The Best Man's Bride. Lisa Childs
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After the boys’ mom had taken off when the twins were just babies, why would Josh ever trust another woman?
Nick would never make that mistake, not that he didn’t think some women were worthy of trust. His dad swore his mother had been a paragon of virtue. Nick, himself, had never known her. He’d been younger than the twins when she died. It wasn’t that he mistrusted all women, so much as that he really didn’t trust himself. If a guy as smart as Josh hadn’t had the sense to fall for the right woman, a guy like Nick didn’t stand a chance.
Hearing the outraged howl that signaled a major temper tantrum in the groom’s room, Nick walked farther away from the door. Sure, he could have gone inside and tried to help out—he was the best man, after all. But Nick was going to have the boys all to himself during Josh’s honeymoon. If he hadn’t already sworn off marriage and fatherhood, he was damned sure he would after two weeks with the twins.
Another door opened farther down the hall and a group of women spilled out. A young girl dressed like a miniature bride, a blonde, a redhead and a brunette, all dressed in shiny red strapless gowns. Which one of them was he supposed to walk down the aisle?
Maybe he should have come to the rehearsal, but Cloverville, Michigan, was more than an hour from where he worked in Grand Rapids. He sighed. Now he wouldn’t be working only in Grand Rapids; he and Josh would have a practice in Cloverville as soon as their new offices were finished. Personally, he hoped the contractors took their damn sweet time. If Josh wasn’t his best friend, Nick wouldn’t have let the other man talk him into opening their office here. He had no interest in Cloverville.
Then the brunette turned, her rich brown hair moving like a silk curtain around her bare shoulders. His fingers itched with the need to touch it, to see if her hair could possibly be as soft as those chocolate-colored strands appeared. Her gaze met his then, and he realized that her eyes were as deep a brown as her hair.
Nick’s chest clenched and his breath caught, as if he’d slammed on the brakes and his seat belt had pulled too tight. Heat flushed his face and dampened his palms. So that he wouldn’t lose the rings before the ceremony, he wrapped his fingers tightly around them and shoved them deep into his pocket. Even his hand shook. What the hell had just happened to him?
DR. NICK JAMESON. Colleen McClintock had known, of course, that he would be at the wedding. He was, after all, the best man. Did he recognize her? Colleen doubted it. How could he recognize someone he had never even noticed before?
And yet he saw her now, staring at her so intently that goose bumps rose on the bare skin of her shoulders and arms. She regretted talking Brenna out of matching wraps—the maid of honor had been right. Colleen should have risked fumbling the flowers or tripping on the shawl for a little more cover-up.
But between her bad luck and her innate clumsiness, she hadn’t wanted to risk embarrassing herself or her sister. That was probably why Molly had chosen her longtime friend Brenna Kelly as maid of honor instead of Colleen. She’d worried that her little sister would mess up her important day. Or maybe she’d never considered Colleen at all. Kind of like Dr. Nick Jameson hadn’t noticed she existed until today.
Was it the red dress Brenna had chosen? The strapless sheath of satin had somehow produced curves Colleen hadn’t been aware she possessed. And the color was so vibrant—for the first time in a long while she didn’t feel invisible.
“We need to get lined up,” Brenna ordered the others. The wedding party immediately responded to her command. Even Colleen’s headstrong teenage brother, Rory, who never paid attention to anyone, now meekly joined the group outside the bride’s dressing room. Maybe that was why Molly had chosen the redhead as maid of honor. People listened to Brenna Kelly, whereas they rarely heard Colleen.
Of course that was her fault. She’d always been quiet so that her older sister and her friends wouldn’t notice her tagging along. But Molly had never made her feel unwelcome, and over the years her friends had become Colleen’s, as well. Brenna Kelly with her gorgeous red hair and generous curves, and Abby Hamilton, the petite, vivacious blonde, were the best friends Colleen had ever known. Eric South, the lone male member of their group of friends, had backed out of the wedding party just before the rehearsal dinner the previous evening.
So Colleen’s older brother, Clayton, had been left with an additional responsibility. As well as filling in for their dad, who’d died eight years ago, and giving away the bride, he also had to walk Abby down the aisle in Eric’s place. Clayton probably would have preferred walking Abby out the door. He’d always blamed her, unjustly, for any trouble his sisters had gotten into. He had already pulled Abby aside for a private conversation, no doubt warning her not to start anything.
But Colleen hoped that Abby would start something—with Clayton. He needed someone like Abby to loosen him up, to teach him how to play. He’d had to grow up far too fast when their father died—they’d all had to grow up. But Abby, who’d lived away from Cloverville for the past eight years, swore she and her daughter had only come home for the wedding. Abby edged closer to the rest of the wedding party, but early guests had gathered around her and her four-year-old daughter, the miniature bride, clad in a gorgeous white dress.
What about Molly? Had she managed to get into her wedding gown? She’d shooed everyone out of the dressing room before anyone could help her. Colleen turned back toward the closed door. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Poor Molly.
Even though she hadn’t admitted it out loud, Molly clearly had been having doubts about getting married. Despite being three years younger, Colleen was close to her sister. Actually, Molly had always been more friend than sister. She’d never resented Colleen shadowing her. Why now, when Molly should have been leaning on her friends for support, had she begged them to leave her all alone?
“Hello,” a deep voice murmured, pulling Colleen’s attention back to him.
Dr. Nick Jameson had crossed the hall and now stood in front of her. Even in heels she had to tip her head back a bit to focus on his face and stop thinking about how his broad shoulders filled out his black tux. While he looked handsome enough in scrubs, he was completely devastating in a tuxedo. Sun streaked through the church doors at the end of the hall and glinted off his golden-blond hair so that Colleen had to close her eyes for a moment.
Dizziness rushed over her, but instead of seeing spots behind her closed lids she saw his face, his pale green eyes staring down at her.
“Hi,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse. “I missed the rehearsal. Any idea which bridesmaid I walk down the aisle?”
Colleen blinked her eyes open again and met his gaze. In his eyes there was a flirtatious twinkle. All rational thought fled her mind.
Probably used to women’s tongue-tied reactions, he grinned, and a deep dimple pierced one lean cheek. “I’m the best man.”
He said it as if he was claiming more than his title in the wedding party. Although his arrogance came as no surprise, Colleen lifted a brow.
“Then you’ll walk down the aisle with the maid of honor,” she said. The haughty tone of her own voice surprised her, and she swallowed a shocked gasp. Usually she spoke so soft and quietly that people asked her to repeat herself, if they even realized she’d said something in the first place.
“I hope that’s you,” he said, flashing the dimpled grin at her.
The volunteers and nurses at the hospital in Grand Rapids—where Nick was on staff and Colleen volunteered—would have been envious of Colleen receiving one of “Dr. Yummy’s” rare grins. Her knees, and other parts of her, quivered in reaction. But when she opened her mouth, the haughty voice said, “No, I’m not the maid of honor.”
He pressed a hand against his heart as if she’d hurt him, but then he flashed the grin again and teased, “So you’re not a maid of honor?”
Honor? An honorable person wouldn’t have let a friend take the blame for something she’d done, no matter what the circumstances. While Colleen fumbled for a response to his flirty question, Brenna bustled up.
“Places,