Her Rancher Rescuer. Donna Alward
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of groomsman Rhys Bullock’s mouth. He couldn’t possibly know she was standing only ten feet behind him, but couldn’t he have kept his voice down so the whole guest list at the wedding reception couldn’t hear?
The day had been going so well. Callum Shepard’s wedding to Avery Spencer had been a gorgeous, Christmassy affair. The food at the golf club was delicious and Amy had been having fun at the dance. Until she’d seen the tension between Rhys and Callum’s sister, Taylor. It had been crystal clear to her that they were fighting their attraction. The two of them had been doing a strange mating dance throughout the whole planning of this wedding.
Only minutes ago Amy had caught the bouquet and Rhys the garter. They’d danced and, to her surprise, he’d held her close. But Amy had known exactly what he was thinking—or rather who he was thinking about, and it wasn’t her. It was as clear as the nose on her face that he belonged with Taylor and Amy had had no illusions as to why Rhys had been so cozy. It had been to make Taylor see what she was missing. Amy had willingly played along, happy to help.
What a fool she’d been to try to steer them in the right direction. She’d known that Rhys didn’t like her in that way. And neither did she—their one awkward date had proved that months ago. Still, the callousness of the harsh words hurt.
Tears of humiliation sprang to her eyes. But before she could sneak away and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing, Rhys and Taylor realized she was standing there. Taylor had the grace to look embarrassed. Of all the Shepard family that Amy had met, Taylor had been the most welcoming. She’d even invited Amy for lunch one day. Now Taylor’s pretty face was looking at her with apology etched all over it. Rhys’s face was inscrutable, revealing nothing.
“Amy...” Taylor started to apologize but Amy lifted her hand, cutting her off, unable to meet the other woman’s sympathetic gaze. This was all embarrassing enough, but she couldn’t stand pity. Poor Amy. Struck out again. Can’t hold a man, just like her mother, poor thing.
Amy’s lower lip trembled. She had to get out of here before she really embarrassed herself.
She spun on her heel and made a beeline for the bathroom. One of the stalls was unoccupied and she headed straight for it, going inside and latching the door. She put down the toilet-seat lid, sat down and bit down on her lip. Sometimes she really hated living in this town. Her breakup with Terry years ago had been bad enough. He’d broken her heart and nothing stayed a secret for long in Cadence Creek. Her past relationship with Sam Diamond had been the clincher, though. She’d really liked Sam. She’d been hurt when he’d broken it off and had been a tad too vocal about it.
She knew what people thought of her. A harmless flirt to be gossiped about and laughed at. Looking for love in all the wrong places. Serial dater. She could find a man but not keep a man. She’d heard them all. Besides, no one had forgotten how her dad had just up and left them years before. It had broken her mother. The legacy of his abandonment had followed Amy through to adulthood.
“Who was that?” a woman’s voice asked.
A low laugh. “Amy Wilson.”
There were a few chuckles. Nothing else had to be said.
She was not a bad person. She didn’t sleep around or go after unavailable men. She just...
She just had rotten luck in the romance department. And yet she kept trying and believing that one day the right guy would ride into town and sweep her off her feet. So much so that she knew no one would believe her motives for dancing with Rhys were altruistic, even if she swore it on a Bible. Well, it was the last time she tried to play matchmaker. She might have known it would be misconstrued.
She was done. And the population of Cadence Creek—males and females—could dry up and blow away for all she cared.
The door opened and closed again and she held her breath even though she desperately needed a tissue. After a few seconds two tissues appeared over the top of the door. “Here,” a man’s voice said quietly. “Blow your nose.”
“Oh, my God!” Her voice bounced off the porcelain fixtures as she leaped to her feet. “This is the women’s room! Get out!”
“I locked the door behind me. Blow your nose, Amy.”
She paused. She knew that voice. Not well, which was why it stood out. It was the groom’s brother, wasn’t it? Callum’s very handsome, very successful younger sibling. “Jack Shepard?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“How did you know I was in here?”
He hesitated before answering. “I heard what Rhys said. Saw you take off.”
She snagged the tissues from his fingertips and blew her nose—loudly. For another few moments the only sound was the reassuring thump of the DJ’s music at the dance, muffled through the walls. “Thanks,” she murmured. She and Jack had only bumped into each other a few times. He’d asked her to dance tonight, too. He was a nice guy. But to follow her into the ladies’ room? She frowned.
“Are you going to come out of there?” he asked.
“Maybe. When everyone else goes home and I can be humiliated in private.” Right now she preferred to lick her wounds in solitude. Gosh, even when she didn’t intend to, she found herself in the middle of a spectacle. Memories were too darned long around here. Repetitive.
“It’s not even ten o’clock. You could have a long wait.”
She hated that he was right. And that he sounded amused. “Then I’ll get my coat and slip away. It’s not like anyone will miss me.”
“Oh, now,” he chided, “that sounds a lot like you’re going to have your own pity party, and that’s no fun.”
Right again. He really was being quite annoying. Except he’d come in here to make sure she was okay, and he’d given her tissues. She felt herself softening just a little. “Shut up, Jack,” she said mildly.
“Who gives a rat’s ass what Rhys thinks anyway,” Jack suggested. “You’re better off without him.”
Jack thought this was about Rhys? Of course. Jack was an outsider. Even today, as part of the family, he said and did all the right things but she’d noticed that he’d kept to the side a little bit, included but hovering just on the fringes, not getting too close.
And since he was new here, he definitely didn’t understand that the name Amy Wilson came with built-in context. “You might want to be careful expressing that opinion,” she replied. “Because Rhys has definitely got his eye on your sister.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I’m just saying that you deserve someone who wants to be with you. Only you. Who can’t go on another day without you. Now, are you going to come out of there or not?”
Amy’s heart gave an odd thump. What Jack was cavalierly explaining was something she’d felt deep down for a long, long time. She’d always believed it—true love—was out there. She’d kept faith that not all guys were losers and deadbeats like her dad. That faith was what kept her from swearing off men. What kept her hoping each time she went on a date. Somewhere out there was someone who would care about her enough to stay.
Problem was, she was starting to think that true love existed all right—but just not for her. That she was somehow inherently flawed. There had to be some reason why things never worked out...why all the princes turned out to be frogs. Every relationship attempt had been a disaster. And through it all she’d smiled and tried to pretend it was no big deal. Tried to hide her hurt feelings by moving on....
God, that sounded so desperate.
“I’ll come out,” she conceded. She stood up and smoothed her dress, a little black number that skimmed her curves and made her feel pretty. Or at least it had. She gave her hair a shake, pasted on a smile. Then and only then did she click back the latch and open the door.
Jack was waiting, looking ridiculously handsome in his tuxedo and