with Melissa?”
“Mike’s Melissa’s father,” Rory explained. “Lives over in Lampasas. He and Buck were old running buddies. With Buck gone now, Mike’s probably the single most wealthy man around these parts.”
“If that’s the case,” Macy said, “then it would seem that she’d ask her father for money, if she truly needed it.”
“Not necessarily.”
When everyone turned to look at Kayla, she lifted her hands. “Heck, I wouldn’t. It’s a matter of pride.”
Ry gave his wife’s arm an indulgent pat. “Yes, dear. We’re all familiar with your pride.”
“Kayla may have a point,” Rory said in his sister-in-law’s defense. “If you think about it, it’s the only explanation that makes any sense. As I recall, Melissa and Mike butted heads a lot while she was growing up.”
“I can vouch for that,” Ace agreed. “I remember more than once hearing Mike complain to Buck about Melissa being stubborn as a mule.”
“Then it’s unlikely that she would go to her father for help,” Elizabeth said, then shook her head sadly. “And that makes me feel even more sorry for her. At a time like this, a woman needs the support of her family.”
Whit swallowed hard. He knew from personal experience that Rory’s and Ace’s comments about Mike and Melissa butting heads were true. Mike was a hard man to get along with under any circumstances, but the level of control he’d tried to wield over his only daughter would have made even the most docile of individuals fight at the chains he kept her bound with.
And Elizabeth was right, as well. Considering Melissa’s past relationship with her father, it seemed unlikely that she would turn to him in her time of need.
But if she couldn’t go to her father for help, he wondered, who could she go to?
He wiped a shaky hand down his mouth, remembering her visit to his place and the desperation in her voice, when she’d asked him to train the horse.
And how had he responded to her plea for help?
He’d not only refused, he’d ordered her off his land.
He quickly shook off the guilt that tried to settle on his shoulders. He wouldn’t feel badly about the way he’d treated Melissa. Hell, why should he? he thought defensively. She’d certainly never concerned herself with his feelings. He’d given her his heart and what had she done in return?
She’d eloped with his best friend.
Two
Though Whit continued to fight the guilt, it dogged his steps for a week, distracting him from his work and robbing him of much-needed sleep at night. He didn’t want to feel badly for the way he’d treated Melissa. And he sure as hell didn’t want to feel sorry for her. But that’s exactly what he found himself doing throughout the week.
By Saturday he was willing to do just about anything to shake loose from the guilt, and the grand opening for Nature’s Way, Macy’s landscape and nursery business, offered him the perfect escape. He wasn’t much on socializing, but he figured going to the grand opening was better than spending another evening at home alone with his conscience.
Even if he did have to wear a suit.
In spite of his anxiousness to attend the party, he was one of the last to arrive and had to park two blocks away and walk to the greenhouse where the opening was to take place.
One step inside the cavernous building reminded him why he normally avoided social gatherings. The noise level alone would have made a deaf man clap his hands over his ears. The music itself wasn’t too bad—or at least what he could hear of it sounded pleasant enough. It was the hundred or so conversations going on at the same time that made his head ache.
A waiter rushed by, balancing a tray filled with flutes of champagne on his shoulder, and Whit quickly stepped out of the way to avoid a collision. Easing back to stand against the wall and out of harm’s way, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked around.
The last time he’d visited the nursery, the greenhouse had looked like…well, a greenhouse, with long wooden tables laden with plants running the length of the room and tangled hoses trailing over the floor. Now the place looked more like one of those fancy solariums he’d seen featured in the home and garden magazines his sisters-in-law were always drooling over—a fete he figured only Macy could pull off with such style.
A huge tree-shaped fountain, carved from native limestone, rose from the center of a grouping of curved buffet tables. Water bubbled up from the tree’s dome and flowed down over intricately carved leaves to tumble into a shallow pool below. Rimmed with vases of fresh-cut flowers that scented the air and strategically placed lighting, the pool and fountain created a spectacular centerpiece for the mouthwatering feast of hors d’oeuvres placed around it.
Above him, miniature lights had been strung along the steel beams that formed the glass roof, giving the ceiling the appearance of a star-filled sky. Urns and pots filled with lush tropical plants occupied every available nook, while tall Norfolk pines stood like sentinels at each of the three doorways. Along the outer walls of the building hung baskets filled with an assortment of flowers and vines, adding yet another splash of color and texture to the space.
Though impressed with Macy’s decorating skills, to truly enjoy it, Whit would have needed a hammock and about two hours alone. For a man who spent the majority of his time in the country, conducting one-sided conversations with horses, the press of people and the noise they created were almost more than he could bear.
Deciding that an evening at home with his conscience didn’t seem so bad after all, he began to ease his way down the wall, craning his neck as he searched for Macy, so he could make an appearance and split. Just as he spotted her, his hip bumped something solid and he made a wild grab to keep the object from falling.
“Hey!” Macy cried. “Careful with the merchandise.”
His smile sheepish, he righted what appeared to be an old garden gate. “Sorry, Mace,” he said, then glanced down at his hands and the rust that covered them. “Uh, you might want to have a talk with your supplier. Looks like he’s selling you inferior products.”
“Are you kidding me? Salvaged iron is the rage! This stuff flies out of the store faster than I can slap a price tag on it.”
Giving her a skeptical look, Whit squatted in front of the gate to examine it more closely. Though old and no longer functional, someone had given it new life by attaching glass jars to the scrolled iron that formed it. Secured by a fine-gauge wire, the jars held lighted votive candles and fresh-cut flowers.
Impressed by the ingenious use of material, Whit pushed his hands against his knees and stood. “Okay,” he conceded. “I have to admit that’s pretty darn clever.”
She lifted a brow. “It can be yours for a price.”
He sputtered a laugh. “And what would I do with a piece of foolishness like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, hiding a smile. “I suppose you could set it up on your patio and wow the ladies you entertain at home.”
“What
