Meet Me at the Chapel (4 page)

“This is it.” Brock stopped at the end of the driveway of a little Craftsman bungalow.

With a heavy sigh, Casey nodded her head. “Yep.”

“Can I go in and see Penny?” Hannah asked excitedly.

Casey met Brock's eye before she said, “Not this time, Hannah. Penny has an ear infection.”

“Next time,” Brock added. “I'll call you as soon as I hear something from Billy.”

“Text me if I don't answer.”

“Consider it done.”

She stood with the truck door open and mustered a small smile for him. “Thank you for everything, Brock. Seriously. Above and beyond the call of duty.”

He tipped his hat to her, and she interpreted that gesture as a
you're welcome
and a
thank you, too
. She got out of the truck and said goodbye to Hannah and her father.

Her sister was opening the door at the same time Brock was pulling away.

“Casey!” Taylor was holding her baby daughter in her arms.

They embraced tightly, as they always did. They were more than sisters—they were, and always had been, best friends.

“Oh, Tay—she's even prettier in person.” Casey touched Penelope's creamy, chubby cheek. “Hi, Penny, you sweet, sweet thing. Your aunt Casey is going to spoil you
absolutely
rotten! Yes, I am!”

“She's so fussy right now because she doesn't feel well.” Taylor kissed her daughter's warm forehead.

“Poor Penny.” Casey looked at her little niece compassionately.

“I'm so happy to see you, Casey.” Taylor hugged her again. “I've missed you like crazy.”

Together they walked up the driveway to the front door of the bungalow. “I've missed you. I hate that we don't live in the same town anymore.”

“Me, too.” Taylor shut the front door behind them. “Let me see if she'll lie down for her nap. It'll give us a chance to catch up. She hasn't slept well for a couple of days, so cross your fingers.”

Casey held up her crossed fingers for her sister to see.

Taylor didn't reappear for a while. When her sister returned to the living room, she was talking in a quieter voice.

“Okay—she's down. For how long is debatable! Is it too early for wine?”

“No. Bring it on, sis.” She could use a large glass or two.

Taylor had been diagnosed with the inability to lactate after the birth of her daughter, and the only upside her sister could find was the fact that she had been cleared to drink wine.

Casey sat down at the breakfast bar while her sister got the wineglasses.

“Red or white?” Taylor asked her from the open refrigerator.

“Either—as long as it's not too dry.”

Taylor held up a bottle for her to see. “How about this?”

Casey gave her the “okay” sign; generous portions of wine were poured and the two of them moved to the cozy family room next to the kitchen. Taylor immediately coaxed Hercules onto her lap, and the micro-poodle didn't hesitate to abandon her owner for a novel lap.

“Traitor,” Casey said to her canine companion.

“Here's to a great summer.” Taylor touched her glass to hers.

“To a great summer.” She took several large gulps of the wine. Taylor hadn't even asked her about the rental truck.

Her sister curled her legs to the side, leaned into the couch cushion and smiled happily at her. “I am so happy to see you.”

“You may not feel that way in a minute.”

Taylor's eyebrows dropped and her pretty blue eyes registered confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Casey downed the rest of her wine. One of her most intense childhood memories was the time that she decapitated Taylor's favorite Barbie doll and then flushed the head just to see if it would indeed flush. It had. And Taylor had gone absolutely crazy-town ballistic on her and then stopped speaking to her for a month. Granted, they were kids when that happened. But then again, this was much worse than decapitating Barbie.
Much
worse.

Chapter Four

H
er sister's reaction to the news that her belongings were trapped in a tipped-over truck on the side of the road was not at all what she had anticipated. Taylor wasn't angry. Taylor wasn't looking to blame her. Instead, her sister was simply grateful that Casey and Hercules were okay. Taylor had always had a flair for the dramatic, and this change in her was unexpected, but it was a change for the better. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a mother now; or perhaps it was because she had already lost one of the most valuable gifts she had ever been given—Penelope's twin brother, Michael, had died soon after he was born. Casey hadn't experienced it, but she didn't have to experience something to understand that losing a child, an infant, could change a person forever.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay with us? Clint and I both
want
you to stay,” Taylor asked her as they walked together along the brick walkway that led to the driveway.

She'd been in Montana for a week already, and so much had happened: the Beast had been towed into town, her travel trunk and Taylor's boxes had been recovered and Clint had arrived home with his arm in a sling and loaded up on pain medication. According to the doctors in Texas, Clint's healing time would be roughly a month or two, but he wouldn't be fit to get back on a bull. He was grounded for the entire summer, at least.

Casey, who was holding her niece in her arms, was too busy nuzzling Penny's sweet-smelling neck to pay full attention to her sister. “Mmm, you have that new baby smell, Penny.” She hugged her niece, not wanting to let her go. Casey smiled at her sister. “Babies! They always smell so
good
. I wish I could bottle this smell and take it with me.”

“Casey! Please, stop ignoring me. You came all the way to Montana to be with Penny and me, and I feel like
deep down inside
you think that we don't want you here because Clint is home. And that's not the case at all.”

Casey smooched her niece all over her face one last time before she said, “Trade.”

Taylor frowned at her as they traded babies—her sister handed over Hercules and she handed over Penny.

“I don't think you're kicking me out, Tay. I know you want me to stay. I know Clint is sincere when he says that he'll be happy to have me staying on his couch for three months, but I'm telling you, it's gonna wear real thin by the end of four weeks. Trust me. He's an active guy and now he's stuck with his arm in a sling when he should be out earning points. Your husband is going to want to sit on his couch and watch TV, in his tighty-whities, whenever the mood strikes.”

Her sister didn't respond for a second or two, because Taylor knew she was right.

“I'll come and visit all the time. I'll be here on a moment's notice if you need me. Nothing's changed.”

For the last week, her sister had been debating her choice to stay in Brock's loft apartment with her. Taylor had her own agenda: she either wanted her to stay with her
or
stay with their aunt Barb and uncle Hank at Bent Tree Ranch. Basically, anywhere besides Brock's ranch.

Taylor's eyes had a watery sheen and Casey knew that her sister was upset to see her go. “Look—I know you don't like the idea that I took Brock up on his offer, but it really is for the best. His place is closer to Helena than Bent Tree. And I love the idea of being able to ride anytime I want. Brock says he has a palomino mare who's getting barn sour. I'm actually going to be doing
him
a favor by riding her this summer.”

Her sister wiped under her left eye with her pinky. “I know how much you want to ride again.”

This was Taylor's way of giving in to the inevitable.

“Come here and give me another hug.” Casey hugged her sister again, and then kissed baby Penelope's chubby hand.

“I want one,” she told her sister of her niece.

“It's the best hard work I've ever done,” said Taylor.

Casey opened the door to the light blue vintage VW Bug sitting in the driveway. She paused before getting in the driver's seat.

“And Taylor...I'm perfectly ready to like your husband very much.”

Taylor beamed at her with pleasure. “He's a good one, right?”

Casey nodded as she got into the blue Bug and then put Hercules in his new, less fancy dog carrier for safe traveling. She put the key in the ignition, cranked the engine, then rolled down the window.

“Thanks for loaning me your car, Tay.”

After her divorce, Taylor had sold her BMW, left her executive job at the bank, put her stuff in storage and then drove this very Bug from Chicago to Montana. It was on that trip, a trip where she had ridden a portion of the Continental Divide Trail on horseback, that she met her husband, Clint.

“Now you won't be stuck,” Taylor said to her. “That car brought me a lot of luck. Maybe it will be lucky for you, too.”

Casey backed out of the driveway with a sense of anticipation and excitement that was making her stomach feel a bit queasy. It felt as if she were heading off to her own adventure, much like her sister had last year. She waved her hand, tooted the horn and shouted one last “I love you” to her sister and niece before Casey set her course for Brock McAllister's ranch. She had the distinct feeling that this summer was going to be one of the best summers of her life. And she couldn't wait for it to start!

* * *

Casey slowed her speed in order to take the bumps in the dirt and gravel drive to Brock's ranch. The heavy rain from the storm had deepened the potholes, which made it difficult to navigate in the VW bug. Brock, she noticed, had already gone a long way toward clearing the debris; stacks of large branches dotted the side of the road every hundred feet or so. As the house came into view, Casey had the strangest feeling in her gut. She felt like she
belonged
there. Whatever lingering doubt she had in her mind about her choice to stay in Brock's barn loft studio apartment vanished. She was in the right place, at the right time, and doing exactly what she was meant to do.

Brock was on the roof repairing shingles when he heard the distinctive sound of an old school VW coming up the drive.

Casey
.

He stood upright, wiped the sweat off his neck with the bandana from his back pocket and then stared at the end of the driveway, waiting to catch the first glimpse of Casey as she arrived. He had seen her once over the last week, briefly, when he had picked up her trunk from her sister's house and brought it back to the ranch. He didn't understand it, really, but he had actually missed her. He had
missed
her. And, perhaps even more important, Hannah had missed her, too.

He waved his hand in the air so she would see him. At the same time Casey was waving her hand out the driver's window, Brock heard the slam of the screen door and the pounding of his daughter's feet on the wood planks of the porch. Hannah had been hyped up all day in anticipation of Casey's arrival. Right behind Hannah was Lady, barking and wagging her tail.

Normally, he didn't like to have a job interrupted once he started, but now seemed like a good time to take a break. He climbed down the ladder and followed his daughter and dog to where Casey had parked her car.

“Don't strangle her, Hannah.” Brock laughed at how tightly Hannah was hugging Casey around the neck.

Brock watched as Casey made a fuss over his daughter, and then squatted down to hug Lady. A flush of excitement and happiness had turned her pale skin a pretty shade of light pink. In the sunlight, the reddish freckles on her face and the red of her thick hair pulled back into a ponytail were so striking. And then there were her eyes. So wide and so green—he always had to remind himself not to stare.

“You've really put a dent in it!” Casey said about the progress he had made with the cleanup.

“I've been hammering away at it. Little by little.” Brock was glad that it was his turn to greet Casey.

She smiled at him with that open, friendly smile of hers. It had been an awfully long time since a woman had smiled at him like that—no reservation, no pretense or judgment, just open and friendly. That smile was a magnet for him and he realized that now—by the simple fact that he was standing down here instead of still working up on the roof.

“Do you want to start getting settled in?”

“Absolutely.” Casey walked around to the passenger side and got Hercules.

Hannah was running like a wild child around in circles, her long, tangled curls flying behind her.

“She's been like this all morning,” Brock explained. “Usually the medications keep the hyperactivity in check enough for her to function, but not on days like today, when she's excited about something.”

“I understand,” Casey reassured him.

That's when it really sunk in—he didn't have to explain or justify or apologize for his daughter's behavior. Casey worked with children with disabilities for a living—she, more than anyone else in his life, would truly understand Hannah. It was a relief to spend time with someone who could understand, and accept, his daughter for who she was, regardless of her behavior—good, bad or indifferent.

“I did warn you that it's humble,” Brock said as they reached the top of the stairs that lead to the loft apartment above the barn.

“I'll spruce it up.” Casey didn't mind humble. And, if it was dirty, there usually wasn't much that couldn't be fixed with elbow grease. She'd never been afraid of hard work or of getting dirty.

Brock opened the door and let her go in first. He was right—the loft apartment with its pitched roof and rough-hewn, wide-planked wooden floor was indeed humble. But the inside of the roof was lined with sweet-smelling cedar, and there was a single bed in one corner of the room, and a small love seat on the other side. The bathroom was tiny and the kitchen only accommodated a hot plate, microwave and little refrigerator. Her large black trunk, a trunk her mother had used when she went to boarding school, was waiting for her at the end of the bed.

Brock had to duck his head as to not bump on the low part of the ceiling—he could only stand completely upright when he was standing directly beneath the pitched ceiling.

“I tried to straighten up the place a bit.” To her ears, he sounded a little self-conscious.

“This is great.” Casey wanted to reassure him. “It's perfect for us.”

She saw a faint smile move across his face. He was pleased that she was pleased.

“Well, I'll let you settle into the place. I've got more work to get done before supper,” Brock said, his head bent down so he didn't bang it on the top of the door frame. “You can use the kitchen for cooking—the hot plate is only good for so much. And you're always welcome to join us for meals.”

“Thank you—let's just play it by ear, see how it goes.”

Brock nodded his agreement before he ducked his head completely free of the door frame, put his hat back on his head and then left her to her own devices.

The first thing she did in her new home was let Hercules out of his carrier so he could get used to the smells and layout of the loft. Next she checked the bathroom accommodations and the feel of the mattress, before she unlocked the trunk and began to unpack. Every now and again, she would look out the window and watch Brock at his work. He was focused and relentless in the way he attacked his work—that kind of work ethic was attractive to her. It reminded her of the work ethic that her own father and grandfather had both had.

It didn't take long for her to get settled into her summer loft apartment. Hercules had his toys strewn across the floor, which made her feel right at home. She scooped up her poodle and sat on the bed to contemplate her next move: to take a nap, or not to take a nap—that was the dilemma. In the end, the “take a nap” side won out. She kicked off her boots and curled up on her side. The bed was just big enough for her and Hercules.

“Mmm.” Casey closed her eyes with a contented sigh.

She had managed to find the perfect spot to spend a stress-free, worry-free summer. She usually worked during the summer session—this was her first real summer off since she had graduated with her master's degree in special education and took a job with the public school system.

She was in a comfortable bed, the cedar on the roof smelled sweet and there was a gentle breeze coming in through the open window. Life was, indeed, pretty darn good.

* * *

Casey had dozed off quickly and was awakened abruptly. Hannah burst through the door; the door swung open and hit the wall with a loud thud. Casey sprung upright, catapulting poor Hercules forward.

“My stars, Hannah!” She clutched the material above her rapidly beating heart. “You scared me! Remind me again about what you should do before you come into a room?”

Hannah spun around in the center of her bedroom/living room combo space, her head tilted back and her arms spread out wide like airplane wings.

“I was supposed to knock.” The girl kept on spinning. “Dad wants to know if you want to have some gluten-free mac and cheese with us.”

Casey felt a little foggy brained; she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, then blinked several times to get a clearer view of the preteen spinning like a top.

“Tell your dad I'll be down in a minute.”

Hannah left as quickly as she came, without a greeting or a salutation. There was a lot of work to be done to improve Hannah's social language skills. It would just take time and patience. But the reality was, and she hoped Brock was realistic about it, Hannah was never going to have completely “normal” pragmatic skills; it was possible, however, for Hannah to have friends, a job and a fulfilling social life. With supportive people in her life, Hannah's quirks and slightly askew social skills would be expected, understood and accepted.

Casey freshened up a bit and then headed down to the farmhouse. As expected, Brock was at the stove with his standard “Kiss the Chef” apron on, which may have been feminizing on some men, but not on the ranch foreman. Hannah was at the table eating macaroni and cheese out of her plastic ladybug bowl, with her ladybug silverware. Casey had a feeling that Hannah insisted on eating out of that particular bowl, using those particular utensils—and if she didn't get her way, she would either begin to have a tantrum or flat-out refuse to eat.