Hilda. The McAllisters had always been fiercely protective of his mother. Starting with Gavin and Barbara.
Thinking of Gavin McAllister tightened Ben’s chest. Missing the man’s funeral would haunt him for life. Gavin had treated him like a son right alongside his own boys, never taking sides when they squabbled and disciplining without bias.
Time had a way of lending perspective. Ben understood now that he’d been damn lucky to have Mr. McAllister as a role model.
He looked toward the house, hoping he’d finally catch sight of the deputy, but she wasn’t among the people crowding the wide porch. People sat on rockers. Some lounged against the railing. A short, dark-haired woman wound her way through them carrying a large pitcher. He studied her for a moment, taking in the frail stoop of her narrow shoulders. Realization hit him square in the gut.
Mom?
She set down the pitcher and glanced up suddenly, as if she could feel him watching her. He turned, hoping she wouldn’t see him.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest, and he had the sudden urge to make a run for the Porsche, drive so fast and far that he’d forget all about the Sundance. Forget about the family who’d given him a home. Forget about the mother who’d never trusted him enough to tell him the truth about his own father.
Hell of a time to figure out he wasn’t ready to see her. Certainly not in front of all these people.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he stared at the distant Rockies and the crimson sun sinking behind them. He was struck by the sudden notion that he’d missed more than the mountains. He’d missed the McAllister family. The Sundance. And in spite of her betrayal, his mom.
He hadn’t expected this, wasn’t prepared to do anything but push the feelings aside. Clear his head.
What he needed was another drink. He’d promised his sister he’d do this thing. Reconnect with their mom. Make some peace. Which felt impossible at the moment.
He found another makeshift bar and was about to pour a scotch when he saw her.
Deputy Hendrix. From the strained curve of her mouth to her stick-straight posture, she seemed uncomfortable. Probably trying to get rid of the old guy in the loud sports jacket who was bending her ear. Ben could help her with that. He smiled, practically seeing her void his ticket.
Before he could approach them, the man walked away. She turned a longing glance toward a row of parked cars, looking as though she wanted to be here as much as Ben did.
Keeping an eye on her, he exchanged the whiskey for a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket and filled two flutes.
* * *
GRACE WAS BEGINNING to wish she’d brought her gun. If her uncle didn’t stop annoying her, she was pretty sure she could make a case for justifiable homicide. Although since she didn’t have a squeaky-clean record, maybe she’d be better off hiding the body. Plenty of good places around here.
Grace swallowed. Dear God. How could she joke about this? Even if only to herself. She was a horrible person. And now she’d lost track of Clarence. He’d disappeared into the crowd. But he’d pop up again and motion for her to meet yet another person who simply wanted to enjoy the party and not be bullied by the mayor.
Maybe she should make a run for her car. Now. While she had the chance. She hated that Rachel might see her, but Grace could always apologize later and pretend she’d been ill.
“Well, don’t you clean up nicely.”
The deep voice sent a flutter down her spine. Taking a moment to compose herself, she met his eyes. “I’m not tearing up the ticket.”
Ben just smiled and passed her a flute. “I’d planned to rescue you a minute ago. I figured that might soften you up, but I was too late.”
“Rescue me?”
He glanced back at the crowd. “I saw some guy bothering you.”
“Who?”
“An old guy with a bad comb-over.”
Grace laughed. Oh, wouldn’t Clarence love to hear that description. “Better watch it. He’s the mayor.”
“Figures.”
“And my uncle.”
“Ah. My apologies.” With that lazy smile of his, he looked about as apologetic as a tomcat toying with a mouse. No, he didn’t care who Clarence was to her or the town. “I didn’t want him chasing you off before we could get better acquainted.”
Grace snorted a laugh. He was smooth, a real charmer. In her line of work, she met quite a few, usually trying to talk their way out of an arrest.
“You don’t believe me?” He was watching her, studying her face with a faintly bemused expression that she didn’t care for. Though fair was fair. She’d given him the once-over earlier. The difference was, while she’d admired his bronzed skin, he was probably counting her freckles.
She stared at the champagne she’d absently accepted from him. “I really shouldn’t drink this,” she said and took a sip. “I have to drive.”
“You can’t have far to go. Not in this town.”
She moved slightly so his shoulder blocked the remaining rays of sunlight and she didn’t have to squint at him. He had a strong jaw, a symmetrical face. “Most accidents happen within five miles of home.”
Amusement brought out the gold flecks in his eyes. “Makes sense. Statistically speaking.” He paused. “Are you going to tell me your first name?”
“You can call me deputy.”
He seemed momentarily startled, then threw his head back and laughed. So loudly that people turned and stared. Including Chloe and the other blond bridesmaid standing by the tent pole. Grace got the feeling they’d been watching her and Ben all along. They were probably wondering why he’d approached her. Grace wondered the same thing.
She cleared her throat. “It’s Grace.”
“Grace,” he repeated, and surprised her by offering his hand.
His palm was rough against hers, which wasn’t exactly soft and tender, either. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace. The name suits you.”
“Um...really not so much.”
Ben’s brows lifted, just a tiny bit, as though she intrigued him. He’d be disappointed. If only she’d left when she had the chance.
After studying her a moment, his attention drifted toward the house. He watched the guests gathered on the porch and then swept a gaze over the tent crowd. Most likely plotting an escape.
“Lucky it didn’t rain today,” she murmured, searching the sky. A few clouds hovered but none threatened. “I heard Rachel pushed the date back, hoping for an outdoor wedding.”
He said nothing, but she sensed his amusement at her feeble attempt to change the subject. She saw a band setting up on the
