of the old claims that she was, indeed, her mother’s daughter. Sure, Abby’s parents had been married…two months after her birth. And then, in those pre-paternity test days, her father had often claimed she wasn’t really his child. Abby suspected that even her mother hadn’t known for sure.
No, Abby wasn’t her mother’s daughter. Her bad driving hadn’t been the result of drinking, as the townspeople might have thought, but of her ADD. And furthermore, Abby knew who Lara’s father was—she only wished he’d been someone else, someone who’d have wanted both her and their baby.
“You okay, Mommy?” Lara asked, sitting perfectly still while Brenna wove flowers into her hair.
Abby couldn’t sit that quietly even now. If not for the fact that Lara looked so much like her, she might well have thought they’d switched her baby with someone else’s at the hospital. The child deserved more than Abby could give her—a stable home, a loving family. All she had was Abby.
But she worked hard to give her daughter everything she needed, and to be the kind of mother her daughter deserved. She blinked to clear her eyes as she gazed at Lara. “Oh, baby, you’re just so beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, too, Mommy.”
Brenna whistled. “You really are. What a gorgeous bridesmaid’s dress. Someone with fabulous taste picked out these dresses.”
Abby glanced down at the strapless red satin gown. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they’re kind of tacky.”
Brenna tossed a red carnation at her.
“Hey!” Abby protested, dodging the delicate blossom. “You’re setting a bad example.”
“You’d know about that,” a male voice, deep with amusement, said from beyond the door. Clayton teasing her again?
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“Who’s that?” Lara asked in a shy whisper. “Is it Rory?” Last night, at the Kellys’, she’d fallen a little in love with the teenager who’d quite sweetly played with her more than Josh’s rambunctious twins had been willing to. Rory, with his curly mop of hair and huge brown eyes, was hard to resist. Abby, herself, had fallen for him years ago, when he was a grinning, toothless baby. She’d helped his sisters babysit him. He had only been a couple of years older than Lara was now when Abby had left Cloverville, but it seemed to her he’d grown up so fast.
“No, it’s not Rory,” Abby told her.
“Clayton,” Colleen said, even though she was actually too far from the door to have heard his voice. She’d simply read Abby’s face instead. She sat at the vanity, touching up her makeup. Molly sat beside her sister, staring blindly into the mirror.
“You okay, Mol?” Abby asked, just as she had earlier, but this time with more than a twinge of guilt. Maybe she’d been too vocal last night, on the subject of Molly marrying a virtual stranger. One who came with two kids. If Molly had any doubts, she and the groom wouldn’t be the only ones hurt—the kids would be, too. And they didn’t deserve that. They deserved someone who would love them completely.
Going by the few dates she’d had since Lara was born, Abby knew that it wasn’t easy finding someone who could love your child as you did. Heck, she’d never been able to find anyone who could even love her. Abby. Except for her friends and Mrs. Mick.
The door rattled behind her, and Clayton spoke. “Everybody decent? Let me in.”
Abby braced her body against it. “Molly?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not even dressed yet,” Brenna said, gesturing toward a confection of white satin and lace that hung from a special hook on the wall. Molly sat at the vanity in faded jeans, a zip-up gray sweatshirt and her headpiece. “Let us help you,” she insisted.
Molly shook her head, setting ringlets atremble against her veil. “I can manage. It’s just one zipper.” She’d always been so independent, so determined. “I really need a minute alone. Can all of you step outside?”
“Molly…” Brenna protested.
“Please,” she implored them, using her expressive eyes to bring home the request to give her a little space.
Abby sighed. She’d spoken her mind, and her friend knew how she felt about this wedding. Maybe Molly needed a minute alone now to figure out how she felt about it. “Okay, gals, let’s give her a little space.” She straightened up and stepped away from the door, opening it to Clayton’s concerned gaze.
“It’s almost time,” he said, tapping a finger on his gold watch. “Molly, you aren’t even dressed.”
Abby pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, but not as she had the night before. Today, she could appreciate the ripple of muscle beneath her palms, the warmth that penetrated his crisp shirt. She swallowed hard, then said calmly but firmly, “Back off. The bride needs a minute.”
“Molly?” He spoke over Abby’s head, ignoring her words and her restraint, his voice full of concern for his sister. “Are you all right?”
While Abby respected the fact that Clayton cared for his siblings, Molly didn’t need any pressure from anyone right now. Her fingers pressed into the pleats of his shirt and she pushed once more. “Give her some space.”
His heart leapt, beating fast against her hand. He stared down at her, his voice a warning as he uttered her name. “Abby…”
She shivered, wishing her dress wasn’t strapless. His gaze skimmed over her shoulders to where the tight bodice pushed up more cleavage than she’d realized she had. His dark eyes flared.
Brenna pushed past them. “Come on, the bride wants some time alone.” She dropped her voice lower as she led Lara out. “I’m not sure what you two want.”
Neither did Clayton. Although she didn’t say anything, Colleen sent her brother an arched stare as she filed out behind Brenna and Lara. When Abby moved to pass him, he caught her by the wrist, wrapping his fingers around the delicate bones. She was so small.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, closing the door to give the bride the privacy she’d requested.
He couldn’t blame Molly. She was about to take on some major responsibilities: a husband and two boisterous young boys. He couldn’t imagine willingly putting himself in her position. But she’d made her decision, and once Molly made up her mind, she stuck to it. Unless someone who’d proven to be a bad influence in the past had managed to sway her. But Molly was at the church, about to put on her dress and about to walk down the aisle. Molly was fine, he assured himself.
Gently he tugged on Abby’s wrist, leading her into an alcove off the vestibule. “I want to apologize for last night.”
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