The Bride Wore Starlight (8 page)

Before she knew it, they'd been on the floor for three songs and the fourth started—Queen's “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”

“Do we need to take a break?” he asked.

“One more? I love this song.”

His grin more than answered her question. “You command. I obey.”

“As it should be!”

Her bad hip ached. Her knees trembled slightly. Her “gait” hadn't really smoothed out in fifteen minutes. But she also hadn't enjoyed music this much in months. The songs brought genuine pleasure, and the freedom from her chair and walker was intoxicating.

“Ready to try it on your own?” Alec asked.

She frowned. “How do you mean?”

“You've tried it just holding my hands, now let go. Simple. I'll be right here.”

“Oh, I don't know.”

“Only if you want to.”

It was the first time he hadn't pushed. She relaxed back into his embrace and let him lead in the stripped down side-side-rock back step of swing dancing. There was no swinging, but she'd learned to rock back on her good leg and lean into his hold when the weight was on the bad one. She executed her longest string of steps for the night and accepted his cheer when he caught her to his chest.

“You're a wonderful teacher!” She giggled. “I have to admit I was wrong.”

“So then try the last move I'll teach you tonight. You don't even have to let go. Just move back, hang onto my hand and spin under my arm on your uninjured leg. Plant your less solid foot when you're facing me again and I'll grab your shoulders.”

“Easy peasy,” she said jokingly.

He counted down the steps, then pushed her gently away. Everything went perfectly until she'd completed three-fourths of the circle. Her good knee buckled slightly, and her bad leg touched down before it was supposed to. Like a shoelace coming undone, her legs tangled and then splayed. Joely lost any hope of balance and crashed through Alec's arms to the floor in a painful, messy heap of lavender and blue. For one moment sheer panic engulfed her as faces appeared above her and multiple voices collided with one another.

“Don't move, Joely.”

“Does it hurt, Joely?”

“Can you hear me? Did you hit your head?”

The questions reached her through a fog the way they had eight months ago on a highway while she lay in a twisted knot of steel and broken glass. And then, in one quick second everything cleared. Her brain told her this was just another panic attack and reminded her she had them all the time. She pushed at the wedding guests bending too close and struggled to sit. Her tailbone stung and her elbow smarted, but she hadn't hit her head.

“Hang on, now. Just wait for us to check you out and make sure you're okay.” Alec pushed her firmly down.

She grasped his fingers and flung his hand off her shoulder. “Don't. I'm fine.”

“You might have—”

“Believe me, after what I've been through, I know what I might have, and I don't.”

She rested her uninjured knee on the floor only to find she couldn't put enough weight on the other leg to hoist herself up. And she couldn't kneel on the bad leg. Tears of frustration and intense embarrassment threatened to make everything even worse. And then her sisters appeared.

“Oh my gosh, Joely, honey.” Harper squatted in her gown and put her hands on Joely's cheeks. “What happened? I'm so sorry.”

“I was being stupid,” she managed to say. “I just tripped myself.”

“Are you all right? Mia's on her way. Let her check you out.”

“No!” Joely hadn't thought her face could burn any hotter, but the idea of her sister the doctor having to examine her in the middle of her own wedding . . .

“Help me up.” She held a hand out to Harper, ignoring Alec, who extended his arm as well.

Her sister braced and pulled Joely to her feet. The guests on the dance floor cheered and clapped while she prayed for a fissure to open in the earth and swallow her. Making a spectacle like this had turned her nightmare into reality.

“I just need to hang onto your arm and get back to my seat,” she said quietly to Harper. “Everyone needs to stop hovering.”

“When they know you're all right.”

“I
am
all right.”

“Okay, c'mon. I'll get you back and get you some wine.”

“I don't think I need any more of that, thanks.”

She took one wobbling step with Harper and immediately missed Alec's rock-steady hold. All she'd have to do was turn to him and he'd take over, but that wasn't happening. He'd gotten her into enough trouble—talking her into stupid tricks she no longer had any business attempting. He was hot, he was sweet, but more than either of those, he was dangerous.

And he took the last shred of dignity directly out of her hands by swooping in, scooping her into his arms, and striding across the floor.

“Put me down, what are you thinking?” She kicked at his hold but connected with nothing but air.

He had the audacity to laugh. “It'll be over in three seconds.”

“Make it be over in one. Now.”

He set her in her chair and stared her down. “Calm down.”

“Don't you dare tell me that—”

Her tirade ended when Mia appeared. “I'm fine!” Joely snapped at her. Mia only smiled.

“I believe you. Just let me ask you questions so I can ignore you for the rest of the night.”

“Anything to get everyone away from me and you back to having fun.”

“I was having a wonderful time watching you,” Mia replied. “You did great. And the slip was totally graceful.”

“How comforting.”

Once Mia was satisfied all truly was well, she kissed Joely on the cheek and went back to dancing. The crowd of worried relatives dispersed, and she was left alone with Alec.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked, way too cheerfully.

She shook her head furiously. “I don't want a thing from you. You're bad for me, Alec Morrissey. You bully and trick me into things I don't want to do, but no more. Go dance with the triplets—they all have a crush on you.”

She didn't know that was the case, but he was exactly their type so it could be true.

“C'mon, Joely. We were having a great time.”

She sighed and tamped down her anger and then turned her tired gaze to him. “Please, Alec. Go hang out with the others. I just want to be alone for a little while.”

“Fine. I'll come back and check on you.”

“Don't.”

“You know what?” He shook his head. “You need to work through this injured diva act you have going. It'll backfire on you one of these days.”

And just like that he was back to being a jerk.

I
T ONLY TOOK
him two days to show up at her apartment door, a bouquet of daisies and yellow roses in his arms along with a six-pack of hard cider, a bag of fried chicken, and an apology on his lips that didn't quite match the infuriating twinkle in his eyes.

She hadn't talked to him since sending him away after her fall at the wedding. The rest of the party had gone without further humiliation—although the incidences of people clucking with concern over her well-being had never ended, which had robbed the special night of some of its glitter.

Harper and Cole had left on their honeymoon first. When they returned, Mia and Gabe would take theirs. The triplets had gone back to Denver where their restaurants flourished. Joely had returned gratefully to the cocoon of her apartment.

She'd survived the weddings.

She might even have succeeded in putting the difficult moments of it into perspective if she hadn't had to worry about her immediate future. A future with problems she had no idea how to solve. Grandma Sadie had agreed to keep their secret until Joely could make some calls and come up with a few options. The trouble was, she'd never had to take care of such things before—she'd always had people who knew more than she did: her father, coordinators of pageants, and professors at school. Her husband. Her stomach knotted every time she thought about Tim and how little he'd ever told her about the workings of his business, of their life—of his life. Now she had no idea how to begin unraveling her predicament.

So when Alec appeared on her threshold, he represented just one more tightening tug on the knot inside of her, especially because he brought along the most beautiful flowers. She was a sucker for flowers.

“What are you doing here?” She kept her eyes on the roses rather than his face, her annoyance real but her will to fan the spark into anger weak.

“I don't like bad blood between me and anyone.”

“Bad blood.” She scoffed. “That's a little over dramatic.”

“You started looking at me the moment you fell at the wedding as if I could and would pass on the plague in a heartbeat. The look is still there. That's bad blood in my book.”

“I'm not looking at you any way.”

“You did when you opened the door. Thank goodness I brought the flowers or I'd have a laser hole through my forehead.” He put one hand to the skin above the bridge of his nose and rubbed. “It's still a little warm.”

She couldn't help but snort laughter and shake her head while she took the flowers from him. “I was not that angry. I'd only have used the laser had I actually flashed people on the dance floor. But nobody saw above my knees so . . . ”

He laughed appreciatively. “See? You do have a sense of humor about it.”

“I have a sense of humor about yellow roses and daisies. You got lucky.”

“I'll take it. Could I maybe come in and apologize again? I did bring dinner.”

She could smell the chicken and her mouth watered.

“What would you be apologizing for?” She raised her brows.

“Whatever you need me to.”

“You don't have any idea why I got upset, do you?”

She rolled her chair back and allowed him to enter. He stepped in, and for one moment he contemplated his answer. She waited for what was sure to be a glossy spout of slick-tongued rhetoric. To her surprise, he shook his head.

“I admit, I don't. I understand you were embarrassed, but not why it lasted more than a minute.”

She wanted to be angry that he didn't get it, but she could only think that it suddenly seemed a fair enough question. How could anybody understand what it felt like to need help but not want to be pushed? That it was frightening to lose part of who she had been and even more frightening to think about letting that loss show in front of the people who made up her world?

“Come on,” she said. “I'll give you points for an honest answer.”

He stepped in and the small room got smaller. He was hardly an enormous man, but his aura, his spicy musk aftershave, and his wind-blown handsomeness all combined to overpower her senses.

“My mama's lessons pull me through again.” He stood over her and smiled. “ ‘Alec, don't try and hide the truth. When it comes out, and it always will, it won't be nice and simple anymore, it'll be a wildcat that'll sink its teeth into your butt and hurt like heck.' ”

“She sounds like quite the homespun woman. A little like my grandmother.”

“She probably would have been a lot like Sadie,” he agreed. “She and my dad died in a car accident when I was twelve. But she got off plenty of good advice before then.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry!”

“It was a very long time ago.” His voice soothed. “Sad but not painful anymore. I grew up with my aunt and uncle, and they were great.”

Matter-of-fact cheerfulness covered a darker emotion she couldn't quit put her finger on.

She frowned at his story and his matter-of-fact cheerfulness. She'd had her issues with her father, but she wondered even now if she'd ever get over losing him so early. She covered her discomfiture by teasing Alec as she ushered him farther into the apartment.

“So you never tell a lie, then, Pinocchio?”

He chuckled. “I won't swear that was the case early on. There may have been youthful indiscretions.”

“I'll just bet.”

He moved without replying through her living room area, such as it was with its one love seat, one armchair, a lamp, and a tiny end table. He set the sack of food on the table in front of a ground-floor window that served as her eating area and then turned back toward her.

“So I'm sorry, Joely. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of the wedding guests.”

Genuine surprise washed over her. “You do know.”

“I know what I needed to say, and I mean every word. But as I told you, I don't understand.”

“I was upset because I got talked into doing something I didn't want to do.”

“And you did a fantastic job at that thing, which you didn't believe you could do at all. So you fell.” He held up a hand to ward off her indignant protest. “I don't mean that wasn't a big deal. I get that it was. It's not a lot different than getting tossed from a bronc after only one or two seconds. You feel like an idiot.”

“The difference is, you got on that bronc of your own free will.”

“I didn't force you to dance.”

The words were so calm, so nondefensive. She didn't even mind arguing with him.

“I beg to differ. I recall being hauled out of my chair and then thanked for being a good sport.”

He shrugged and dipped his head slightly. “Touché. You're right. But to my credit, I did ask if you wanted to quit and sit down and you refused.” He smiled. “Not to say I wasn't happy about it. I was having a great time.”

She could feel the flush blossoming off her shoulders and rising up her neck. How could she admit after all her complaining and blaming that she'd been having a great time, too?

“Okay. I'll concede I got a little carried away. But that's exactly what I don't want to do.”

“Where are your plates?” he asked. “I'll grab them for us.”

Bossy and presumptuous, she thought. How did he know she hadn't eaten already? And yet, he was so pleasant about everything, so big and present, she couldn't help but enjoy the moment.

She pointed. “That cupboard, bottom shelf. There's some fruit in the refrigerator—early strawberries. I'll grab those.”

He didn't say more until the table was set, and he'd found a bottle opener for the hard cider. Although he filled her apartment, he moved with effortlessness around her, never bumping into her chair, never waiting for her or getting in her path, never too big for the space. As if this were just another dance.

“It's not a feast,” he said. “But it's my peace offering.”

A surprising dart of guilt pricked her conscience. “You didn't have to do this.”

“No. But like I said—”

“No bad blood. I know. I'm sorry I made you feel there was any.”

She picked a drumstick out of the bag of chicken and bit into it before she could think too hard about the greasy calories. She tried to be so good about her eating. Now that she was chair bound, she wasn't in the kind of shape she'd always maintained before the accident, but she loved fried chicken. She took a big, crispy bite and sighed. It had been a long time.

“Really good,” she said over her mouthful.

He bit into his thick piece of white meat and nodded. “I'm a sucker for this stuff. I'm a sucker for junk food. There, now you know.”

He didn't look like any junk food junkie to her—no puffiness or extra poundage anywhere. Just a tall, lean, sandy-haired cowboy.

“So here's my big question,” he said. “Why do you want so badly to avoid getting carried away?”

The question took her aback. Wasn't it evident?

“I don't want to do something stupid and reverse the little progress I've made. I fell once shortly after my recovery started, and I ended up having three more surgeries.”

“Okay,” he said. “What are your restrictions?”

“Restrictions?”

“What have they told you not to do because it would be dangerous and cause more injury?”

She stared at him. Seriously? What was his problem?

“My restrictions are sort of obvious don't you think? I could have reinjured something falling like I did.”

“I could have gotten hurt coming over here to see you.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and set her piece of chicken on her plate. “That's not the point.”

“It is, though. Your body might be out of shape and out of practice doing what it used to do, but it's basically healed.”

“It's
not
!” She banged a fist onto the tabletop. “People keep saying that, but I have a spine that's crooked, a leg that's crushed, and a face that's scarred. None of that will heal.”

She couldn't read the expression on his face—as if he had something to yell back but couldn't quite make himself do it. She wished he would. She didn't want to be the only one here with high emotions.

“None of those things will go back to being exactly what they were,” he said. “But that doesn't mean they aren't healed. Or healing. You proved on Saturday you can do things you said you couldn't. You danced. Why are you remembering the two minutes of embarrassment and not the twenty minutes of amazing fun?”

“I . . . ” She couldn't answer.

“Because you're not used to being embarrassed. You're not used to being less than perfect.”

Her anger bubbled over again and words rushed back to her in a torrent. “How dare you? That was cruel. When did I ever say I thought I was perfect? I wasn't. I'm definitely not now. You don't know me, so quit judging everything I do.”

“Did you know a person can Google you and get your whole life story?” he asked. “Did you know there's a Wikipedia entry on you? I've learned a lot.”

His sudden changes in topic were starting to throw her. She felt purposely ignored and slightly ridiculed. Her amazement at his rude audacity kept growing.

“I did know. It's because of Miss Wyoming that's all. And you don't listen to me, but you're stalking me?”

He laughed. “For the record, I'm listening to everything you say. I'm not stalking you, and I'm not trying to be mean. I looked you up to fill in the gaps, find out what you used to do—learn the things we didn't get a chance to talk about on Saturday before you kicked me out of your life.”

“Yeah? I kind of wish you'd stayed gone,” she mumbled.

“No you don't. You're having fun. Second time in a week. When's the last time you argued with someone? Does anyone even dare start an argument with you?”

Once again she had no comeback. Of course she argued with people—her nurses, her physical therapists, the Miss Wyoming pageant coordinators who desperately wanted her to do a story about bravery and overcoming adversity.

“I . . . argue plenty.”

“Then this is no big deal. I enjoyed reading about you online.” He grinned. “You are an amazing person. Plus, I loved the pictures of you in the bathing suit competition five years ago. The judges picked the right winner.”

“Oh my gosh, what a sexist thing to say!”

“See, now here's what I mean. Why are you angry? You entered the pageant, you were proud to do it, and I think it's a great thing, too. Why is it sexist for me to say something about it?”

“Because . . . that something is not the point of the competition.”

“Of course it is! The question being asked was who models the swimsuit best? It was a beauty competition. I didn't say you were showing off because you're fast, easy, or bad.”

The whole conversation was going nowhere, she thought. And she was losing her appetite for the chicken. Why was he here to pick on her? Why was she allowing it?

“Maybe this isn't such a good idea,” she said. “I'm not sure all this is good for anyone's digestion.”

Once again his laughter rang out. “Good for digestion? You sound like someone from your grandmother's era. C'mon. Eat your free chicken dinner and duke it out with me. I'm trying to get that pretty little girl who danced at her sisters' wedding to come up out of her hidey hole, because I kind of liked
her
.”

“Sure. Everyone loves a girl who can stand up and dance.”

She knew her bitterness was unfair—he'd been nothing but kind.

“You're a tough case aren't you, Joely Foster?”

She ignored the “tough case.”

“Don't call me that. I'm not keeping his name.”

“Ahh. Sorry. When will that be final?”

She averted her gaze. “As soon as I sign the papers.”