crush on him for so long. While he didn’t have Josh’s bedside manner, he was a brilliant surgeon. But more than his medical expertise or his fair-haired good looks, she’d been drawn to the sense of sadness that surrounded him, as if he, too, had experienced loss. In him, she’d felt as if she’d recognized a kindred spirit. But she’d probably only imagined that, too. She and Dr. Nick Jameson were nothing alike, and she needed to get a trip on those feelings she had for him.
She’d impulsively acted on one other crush, a long time ago. But the object of her affection hadn’t really wanted her. The arrogant high school jock had only been interested in bragging rights. She’d vowed then to never give herself away again. But why did she suspect that acting impulsively with a man such as Nick Jameson would be infinitely more enjoyable than her youthful experience with a clumsy boy?
Heat, as hot as what she thought she’d glimpsed in Nick’s eyes, flashed through her, leaving her parched. Hand shaking, she lifted the plastic cup to her lips. She gulped the red punch, then sputtered and coughed as alcohol burned her throat. Who’d spiked it?
Rory. Blinking tears from her eyes, she scanned the reception hall for her teenage brother. Where was the little jerk? Probably outside smoking.
She headed toward the door, where Abby and Brenna stood, deep in conversation. Guilt ate at Colleen as she took in the distraught brightness of Abby’s eyes, the way she nibbled on her bottom lip. Abby hated being back in Cloverville. The whole time she’d been growing up, she couldn’t wait to leave. Was Colleen being selfish in still wanting her to move home? Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to help her mother convince her friend to stay. If only Abby and Clayton would stop fighting their feelings for each other…
“Blame it on the wedding,” Abby said.
“The wedding-that-wasn’t,” Colleen murmured. “That’s what everyone’s calling it.” Someone opened the door behind Abby, and cool night air rushed in, soothing Colleen’s overheated skin. Her head cleared slightly, but her emotions grew more muddled. Clayton wasn’t the only McClintock who was determined to fight his feelings. Maybe Molly had been as afraid to give herself to someone as Colleen was, and that was why she’d bolted before saying her vows.
“So you think Molly’s really okay?” Colleen asked, needing Brenna and Abby’s reassurance. Molly must have been really afraid to back out on such an important promise. “That she just needs time like her note said?”
Abby reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, checking for voice mail. “No messages.”
Brenna shook her head, tumbling locks of brilliant red hair around her shoulders. “I think she meant that she needed more than a few hours.”
Colleen sighed. “She also said she wanted time alone. Do you really believe she’s alone? When I called Eric, he said he hadn’t seen her, but…”
Could they believe Eric, after the way he’d backed out of the wedding party at the last minute? After Molly went out the window, each of the bridesmaids had called him, but he’d sworn he hadn’t seen Molly.
“Eric would lie for her,” Brenna said.
“He’d do more than lie,” Abby reminded them.
Jealousy caused the sweet spiked punch to swirl in Colleen’s stomach. Her first crush hadn’t been on the high school jerk but on Eric South. Yet years ago, during her adolescence, she’d buried that unrequited crush on Eric, as well as her resentment of her brilliant, beautiful older sister. Molly couldn’t help being Molly, the one everyone adored. Colleen had long ago accepted that she would never be Molly, and like everyone else, she adored her older sister. She didn’t resent her. Not anymore.
But just once, would it be too much to ask for someone to adore her? Feeling a penetrating stare, she lifted her gaze to him.
NICK SWALLOWED HARD, his mouth dry as he held her gaze. He lifted the plastic cup, sniffed the rim, but didn’t take a sip from her glass. Her lipstick, deep crimson, marked the cup in the shape of her full lips. She’d drunk the spiked punch. Was she aware that she had? She’d been so distracted that when she’d gone off to huddle with the other bridesmaids, she’d left her purse on the table.
He lifted his gaze from her beaded crimson bag to study the women who stood near the door. They knew where the bride had gone. Women talked to each other. They didn’t talk to him. They flirted. They teased. They never talked.
But maybe that was Nick’s fault. He never talked to anyone but Josh anymore.
He couldn’t lose his best friend the way he’d lost his big brother, for so long the guiding force in Nick’s life. Hell, if not for Bruce, Nick wouldn’t have had a life. His brother had saved him from the car accident that had claimed their mother’s life. Nick had owed him, but he’d let him down. He hadn’t been there when Bruce had needed him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Josh.
For his best friend, Nick would make any sacrifice. He’d even spend time with the most tempting woman he’d ever met—but only to pump her for information. Finding the groom’s runaway bride had become one of Nick’s duties, as best man. While he hadn’t agreed with much that his friend had said in the bathroom, he acknowledged the fact that Josh needed to talk to Molly. The sooner he did and accepted that she didn’t and would never love him, the sooner Josh could put her and Cloverville behind him and move on.
Maybe that space on Michigan Avenue in Grand Rapids was still available. Sure, the rent had been more than the mortgage payments on the building in Cloverville, but they could swing it. Together. Like they’d done everything else.
Nick glanced down at Colleen’s nearly empty cup. Had she had enough to, as his dad would say, prime the pump?
“Thinking of mugging me?” a soft voice asked.
Those tense muscles in his neck prompted a grimace as he whipped his head toward her, to where she stood not more than an arm’s length away. How had he not noticed her approach, when he’d hardly taken his gaze off her all day?
What was it about her that drew and held his attention? Was it the bright red dress that bared her shoulders and the delicate ridge of her collarbone? Was it the glossiness of her sable hair? Or the warmth and vulnerability in her deep brown eyes?
She stepped closer, as if she doubted he’d heard her over the music and raised voices of the other wedding guests. “Are you?”
His pulse leaped in reaction. She was so damn beautiful that all rational thought fled his mind. All his plans, all his convictions evaporated in the heat of his attraction to her. “What?”
She gestured toward the beaded bag, which he hadn’t realized he held. “I didn’t figure you for a purse snatcher,” she teased, her eyes shining.
“You left it here,” he pointed out, “unattended.”
“This is Cloverville,” she said, as if that explained everything.
He lifted a brow. “And there’s no crime in Cloverville?”
“Nothing more serious than my idiot brother and his degenerate friends spiking the punch.” She extended her hand, reaching for her bag.
But he held tight. “I can’t give this to you.”
“What?”
When
