Rory knew in her heart Jamison thought Ryder and Lindsay getting married was wrong.
A gentle tug on her skirt distracted Rory from the troubling thought. “Miss Rory, is it my turn to dress like a princess?”
She smiled down at Hannah. She was an adorable little girl with a riot of blond curls, big brown eyes and a shyness that tugged at Rory’s heart.
But it was the expression on Jamison’s face that had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. A mix of love and uncertainty that held him frozen in place, as if he, too, were bound by the look, don’t touch mantra.
“It sure is, sweetie,” Rory said, injecting a positive note into her voice though she didn’t know which of the Porters needed her encouragement more. “Miss Lindsay has a whole bunch of dresses for you to try on.” Tilting her head in the direction of the changing room, Rory asked Jamison, “Do you want...”
Looking torn between Daddy duty and a man’s typical reaction of running as far as he could from anything girlie, he said, “I, um, think I’ll wait out here.”
“What do you think, Hannah?” Rory asked when the little girl hesitated. “See, your daddy wants the princess dresses to be a surprise, so he’ll wait in that chair over there.”
Like father, like daughter. Hannah looked indecisively from her father to the curtained dressing room and back again. Finally her blond head bounced in a nod. “You wait there, Daddy, and no peeking.”
Rory wouldn’t have thought Jamison Porter could look any more uncomfortable than he had two seconds ago, but his daughter’s instructions for him not to go peeking into the women’s dressing room had a slight flush darkening his cheeks.
Rory fought to hide a smile, but judging by the narrowing of Jamison’s eyes, she didn’t succeed.
Biting the inside of her lip, she shot a stern look in his direction. “You heard the girl, Mr. Porter. No peeking.”
For a split second, their eyes met, and Rory’s smile faded as something electric and powerful passed between them. Heat flared in Jamison’s eyes, a warning beacon, and she swallowed hard. He might not have looked behind the curtain, but when it came to her attraction to him, Rory feared he saw way too much.
* * *
The jingle of metal rings cut through Jamison’s relentless pacing, and he glanced over in time to see Rory slip through the curtain.
The one his little girl had warned him not to peek behind. His faced started to heat again at the thought. Not because his own kid made him out to sound like some kind of Peeping Tom—she was only four, after all. But because of the moment that had followed.
The moment when Rory had echoed his daughter’s words and his gaze had locked on hers and there’d been nothing—nothing—in his power that could keep him from mentally pulling back that curtain and picturing Rory McClaren wearing something far less than the old-fashioned dresses she favored.
Judging by the way her eyes had widened, she’d known it.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is Hannah—”
“She’s fine. The seamstress is taking some measurements, and Hannah wanted me to make sure you’re still waiting for her. She was a little nervous at first, but I think she’s getting into the spirit of things. So, please...” She nodded her head at the waiting chair. “Sit down and relax.”
He all but glared at the floral-print cushions that might as well have been covered with sharp thorns. Without some outlet for his excess energy, he’d likely explode. “Relaxing doesn’t come easy to me.”
“Really?” Rory drawled.
“That obvious, is it?” He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Maintaining a single-minded focus and blocking out the world around him had been a reflex since he was a kid.
His parents’ divorce—hell, their entire marriage—had been a battlefield, his childhood collateral damage. The fights, the cold silences, the endless digs when the other wasn’t around—Jamison had hated it all.
That volatile home life had made Jamison even more determined to keep the peace in his own marriage. He’d worked hard to give Monica everything she could need, everything she could want, everything she’d asked for and more.
And none of it had been enough to make her—or their marriage—happy.
Monica had always complained about the long hours he put in. Of course, Monica had complained about so many things that work became even more of a refuge.
A sweet giggle came from behind the curtain, and Rory murmured, “She’s a beautiful little girl.”
The innocent comment slammed through him. He needed to spend this time away from work with his daughter. He needed to find a way to reconnect, but he was at a loss to know how. And it galled him, he had to admit, how easily, how naturally Rory related to Hannah when for him it was all such a struggle.
“Thank you,” he said stiffly, wishing he could take more credit for the amazing little person Hannah was. But she even looked like Monica, a tiny carbon copy of his blond-haired, doe-eyed wife.
“She’ll make an adorable flower girl,” Rory said.
“I’m sure she will,” Jamison said. “I’m just not sure about this whole wedding thing.”
Rory cocked a questioning eyebrow. “The whole wedding?” she asked.
“Hannah’s role in it,” he amended, knowing he’d already said too much.
“I can see how she’d be nervous, walking down the aisle in front of all those people. But you’ll be standing at Ryder’s side, so all she has to do is keep her eyes on you, knowing you’ll be watching her the whole way, and she’ll do fine.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I have faith,” she said lightly.
Of course she did. The Hillcrest wedding coordinator had faith, hope and light shining out of her. “Still, it’s a lot of pressure to put on a little kid.”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Hannah. My faith is in you.”
“In me?” Jamison echoed. “Why would you—” why would anyone “—put your faith in me?”
“Because I see the trust Hannah has in you. All you have to do is show her you’ll be there for her, and she’ll find the courage and confidence to move forward all on her own.”
All you have to do is be there for her. Little did Rory know how seldom he’d been there for Hannah during her short life. First because of how hard he’d been working, and then because of Monica... But now he, as Hannah’s only parent, was responsible for her health and happiness.
The weight of that responsibility pressed on Jamison’s chest until he struggled to breathe. And he couldn’t help wondering if his in-laws were right and if they weren’t so much better equipped to raise Hannah...
“Ever think maybe you put too much faith in people?” he asked Rory, his voice rougher
