Meet Me at the Chapel (11 page)

Taylor did the unexpected, at least in Casey's opinion—she scooted over to make room for the cowboy.

“She thinks that I'm too young for her.” Wyatt grinned at the table full of friendly faces. “How's the collarbone, Clint? I heard you banged it up but good down in Texas.”

Clint was sitting next to Taylor, holding a sleeping Penelope in his arms. “It's knitting back together alright.”

Taylor didn't say a word, but Casey knew from their conversations that her sister wished her husband's professional bull riding days would soon be behind them.

“You thinkin' about retiring?” Wyatt asked before he put a huge bite of cake in his mouth. He gave Casey a closed-mouth smile while he chewed with a wink.

Incorrigible.

Clint's conflict about his career showed on his face. “It's lookin' that'away.”

“So...” Wyatt turned his attention on her. “You've turned me down twice. She's turned me down
twice
,” he said louder to the whole table.

“That's a record right there,” Luke, who was typically quiet in a crowd, said loudly with a sharp laugh.

“That's got to sting,” Uncle Hank said before he took a sip of his coffee.

“That's okay—that's okay—there's more than one way to lasso a calf.”

Casey peeked around Wyatt to her sister. “Did he just use a cow metaphor in relation to me?”

“I've decided to ask Ms. Barbara,” Wyatt continued loudly, “for her permission to take her lovely niece out dancing to celebrate her birthday.”

“That is playing dirty, my friend,” Casey said to the cowboy.

“I think it's a wonderful idea, Casey.” Aunt Barb beamed at her. “I think you should go.”

* * *

Brock heard Casey come in from her night out on the town with Wyatt because he had been awake, on the couch, waiting for her to come home. It was inconceivable to him that he had let that smooth-talking cowboy get the better of him with Casey. Not that he had an agreement with the pretty redhead. He didn't. But the minute she'd come home from her birthday party, flushed in the cheeks and telling him in a rush that she had to find something to wear for a night out on the town with Wyatt, he knew that what he had been feeling, and concealing, was more than just a passing fancy. He had real feelings for Casey. He had deep, genuine, impossible-to-shake feelings that he had kept hidden because he was legally married. It didn't matter to him that they were separated; it didn't matter that he knew Shannon had already moved on. It mattered that in the eyes of the law and God, he was a married man.

Oblivious to the anguish he felt at the thought of her getting dolled up for anyone but him, Casey had burst through the screen door to ask him his opinion on her dress. Her beautiful hair had been washed and blow-dried; when she walked, the ends of her hair swished enticingly just above her derriere. He had thought about touching her hair—so many times. She had spun in a circle, in her pretty forest green dress.

“Please be honest...” She looked down at her dress self-consciously. “Does it look like I'm trying too hard?”

“No.” He had to tell her the truth. She looked like a genuine cowgirl with that flouncy skirt that ended just above the knees and a new pair of boots. “That dress suits you.”

She had hugged him then. It was a spontaneous hug that had nearly bowled him over—he could still feel her arms around his body. They hadn't been that close—not since the first day he had rescued her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and not let her go. She shouldn't be getting gussied up to go out with any man, unless that man was him.

“You'll watch Hercules, won't you?” she had asked him. “I can't leave him alone up there. He'll be too scared.”

Casey had asked him to watch her most beloved thing in the world—Hercules the micro-poodle. So he understood that it meant something that she had entrusted Hercules into his care. But, and this was a
huge
but—any scenario where he ended up on his couch holding a teacup poodle while Wyatt
damn
Williams got the girl—was a
bad
night.

So, no—he wasn't really asleep when Casey tiptoed into the house at 2:00 a.m., slightly tipsy and humming a popular country tune.

Of course Wyatt tried to kiss Casey. That was the whole point of the pursuit. But the question that had been running around in his mind, over and over, like a skipping record, was:
Did she let him?

Did Casey let Wyatt kiss her? And, even more important—did she kiss him back?

Casey tried to be very quiet when Wyatt dropped her off, but she was a little wobbly from a couple of celebratory drinks, so she wasn't
as quiet
as she had planned.

In the foyer, she took two steps forward and then two steps back. She spun around, which made her lose her balance.

“Shhhh.” She laughed at her near fall into the wall.

On her tiptoes, she went to the couch where Brock always slept, knowing that Hercules would have found a comfortable place to sleep somewhere on that giant expanse of the ranch foreman's body.

“Hi, puppy face!” Casey found Hercules tangled up in Brock's unruly beard.

“Shhhh,” she chastised herself. “People are sleeping.”

She scooped up her poodle and, after bumping into an end table, she opened the screen door very, very slowly in an attempt to keep the squeaking to a minimum. However, once through the door, she forgot to shut it gently and it slammed back into place, making a loud racket.

“Oh! Shoot!” Casey froze in her tracks. “Darn it!
That
was
not
quiet
at all
.”

Chapter Eleven

O
n the way back to the loft, Casey hummed and twirled and kissed her poodle on the head happily. What a night! What an incredible, fun, unexpected night! Wyatt hadn't lied—he had shown her one of the best times she'd ever had. He was full of life and he was popular and he was so much fun to hang out with. And the boy could dance. He really could. In fact, he showed her quite a few moves.

They had laughed and talked about nothing important or serious. Wyatt wasn't serious—he didn't follow politics or the economy. He wasn't the kind of guy a woman of her age should allow too far into her life—but for a whopping good time, no strings attached, no commitment required, he was a total blast!

She continued to hum as she opened the door to her loft. Casey put Hercules down and then twirled her way to the bed. She was just about to flop onto the bed when she noticed a present on her bed.

“Ah!” she exclaimed. “A present!”

It was wrapped haphazardly by hands unaccustomed to that sort of activity; there was a giant silver bow on the present and a note card that merely said “Happy Birthday, Casey” in scratchy handwriting.

“What could this be, puppy face?” Casey ripped the wrapping off the present, balled it up and threw it over her shoulder.

In the low light, and looking through wobbly beer-goggle eyes, Casey couldn't immediately tell what she had just unwrapped. But then it hit her—Brock had made something just for her. Something that he knew would touch her heart the most.

“Oh, Brock.” Her hand went to her heart. “You dear, sweet, complicated man.”

* * *

The morning after her birthday, Casey woke up with her first hangover in years. She hadn't “partied” in ages. She was a career woman—she was an educator. Her life didn't involve late nights or drinking more than a couple glasses of wine on the weekend. Last night, in the spirit of letting down her hair and kicking up her heels, she'd had several drinks past her limit. It had been a good time that didn't feel so good the next morning.

When she sat upright in bed, she immediately collapsed forward and dropped her head into her hands. The pounding in her head was so hard—
thump, thump, thump
. Why hadn't she remembered to drink water before she went to sleep?

“Why didn't you just say no to the last three drinks?” she grumbled.

She fell over on her side with a moan. “I'll never do that again.”

Hercules barked and that got her attention. She inched over to the side of the bed, pushed her wild locks out of her face and looked down at her canine friend.

“Look at you, puppy paw!” She smiled weakly at the little poodle.

Hercules was the proud owner of a Brock McAllister custom creation. For her birthday, Brock had made Hercules his own miniature bed.

“You like your new bed, don't you?”

If she didn't have Hercules to tend to, perhaps she would have lingered in bed for an hour or two longer—let the headache subside. But Hercules had a thimble-sized bladder, so he couldn't be held accountable for any accidents that were caused by a human being gone longer than his bladder could manage.

“Okay.” Casey inched even farther over to the edge. “You can do it.”

She slid off the side of the bed and melted downward to the floor. The room started to spin in the most upsetting way. Her stomach started to churn and the next thing she knew, she was on the floor in the bathroom.

“Starting off thirty-five hungover.” The cool ceramic of the tub felt nice on her forehead. “Awesome.”

First, Hercules got to go out and then he was served breakfast. Then she showered, brushed her teeth for an extended amount of time and then braided her hair to get it out of the way. Her eyes were bloodshot and her coloring looked jaundiced.

“But, besides that—” Casey held up both her thumbs “—two thumbs-up.”

She slowly made her way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Brock and Hannah were long gone—it was almost ten. Today was Wednesday—this was the day that she usually met Brock at the chapel. She had a feeling he wouldn't be expecting her, but she just couldn't wait to thank him for the beautiful gift. Her family had been generous this year, spoiling her with gift cards to her favorite shopping haunts and bottles of her favorite perfume. But for Brock to secretly make her a mini version of his incredible bed frames for Hercules? That was another level entirely.

She had a light, bland breakfast, afraid that anything she put in her stomach wouldn't stay there for long. She popped a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers for headaches so she could make the drive to Bent Tree without her head throbbing incessantly. Brock would already have his lunch, and she wasn't up to full speed yet—she opted to not bring anything to eat. She grabbed a couple bottles of water before heading to her loaner VW Bug.

“Come on, puppy face.” Casey secured the poodle's carrier with the seat belt. “Let's go see Brock.”

Casey dropped Hercules off with Aunt Barb, who was happy to dog-sit for her. She climbed up the hill, the same way and at the same pace as usual. This time, it felt like the hill kept on getting taller and taller and the top kept on getting farther and farther away. She was sweating through her T-shirt by the time she reached the top of the hill.

After making such a physically taxing climb, Casey was disappointed that Brock wasn't in his usual spot. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and checked the time. It was the right time and the right place. But still no Brock.

“Oh, my head, my head, my head.” Casey was flat on her back in the grass, legs stretched out, with her arm over her eyes.

Her cell phone, which Taylor had been blowing up all morning, started to tweet, which let her know that she had just gotten a new text.

With a frustrated noise, Casey texted her sister back:

Yes, I had a good time, no, I didn't let him kiss me, yes, he tried, no, he didn't try to cop a feel and no, neither did I!

Casey turned the volume off on her phone so she couldn't be annoyed by texts or emails, Snapchats or Instagram updates. Her head really needed it to be quiet.

“I was wondering if you were going to make it today.”

She lifted her arm from her eyes and stared at an upside-down view of Brock. He looked even taller from this angle.

“I wanted to say thank-you for my birthday present.”

Brock sat down in the grass beside her. “I'm glad you liked it. How does Hercules like it?”

“Are you kidding me? He thinks he's King Badass now. He didn't want to sleep with me last night. He slept in his new bed instead.”

Casey sat upright; she grabbed her head with a groan.

“Headache?”

“Totally my own fault.” She tapped the camera icon on her phone to pull up pictures of Hercules in his bed. “Your first satisfied customer.”

That got a smile out of him. Was she wrong, or was he extra pensive today?

“I didn't bring anything for you. I really didn't think you'd show.”

Casey moved onto her side, resting her head in her hand. “It's fine. Believe me. My stomach isn't happy with me right now. You seem tired today.” She noted the dark circles beneath Brock's eyes.

“I didn't sleep so well last night.”

“That's because you always sleep on that couch,” she said. “You need to sleep in your own bed. If you don't want to sleep on that mattress, then go buy a new one.”

The conversation ground to a halt after Brock unpacked his lunch and began to eat. He didn't talk during meals—he focused on the food. But today, she couldn't hold up both ends of the conversation like she normally would. They sat together in comfortable silence; she enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her arms and her face. She closed her eyes and soaked in the vitamin D.

“You had a good time.” It was a statement, not a question.

She opened her eyes when she answered, “I did. I can't remember the last time I had that much fun going out. Wyatt taught me the two-step!”

More silence. Brock was in a very strange mood today. He looked drawn in the face and he had a distant look in his eyes.

“I wish you could have come to my birthday party.” She picked at a blade of grass.

She had invited him but knew in advance that he wouldn't come.

“Hannah has never been able to handle parties like that. It's too much stimulation for her.”

Casey understood that and she had told him as much. But she also knew that Brock wouldn't have wanted to attend because of Clint. The longer she was in Montana, the more difficult it was to work around that fractured relationship, and honestly, the more annoyed she became with the entire situation.

She had grown to genuinely care for Brock; he was a good man. But when it came to his stepbrother, he really needed to get it together for the sake of the entire family—including Hannah.

Brock stood up abruptly, brushed the loose grass from the seat of his jeans and held out his hand to her.

“I need to talk to you.”

“And we need to stand up to do it?” She slipped her hand into his and let him help her stand up.

He nodded toward the chapel. “Let's go sit on the steps.”

A shrug. “Okay.”

Brock, ever a gentleman, waited for her to be seated comfortably before he sat down beside her. Looking at their bodies side by side, Brock's legs were almost twice as long as hers.

The ranch foreman looked straight ahead with his standard-issue Stetson sitting squarely on his head—his elbows were resting on his knees and his fingertips were pressed together.

She had no idea what he wanted to discuss with her—maybe something happened with the divorce or he wanted to work on different skills when summer school ended for Hannah next week. This was Brock's conversation, his topic, so Casey waited quietly for him to begin talking.

“I didn't like you going out with Wyatt last night,” Brock said quietly.

Of all the things Brock could have said, that wasn't what Casey was expecting. And, because she wasn't expecting it, she couldn't think of anything to say in return. So she stayed silent and listened.

“I'm still married.” He glanced over at her for the briefest of moments.

She nodded her agreement.

“She's moved on with her life already,” Brock said of Shannon.

That was new information he was sharing with her.

With a hollow laugh, he added, “She's already engaged. I didn't know someone could get engaged before they're divorced, but I guess it can happen.”

Brock looked at her now. “Hannah doesn't know.”

Casey swallowed hard a couple of times; her mouth had just gone completely dry. “I won't tell her.”

“Thank you.”

There was another break in the conversation before Brock went on to say, “I had been so focused on Shannon and the fact that
she
had moved on from our marriage that I didn't know that I had moved on, too.”

Casey's eyes widened as they shifted to his profile. Slowly, as the conversation progressed, her heartbeat was picking up pace, picking up pace...

“When I saw you go out the door last night with another man...” Brock kept his eyes locked onto the horizon. “I knew that I couldn't go another day without telling you how I feel...about you.

“You are such a good-hearted woman, Casey. You honestly are. Everyone loves you because you're just so kind to people.”

He looked at her as he continued. “You always try to see the best in people or look on the bright side... Even when you aren't feeling well, you still try to find a silver lining.”

“Some people find that to be super annoying,” Casey said.

“Then I find them annoying.” Brock was quick to jump to her defense. That was his first instinct—to protect those people he cared about the most. She was beginning to realize that
she
was now one of those people.

“You're so good with Hannah—she loves you.”

“I love her, too.”

Brock's daughter had become very important to her.

“You've become one of my best friends.” The ranch foreman took her hand and held it gently in his. “But I want more.”

Their eyes locked in a way that had never happened before. There was a trust there, a sense of security, and because of that foundation, they were able to be vulnerable with each other. Brock's eyes, the true windows to his soul, were open so she could see his heart—his intentions.

“Do you...want more...with me?” In that moment, he was opening himself up to her—he was taking another shot at love after being badly hurt—and this spoke volumes about his character.

Casey squeezed his hand with her fingers to reassure him. “I do.”

His shoulders dropped in what Casey could only describe in her mind as “relief” at her response. Her feelings for Brock had been growing steadily since the moment he had rescued her off that fence. But he had been understandably focused on his divorce from Shannon and raising his daughter, so she had pushed her feelings aside.

“But...” she added, “I think that we just need to take things real slow. You're still not through the divorce with Shannon—that's going to take a toll on you. And to layer a new relationship into the mix... I don't want to do anything that would hurt our friendship. Because your friendship has meant the world to me—it really has.”

Brock gave her hand a quick kiss. “I agree.”

His lunch break was over; it was time to let him get back to work so she could get back to her plan for the day—riding Gigi.

“Hey!” Casey climbed to the chapel step and waved her hand for Brock to come stand by her. “Now I'm as tall as you are.”

Brock smiled at her affectionately.

“When's the last time you gave someone a piggyback ride?” She had her hands on her hips.

“I don't know—not since Hannah was young. Why?”