Книга - The Best Man Takes A Bride

The Best Man Takes A Bride
Stacy Connelly


Does anyone still believe in happily-ever-afters?Rory’s life is all bridezillas, lace and rose petals. And single dad Jamison Porter is in town to play best man for his best friend. When his little girl falls for Rory’s charms, could Jamison be hearing wedding bells of his own?







Does anyone still believe in happily-ever-afters?

Rory McClaren does!

As wedding planner for Hillcrest House Hotel, she’s fully engaged with bridezillas, lace and rose petals. There’s no frown she can’t turn upside down—until she meets businessman Jamison Porter. The widowed single dad is in town to play best man for his best friend. But when his little girl falls for Rory’s charms, could Jamison be hearing wedding bells...of his own?


STACY CONNELLY has dreamed of publishing books since she was a kid, writing stories about a girl and her horse. Eventually, boys made it onto the pages as she discovered a love of romance and the promise of happily-ever-after. When she is not lost in the land of make-believe, Stacy lives in Arizona with her three spoiled dogs.

She loves to hear from readers at stacyconnelly@cox.net (mailto:stacyconnelly@cox.net) or www.stacyconnelly.com (http://www.stacyconnelly.com).


Also by Stacy Connelly (#ulink_cd5f495f-29b2-55f5-a2ed-d346601c7375)

His Secret Son

Romancing the Rancher

Small-Town Cinderella

Daddy Says, “I Do!”

Darcy and the Single Dad

Her Fill-In Fiancé

Temporary Boss…Forever Husband The

Wedding She Always Wanted Once

Upon a Wedding

All She Wants for Christmas

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Best Man Takes a Bride

Stacy Connelly






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07739-2

THE BEST MAN TAKES A BRIDE

© 2018 Stacy Connelly

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To all my fellow romance readers out there and the ongoing search for happily-ever-after… in (and out) of the pages of a romance novel!


Contents

Cover (#u4ca5337a-a442-5b74-95a7-9c2f7bc77874)

Back Cover Text (#ua32c8b48-3adc-5410-bec0-077108d0f226)

About the Author (#ufc5e1f58-5385-5af6-a226-34efcd574cfc)

Booklist (#udf9bc029-470a-5159-a918-c906bb3ae66c)

Title Page (#uc0115720-5308-56b6-a301-61f5716a09c4)

Copyright (#u95c8c004-fc30-522e-911a-d809fe0a256f)

Dedication (#uf1f22dea-6b25-561c-ac7b-547ef7fe4247)

Chapter One (#ub4b2a457-5fe9-5bca-a21c-894dcd471b40)

Chapter Two (#u1da7bfcf-f297-5686-a32c-148049016151)

Chapter Three (#u4d49f0c1-9623-5a20-96ad-e8c4d90b749f)

Chapter Four (#u5c002495-0c94-50d3-8ef0-1fa13dc56018)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_ba2e9a2d-9089-5aa9-a9fb-1f9dce6c247d)

This was going to be a disaster.

Jamison Porter eyed the dress shop with a sense of dread. Early-morning sunshine warmed the back of his neck and glinted off the gilded lettering on the plate glass window. Frilly dresses decorated with layer after layer of lace and ribbons and bows draped the mannequins on display, a small sample of the froth and satin inside. All of it girlie, delicate and scary as hell.

The forecast promised a high in the low seventies, but Jamison could already feel himself breaking into a sweat.

He swallowed hard against the sense of impending doom and fought the urge to jump in his SUV and floor it back to San Francisco. Back to his office and his black walnut barricade of a desk, matching bookshelves lined with heavy law books, and rich leather chairs. All of it masculine, substantial—the one place where Jamison never questioned his decisions, never doubted his every move—

He felt a tug at his hand and looked down at his four-year-old daughter’s upturned face. Big brown eyes stared back at him. “I wanna go home now.”

Never felt so useless as he did when he was with Hannah.

His daughter’s barely brushed blond curls tilted to one side in a crooked ponytail. Her mismatched green T-shirt and pink shorts, both nearing a size too small, were testimony to the crying fit that ended their last attempt at clothes shopping. Jamison at least took some small comfort that Hannah had been the one to leave the store in tears, and not him. Because there were times...

Like now, when he didn’t even know which home Hannah was referring to. Back to Hillcrest House, the hotel where they’d be staying for the next couple of weeks? Back to his town house in San Francisco? To her grandparents’ place? To the house where she’d been living with her mother...

“I know, Hannah Banana,” he said, fighting another shaft of disappointment when the once-loved nickname failed to bring a smile to her face. “But we can’t go home yet,” he added as he set aside the question of where his daughter called home for another time. “We’re here to meet Lindsay, remember? She’s the lady who’s getting married to my friend Ryder, and she wants you to be her flower girl.”

Hannah scraped the toe of a glittery tennis shoe along a crack in the sidewalk. “I don’t want to.”

Her lack of interest in playing a role in Lindsay Brookes’s wedding to Ryder Kincaid didn’t bother Jamison as much as her patented response did. Not because of all the things Hannah didn’t want, but because of the one thing she did.

The bell above the shop’s frosted-glass door rang as the bride stepped outside. Dressed in gray slacks and a sleeveless peach top with her dark blond hair caught back in a loose bun, a smile lit Lindsay’s pretty face. “Hey, you made it! Not that I thought you wouldn’t.” She waved a hand, the solitaire in her engagement ring flashing in the sunlight. “I mean, it isn’t like any place around here is hard to find!”

Ryder had told Jamison his hometown near the Northern California coastline was small, and he hadn’t exaggerated. Victorian buildings lined either side of Main Street and made up the heart of downtown. Green-and-white awnings snapped in the late-summer breeze, adding to the welcome of nodding yellow snapdragons, purple pansies and white petunias in the brick planters outside the shops. Couples strolled arm in arm, their laughing kids racing ahead to dart into the diner down the street or into the sweet-smelling café across the way.

It was all quaint and old-fashioned, postcard perfect and roughly that same size. Jamison figured it had taken less than five minutes to see all Clearville had to offer even while obeying the slower-than-slow posted speed limit. “No trouble. Didn’t even need to use the GPS.”

Finding the shop had been easy. Making himself step one foot inside, that was a different story.

“Good thing,” Lindsay said with a laugh, “since cell coverage can be pretty spotty around here.”

Jamison fought back a groan. In a true effort to focus on Hannah and leave work behind, he hadn’t brought along his laptop. But he’d been counting on being able to use his phone to read emails and download any documents too urgent to wait for his return. “How does anyone get things done around here?” he grumbled under his breath.

She lifted a narrow shoulder in a shrug. “Disconnecting is tough at first, but before long, you find you don’t miss it at all.”

“Can’t say I plan to be in town long enough to get used to anything,” he replied as the driver of an SUV crawling down Main Street called out to Lindsay and the two women exchanged a quick wave.

And despite his own words, Jamison couldn’t help thinking that, back in San Francisco, had a driver shouted and stuck an arm out the window, the gesture wouldn’t have been so friendly.

“That’s too bad. Clearville’s a great town. A wonderful place to raise a family,” she added with a warm glance at Hannah, who dropped her gaze and retreated even farther behind his back.

So different from the adventurous toddler he remembered...

He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to focus on whatever Lindsay was saying.

“But why don’t we get started? I’m here for my final fitting, and I’ve picked out some of the cutest flower girl dresses. Our colors are burgundy and gold, but I think that would be too strong a palette for Hannah since she’s so fair. Instead I’ve been leaning toward a cream taffeta with a sash at the waist—”

Catching herself, Lindsay offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Ryder’s already warned me I tend to go into wedding overload on even the most unsuspecting victim. The other day, I talked a poor waitress’s ear off and all she asked was if I wanted dessert. If there’s something else you need to do, you don’t have to stay—”

“No! Daddy, don’t go!” Hannah’s hands tightened in a death grip around his as she pressed closer to his side.

Lindsay’s expression morphed into one of sympathy that Jamison had seen too many times and had grown to despise over the past two months.

But not as much as he hated the tears in his daughter’s eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, disappointed but not surprised when his promise didn’t erase the worry wrinkling her pale eyebrows.

“Pinkie promise?” she finally asked, holding out the tiny, delicate digit.

Jamison didn’t hesitate as Hannah wrapped him around her finger. Love welled up inside him along with the painful awareness of how many times he’d let her down in her short life. His voice was gruff as he replied, “Pinkie promise.”

“Your daddy can stay with you the whole time,” Lindsay reassured Hannah gently. “I bet he can’t wait to see you try on some pretty dresses.”

Jamison had thought Hannah might enjoy being a flower girl, but the truth was, he didn’t have a clue what would make his little girl happy anymore. Sweat started to gather at his temples along with the pressure of an oncoming headache. “Look, Lindsay, I appreciate you thinking of Hannah and wanting her to be part of the ceremony, but I don’t—”

“Sorry I’m late!” The cheery voice interrupted Jamison’s escape, and every muscle in his body tensed. That need to run raced through him once more, but his feet felt frozen in place. Still, he couldn’t help turning to glance over his shoulder, bracing himself for the woman he could feel drawing closer.

The wedding coordinator.

Ryder and Lindsay had introduced them not long after he’d checked into the sprawling Victorian hotel. He’d been exhausted from fourteen-hour workdays, worn out from the long drive from San Francisco and far more overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of Hannah on his own than he dared admit even to himself.

That was the only logical explanation he’d been able to come up with for why that first meeting with Rory McClaren had sent a lightning bolt straight through his chest. Her smile had stopped him dead in his tracks and her touch—nothing more than a simple handshake—had shot a rush of adrenaline through his system, jump-starting his heartbeat and sending it racing for the first time in...ever, it seemed.

But logical explanations failed him now. One look at Rory, and Jamison was blown away all over again.

Big blue eyes sparkled in a heart-shaped face framed by dark, shoulder-length hair. A fringe of bangs, thick lashes and arched eyebrows drew him even deeper into that gaze. A sprinkling of freckles across her nose kept her fair skin from being too perfect, and cherry-red lipstick highlighted a bright smile and a sexy mouth Jamison had no business thinking about again and again.

A white sundress stitched with red roses revealed more freckles scattered like gold dust across her delicate collarbones. The fitted bodice hugged the curves of her breasts and small waist before flaring to swish around her slender legs as she walked.

She looked as fresh and sunny as a summer’s day, and Jamison almost had to squint when he looked at her, like he needed sunglasses to shield him from her stunning beauty.

He sure as hell needed some form of protection, some barrier to establish a safe distance from this woman and the unexpected, unwanted way she made him feel. If his disastrous marriage had taught him one lesson, it was that he far preferred being numb.

“Mr. Porter, nice to see you again.”

Her smile was genuine, but Jamison couldn’t imagine her words were true. He’d been abrupt the day before, unnerved by his reaction and bordering on rude. “Ms. McClaren. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this morning.”

“All part of Hillcrest House’s service as an all-inclusive wedding venue,” she said with a smile to Lindsay before turning that full wattage on Jamison. “But we are a hotel first and foremost, so I hope you enjoyed your first night under our roof.”

He’d heard his share of come-ons in his lifetime. There was nothing the least bit seductive in her smile or her voice. But his imagination, as suddenly uncontrollable as his hormones, had him picturing an intimacy beyond sleeping under her roof and instead sleeping in her bed...

Jamison didn’t know if his thoughts were written on his face, but whatever Rory saw had enough color blooming in her cheeks to rival the roses on her dress. Her lips parted on an inhaled breath, and Jamison felt drawn closer, captured by the moment as the awareness stretched between them until she dropped her gaze.

“And Hannah!”

That quickly, the enticing image was banished, but not the pained embarrassment lingering in its wake. He wasn’t some gawky teenager lusting after the high school cheerleader. He was a grown man, a father...a father with a daughter he was terrified of failing—just like he had her mother.

“How are you this morning?” Undeterred by the lack of response, Rory’s lyrical voice rose and fell, and Jamison didn’t want to think about the slight tremor under the words. Didn’t want to think she might be as affected as he was by the chemistry between them. “Do you like your room at the hotel? You know, the Bluebell has always been my favorite.”

The Bluebell...

What kind of hotel designated their rooms by a type of flower?

“It’s all part of Hillcrest’s romantic charm,” Rory had explained.

He had no need for romance or charm or bright-eyed brunettes. He wanted logic, order. He wanted the normalcy of sequential room numbers, for God’s sake!

But the Bluebell was one of the hotel’s few two-room suites and, while small, it offered a living space and tiny kitchenette. The comfortable room was subtly decorated in shades of blue and white.

If only it wasn’t for the name...and the reminder of flowers that had him thinking far too often of Rory’s dark-lashed, vibrant blue eyes.

“I like purple,” Hannah answered, surprising him too much with her willingness to talk to a virtual stranger for him to point out bluebell wasn’t a color.

“Me, too,” Rory agreed as she caught on to his daughter’s twist in the topic.

Hannah’s forehead wrinkled. “You said you like blue.”

“Actually, Hannah, rainbow is my favorite color...” The wedding coordinator bent at the waist so she and Hannah were almost eye to eye as she shared that piece of nonsense with the little girl. “That way I never have to pick just one.”

A lock of her hair slid forward like a silken ribbon and curved around her breast. The dark strands were a stark contrast against the white fabric, but it was the similarities that had Jamison sucking in a deep breath. Soft cotton, soft hair, soft skin...

Realizing he was staring, he jerked his gaze away. Falling back on good manners now that good sense seemed to have deserted him, he ground out, “Hannah, you remember Ms. McClaren?”

His daughter nodded, her eyes too serious for her still-baby face as she peered up at the wedding coordinator. She wrapped her index finger in the hem of her shirt, holding on the same way she had to the pink-and-white blanket Jamison remembered her carrying with her everywhere when she was a toddler. “She’s Miss Lindsay’s fairy godmother.”

Jamison blinked at Hannah’s unexpected announcement. “She’s... Oh, right.” That was how Lindsay had introduced the woman. The bride had sung Rory McClaren’s praises, complimenting her on finding the perfect music, the perfect flowers, the perfect menu—as if any of that attention to detail would lead to the perfect marriage.

Jamison knew better. He was cynical enough to wonder if Rory knew the same, but not cynical enough to believe it. Everything about her was too genuine, too hopeful for him to convince himself it was all for show. But even if the wedding coordinator believed what she was selling, that didn’t mean Jamison was buying.

“She’s not really a fairy godmother,” he told his daughter firmly.

“Of course not,” the dark-haired pixie said with a conspiring wink at the little girl, who gazed back with shy curiosity. “And you can call me Rory.”

Jamison’s jaw tightened. No doubt Rory thought the shared moment with Hannah was harmless, but the last thing he needed was for his daughter to put faith in fairy tales. Especially when the one thing Hannah wanted was the one thing no one—not even a fairy godmother, if such a thing existed—could give her.

Rory’s smile faltered when she glanced up into his face. Straightening, she rallied by getting down to business and glancing between Lindsay and Hannah. “So, are we ready to start trying on some gorgeous dresses?”

“I can’t wait!” Lindsay announced, clapping her hands in front of her as if trying to hold on to her excitement. “I’ve picked out some of the cutest dresses, and you have got to help me decide which one to choose.”

“That is what I’m here for. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask!”

And with statements like that, Jamison thought, was it any wonder Hannah thought the woman was some kind of fairy godmother? Even he half expected a magic wand to appear in the delicate hand she waved through the air.

Better to leave now before he—before Hannah—could get sucked any further into a belief in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

“About that. I think Hannah might be a little too young for all of this.”

Lindsay sank back onto her heels, her earlier excitement leaking out of her. He wasn’t a man to go back on his word, but he never should have agreed to have Hannah in the wedding in the first place. With his in-laws pointing out the need for a female influence in Hannah’s life, he’d thought—hell, Jamison didn’t know what he’d thought. But the whole idea was a mistake. “Trying on clothes isn’t her idea of fun.”

This time, though, the wedding coordinator’s smile didn’t dim in the least. If anything, an added spark came to her eyes. “The shopping gene hasn’t kicked in yet?”

“I’m hoping it skips a generation.”

Rory laughed as though he’d been joking, brightening her expression even more, like a spotlight showcasing a work of art. “You and all fathers everywhere.”

It was a small thing—Rory categorizing him as a typical dad—but some of the pressure eased in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t so obvious from the outside that he was at such a loss when it came to his own daughter. Best to quit while he was, if not ahead, then at least breaking even.

But before he could once again make his excuses, Rory turned to Hannah. “Well, maybe Miss Lindsay can go first. What do you think, Hannah? Are you ready to help?”

“Ms. McClaren—”

“Why does she need help?” It was Hannah who interrupted this time, coming out from behind him far enough to look from Rory to Lindsay. “She’s a grown-up, and big girls should be old enough to get dressed by themselves.”

Jamison closed his eyes and wished for a sinkhole to open up in the sidewalk and swallow him whole at his words coming out of Hannah’s mouth. Crap. Was that really how he sounded? So...condescending and demeaning?

“Hannah...” He’d only pulled out the big-girl card because Hannah was so filled with ideas of what she would do when she was older. Or at least she had been.

But if Rory was ready to take that “typical dad” title away from him and flag him with “worst father ever,” she didn’t let it show as she knelt down in front of his little girl. Close enough this time that he could have stroked her hair, as dark as Hannah’s was light, and he shoved his free hand into his pocket before insanity had him reaching out...

“You know, Hannah,” Rory was saying, her voice filled with that same touch of sharing a secret she’d conveyed earlier with that wink, “funny thing about being a big girl...sometimes we still need help.”

As she spoke, she reached up and slipped the bright pink band from Hannah’s hair. With a few quick swipes of her hands and without a comb or brush in sight, she had the little girl’s curls contained in a smooth, well-centered ponytail. “Not a lot of help. Just a little, just enough to make things right.”

To make things right... Jamison didn’t have a clue how to go about making things right in his daughter’s world. Especially not when he saw the open longing and amazement in Hannah’s face as she reached up to touch her now-perfect ponytail.

“So what do you think?” Rory asked as she straightened, her full skirt swirling around her legs. The roses on her dress might have been embroidered, but somehow Jamison still caught a sweet, fresh scent, as if she’d risen from a bed of wildflowers. “Do you want to help Lindsay with her dress for the wedding?”

Hannah hesitated, and Jamison braced himself for the “I don’t want to” response. Instead, she surprised him, nodding once and sliding a little farther out from behind him.

“And maybe, after Lindsay’s done, we could find a dress for you. Just to try on—you know, like playing dress-up. And then you can put your everyday clothes back on, because who wants to wear dresses all the time?”

Hannah reached out and brushed her tiny hand over Rory’s skirt. “You do.”

Rory tilted her head to the side as she laughed. “You caught me. I do like wearing dresses. But not all the time.”

Jamison might have only met the woman, but he already sensed how Rory’s clothes—elegant and old-fashioned—suited her. He had a hard time picturing her in anything else.

Now, if he could only stop himself from picturing her wearing nothing at all...


Chapter Two (#ulink_b828210a-1f6f-59a5-b85d-fd8c65fe073f)

When Rory McClaren was five years old, she went through a princess phase. Her cousin Evie would likely say she never fully recovered from her belief in true love and happy endings and fascination with gorgeous ball gowns. Or the hidden longing to wear a tiara. On a Tuesday. Just for fun.

And while Rory had denied those longings throughout her adult life, her new position as wedding coordinator for Hillcrest House brought out every once-upon-a-time memory. She might have laughed it off when Lindsay Brookes had introduced her as a fairy godmother, but it was secretly how she viewed her job.

Of course, Rory also knew what Evie would say about that.

Coordinating weddings is a serious business, not a game of pretend. And Hillcrest House isn’t a fairy-tale castle, no matter what you thought as a kid.

Neither she nor Evie had planned on this recent stay in Clearville, but the two of them were in this together—doing all they could to keep Hillcrest House running while their aunt was going through cancer treatments. Evie, a CPA, was handling the books and the staff while Rory was taking on a guest relations role as well as event planning for the venue.

So far, Lindsay Brookes had been a dream to work with, but her wedding to Ryder Kincaid came with some extra pressure. Not only did Rory consider Lindsay a friend, the pretty businesswoman also worked for Clearville’s chamber of commerce. She was constantly promoting the small Northern California town and its businesses.

Rory wanted to prove all the brochures and promotions touting Hillcrest House as the all-inclusive wedding destination were as good as gold. The weight of responsibility pressed hard on her shoulders, but she was determined not to crumble.

She could certainly withstand a reticent best man and his shy flower girl daughter. Despite Jamison’s claims that she didn’t enjoy shopping, Hannah was gazing at the elegantly posed mannequins and racks of lacy dresses lining the walls of the small shop while her sharp-eyed father watched from close by.

With her tiny hands clasped behind her back, the little girl was clearly familiar with the phrase look but don’t touch. Under her breath, she named off the color of each dress she came across in a singsong voice, and Rory didn’t think it would take much to rid Hannah of her uncertainty in her role as a flower girl.

Her smile faded, though, when she caught sight of the storm clouds gathering in Jamison’s eyes. Something told her erasing his concerns wouldn’t be so easy.

Rory had hoped her initial impression of Ryder Kincaid’s best friend had been a rush to judgment. She’d told herself that with a good night’s sleep and a chance to relax and unwind, Jamison Porter would be a different man. A man she could handle with professional competence as she guided him through the duties of the best man from suggestions for a fun yet tasteful bachelor party to tips on a heartfelt toast.

But Jamison Porter was still every bit as intense and edgy as he had been the day before—and not a man easily handled.

It wasn’t the first time Rory had been to this shop with a reluctant man in tow. Not every couple held to the superstition that the groom shouldn’t see the bride in her gown. But none of the men had seemed so out of place as Jamison did. At over six feet, with rich chestnut hair and cool gray eyes, all rugged angles and sharp planes, he wore the tall, dark and handsome label to perfection. The airy dresses around him seemed as insubstantial in comparison as dandelion fluff, ready to disintegrate with a single puff of breath from his lips.

Not that Jamison Porter’s lips were anything Rory should be thinking about...

“So, you’re the best man,” she said, cringing at the exuberant sound of her own voice.

“That’s what Ryder tells me.”

The hint of self-deprecating humor loosened a strand in the single father’s too tightly laced personality. One that made him even more attractive than his classically handsome good looks.

But that was the last thing Rory needed. Their first meeting, as abrupt and tension filled as those moments had been, had sparked an awareness that had her thinking of the handsome single father far too often.

And just now while standing outside the bridal shop, when she asked what she’d thought to be an innocent question about his first night at Hillcrest...

The intensity in his expression served notice there was nothing innocent about Jamison Porter. Everything about the man had Rory on high alert, raw nerve endings leaving her jumpy and out of sorts. Off her game at a time when she needed to be at her best.

Evie had taken a leave of absence from her job at the accounting firm to help out their aunt, confident they would hold her position for her, and had sublet her fabulous condo in Portland.

Whereas Rory—

Rory had nothing left. She couldn’t afford not to come to Clearville. Back in LA, she had no boyfriend, no apartment, no job and a reputation left in tatters all thanks to her professional—and personal—failure.

Pushing thoughts of her short-lived interior design career aside, she focused on the most important aspects of the wedding.

“Ryder and Lindsay make such a wonderful couple. It’s amazing the way they’ve reunited after so many years, and seeing them together... Well, they’re crazy about each other.”

Jamison gave a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Crazy is one word for it.”

“And what word would you use?”

He paused for a moment, and Rory had a feeling he was searching for the least offensive description. “Sudden,” he said finally. “They just got engaged.”

“True, but they’ve known each other since high school.” Lindsay had filled Rory in on the couple’s history, how she had been a shy bookworm with a huge crush on the popular quarterback. “They went their separate ways after graduation, but from what Lindsay says, she never stopped loving Ryder.”

And while Ryder had gone on to marry another woman, Rory had no doubt he was in love with his future bride.

“She’s a wonderful person. A great mother...”

The dark clouds in Jamison’s eyes started flashing lightning and Rory’s voice trailed away as she realized that was one box she shouldn’t have opened. Unable to leave well enough alone, she couldn’t help asking, “Have you met Robbie?”

He gave a quick nod. “I have.”

“He’s a great kid.”

“One Ryder didn’t even know about until a few months ago.”

Rory sucked in a startled breath. Okay, so Jamison was breaking out the big guns to take on the elephant in the room. Fortunately, the curtain to the dressing room opened and Lindsay stepped out before he had time to reload.

Hannah’s breathless voice broke the silence that followed. “You look beautiful.”

This was the first time Rory had seen Lindsay in her wedding dress, and she couldn’t hold back a whisper of her own. “Oh, Lindsay. Hannah is right. That dress is perfect.”

Having worked on the flowers, the music and the table settings for the reception, Rory knew Lindsay had an elegant, timeless vision for the wedding, so it was no surprise her dress reflected that same taste.

The sheath-style gown was gorgeous in its simplicity; lace sleeves capped a straight column of white satin, and a hint of beadwork decorated the bodice and the lace insert that veed out into a modest train.

Lindsay gave a self-conscious laugh as she glanced at the silent member of the group. “It’s not bad luck for the best man to see the bride in her gown, is it?”

To his credit, Jamison tipped his head at Lindsay. “You make a beautiful bride.”

Lindsay blushed at the compliment, but while the words were right, Rory knew in her heart Jamison thought Ryder and Lindsay getting married was wrong.

A gentle tug on her skirt distracted Rory from the troubling thought. “Miss Rory, is it my turn to dress like a princess?”

She smiled down at Hannah. She was an adorable little girl with a riot of blond curls, big brown eyes and a shyness that tugged at Rory’s heart.

But it was the expression on Jamison’s face that had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. A mix of love and uncertainty that held him frozen in place, as if he, too, were bound by the look, don’t touch mantra.

“It sure is, sweetie,” Rory said, injecting a positive note into her voice though she didn’t know which of the Porters needed her encouragement more. “Miss Lindsay has a whole bunch of dresses for you to try on.” Tilting her head in the direction of the changing room, Rory asked Jamison, “Do you want...”

Looking torn between Daddy duty and a man’s typical reaction of running as far as he could from anything girlie, he said, “I, um, think I’ll wait out here.”

“What do you think, Hannah?” Rory asked when the little girl hesitated. “See, your daddy wants the princess dresses to be a surprise, so he’ll wait in that chair over there.”

Like father, like daughter. Hannah looked indecisively from her father to the curtained dressing room and back again. Finally her blond head bounced in a nod. “You wait there, Daddy, and no peeking.”

Rory wouldn’t have thought Jamison Porter could look any more uncomfortable than he had two seconds ago, but his daughter’s instructions for him not to go peeking into the women’s dressing room had a slight flush darkening his cheeks.

Rory fought to hide a smile, but judging by the narrowing of Jamison’s eyes, she didn’t succeed.

Biting the inside of her lip, she shot a stern look in his direction. “You heard the girl, Mr. Porter. No peeking.”

For a split second, their eyes met, and Rory’s smile faded as something electric and powerful passed between them. Heat flared in Jamison’s eyes, a warning beacon, and she swallowed hard. He might not have looked behind the curtain, but when it came to her attraction to him, Rory feared he saw way too much.

* * *

The jingle of metal rings cut through Jamison’s relentless pacing, and he glanced over in time to see Rory slip through the curtain.

The one his little girl had warned him not to peek behind. His faced started to heat again at the thought. Not because his own kid made him out to sound like some kind of Peeping Tom—she was only four, after all. But because of the moment that had followed.

The moment when Rory had echoed his daughter’s words and his gaze had locked on hers and there’d been nothing—nothing—in his power that could keep him from mentally pulling back that curtain and picturing Rory McClaren wearing something far less than the old-fashioned dresses she favored.

Judging by the way her eyes had widened, she’d known it.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is Hannah—”

“She’s fine. The seamstress is taking some measurements, and Hannah wanted me to make sure you’re still waiting for her. She was a little nervous at first, but I think she’s getting into the spirit of things. So, please...” She nodded her head at the waiting chair. “Sit down and relax.”

He all but glared at the floral-print cushions that might as well have been covered with sharp thorns. Without some outlet for his excess energy, he’d likely explode. “Relaxing doesn’t come easy to me.”

“Really?” Rory drawled.

“That obvious, is it?” He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Maintaining a single-minded focus and blocking out the world around him had been a reflex since he was a kid.

His parents’ divorce—hell, their entire marriage—had been a battlefield, his childhood collateral damage. The fights, the cold silences, the endless digs when the other wasn’t around—Jamison had hated it all.

That volatile home life had made Jamison even more determined to keep the peace in his own marriage. He’d worked hard to give Monica everything she could need, everything she could want, everything she’d asked for and more.

And none of it had been enough to make her—or their marriage—happy.

Monica had always complained about the long hours he put in. Of course, Monica had complained about so many things that work became even more of a refuge.

A sweet giggle came from behind the curtain, and Rory murmured, “She’s a beautiful little girl.”

The innocent comment slammed through him. He needed to spend this time away from work with his daughter. He needed to find a way to reconnect, but he was at a loss to know how. And it galled him, he had to admit, how easily, how naturally Rory related to Hannah when for him it was all such a struggle.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, wishing he could take more credit for the amazing little person Hannah was. But she even looked like Monica, a tiny carbon copy of his blond-haired, doe-eyed wife.

“She’ll make an adorable flower girl,” Rory said.

“I’m sure she will,” Jamison said. “I’m just not sure about this whole wedding thing.”

Rory cocked a questioning eyebrow. “The whole wedding?” she asked.

“Hannah’s role in it,” he amended, knowing he’d already said too much.

“I can see how she’d be nervous, walking down the aisle in front of all those people. But you’ll be standing at Ryder’s side, so all she has to do is keep her eyes on you, knowing you’ll be watching her the whole way, and she’ll do fine.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I have faith,” she said lightly.

Of course she did. The Hillcrest wedding coordinator had faith, hope and light shining out of her. “Still, it’s a lot of pressure to put on a little kid.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Hannah. My faith is in you.”

“In me?” Jamison echoed. “Why would you—” why would anyone “—put your faith in me?”

“Because I see the trust Hannah has in you. All you have to do is show her you’ll be there for her, and she’ll find the courage and confidence to move forward all on her own.”

All you have to do is be there for her. Little did Rory know how seldom he’d been there for Hannah during her short life. First because of how hard he’d been working, and then because of Monica... But now he, as Hannah’s only parent, was responsible for her health and happiness.

The weight of that responsibility pressed on Jamison’s chest until he struggled to breathe. And he couldn’t help wondering if his in-laws were right and if they weren’t so much better equipped to raise Hannah...

“Ever think maybe you put too much faith in people?” he asked Rory, his voice rougher than necessary and so out of place in this shop filled with feminine softness.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, surprising him with the candid answer. “And sometimes they let me down.”

“Rory—” A hint of sadness clouded her beautiful features. And that restless energy inside him changed into an urge to close the distance between them, to pull her into his arms and wipe the lingering shadows from her blue eyes...

“Daddy, look!” His daughter’s excited voice broke the moment, saving him from making a huge mistake, as she popped out from the dressing room. “It’s a real princess dress! Just for me.”

She giggled as she spun in a circle, the cream-colored lacy skirt flaring out around her tiny legs and glittery sneakers. The happy sound only magnified the ache, the guilt, pressing down on his chest. When was the last time he’d heard Hannah laugh?

“Just for you, Hannah,” he vowed.

From now on, everything was just for his daughter.

Because if there was one thing he’d already done far too many times, it was let the females in his life down.

So despite the attraction, despite the knowing, tender look in the wedding coordinator’s gaze, Jamison was going to keep his distance.


Chapter Three (#ulink_93cd2e03-abd0-587d-b211-2948a2a600cf)

“Oh, my gosh! Didn’t Hannah look so cute?”

Seated at a wrought iron bistro table outside the café, Rory smiled as she listened to Lindsay describe every detail on the flower girl’s dress. Not that she minded. The time with the sweet little girl was still playing through Rory’s thoughts, as well.

Which was much better than thinking of the girl’s not-so-sweet but undeniably hot father...

The bride-to-be’s recitation stopped on a sigh as she paused to take a bite of a double-chocolate muffin. “Why did you bring me here?” she demanded. “That was supposed to be my final fitting, and after eating this dessert, I’m going to need to go back and have the seams let out at least two inches.”

Eyeing Lindsay’s slender frame, Rory laughed. “I think you’re safe, and besides, we’re splitting, remember?” she asked before breaking off a piece of the moist top rising above the sparkling pink wrapper. She gave a sigh of her own as rich chocolate melted in her mouth.

“Perfect, so the seams will only need to be let out one inch.” Despite the complaint, Lindsay went in for another bite.

“You have nothing to worry about. Ryder is going to take one look at you walking down the aisle and be blown away.”

The other woman smiled, but as she wiped her fingers on a napkin, Rory could see her heart wasn’t in it. “Hey, everything okay? I know how busy you’ve been between the wedding and the benefit next week.”

As part of her job promoting Clearville and its businesses, Lindsay was helping Jarrett Deeks with a rodeo at the local fairgrounds. The benefit was aimed at raising funds and awareness for the former rodeo star’s horse rescue.

“Everything’s on track. Jarrett lined up enough cowboys to compete, and local vendors have been amazing about donating their time and part of the proceeds from their booths.” Despite the positive words, worry knit her dark blond brows, and she crumpled the napkin in her fist.

“So then what’s wrong...and what can I do to help?” Lindsay was a Hillcrest bride, but she was also a friend. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You might wish you hadn’t made that promise.”

“I never make promises I don’t keep,” Rory vowed, her thoughts drifting back to her ex, Peter, and his many, many broken promises, but she shoved the memories away.

“Okay then,” Lindsay exhaled a deep breath. “Here goes... It’s Jamison. He and Ryder have known each other for years, and I can tell by how Ryder talks how close they are. He’s already told me there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jamison, and I’m sure Jamison feels the same.”

The last part was said with enough worry for unease to worm its way into Rory’s stomach. “And what do you think Jamison’s going to do?”

“I’m probably being paranoid. But my relationship with Ryder... Well, let’s just say we didn’t get off to the best start.” The bride gave a shaky laugh at the understatement behind those words.

Rory might have moved to Clearville recently, but her frequent visits as a teenager had given her a taste of small-town life. Everyone knew everyone’s business. Which was why it was still something of a shock among the local gossips that Lindsay Brookes had managed to keep her son’s—Ryder’s son’s—paternity a secret for so long.

“But the two of you are together now,” Rory reassured her friend, “and that’s all that matters.”

She might not know the whole story of how Lindsay and Ryder had worked out a decade of differences, but she’d seen for herself how in love the couple was. The way Ryder looked at Lindsay—

Rory pushed aside the pinpricks of envy jabbing at her heart to embrace the positive. If Ryder and Lindsay could overcome such odds and find their way back to each other, then surely there was hope for her. True love was out there somewhere, but right now her focus was Hillcrest House and helping her aunt. Her own happily-ever-after would wait.

“I know. Things are going so well, but I can’t shake this feeling that something’s going to go wrong. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“And you think that shoe’s a size-eleven Italian loafer?”

Lindsay laughed. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I think it’s safe to say Jamison’s strung a bit tight for a guy who’s supposed to be on vacation.”

And was it any wonder she was determined to ignore the instant, unwanted attraction? If Rory had a type, she certainly didn’t want it to be Jamison Porter. He was a corporate attorney, for heaven’s sake! A shark in a suit when she was looking for more of a—a puppy.

Someone sweet, lovable...loyal. Someone willing to defend her and stay by her side.

“From what I’ve heard from Ryder, Jamison doesn’t do vacations. Ryder really had to push him to take this time off. I guess Jamison has some big deal in the works, but I think if he would take a day or two to relax, it might give him a different perspective on the whole wedding and, well, on me.”

“Lindsay, Ryder loves you. And as for Jamison, I think he and Ryder need to go out for a couple of beers and a game of pool over at the Clearville Bar and Grille. They can do the whole high-fiving, name-calling, competitive guy thing, and all will be well.”

Even as she said the words, Rory had a hard time picturing Jamison Porter at the local sports bar. He seemed like her ex, Peter, who was more interested in being seen by the right people in the right places. But then again, so much about Peter had all been for show...

“And Ryder’s asked, but Jamison won’t go. He doesn’t want to leave Hannah.”

And that did not sound like Peter at all. Maybe Rory had been too quick in making her comparisons.

“She’s had a hard time since the accident.”

“Accident?”

Lindsay nodded, sympathy softening her pretty features. “A car accident a few months ago. Hannah sustained a mild concussion and a broken arm, but she was the lucky one. Her mother was killed instantly.”

“Oh, no.” That lost look she’d picked up on in Hannah...and in Jamison. Rory had assumed it was nothing more than a single dad on his own with his daughter, far away from the comforts of home. She should have realized it was something deeper... “Poor Hannah. And Jamison, to lose his wife.”

“They were separated, and from what Ryder’s said, things hadn’t been right between them for a long time. But still...”

“I guess you can’t blame him if he has his doubts about love and marriage.”

“That’s what Ryder keeps telling me. Not everything going on in the world revolves around our wedding.”

“You’re the bride, Lindsay. Everything does revolve around the wedding.”

Lindsay dropped what was left of the mangled napkin on the table and leaned forward with a relieved smile. “I knew you’d understand, Rory! You’re the best wedding coordinator ever, and I knew I could count on you to help.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly am I helping with?”

“Well, with Jamison, of course. I thought if you could show him around town, spend some time with him—”

“Wait! What?” she asked in alarm. “Why me?”

“You have such a way with people. Of keeping calm and helping them relax. Not to mention how taken Hannah is with you. You saw that, and I know Jamison did, too.”

Yes, Rory had noticed Hannah’s shy fascination. Knowing the little girl had lost her mother added a sense of heartbreak to the tiny fingers that had wrapped around her hand. But it wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the dark, disapproving clouds brewing in Jamison’s gray gaze.

She’d dealt with enough parental disapproval in her relationship with Peter to last a lifetime.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Lindsay. With everything Hannah and Jamison must be going through—”

“That’s why this is so perfect!” her friend insisted. “Back home they’re surrounded by memories, but Clearville—and you—are a clean slate. I know this isn’t some miracle fix for what they’ve lost. No one expects that. All I’m asking is for you to show them around town. Give them a tour of Hillcrest House. You’re always saying how magical the place is.”

“So no miracles required, just performing a little magic,” Rory said wryly as she sank back in her chair. But she was already caving despite Jamison’s disapproval, despite her own reluctance to spend time with a man who made her heart skip a beat even when he was frowning at her.

Because once upon a time, Rory had found magic at Hillcrest House, and while her belief might have wavered a time or two over the years, it had never left her.

And when she thought about Hannah and the seriousness in her big brown eyes, Rory couldn’t help thinking that belief in happily-ever-after was what the little girl needed.

As for Jamison... Well, there was some magic Rory wasn’t sure even a fairy godmother could perform.

* * *

As a corporate lawyer at Spears, Moreland and Howe, one of the most prestigious firms in San Francisco, Jamison Porter was at the top of his game. He was vying for a promotion that would make him the youngest junior partner in the firm’s history. He had a track record of success and negotiated million-dollar deals for breakfast.

So why was it he couldn’t win an argument with his daughter when it came to eating breakfast?

“I want pancakes.”

Still in her ladybug pajamas, her hair a tangled mess of curls—proof of another battle he’d already lost this morning—Hannah slouched in the dining room chair in a classic pout.

“Hannah...”

The key to winning any negotiation was coming to the table from a place of power, and in this, Jamison had none. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Not after he’d given in to her request for pancakes the day before.

But how was he supposed to say strong when his daughter’s willful tantrum broke down and she’d whispered, “Mommy let me have pancakes,” with tears filling her eyes?

And so he’d given in and learned the hard way a sugar rush was not a myth. Hyped up on the sweet stuff, Hannah had talked almost nonstop after leaving the bridal shop—mostly about the very woman Jamison was trying so hard not to think about.

“Rory says I can wear ribbons in my hair.

“Rory says I’ll get to carry a basket filled with roses and can throw them like it’s raining flowers.

“Rory says...”

But no matter how much his daughter talked, it was Rory’s voice Jamison heard. Her smile that flashed through his mind time and again. Her challenge to him to reassure Hannah that everything would be okay and her misplaced confidence that he would succeed.

His daughter didn’t need him to encourage her to walk down the aisle and be the best flower girl she could be. Rory had done all that on her own. Jamison doubted there was much the woman couldn’t talk a person into if she tried.

Sometimes people let me down.

Whoever the man was—and Jamison would bet the partnership up for grabs that it was a man—he had to be the biggest kind of fool to put that shadow of disappointment in Rory’s eyes.

And Jamison was no fool. He learned from his mistakes and the biggest one he’d made was in believing he could make a woman happy. So he’d be smart and keep his distance from the pretty wedding coordinator before she could learn the hard way he could only be another man who would let her down.

Jamison scraped a hand over his face, feeling the stubble he had yet to shave away. He’d grabbed a quick shower that morning, but Hannah had been up by the time he’d gotten dressed. He had hoped she might sleep in, but she awoke first thing...looking as bright eyed and well rested as if she hadn’t taken ten years off his life when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

His mother-in-law, Louisa, had warned him about deviating from Hannah’s schedule. She’s been through so much. She takes comfort in a stable routine.

In that, they were alike, but lately he’d noticed his daughter’s routine—or more specifically, Louisa’s routine for his daughter—left very little time for him to spend with Hannah.

After the accident, he’d welcomed his mother-in-law’s help. Though not life threatening, Hannah’s injuries had left her bruised and broken, and Jamison had almost been afraid to touch her. Louisa, a former nurse, had the knowledge and experience Jamison lacked. But now that Hannah had healed, it was time for Louisa to take a step back—whether she wanted to or not.

Which was one of the reasons he’d insisted on this extended trip with Hannah. He’d thought his mother-in-law had exaggerated the problems he might cause, but now he had to wonder.

The first night at the hotel, bedtime had been accompanied by multiple requests for night-night stories, drinks of water and trips to the bathroom. Had those delay tactics been something more than a child’s typical resistance to bedtime in a strange location? Were the nightmares that haunted Hannah enough to make her afraid to close her eyes?

Jamison hated the helplessness that gripped him and how the sound of her cries took him back to that horrible day.

On the phone fighting with Monica, Hannah crying in the background...his wife’s shrill scream, the sickening crash of metal and after that...nothing. Just a dead phone clutched in his hand.

Eventually Hannah had drifted off to sleep, her breathing still shaky from lingering tears. But Jamison hadn’t slept a wink. Blinking through blurry eyes, he figured he looked every bit as rough as that sleepless night had felt.

He was relieved Hannah didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects, but the sense of anxiety that had kept his eyes wide-open still lingered. The monster under the bed ready to jump out at any minute, even during the day with the sun shining.

“I’ve already ordered breakfast,” he reminded her now as he sank into a chair and was met with her pouty face.

Stick with the routine, he reminded himself.

When he first read through Louisa’s list of approved foods, dominated by fruits and vegetables, he’d wondered if his mother-in-law wasn’t setting him up for a fall. Really, what kid wanted oatmeal for breakfast? But the pancake incident and last night’s nightmare made him realize he didn’t need to blame Louisa for his failures.

He could fail spectacularly all on his own.

“But I want—”

A quick knock on the door interrupted the brewing tantrum, and Jamison wasn’t sure when he’d felt more relieved. “See, there’s room service now with breakfast.”

“Pancakes!” Hannah finished in a voice loud enough to have him cringing as he opened the door. And then cringing again at who was on the other side.

“Morning!” Looking bright, chipper and far too tempting for so early in the morning, Rory McClaren met his frown with a beaming smile.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that made her look even younger than he guessed she was and brought to mind old sitcoms set back in the ’60s. So did the halter-style dress with its soft floral print and full skirt. His mind still foggy from a sleepless night and too many hours spent thinking of her, Jamison could only stare.

After Hannah’s nightmare, Rory looked like something out of a dream. As the rich, strong scent of caffeine hit him, he belatedly noticed the silver serving cart in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” Still on some kind of sleep-deprived delay, the question didn’t form until Rory had already wheeled the cart between the floral-print couch and coffee table in the living area and into the dining room.

She shot a questioning glance over her bare shoulder. “You did order room service, didn’t you?”

Her blue gaze was filled with wide-eyed innocence, but Jamison wasn’t buying it. Realizing he was still holding the door open, he let go and followed her inside. “Yes, but I didn’t expect the wedding coordinator to deliver it.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Small hotel. Everyone pitches in.” Smiling at his daughter, she asked, “Are you ready for breakfast this morning, Miss Hannah?”

Despite her earlier fascination with the woman, Hannah retreated back into shyness. She drew her bare feet up onto the seat and wrapped her arms around her ladybug-covered legs, looking impossibly tiny in the adult-size chair. “I want pancakes,” she repeated, her voice more of a whisper this time.

Instead of a wave of embarrassment crashing over him, Jamison couldn’t help feeling a little smug as Rory’s cheery expression faltered a bit.

“Um—” she glanced at the ticket tucked beneath one of the covered trays “—it looks like the chef made you oatmeal this morning.” She lifted her gaze to Jamison for confirmation.

He nodded. “Oatmeal’s good for you. Healthy.”

At least that was what his in-laws thought. It wasn’t something his mother would have fixed when he was a kid. Not that his mother fixed much of anything in the way of meals—breakfast or otherwise. Jamison had mostly been on his own and, in all honesty, more than content with sugary cereal eaten straight from the box, parked in front of morning cartoons.

“Good for you. Right...” Rory drew out the word as she pulled the cover off the bowl of plain, beige cereal. No fun shapes, bright colors or magically delicious marshmallows there. “What do you say we make this oatmeal even yummier, Hannah?”

Somehow, Jamison should have known a bowl of mush wouldn’t be enough to throw her off her game.

“How?” A wealth of doubt filled that one word, and just like that Jamison’s amusement vanished.

Yesterday, Hannah had been ready to believe Rory was a fairy godmother who walked on flower petals. And okay, so he didn’t buy into Rory McClaren’s brand of happily-ever-after, but his daughter was still a little girl. Did he want her doubting something as simple as breakfast couldn’t somehow get better?

“I’m guessing Rory has an idea about that,” he murmured.

He caught her look of surprise before pleasure brought a pink glow to her cheeks. “That’s right. Thanks to your daddy, who also ordered some fruit, we are going to turn this into happy oatmeal.”

“Happy?”

“Yep. This oatmeal’s a little sad and plain right now,” she said as reached for the platter of fruit beautifully arranged in the middle of the tray. “But with a little bit of color...” Her hands, as delicate and graceful as the rest of her, sliced up the fruit as she spoke. A moment later, she’d outlined a blueberry smiley face in the bowl of oatmeal, complete with banana-slice eyes, a strawberry nose and an orange-wedge smile.

Scrambling up onto her knees, Hannah peered into the bowl Rory set in front of her and let out a soft giggle. “Look, Daddy, the oatmeal’s smiling at me.”

And his daughter was smiling at him. Jamison would have liked the credit, but Rory McClaren had the magic touch. A woman who thought rainbow was a color and turned plain beige oatmeal into a bright, happy-faced breakfast.

“I like smiley-face yummy oatmeal.” Grabbing the spoon, Hannah leaned over the bowl, ready to dig in, her blond hair falling into her face.

“Oops, hold on a second, Hannah.”

Skirting around the whitewashed oak table, Rory reached up and pulled the peach-colored band from her ponytail. Jamison’s mouth went dry as she gave her head a quick shake and sent her dark hair tumbling over her bare shoulders.

His tongue practically stuck to the roof of his mouth; he fought to swallow, assailed by the image of that silken hair spread out against a pillow or tumbling over his shoulders as Rory leaned down to kiss him...

“Thank you, Miss Rory.” Her riot of curls contained, Hannah beamed up at the beautiful brunette.

Cupping her chin in one hand, Rory bent down until they were eye to eye. “You are welcome, Miss Hannah.”

Hannah giggled at the formality before digging into her breakfast. She bounced up and down in the chair in time with chowing down on a bite of banana, drawing an indulgent smile from Rory.

“And what about you, Mr. Porter?” she asked as she walked back over to the serving tray and waved a hand. “I don’t see another bowl of oatmeal for you.”

“Coffee,” he said abruptly, still trying to get the erotic images out of his mind.

Mistaking the reason for his short response, her earnest gaze met his. “I’m sorry if I overstepped with the ponytail. My only excuse is to say it’s an occupational hazard.”

“So, wedding coordinator, room service attendant and hairstylist?”

“Oh, I’m not a professional stylist by any means. But in my short time as wedding coordinator, I’ve learned to be a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to last-minute emergencies. Whether it’s figuring out how to turn three bridesmaids’ bouquets into four because the bride made up with her best friend at the last second or pulling out a hot-glue gun for a quick repair to a torn hemline, I feel like I’ve already been there, done that. And now it’s like I can’t help fixing things... Not that Hannah’s broken or you need help and—I have got to learn to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself!”

Rory wasn’t the only one with that second problem, but it wasn’t his daughter’s hair Jamison longed to get his hands on. “It’s all right,” he said gruffly, even though it wasn’t. Her actions were innocent. His intentions...not so much. “About the ponytail thing, I mean. Anyone can see I can’t get it right. And I do mean anyone, since even Hannah tells me her hair looks funny when I’m done with it.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

“Are you?” The sympathy in her eyes told him he and Hannah had been a topic of conversation once they left the bridal shop. “Because I’m not sure of a damn thing.”

He half expected some meaningless platitude, but instead she reached for the carafe on the serving tray and poured a cup of steaming coffee. “Rough night?” she asked as she handed him the mug.

His fingers overlapped hers, the warmth seeping through coming more from her soft skin than from the hard ceramic. For a brief second, they both froze, connected by the fragrant cup of coffee. And he found himself desperate for someone to confide in.

“Nightmare,” he admitted as Rory released the mug and took a quick step back. She set about tidying the serving tray, her lashes lowered as she avoided his gaze.

“You or Hannah?”

Jamison gave a quick laugh. “Hannah,” he said as if he hadn’t had more than his share of bad dreams over the past months. Not about Monica, like the dreams that had Hannah crying out for a mother who would never again kiss away her tears, but ones about the accident.

He’d seen pictures of what remained of the run-down sedan Monica had been driving—a mangled wreck of metal Hannah had somehow survived. As if those images weren’t bad enough, his subconscious tormented him even further. In his nightmares, the car burst into flames, plunged into a river or fell from a cliff while he could do nothing but watch.

In reality, Jamison hadn’t seen the accident, but he’d heard it.

Worse, he’d caused it.


Chapter Four (#ulink_2c63dd59-13eb-512c-85e2-a00a847ccfc1)

“Oh, Ms. McClaren, I have to tell you we just got back from the wedding-cake tasting, and every one of them was to die for. I think all those tiny little bites added up to an entire cake by the time we made up our minds.”

Rory smiled as the beaming, sugar-filled bride-to-be rushed to her side in the middle of Hillcrest House’s elegant, dark-walnut-paneled lobby. She had offered to take Jamison and Hannah on a tour of the grounds, but so far they hadn’t made it out of the hotel. She’d been stopped a handful of times either by guests or employees with questions about upcoming events.

Susannah Erickson was the latest interruption. “I’m glad you enjoyed the tasting. I learned within my first few days here not to accompany brides to the bakery. Too much temptation.”

And why, oh, why did she have to say temptation? Just speaking the word out loud had her thinking about that morning, and not about food. The image of Jamison opening the door, dressed but fresh from the shower, was seared in Rory’s mind. The scent of soap and shampoo had clung to his skin, and his damp hair had been rumpled from a quick toweling. Add to that the dark stubble he’d yet to shave away, and all she’d been able to think about was the seductive rasp of that rough skin against her own...

Almost against her will, Rory sought Jamison out. He stood off to the right with Hannah at his side, but Rory had already known that. She’d felt hyperaware of his proximity since he’d opened the door. Telling herself in the intimate setting of the Bluebell suite, of course she would notice the overwhelming presence of a masculine, six-foot-something man.

But even now, surrounded by guests and employees in the spacious lobby, she was still conscious of him. Of the way his gray gaze focused on her. Of the way the air crackled with electricity when their eyes met. Of the restless energy that seemed to pulse inside every inch of his broad-shouldered frame.

As Rory spoke with the bride-to-be about menu options and table settings, her words trembled and tripped on her tongue as though she were the one experiencing a high-octane sugar rush. Fortunately, her client didn’t seem to pick up on her nerves and promised to call back and book Hillcrest for her wedding as soon as she had a chance to talk with her fiancé.

After saying her farewells to Susannah, Rory braced herself to face Jamison again. He had taken the opportunity to shave and comb his hair during the time it took for her to return the breakfast dishes and serving cart to the kitchen. Too bad she didn’t find that strong, smooth jawline and the hint of an expensive, spicy aftershave any less attractive.

But the clean-cut version was a good reminder of who the man was. In the suite this morning, he’d been a harried father who’d needed her. A man dealing with the heartache of raising a child on his own. A man her heart urged her to help...

This, though, was Jamison Porter, Esquire. A businessman in control of himself and immune to his surroundings as his thumbs flew over his phone. Including, she feared, the daughter twisting restlessly at his side.

Rory knew what it was like to be pushed aside, forgotten, ignored...

She’d been a few years older than Hannah when tragedy struck her family. As an adult, she understood that her parents loved her every bit as much as they loved her brother, Chance, but in the weeks following his accident she’d felt like a ghost wandering the hospital halls—unseen, unheard.

Shaking off the memories, she scolded herself for projecting her own past onto the father and daughter in front of her. Focus, Rory. Jamison Porter is part of a wedding party and dealing with him part of your job.

Pasting a professional smile onto her face, she apologized as she joined them. “Sorry about all the interruptions.”

“If there’s one thing I understand, it’s work.” He thrust the phone into the pocket of his slacks, but Rory couldn’t tell if he was reluctant or relieved to break the connection. “I’m good at what I do.”

Rory frowned. The words didn’t sound like bragging as much as they sounded like...an apology? She wasn’t sure she had that right until his gaze dropped to the top of his daughter’s head and his throat worked in a rough swallow.

Suddenly the puzzle pieces fell into place. Successful businessman, not-so-successful family man. His fingers tapped on the outside of his muscular thigh, and Rory could sense his need to reach for his phone again—tangible proof of the predictable, logical world he’d left behind.

“Jamison—”

“I want cake for breakfast,” Hannah cut in, her tone grumpy enough for Rory to know the little girl hadn’t totally gotten over having to eat oatmeal that morning.

“Only brides get cake for breakfast,” her father answered quickly.

“I wanna be a bride.”

His daughter’s comeback was even faster than his and left Jamison groaning in response. Rory couldn’t help but laugh. “Relax, Dad, that’s one worry you can put off for a few years.” Gazing down at Hannah, she asked, “Do you want to go see where Miss Lindsay is going to get married? You can practice being her flower girl.”

Hannah was quiet for a second before her eyes lit up. “Do flower girls get cake?”

“They do—but not for breakfast.”

After heaving a sigh at the unfairness of that, Hannah nodded. “Okay.”

“All right then. Let’s go!”

“Wait, Miss Rory,” the girl demanded. “You hafta hold my hand.”

Hannah held out her left hand, her right already wrapped around her father’s. Rory hesitated even though she knew she was being ridiculous. In her short time at Hillcrest, she’d held more than her share of little and big girls’ hands leading up to a wedding. This was nothing different. But with Jamison on the other side, his daughter joining the two of them together, Rory felt a connection that went far beyond a professional capacity.

Something about the corporate lawyer, something in the shadows lingering in his silver eyes, grabbed hold of her. She’d been telling the truth when she said she’d become a jack-of-all-trades with a quick fix for prewedding emergencies. But she had to be careful. She’d be foolish to think she could step in and fix Jamison and his adorable daughter. Foolish to invest too much of herself when their time in Clearville was temporary. Foolish to think he’d want her to.

Though Rory didn’t want to be so in tune with the man just a child’s length away, she sensed the deep breath he exhaled as they stepped out into the cool morning air. Hannah bounced between them down the wraparound porch’s front steps, but it was Jamison who seemed to have released a negative energy bottled up far too long.

As they walked down the gravel path leading from the house, Rory couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. Even though she’d been back for almost three months, the sight of the Victorian mansion never failed to steal her breath.

She loved the history and old-fashioned elegance of the place. The way it brought to mind a simpler time. With its high peaks, glorious turrets and carved columns and balustrades, an air of romance surrounded the house and property.

Not that romance was anything Rory should be thinking of—at least not as her gaze met Jamison’s.

“Um, did you know Hillcrest House was built in the late 1800s? The original owner made his fortune decades earlier down in San Francisco during the gold rush. Not that he ever found gold, but he was one of the enterprising men who figured out the more practical side of gold fever. The thousands of men dreaming of striking it rich were going to need tools and equipment, and he was one of the first on the scene to set up shop.”

“Let me guess...at ridiculously inflated rates?” Jamison asked, the corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical smile that still managed to trip up Rory’s heartbeat.

“Oh, but he wasn’t just selling metal pans and shovels and pails... He was selling the miners the tools they needed to follow their dreams.” Catching the look of utter disbelief on Jamison’s face, Rory let out the laughter she’d been holding back. “Yeah, okay, even I can’t pull that one off. He robbed the poor suckers blind, selling on credit and then cashing in on their claims when they couldn’t pay him back.”

“So much for the romance of a time gone by.”

Rory started, feeling as if Jamison had read her thoughts moments earlier. “Well, uh, if it’s any consolation, karma did bite back, and he ended up losing his fortune—and Hillcrest House—when the stock market crashed.”

“Hmm, sounds like cosmic justice but, again, not very romantic.”

“Ah, but that’s when the house’s luck changed. After it stood empty for years, a wealthy industrialist from back east came to California and fell in love with a young woman. He bought Hillcrest as a wedding present for his bride. The story goes that their plan was to have a dozen or so kids—”

“A dozen?”

“At least,” Rory emphasized, smiling at the overwhelmed expression on his face as he glanced down at his lone child. “Sadly, they were unable to have children, but as time went on and more and more people were traveling to California and taking vacations along the coast, they decided to turn Hillcrest into a hotel so its rooms could still be filled with families and children and laughter—even if those families only stayed for a short time.”

The reminder was one Rory needed to focus on. Jamison and Hannah were only staying for a few weeks. She couldn’t allow herself to be drawn in on a personal level, to let herself start to care too much, too quickly. But with the little girl’s hand tucked so trustingly in hers as she sang under her breath, Rory couldn’t help wondering if it was already too late.

Hannah’s shy sweetness reminded Rory of a kitten she’d once rescued. The frightened Siamese had been all eyes in a skinny body covered with matted fur. It had taken time to build up enough trust for the kitten to allow her to pet it and even more time for the tiny bundle of fur to completely come out of its shell. To learn to run and play and chase. But Rory hadn’t given up, because even at the beginning, underneath all the wariness, she had sensed the playful kitten longing to come out.

And as much as the kitten had needed to be rescued, Rory had needed something to save. She couldn’t compare her experience as a child to what Hannah was facing in losing her mother so young, but Rory understood a little of what the girl was going through.

That beneath the sadness and loss, a silly, playful girl was struggling to break free.

“And what’s your family’s connection to the hotel?”

The summer breeze blew a lock of chestnut hair across Jamison’s forehead and let loose a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He was so good-looking, she forgot the question, forgot everything as she met his gaze over his daughter’s head.

“Rory.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as she tore her attention from the heat shimmering between them and back on what should have been her focus all along. “Right...my family’s connection to the hotel. Um, the couple owned the hotel for decades, but with no children to leave it to, they put it up for sale. My grandparents met at Hillcrest—”

“Another romantic story?”

“Exactly,” she answered, pleased with his guess despite the cynical tone of the question. “My grandmother was working the front desk and my grandfather was a guest here. Years later, when they heard the hotel was available, they bought it as an investment. They visited all the time but never lived here.

“My father and my uncle both worked here when they were younger, but the hotel and the hospitality industry were never their calling. Not like it was for my aunt Evelyn. Everyone knew she would run Hillcrest one day. She’s smart and strong and independent.”

Rory’s worry over her aunt’s health stung her eyes, but she blinked, banishing the tears before they could form. Her aunt wouldn’t appreciate Rory getting teary in front of a guest. Not even if that guest was ridiculously handsome with the kind of broad shoulders and strong arms where a woman would be tempted to find comfort.

“And you and your cousin are here helping out?”

That was the explanation she and Evie had been giving people. Their aunt kept a strict line drawn between her personal and professional life, and she didn’t want anyone outside of family to know of her health problems.

“Hillcrest House has always been a popular location for weddings with the locals in Clearville and Redfield,” Rory said, naming another nearby town, “but last year my aunt decided to expand Hillcrest as a wedding destination. The couples now have the choice of an all-inclusive ceremony, with the hotel handling everything from the cake to the music to the photographer.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“I work with the couple to get a feel of the type of wedding they’re looking for and design all the elements to match that theme.”

Jamison shook his head at the notion of a wedding theme, which had Rory wondering what his wedding to Hannah’s mother had been like. Not that she was about to ask.

“You’re good at this.”

Feeling her cheeks heat at the surprising compliment, Rory shook her head. “I’ve had Hillcrest House facts drilled into my head since I was a little girl. I could recite this information in my sleep. A couple of times, in the midst of wedding madness, I think maybe I have!”

“Not just the tour. I mean the way you dealt with the guests and the staff earlier. You’re friendly and encouraging but firm enough to get your point across.”

“I—thank you,” Rory said, far more pleased by the compliment than she should have been. She didn’t like thinking of herself as hungry for approval, but after her failure at the interior design firm in LA, finding success—especially at Hillcrest House—was so important to her. “I didn’t expect...”

“Expect what?”

She gave a small laugh. “You and my cousin Evie have quite a bit in common when it comes to the whole wedding thing.”

Jamison and her by-the-book cousin likely had more in common than their negative views on weddings and marriage. A CPA, Evie was smart, well educated, as razor sharp as the blunt cut of her dark, chin-length hair. She was practical, pragmatic and more than a little cynical—the kind of woman Rory figured would impress a successful businessman like Jamison.

Ignoring the stab of jealousy at the thought of Jamison and her cousin forming their own mutual-admiration society, Rory said, “Evie’s a genius when it comes to handling the books and the last person to believe in fairy tales, but sometimes she acts like I pull off these weddings with nothing more than a wave of a magic wand. She doesn’t seem to notice the hard work that goes into them.”

“Look, Daddy!” Hannah’s impatient tug on their hands brought the conversation to a halt as they reached a curve in the pathway. An intricate lattice-arched entry led to the rose garden—a favorite spot for many brides and grooms to say their vows. Pink, red and white blooms unfurled amid the dark green bushes and the thick, rich lawn.

Turning to Rory, Hannah asked, “Is that where you grow the flowers for the flower girls?”

Not about to ruin the moment for the child, especially when she saw some of that curiosity shining through in her big brown eyes, Rory said, “It sure is. Why don’t you go look for the perfect flower? But don’t touch, okay? Some of the roses have sharp thorns.”

Hannah’s pale brows furrowed as she glanced between the rose garden and back again. “Will you stay right here, Daddy?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hannah Banana.”

A small smile tugged at the little girl’s lips, and Rory swore the sweet expression was somehow tied to the strings around her heart. She couldn’t help smiling as Hannah tucked her hands behind her back before racing—somewhat awkwardly—over to the garden.

But it was Jamison and the unabashed tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at his daughter that had Rory’s emotions all tangled up in knots.

He was a guest. And like any other guest who passed through Hillcrest House, Rory would quickly forget all about him. She’d forget all about this day, about walking with Jamison and Hannah beneath a cloudless sky. About the warmth of his skin as his arm brushed against hers. About the rich, masculine scent that tempted her to move closer and breathe deeper. About the longing to reach out and take his hand, knowing how something as simple as entwining her fingers with his would form a bond she would feel right down to her bones...

Yes, indeed, she would forget all about that. Might just spend the rest of her life forgetting all about that.

The strict talking-to had Rory straightening her shoulders and adopting a polite smile, neither of which were any protection against the power behind Jamison’s gaze.

“I’ll say it again, Rory. You’re good at what you do,” he repeated, the intensity behind his words preempting any denial she might have made. “Anyone who doesn’t appreciate you is a fool.”

* * *

“Like this, Miss Rory?” Hannah asked over her shoulder as she placed a single rose petal on the verdant green grass.





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