her, his thoughts unreadable in the depths of his gray eyes. A year ahead of her in high school, he’d treated her as if she hardly existed on the occasions they couldn’t avoid each other, such as the Honor Society meetings. Kyle Herriot, football captain, had been vice president, then president when she’d been the treasurer.
Smart. Athletic. All-around hero.
A shiver raced through her, a sinister warning of something she couldn’t name.
Tonight he was incredibly handsome in a white dinner jacket and black pants, a boutonniere of pink-edged golden roses attached to the lapel. His black hair gleamed in the multiple lights of the candles spaced about the patio and rolling lawn.
June in Wind River, Wyoming, was unpredictable, but Mother Nature had chosen to be kind this year, so that the wedding reception could be outdoors rather than in the formal dining hall, cleared for the occasion. The night sky was star-spangled, the air crisp but warm enough for Megan to wear only a silk shawl draped over her long evening gown of golden silk.
Around them, other couples took to the floor, urged by the bride, who called out happy greetings to friends and family members as she danced with her new husband.
The tension eased from Megan’s shoulders as skin-prickling stares shifted to other couples. A Windom in the arms of a Herriot was news in this part of the world.
Kyle led her in an intricate step. He was a wonderful dancer, as firm and decisive as a professional. Once he’d found out she could follow him easily, he’d surprised her with his skill. How odd, to know they clicked effortlessly on the dance floor when their chance meetings were filled with silent accusations and distrust.
Inhaling deeply, she caught the scent of his cologne and the clean smell of balsam shampoo and soap mixed with pine and cedar from the mountains. The aroma of the light floral perfume she wore wafted around them, too.
Confusing sensations swept through her. She was surrounded, surfeited by it all—the evening, the first stars, the beauty of the wedding, the happiness of the bride and groom, the complex emotions of the day coupled with the memories she couldn’t erase and those she couldn’t recall—
“Easy,” the velvet-smooth voice murmured in her ear.
Kyle caught her close as her feet stopped moving, causing them to stumble. She thanked him and tried, really tried, to smile, but her lips trembled with the effort.
“What troubles you?” he asked.
Surprised by the question, she answered honestly. “My father sat out here and cried the night of my mother’s funeral. That was in June, too. Fifteen years ago.”
The words tumbled out, startling her. She hadn’t been consciously aware of them in her mind.
Kyle’s expression hardened, but he said nothing.
“My room is up there.” She nodded toward the window overlooking the patio. “I sat on the window seat and watched him, each of us alone and hurting, but I didn’t go to him. I couldn’t; it was too frightening, listening to my father weep. I’ve always regretted that.”
“You were a child, what, nine, ten?” His tone was rough, not exactly sympathetic, but not hostile toward that child, either.
“Eleven. I’d just turned eleven in May.”
A week ago she’d looked at the pictures of her eleventh birthday party. Cake. Ice cream. Friends. Her face lit with joy as she prepared to blow out the candles. A little over three weeks before her mother would go down in a sailing yacht belonging to this man’s father.
“He should have comforted you.”
“No.” She understood her father’s grief, the depth of it, the terrible, terrible pain of loss. He’d loved Bunny Windom with all his heart and soul. She was sure of it.
Her partner said nothing else.
The dance ended in a grand flourish. Kyle swept her into a graceful dip, then twirled her around three times, stopping on the last beat of the music.
“Thank you. That was lovely,” she automatically said.
His lips curled at the corners. “My pleasure.”
After escorting her to the table where the wedding party had been seated, he deftly removed the bride from her new husband’s arm and guided her onto the cleared dancing area. Shannon, looking as radiant as a dewdrop in sunlight, laughed as he executed a dramatic tango step with her.
The musicians immediately took up the tempo. Everyone stopped and watched the couple.
“Every woman’s dream—a man who can dance really well,” Kate, Megan’s other cousin, remarked, taking the seat next to her husband.
“Hey, I didn’t think I was too bad,” Jess complained with good-natured complacency.
Jess was Megan’s uncle, a virtual stranger who’d showed up last summer looking for clues to his sister’s death. Bunny had lost track of her young brother—her stepfather had been a drifter—after she married and had always worried about his well-being.
“Well, for a cop with a limp, you’re okay,” Kate conceded, her blue eyes—the envy of every woman in the county—sparkling with love and humor.
A vise clamped around Megan’s heart as she listened to the teasing between two of the people she loved best in the world. She really was emotional today.
Why? Because she was the only one left of the three cousins who hadn’t found her true love? Was she so petty as to be envious of their happiness?
No. She really was pleased that Kate and now Shannon had found their soul mates. She approved of their husbands, Jess Fargo and Rory Daniels. She adored Jess’s son from his first marriage and the couple’s recently adopted daughter.
Hearing herself sigh again, she admitted it was her own low spirits, and a past she couldn’t recall that bothered her today. She couldn’t figure out why.
“Wanna dance?” thirteen-year-old Jeremy Fargo asked.
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said with a warm smile. She was teaching him to ride and handle horses. They’d become good friends in the process.
For the rest of the evening, she danced and toasted the bridal pair with an enthusiasm that was sincere. Later, as she tired, her emotions became unreliable again.
She managed to stave off the odd and irritating nostalgia or whatever it was by refilling platters and keeping an eye on the caterers. When the food was replenished, she looked around for something else to do.
Seeing that everything was in order and the guests happy, she relaxed and leaned against the wall, content to watch rather than take part.
“It’s time,” a deep, quiet masculine voice told her.
She glanced at Kyle with a question in her eyes.
“Rory wants to take Shannon home now. She has a headache, and he’s worried. He doesn’t want her to get overtired.”
Shannon,
