One Winter Wedding. Barbara Hannay
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poor relation they’d taken into their home. She’d been sixteen when her mother died, sixteen when Olivia finally admitted she was not an only child as she’d led Kelsey to believe. Olivia had an older brother, a sister-in-law and two nieces…total strangers who became Kelsey’s only family.
Hold your head high, Olivia had whispered to Kelsey only days before passing away. Her face pale and gaunt, her blond hair long gone, her mother’s eyes still blazed with the pride that empowered her to walk away from her family when she’d been pregnant at eighteen. You may not have been raised as one of the wealthy Wilsons, but you’re going to show them what an amazing young woman you are.
Tears scalding her throat like acid, Kelsey had promised. She’d had no idea how difficult—how impossible—keeping that promise would be.
Finally, though, after eight years, she would have her chance to make good on her word. As a wedding planner, Kelsey had found her niche. She was organized, efficient, detail-oriented. Lessons learned as she scheduled her mother’s doctor appointments, oversaw her medications and dealt with the insurance company served her well as she juggled caterers, musicians, photographers and the occasional Bridezilla.
Every wedding that ended in I do was a tribute to her mother’s memory, and Emily’s walk down the aisle would mean more than all the previous weddings. But before Emily could say her vows, Kelsey had to deal with one serious snag.
A sudden attack of nerves cartwheeling through her stomach, Kelsey swung her purse off her shoulder. She unzipped the center pocket and pulled out her day planner where, along with every detail of the wedding, she’d written the flight information. According to the listed arrivals, the plane from Los Angeles was on time.
Connor McClane was back in town.
Kelsey flipped to the front of the day planner and pulled out a photograph. Her aunt had said the picture was ten years old, which could account for the worn edges and creased corner. Kelsey feared there might be another reason. How many times had Emily stared at this photograph and wondered what might have been?
Kelsey had never met her cousin’s ex-boyfriend, the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, but the snapshot said it all. Connor McClane leaned against a motorcycle, dressed head-to-toe in black—from his boots, to the jeans that clung to his long legs, to the T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest. His arms were crossed, and he glared into the camera. A shock of shaggy dark hair, a shadow of stubble on his stubborn jaw and mirrored sunglasses completed the look.
Kelsey could tell everything she needed to know from that picture except the color of Connor McClane’s eyes. The man was trouble, as bad a boy as Donnie Mardell had ever been. Kelsey knew it, just like she knew Connor was better looking in a two-dimensional photo than any living, breathing man she’d ever meet.
Stuffing the picture and her day planner back in her purse, she hurried to the waiting area, where she focused on every man headed her way. He’d be twenty-nine by now, she reminded herself, four years her senior. Kelsey didn’t suppose she was lucky enough that he’d aged badly or gone prematurely bald.
A beer belly, she thought, mentally crossing her fingers. A beer belly would be good.
But at the first glimpse of the dark-haired man sauntering down the corridor, her heart flipped within her chest and her hopes crashed. No signs of age, baldness or overhanging waistline…just pure masculine perfection. Her mouth went as dry as the surrounding desert.
Connor McClane had stepped to life from the photograph. From his form-hugging T-shirt, to his worn jeans and boots, to the sunglasses covering his eyes, every detail remained the same. A plane took off from a nearby runway, and the low rumble reverberating in her chest could have easily come from a motorcycle.
Kelsey tried to swallow. Once, twice. Finally she gave up and croaked out, “Mr. McClane?”
“Yes?” He stopped to look at her, and Kelsey’s only thought was that she still didn’t know the color of his eyes. Brown, maybe? To match the mahogany of his hair and tanned skin. Or blue? A bright, vivid contrast to his coloring.
A dark eyebrow rose above his mirrored sunglasses, a reminder that she had yet to answer him. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “Uh, Mr. McClane—”
“We’ve already established who I am. Question is, who are you?”
“My name’s Kelsey Wilson.”
He flashed a smile that revved her pulse. His head dipped, and she sensed him taking in the red hair she struggled to control, the freckled skin she tried to cover, and the extra pounds she sought to hide beneath the khaki skirt and boxy shirt. She saw her reflection in his mirrored glasses, a much shorter, much wider version of herself, like a carnival funhouse distortion.
Kelsey didn’t feel much like laughing.
Had she known her aunt was going to assign her this mission, she would have worn something different—like full body armor. The image of what Emily might have worn to meet her former boyfriend flashed in Kelsey’s mind. She shoved the pointless comparison away. Too much like trying to force Strawberry Shortcake into Barbie’s wardrobe.
“Well, what do you know?” Connor stood in the middle of the corridor, mindless of the sea of people parting around him. “The Wilsons sent out a welcoming party. Heck, if I’d known I’d get this kind of reception, I might have come back sooner.”
“I doubt that,” Kelsey muttered.
Connor McClane had planned his return perfectly, coming back to ruin Emily’s wedding. Aunt Charlene was certain of it. Kelsey knew only one thing. Her cousin had nearly thrown her future away once for this man, and she could see how Emily might be tempted to do it again.
“Don’t underestimate your appeal,” he told her, and though she couldn’t see beyond the reflective sunglasses, she had the distinct impression he’d winked at her.
Kelsey straightened her spine to the shattering point. “My appeal isn’t in question. I’m here to—”
Keep him away from Emily, Kelsey. I don’t care how you do it, but keep that man away from my daughter!
“To do what, Kelsey Wilson?”
His deep voice made her name sound like a seduction, and suddenly she could think of all kinds of things to do that had nothing to do with her aunt’s wishes. Or did they? How far would Aunt Charlene expect her to go to keep Connor away from Emily?
“To give you a ride from the airport,” she answered with a saccharine smile. “Baggage claim is this way.”
Connor patted the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Got everything with me.”
Eyeing the lumpy bag, Kelsey wondered how dress clothes could survive such careless packing. Maybe he planned to ride his motorcycle up to the church in leather and denim, the same way he’d ridden out of town ten years ago? Unless—
“You didn’t bring much with you. You must not plan to stay long.”
Something in her voice must have given away her hope, because Connor chuckled. He adjusted the duffel bag and headed down the corridor, his strides so long Kelsey nearly had to jog to keep up.
“Oh, I’ll be here as long as it takes,” he told her with a sideways glance, “but I won’t need more than a few days.”
A few days. Did she really want to know? Did she really want to throw down the verbal gauntlet? Kelsey took a deep breath, partly to gather some courage, partly to gather some much needed oxygen. “A few days to what?”
“To stop Emily from marrying the wrong man.”
Connor hadn’t known what to expect when he stepped off the plane. He’d given Emily his flight information with the hope she might meet him at the airport. He’d wanted a chance to talk to her away from her family and her fiancé. He was realistic enough to know the whole Wilson brigade might be lined up at the gate like some kind of high-fashion firing squad. But