A Bravo Christmas Wedding Page 10

  “Walker?” Rory’s mother asked.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You will cash that check that I sent you. You may consider that at my command.”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am. All right, then.”

  “Merry Christmas, Walker.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Same to you.”

  “I hope we’ll be seeing you in Montedoro someday soon.”

  Why the hell would he ever go to Montedoro? But his mouth was on autopilot. “Yes, ma’am. One of these days, I’d like that very much.” He made himself turn back to Rory, but he refused to meet her eyes as he handed her the phone.

  She took it. “Thanks, Mother... Yes, it’s all arranged. I’ll be there, as promised, the day after Clara’s wedding. My love to everyone. Yes, right. Goodbye...” She disconnected the call.

  He stood locked in place, staring at her as she gazed steadily back at him. And then he made himself move. He took off his gloves, stuck them in the pocket of his heavy jacket and hung it on the coat tree. Then he dropped to the stairs and pulled off his dirty boots. He carried the boots to the door, pulled it open and tossed them out onto the porch.

  When he shut the door and turned back around, she was still standing in the same spot near the foot of the stairs, still holding her phone.

  Might as well get on with it. “So. You all packed and ready to go?”

  She puffed out her lips with a heavy breath. “You’re angry with me.”

  Damn straight he was angry. “I’m guessing you’re moving to the Haltersham, then?”

  “One of us had to do something, Walker. You’re making yourself crazy, you know? And you’re making me crazy, too.”

  The fact that she happened to be right didn’t ease the storm inside him one bit. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

  “I want you to admit that it wasn’t working out, to stop blaming me for putting an end to it.”

  “Are we going to stand here and flap our jaws all morning?”

  “Walker...” She reached out. Her finger brushed his sleeve. He wanted to grab hold and never let go. Instead, he stepped back, out of her reach. “You know you’re being a complete jerk about this.” She said it gently. Regretfully.

  He didn’t need her damn gentleness. “Look. Do you want some breakfast before you go?”

  “The horses—”

  “I took care of them. Breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  Rory felt her temper rising to meet his.

  But she refused to give in to it. She just stuck her phone in her pocket and followed him to the kitchen, where he fed Lonesome and Lucky and then they worked side by side without a word, putting the breakfast on the table.

  They took their chairs across from each other and ate in a deep and burning silence. That meal zipped by lightning fast. She knocked back the last of her coffee, picked up her plate and carried it to the counter, bending to scrape off the last bite of sausage and eggs into the compost bin under the sink.

  His chair dragged the floor. “Leave it,” he said. “Get your stuff together.”

  That did it. Carefully, she set the plate on the counter. And then she turned to confront him. He stopped midway between the table and the sink as she caught his hooded gaze and held it. “It’s fine if you’re mad. I think you’re overreacting, but that kind of seems to be your style the last few days.” She waited for him to say something. Anything. But she got nothing. “All right. I probably should have told you that I was going to try again to get through to my mother on the bodyguard issue. I apologize for not telling you.”

  He just stood there in his stocking feet, holding his plate and his cup, wearing that cold-eyed, granite-jawed expression that made her want to pick up her own plate again—and hurl it at him.

  She tried one more time. “Look at it this way. Now, if you want to kiss me, you can just do it. No more conflict of interest. Not on that front, at least.”

  “Go on,” he said, gesturing toward the central hallway with his empty mug. “Get your things.”

  “I’m getting pretty fed up with you, Walker.”

  But he only stood there, waiting for her to go.

  So, fine, then. She would give him exactly what he was waiting for.

  * * *

  Walker felt like an ass and a half. Probably because he was being one.

  And he kept being one, as he loaded her luggage into the SUV and drove her to town.

  At the Haltersham, he pulled in at the wide front portico. The mountains loomed, gorgeous, craggy, snowcapped, behind the white, red-roofed hotel.

  A porter appeared as if by magic, rolling a brass luggage trolley.

  The porter opened her door for her. “Your Highness. So good to have you with us again.”

  “Hello, Jacob. How are you?” She pressed some bills into his hand and, beaming, he rolled the trolley to the back of the vehicle. Walker beeped the rear door open and the unloading began.

  Rory picked up the giant bag at her feet and started to swing her legs to the ground.

  He couldn’t quite let her go like that. “You need anything, you call me.”

  She froze. But she refused to turn her sweet face to him. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He remained seriously pissed at her—for reasons he knew made no sense at all.

  So he just sat there behind the wheel, and she got out and shut the door. He watched her walk up the wide front steps, drank in the gentle sway of her hips and the way the thin winter sunlight brought out bronze lights in her dark hair. By the time the porter finished loading his cart and shut the hatch in back, she’d already disappeared through the wide lobby doors.

  Walker started the engine and got out of there.

  Chapter Seven

  After Rory checked in and got settled in her suite, she called the concierge and they got her a nice little 4x4 from that car rental place on Sweetwater Way. She went downstairs and they had the car there waiting and the paperwork ready.

  Before noon, she had both her room and her ride. They always treated her right at the Haltersham.

  Unlike some people she could mention.

  It was pretty depressing the way things had gone with Walker. Never, in all the years she’d known him, had he behaved the way he had that morning.

  She went back upstairs for a while and fiddled on her laptop. Around one, she decided to go to Clara’s café for lunch and see if that might cheer her up a little.

  In the five years that Clara had been running it, the Library Café had become a Justice Creek landmark. The place was spare, streamlined and yet comfortable, the tan-and-coffee-colored walls hung with art by local artists. There were lots of windows and great mountain views. Every table had a pendant light above it, the glass shades in swirling, bright patterns, no two the same. In the center of the dining area, a cast-iron spiral staircase led up to a second dining level, which was open to the main floor.

  One wall was all mahogany bookcases, accessible from both floors, every shelf packed. You could read while you ate—or take a book home with you if it caught your fancy. Nobody policed the books. People took them and brought them back when they were finished. Customers regularly brought in boxes full of well-used volumes to donate, so those shelves never went bare.

  And the food? Clara served all-organic beef and free-range chicken from the Rising Sun Ranch in Wyoming, which was jointly owned by three Bravo cousins. The lamb and pork were organic, too. As much as possible, she ordered her produce from local farms. She offered craft beer and wonderful, reasonably priced Northwest wines. And then there were the desserts. The café had its own pastry chef, Martine Brown. Martine had been called a genius by more than one famous foodie.

  The place was packed for Saturday lunch,
but the waitresses all knew Rory. She got a deuce in a nice, cozy corner.

  Clara came by for a hug. “Apple-smoked BLT with avocado?”

  “You read my mind.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Just water.”

  “You got it. I’ll be back when I get a minute—and wait, where’s your favorite bodyguard?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  Clara frowned. “I’m not liking the sound of that.”

  “I’m at the Haltersham as of this morning.”

  “What? I want to hear everything.” Clara hugged her again. “We’ll talk...”

  “Go. I know you’re swamped.”

  So Clara rushed off to expedite orders, and Rory browsed the bookshelves and had lunch. She hung around after, waiting for Clara. By three, the place had started to clear out, and at four Clara turned the Closed sign on. It took another half hour for all the customers to leave and a half hour after that for Clara to finish closing up. Rory waited for her.

  At a little after five, they walked around the corner to Clara’s house together.

  Once they were inside and Clara had her shoes off and her feet up, Rory started to feel a little guilty. “I should go, let you rest. I’ll bet you’re beat. And there’s still the party tonight.”

  Clara waved a hand. “But I don’t have to go in until afternoon tomorrow. Renee always has my back.” Renee Beauchamp was Clara’s head waitress and manager.

  “But really, Clara. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, to tell you the truth. I don’t know what made me think it would be a good idea to keep the baby a secret. Now it’s out I feel calmer about everything.” She did seem more relaxed. But Rory still didn’t get what was really going on with Clara and Ryan. She had a feeling that Nell had nailed the real issue in her Black Russian-fueled rant Thursday night.

  At some point, Lord knew why, Ryan and Clara had ended up in bed together, with classic consequences. When the stick turned blue, they had settled on the classic solution. But “classic” wasn’t always the right way to go.

  She was trying to figure out a graceful way to broach that subject, when Clara said, “Now, talk. What is going on with you and Walker?”

  And she really, really did want to talk about Walker.

  So she gave Clara a quick rundown of the situation, including Walker’s sudden, rather tortured romantic interest in her—and the fact that she’d finally convinced her mother she could go without a bodyguard. “So I made my mother fire him first thing this morning.”

  Clara blinked. “Whoa. You mean, you’re not interested in getting anything going with him, after all?”

  “Of course I’m interested. I’ve been crushing on the guy since I was eighteen years old.”

  “So, then, why fire him and move to the Haltersham?”

  “Clara. He was never going to make a move on me when he felt responsible for me as my bodyguard. I wanted to—I don’t know—free him up, I guess, to remove a barrier that was holding him back. I just wanted him to give the two of us a chance.”

  “But your plan backfired.”

  “Oh, yeah. What I actually did was seriously piss him off. Maybe his pride? Maybe he’s thinking that I think... Oh, God. As if I know what he’s thinking. Because I don’t.”

  “Give him a day or two. He’ll come around.”

  “Oh, I hope so. I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “Well, there’s tonight, right? You’ll be there. He’ll be there. Try to talk to him. Work it out.”

  “I tried this morning. Repeatedly.”

  “That’s so weird. Walker’s usually the most reasonable guy in the room.”

  “Not lately. Not with me.”

  “That’s too bad—but it could be a good sign.”

  “A good sign of what?”

  “That he’s so crazy for you, he can’t think straight.”

  Rory gave her a patient look. “I’m just worried I’ll never get him to talk to me.”

  “Then maybe you should forget about talking—for tonight, anyway. You’ll be dressed to seduce. Go with that.”

  “Right,” Rory replied with zero enthusiasm.

  Clara insisted, “You will be dressed to seduce.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “You bet it is. It’s a bachelorette party, after all. I want to see short skirts and do-me shoes on all of my bridesmaids.”

  “Hold it. There’s a dress code for the party tonight?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Oh, come on, Clara. Is that even fair?”

  “Who ever told you life was going to be fair? Are you trying to tell me you don’t have a short skirt and killer heels?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then wear them—and look at it this way. If he won’t work it out with you, you can at least drive him mad with desire.”

  “You haven’t been listening to me. Driving him mad with desire has not worked out for me so far. Right now, I would prefer that he would just talk to me.”

  Clara sighed. “Sorry, honey. Sometimes a girl has to take what she can get.”

  * * *

  The party started at nine in the upstairs bar at McKellan’s.

  “Rory!” Ryan greeted her at the top of the stairs. They shared a hug. And then he swept out an arm. “What do you think? I had my crew go for a combination holiday and bachelor party theme.”

  “Perfect,” she replied, as he turned to greet the next guest.

  Actually, it looked more like New Year’s—with shiny streamers everywhere, laser party lights and champagne on ice. The upper room was already packed with people, the DJ on the corner stage spinning rock-and-roll Christmas tunes.

  Clara appeared out of the crowd and handed her a flute full of champagne. “Love that sparkly bronze top. And the skirt is barely decent, which is amazing. And those shoes...?” They were Valentino, lace-wrapped leather with crystal accents and five-inch heels. “Perfect.” She leaned close again. “He won’t know what hit him. The Mack truck effect.”

  Rory’s pulse accelerated. “Is he here?”

  “Not yet.”

  A sad thought occurred to her. “He is coming, right?”

  “He’d better.”

  Ryan appeared again, stepping in next to Clara, who sent him a strange, tight little smile. Ryan’s mouth barely twitched in response. He asked Rory, “By the way, where’s my brother?”

  Rory really didn’t feel like explaining all that right then. So she only shrugged. “Not a clue.”

  He kept after her. “But I don’t get it. I thought he was supposed to be your bodyguard.”

  Clara muttered, “Didn’t she just tell you she doesn’t know where he is?”

  Ryan looked bewildered. “But I was only—”

  “Come on.” Clara grabbed his hand. “The DJ’s playing our song. We need to dance.”

  “‘Walking ’Round in Women’s Underwear’ is our song? Clara, what the hell? I just—”

  “Shut up and dance.” And she waltzed him into the crowd, where he couldn’t ask Rory any more depressing questions.

  Rory stared after them, torn between worrying about how they were getting along and feeling glum about Walker.

  But then Nell grabbed her and spun her around. “God, you look hot. If you weren’t my cousin, I think I’d try to have sex with you.”

  Rory couldn’t help grinning. “You are looking stunningly doable yourself.”

  “Well, I try.” Nell wore a jaw-dropping strapless red minidress that clung to every beautiful curve.

  “Rory!” The other cousins crowded around.

  Rory greeted them with hugs and air kisses. They all seemed to be having a great time—and getting along, too, which was the best news
of all.

  Everyone had got the bachelorette dress code memo. They wore short skirts and skimpy party tops and shoes made to drive a man insane. They led her to the buffet, which included all kinds of snacks and finger foods. And for dessert, a red-and-green corset cake decorated with ribbons that looked like holly. Also cupcakes in Christmas colors topped with miniature frosting G-strings, bras and leather-looking studded jockstraps.

  Rory ate a little and danced a little and tried not to be disappointed that Walker had probably stayed away from his own brother’s bachelor party in order to avoid seeing her.

  At eleven, with a big “Ho-ho-ho!” Santa arrived. He carried a giant green Santa bag over one muscular shoulder. Everyone whistled and applauded, clearing a path for him.

  He jumped up on the bar and whipped packages out of the bag, tossing them out over the crowd. They all laughed and ripped them open. There were feather boas, candy G-strings and a pink drink cozy that said She’s Finally Picked One—and more.

  Once his Santa bag was empty, he threw that over his shoulder. A bartender caught it. And then everybody cheered as the DJ started playing music clearly meant to strip to.

  And Santa did. He was down to his big black boots and a red satin thong when Mrs. Santa appeared, in a white wig with wire-rim glasses, wearing an awful baggy green dress and granny boots.

  Two helpful guys hoisted her up on the bar and everyone, including Santa, clapped and shouted encouragements as the missus got out of everything but the boots, a green G-string, a red bra—and the wig and granny glasses. She was in excellent shape under that ugly green dress.

  “The penis candy isn’t half bad,” said the unforgettable voice she’d been waiting to hear all night. He was standing right behind her.

  Her heart did the happy dance, and she told it to knock it off as she turned to Walker. “All of a sudden, you’re speaking to me?”

  His eyes burned into hers. And he said, low and rough and for her ears alone, “How’d you get so damn beautiful?” He held out the bag of X-rated candy. “Help yourself.”

  She was way too glad to see him. Her mouth tried to smile. She didn’t let it. “No, thank you.”