Abby, Get Your Groom!. Victoria Pade
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arm’s length, that he wasn’t embraced by them all the way he was used to.
So what must it have been like for Abby Crane to grow up in foster care, moved from home to home, with no family of her own ever?
He couldn’t imagine that it had been good for her.
And yet, she wasn’t what he’d expected of someone who had been shuffled through the system.
He’d expected her to be hard-edged. He wouldn’t have been surprised by spiked hair or tight leather or all-black clothes. By tattoos and piercings. By an I-dare-you-to-cross-me attitude.
But that wasn’t Abby Crane.
Instead she was a fresh-faced beauty who looked as if she could have grown up in the country, on a farm.
A spectacular beauty, certainly without any obvious too-hard edges.
No, she was all soft curly hair—wild, thick hair that he’d kind of wanted to get his hands into. She was all smooth peaches-and-cream skin that didn’t show signs of ever having had so much as a blemish.
She was all fine, delicate bones in a nose that not even the most expensive plastic surgeon could have done as well. She had a slightly pointed, defined chin and high cheekbones dusted naturally pink and pretty.
And there definitely wasn’t anything hard about her soft-looking lips or those big brown doe eyes that somehow sparkled even from that deep, dark color.
Why he hadn’t expected someone quite that attractive to come out of the life she’d had he didn’t know, but he hadn’t. And he could honestly say that even if she had been on a rocky road in the past, it wasn’t reflected in the way she looked now.
About the only possible indication of a difficult youth had been in the way she carried herself.
She was relatively small—not more than five feet four inches—and trim under that black smock. He’d seen that when she finished his haircut and took it off, revealing a body with tight curves in all the right places. But she stood straight and tall, shoulders back, head high, as if intent on making herself seem bigger than she was and strong enough to take on the world.
And there was nothing effusive about her—that probably came from the way she’d grown up. She was friendly enough but not overly so. Self-contained. And while she seemed warm toward that China person, he certainly hadn’t felt an over-abundance of warmth directed at him.
She was slightly outspoken, too, he recalled, remembering her unabashed demand to know what he was up to. And she was no good at hiding the suspicion she’d felt. But that attempt to sound intimidating had just been adorable. Thinking about it made him smile the way he would have at the time if he hadn’t suppressed it.
So if foster care had left scars they weren’t readily visible. But it was something to watch out for anyway, he told himself. Like Lara’s true nature hiding just under the surface, Abby could have plenty of baggage that wasn’t easy to see but that could end up being hell to deal with.
Purely on a business level, of course. It wasn’t as if he was considering anything else. Anything personal. There wasn’t going to be anything personal between him and any woman for a long time. Not when he had so much damage control still to do with his family.
And even if he was ready for another relationship, even if all his fences with his family were mended, he’d be cautious of someone who came from Abby’s kind of background. Stable, steady, grounded—that’s what he’d be looking for when he started looking for someone again.
Someone who had been raised moving around from home to home? He didn’t see how that could breed stable or steady or grounded.
Maybe that wild hair of Abby Crane’s was the kind of clue that the clutter of Lara’s condo should have been.
And this time around he was reading it, noting it, and taking it very seriously.
Not that there was anything to what he was about to do with Abby Crane that was at all relationship-driven to make that matter.
There wasn’t.
His only job was to reveal to her who she was, where she’d come from, and then see how he could—in some way—make things up to her.
At the same time he was making things up to his family.
And, with any luck, maybe he could take care of everything at once and then really breathe a sigh of relief.
But no matter how long either chore took, it was all going to be far behind him before he even considered getting involved with another woman.
Fresh-faced spectacular beauty or not.
* * *
The park on Bryant Street was only a block from Abby’s apartment. She wanted to walk there but it was after six o’clock when she got home so she had to hurry in order to change clothes first.
Not that she really needed to change clothes—there was nothing wrong with what she’d been wearing all day. And she convinced herself that it wasn’t for the sake of Dylan Camden. She just felt like putting on something fresh.
So she replaced her work jeans with a better pair that were low-slung and fitted her rear end just the way she liked. On top she opted for a slimmer-cut black T-shirt that hugged her not overly well-endowed chest. She wore that over a white-and-black polka dot tank top that rose about two inches higher than the T-shirt’s square-cut neckline.
She drew a large hair pick through her curls and re-scrunched them, and refreshed her eye makeup, blush and lip gloss. Although she probably shouldn’t have used the time, she searched out and put on a pair of hoop earrings before rushing back to her closet for shoes.
Despite telling herself that she should wear sturdy shoes in case this guy was some kind of creep she might need to kick before making a run for it, she still went with a pair of ballet flats that wouldn’t be able to do any damage.
But they were comfortable and she’d been on her feet all day. Plus they had cute little white-and-black polka dot bows that coordinated with her tank top.
It was six-twenty-five by then, so she grabbed her keys, put them in the pocket of her jeans and headed for the park.
Dylan was already there—Abby spotted him when she reached the corner across the street from the park. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables. And looking as good as he had at the shop that afternoon.
She’d been hoping that maybe he wouldn’t. That the flattering lighting of the salon had just really worked for him. But that wasn’t the case. The guy was sooo hot!
But that wasn’t going to get to her. He was still a stranger and her guard was up on that account alone. But there were two other things that factored in, too—she’d just ended the only long-term relationship she’d ever been in, and what had come out of it had shaken her. That wasn’t anything she wanted to try again anytime soon.
And if she hadn’t been good enough for Mark The Systems Analyst, she certainly wouldn’t be able to live up to the standards of a Camden. Someone like that would surely believe he was legions out of her league.
So, Adonis or not, Dylan Camden wasn’t going to get to her.
He saw her coming just then and perked up as if he was happier to see her than she thought he should be. Or maybe he’d just thought she wouldn’t show and was glad she had. But she was still leery.
“Hi,” she said as she drew near the table.
“Hey there,” he responded.
He was sitting on the table itself, his big loafered feet on the bench below, long jeans-encased legs V’d out wide, leaning on forearms atop thick thighs—nicely developed forearms exposed below the rolled-up-to-his-elbows sleeves of a crisp, clean, pinstriped shirt.
He’d changed clothes, too. And he’d shaved so his face was clear of stubble, as if he wanted