed the location of the chapel and tucked it into his back pocket. Finally, Harrie returned her attention to him.

  “I don’t like the looks of that sky,” Harrie fretted. “You shouldn’t go out there. In fact, I’m trying to get Meg to answer her cell phone so I can tell her to get her butt back here, but she’s not picking up. I hope she didn’t leave her phone behind. Sometimes she does that when she goes riding. Escaping technology, she calls it. I tell her God gave us cell phones for a reason. So we can always be in touch. I’ll try her on the phone one more time. If I can’t get hold of her—”

  Shouts came from outside the window. A commotion of some sort.

  Shane went to the door to see what was going on. Harrie followed him. A saddled gelding, his eyes wild, came tearing into the parking area, three cowboys in pursuit.

  “That’s the horse Meg was riding,” Harrie exclaimed. “Jiggs is a handful and spooks easily. He must have thrown her.”

  “Because of the storm,” Shane said grimly, stalking down the wooden porch toward his vehicle.

  “Where are you going?” Harrie asked. One of the cowboys snagged the errant horse and tried to calm it.

  “To find Meg,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “But you don’t know where the church is,” Harrie called.

  “Gotta map.” Shane patted his back pocket.

  “You’ll need a horse or an ATV.”

  “Gotta Jeep.”

  “Bring her back safe,” Harrie yelled against the wind. “And hurry. That sky looks bad. I’m herding the guests to the storm shelter.”

  The sky did indeed look bad. It was the yellow-green color of an old bruise. The air was both cold and warm. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. The perfect stew for brewing tornados.

  The cowboys seemed to know what he was up to and opened a double gate that led into the pasture. Shane briefly consulted the map, pinned the location in his mind, and pumped the gas pedal, sending the Jeep jolting over the one-lane dirt path toward the chapel.

  The sky was pea green now. The pressure in the air building against Shane’s eardrums. His head ached and his p
ulse thumped. And all he could think was, Meg’s alone out there and a tornado is coming.

  It only took him a few minutes to drive to the chapel, but it felt like two days. Wind buffeted the Jeep, howled around the doors. On either side of the road, twin dust devils rotated.

  Shane coughed, cleared his throat. The steeple of the church come into view. He spied a big old oak split right in two, the center burned black and still smoking from a lightning strike.

  He saw a person sprawled out on the ground.

  Meg!

  * * *

  Get up, Meg told herself, or you’re going to make like Dorothy, fly over the rainbow and see Oz firsthand.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there. It certainly couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but she was still having trouble drawing in air; muscle spasms gripped her belly and her back. And her lazy legs were saying, Yo-ho, missy, not getting up until the lungs are back at work.

  She gasped, heaved, tried to haul in more air, but it was as if only the very top part of her lungs were capable of expanding. Panic set in. I. Can’t. Breathe. A million butterflies batted fragile wings inside her rib cage.

  This was no time to be losing it. Tornadoes waited for no woman.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. She really was going to die.

  And then Shane was there and she wasn’t alone anymore. Wrapping his big, strong arms around her, carrying her toward the chapel just as big white stones of hail started falling from the sky.

  She clung to him. Her lifeline.

  He ran, bumping across the uneven ground. Hail smacking all around them, lightning illuminating the sky. Thunder roaring. But no rain. Bad sign.

  He reached the door of the chapel and kicked it open with the toe of his boot. She was glad she hadn’t yet replaced that door latch that didn’t hold well.

  They tumbled inside and Meg took her first deep breath since Jiggs had thrown her. Sweet, beautiful air.

  “We need to get to a reinforced doorway,” he said, desperately searching the one-room chapel.

  “Storm cellar,” she said, still too wobbly to speak in full sentences. “Out back.”

  He bent to pick her up again.

  “I can walk.” She grabbed his hand, tugged him with her out the back door to the cellar.