Why did wedding dresses have to be so white?
The question flitted through Maggie Spencer’s mind as she hurried down the tree-lined street in Stonecreek, Oregon, the town that had been her family’s home and passion for over a hundred years. Away from the First Congregational Church, away from her family and friends and from her remorseful, apologetic and cheating fiancé.
Oh, yes. Far away from Trevor Stone.
Hurried might not be the right word. It was difficult to hurry wearing five pounds of satin and lace plus high heels that pinched her feet to the point that she was ready to lop off a baby toe just to ease the pain.
She refused to take off the shoes because the physical discomfort distracted her from the ache in her chest. Tears threatened each time she thought of the repercussions of running away from her wedding five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin.
The clock in the tower overlooking the town square a few blocks away began to chime, echoing the rhythmic lurch in her stomach. The wedding was starting.
Without her.
She gathered bunches of fabric in her hands and draped the dress’s train over one arm. Grammy had insisted on a dress with a train, mainly so Maggie’s younger sister would have a reason to hold it, putting Morgan on display for the good people of Stonecreek.
“It worked for Pippa,” Grammy had commented drily. “Morgan’s backside is just as worthy of going viral if you ask me.”
Although no one needed to ask Grammy’s opinion because she was happy to offer it unsolicited.
A car drove past, honked once. It wasn’t every day that a bride took a stroll in her wedding gown. Sweat trickled between Maggie’s shoulder blades, despite the June breeze fluttering the blooms on the oak trees that canopied the street. Not a cloud marred the robin’s-egg-blue sky, a stroke of good luck for the marriage, according to Maggie’s grandmother.
So much for positive omens.
Maggie kept her gaze forward, sending out a silent prayer the honking driver was no one she knew. Then again, most everyone Maggie knew was waiting in the church. Close to three hundred people crammed into the pews to witness the two most powerful families in Stonecreek finally united by marriage.
Or not.
She picked up the pace, wincing as her heel caught on a crack in the pavement and her ankle rolled. She’d just righted herself when a hulking SUV pulled up next to her.
“I’m fine,” she called, holding up a hand and keeping her eyes trained forward as she lifted her dress higher off the ground.
“You’re going the wrong way, Maggie May,” a voice said, the tone a deep timbre that sent shivers along her bare arms.
The fabric dropped from her hands as that voice ricocheted through her. The tip of one heel tangled in her wedding dress, and she tripped and fell hard to the pavement. She managed to get herself to all fours, tears pricking the backs of her eyes, as much from embarrassment as the sting to her palms and knees.
She focused on drawing in a few deep breaths, but the air escaped her lungs when a pair of scuffed cowboy boots moved into her line of sight.
“Need a hand?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, giving a little shake of her head. A thousand rattlesnakes could have her surrounded and she still wouldn’t accept help from Griffin Stone.
Faking composure, Maggie started to stand, then yelped when her right ankle screamed in protest.
“You’re hurt.” Griffin wrapped his hands around her arms and lifted her to her feet like she weighed nothing.
Glancing up through her lashes, she saw that a decade away from Stonecreek had honed him into every inch an alpha male, rugged and broad-shouldered. His dark blond hair was longer, curling at the ends as it skimmed the collar of the crisp white dress shirt he wore under a suit jacket. She knew he was well over six feet—even in her heels he towered over her. A few years older than she was, he’d been the cutest boy in high school—and the wildest by far—but now his looks were downright lethal.
“I twisted my ankle,” she confirmed, shrugging out of his grasp and trying not to put weight on her right leg. “Stupid shoes. I still don’t need your help.” She glared at him. “What are you doing here anyway? Trevor said you weren’t coming back for the wedding, and you never RSVP’d.”
He inclined his head and she felt more than saw his smile, a slight softening around the corners of his stormy green eyes. “Last-minute change of plans.”
“You’re late,” she muttered, sweat beading on her forehead as the pain in her ankle began to radiate up her leg. She needed to get away from Griffin and take off the stupid heels her bridesmaids had convinced her to buy.
“Apparently, I’m not the only one.” He took a step forward, then reached around her to open the passenger-side door on his vintage Land Cruiser. “You don’t have to like me, Maggie, but get in the car before you pass out from the pain of whatever you did to your ankle.”
She bit down on her lip to keep the tears at bay. Of all the people to see her in this state, why did it have to be Griffin? He’d been the star of every one of her foolish teenage fantasies. She hadn’t even cared that bad-boy Griffin Stone barely acknowledged her existence, even though she and Trevor had been friends since she’d thrown up on him their
