Eleven
Chapter One
“Jonas is an old soul.”
—Molly Cavanaugh Callahan, observing her
toddler as he tried to read the newspaper one day,
imitating his father, Jeremiah.
Jonas Callahan realized at once that the music he heard on the breeze was the lilting strains of a wedding march, beautifully played as always by the town of Diablo’s string quartet.
It had to come from Sam’s wedding. Though Sam had already married Seton McKinley once, they’d probably decided to make the leap from marriage-by-design to marriage-by-dream-come-true. Sam was sentimental like that. Oh, Jonas’s loony lawyer brother would claim he was a hard-boiled realist, but Sam was the biggest, cheesiest romantic of the entire Callahan clan. And a May wedding at Rancho Diablo was probably a dream come true—if one had romantic tendencies like that. Sam did. Jonas didn’t.
He dared not intrude on the magical moment between his brother and Seton. Jonas knew full well how Sam had longed for her—as Jonas did for her sister, Sabrina.
While it was hopeless for him, Sam looked to be making everything happen for himself. Jonas was happy for his youngest brother, thrilled, in fact.
So Jonas stood near the English-style house with seven chimneys, where no one could see that he had come home to Rancho Diablo—and that he’d brought with him a visitor of the female variety.
“It’s a wedding!” Chelsea Myers exclaimed. “I wouldn’t mind getting married here—this place is gorgeous. Did you know there was a wedding today, Jonas?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been keeping in touch with my brothers as much as I should have. I sent an occasional email to let them know I didn’t find our aunt and uncle, but that was about it.”
Jonas craned his neck to see who was at the altar. It was Sam! For a man who’d run as hard as Sam had from the bonds of matrimony, he’d gone down like a sleepy baby when he’d met the right woman.
I’m too logical and practical to be led around by my heart. I intend to make my decision on cold, hard facts. Are we compatible? Does my future wife understand that I need an assistant in my life? I don’t want romance and fairy tales and magic wedding gowns that can’t possibly be magic. Sabrina and her load of clairvoyant, out-of-this-world supernatural charm.
Hooey!
Jonas, too, had met the woman he had once hoped might be the “right” one—but Sabrina McKinley had fallen for someone else. To say that his heart had broken upon learning that she was pregnant with another man’s child would be grossly understating his devastation.
He’d had no option but to hightail it away from Rancho Diablo. He’d headed to Ireland on the flimsy excuse that he was going to locate their aunt Fiona and uncle Burke. When Jonas couldn’t find them—it seemed they’d gotten a traveling yen and gone off on the extended cruise of their dreams—he’d hung around Ireland to take in the sights.
And then he’d met Chelsea Myers, a calm, steady redhead nothing like Sabrina McKinley—except for the flaming hair. Jonas had told himself she would make a suitable surgeon’s wife. Moreover, she wasn’t opposed to leaving Ireland and seeing America.
So, realizing that with Sam off the market, he’d be the only brother at Rancho Diablo who hadn’t succumbed to Aunt Fiona’s Secret Plan to get them all married with families, Jonas had surveyed his life goals. Now, he thought marriage might dovetail with his desire to not be the leftover Callahan, hankering after a woman who had borne another man’s child.
What else could a guy with a broken heart do?
* * *
AFTER THE I DO’S WERE SAID and the champagne was flowing, Jonas stepped forward with Chelsea to join his brothers and congratulate Sam and Seton for finally doing things right this time.
“Jonas!” he heard over and over, glad cries of astonished welcome ringing in his ears. A burn of embarrassment crawled up the back of his neck. Sam’s and Seton’s big day was suddenly turning into a welcome home party for him.
“Brother,” Sam said, hugging him and pounding him on the back. “Welcome home!”
“Congratulations, Sam. You’ve married a great gal. Again.”
Seton threw her arms around Jonas and kissed him on the cheek like a long-lost brother. “You were gone too long! What a nice wedding gift to have you back!”
He suddenly realized he was staring at the maid of honor and the reason he’d left town: Sabrina. No longer pregnant, of course—he estimated her baby would be about six months old—Sabrina was dressed in a beautiful long, strapless, turquoise-blue dress that complemented her petite frame. Her burnished red hair was styled in a pretty updo, and her big eyes sparkled at him before her eyelids lowered.
Everything hit him all at once, a hard smack to the chest: He had never gotten over Sabrina. He was madly in love with her. And no matter how long he stayed away, no matter how many countries he traveled to, she was always going to be the one woman who set his soul on fire.
“Hi, Jonas,” she said, and he felt himself melting at her feet.
“Hello, Sabrina. You look…nice.” He’d started to say beautiful, but awkwardly stopped himself in time. “Congratulations, Seton, Sam.”
“You ol’ dog,” Sam said. “We thought you were going to turn out to be the most footloose one of us all, going off like that. It’s about time you came home!”
Jonas cleared his throat, knowing the moment had come. “I’d like everyone to meet my fiancée, Chelsea Myers.”
For ten feet around him, it got so silent not even a grain of dirt shifted underfoot, or so Jonas’s imagination feverishly claimed. He saw a flare of surprise in Sabrina’s eyes that she quickly masked.
The moment was more painful than pleasant. Definitely not the self-serving, face-saving moment he’d hoped for.
It occurred to him belatedly that he wasn’t as good at plotting as his aunt Fiona was, because at the moment, he felt anything but happy. Looking at Sabrina, he was pretty certain he’d made an error of epic proportions.
