Meet Me at the Chapel (7 page)

“Hercules is with Aunt Barb—she's obsessed with him. And, of course, he's not going to say no to all of the attention.”

They chatted easily while they both ate their lunch. Brock thought that Casey looked particularly nice today—she had opted to wear her superthick, waist-length red hair loose today. Usually she wore it in a ponytail or a single braid down her back—not today. Today it swirled around her shoulders, wispy strands dancing on the wind, as shiny as Christmas tinsel in the afternoon sunlight. He wanted to reach out and see how soft it was to the touch. It looked soft.

“I'm going to have to cut lunch short today, I'm afraid.” Casey balled up her wrapper and tossed it into the basket. “My sister is having an ‘I'm almost forty' crisis.”

He was disappointed—he had a new concerto he wanted to share with her. And there was something he wanted to talk to her about—something that he knew needed to be said.

“What kind of crisis?”

“She needs glasses.” Casey laughed. “I told her I would go pick out glasses with her. She's all worried because she thinks glasses are going to make her look old, and here she is a cougar—married to a younger man.”

The words came out of her mouth and she wished she could reel them right back in. It was hard to constantly avoid talking about Clint when he was such a huge part of Taylor's life. And, while she knew Brock had his reasons, however unreasonable, she genuinely liked Clint. He loved Taylor and he was a good father to her niece. Whoever Brock was remembering his stepbrother to be wasn't there anymore. Clint had changed. It surprised her that Brock, who was known to be a tough but fair man, hadn't been willing to forgive Clint for his past transgressions.

After an uncomfortable silence, Brock cleared his throat several times. She looked at him curiously.

“Are you okay? Do you need another water?”

He shook his head.

“No. I'm just trying to get some words unstuck.” Brock looked over her shoulder before he brought his eyes back to hers.

“I shouldn't have said all that stuff about Shannon last night,” he finally said to her. “I don't want you to think she's a bad person. Because she's not.”

Her eyes widened a bit at the turn their conversation had just taken. She had hoped that it was a moment that would just slip away, forgotten by the both of them.

“I don't want you to think that she's a bad mother,” he continued.

“I don't.” She furrowed her brow.

“She loves Hannah.”

“I'm sure she does.” Casey leaned back from him a bit and crossed her arms in front of her body.

“She'll always be Hannah's mother,” he added as if he was saying it to himself instead of saying it to her.

He stopped talking then, and it took her a couple of minutes to figure out what she should say to him.

“We all need to vent sometimes, Brock.” She uncrossed her arms to briefly touch his hand. “All it means is that you're human. I was there to be a sounding board—and I promise you, I'm not a reflective material. What you said won't be repeated.”

Chapter Seven

“W
hat do you think of these?” Taylor was modeling a pair of Vogue eyeglass frames.

Casey was in charge of pushing Penny's stroller, carrying Hercules on her arm and providing honest feedback for eyeglass frames.

She wrinkled her nose a bit and shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

“Really?” Taylor looked at her reflection in the little mirror on the eyeglass display. “I thought they made me look sophisticated.”

“Uh-uh,” Casey repeated.

Taylor took off the frames and put them back on the display. “I've tried on almost all of the ones I like. I have to find something—turns out I'm blind as a flippin' bat!”

“What about these?” Casey handed her sister a pair of rimless frames.

“And the doctor tells me that I'm right on schedule—that when most people hit forty, their lens hardens and becomes less flexible. As if that really helps! Any way you slice it, I'm getting old.” Taylor tilted her head and studied her reflection. “These aren't so bad. What do you think?”

Casey took a nice long look at her sister before she nodded and said, “Those are the ones.”

Taylor got fitted for her glasses and then they decided to stop for a bite to get a caffeine infusion before Casey headed back to Brock's ranch. Taylor moved her straw around in her iced coffee, took several sips and then said, “When I talked to Aunt Barb yesterday, she said that you borrowed one of her picnic baskets to have a picnic with Brock?”

Casey knew that information traveled quickly in the family, and she hadn't told Aunt Barb
not
to mention the picnic basket. Why would she? She wasn't doing anything wrong, after all.

Taylor continued, “I guess I was just surprised that you would be spending so much time with someone you know has been a really negative person in my life. It's one thing to stay on his ranch and work with his daughter—but a picnic?” Her sister shook her head with a frown. “I just don't know why you would do that.”

Casey was holding her niece, making her smile and laugh by playing peekaboo. “Tay—I'm trying to stay out of the middle of the family feud. I know that Clint and Brock have a problem with each other, but why does that mean that I can't have him as a friend? He's been really good to me, actually. And, as my sister, I would think that that would mean something to you.”

She could tell that her words had struck a chord with her sister, but not enough to swing her opinion about Brock. Taylor shook her head and looked away, her brow furrowed. “I don't even understand what you would have in common with him. He's so...stuffy.”

“He's not stuffy,” Casey blurted out too quickly not to be noticed by her sister's keen ears.

“Huh...” Her sister put her drink down on the table harder than necessary. “That sounded awfully defensive.”

“I'm not being defensive,” Casey said in a singsongy voice while smiling at her sweet niece. “Am I, Penelope? No, I'm not...”

“Is there something going on between the two of you?”

Casey held up her niece and smelled her. “Wooo! Penny! You stink. Here, Momma. This little piggy needs to go home and get changed.”

Taylor took her daughter. “Nice try. What gives?”

They both stood up and prepared to drive the short distance to Taylor's rental house. Taylor could be a bit of a germophobe and wasn't crazy about changing Penny in public bathrooms and usually avoided it if she could.

“Nothing,” Casey said—and when her sister gave her a look that said
I don't believe you
, she added, “I'm serious. He's going through a divorce and you know I don't do drama.”

“But you like him, Casey.” Taylor seemed genuinely puzzled by this fact. “I can tell.”

Casey got into the passenger seat of Taylor's green Avalanche. “Well, yeah—I do. He's fun to be around.”

“Not possible.”

“Everyone experiences people differently.” Casey shrugged a shoulder, not really wanting to talk about Brock. Perhaps it was because Taylor's questions were hitting a bit too close to home. She did enjoy spending time with Brock. He was nice and kind and liked to eat good food and listen to classical music on his lunch break. He was interesting.

Yes. She did like Brock McAllister. A lot.

“People aren't always what they seem,” Casey said thoughtfully. “He's...introspective. He loves classical music.”

“You hate classical music,” Taylor reminded her. “You used to throw a fit every time Mom and Dad took us to the symphony.”

That was true. She did used to hate classical music. But the way Brock introduced it to her, explaining the intricacies of the arrangements and the reason each instrument mattered to the composition of the piece, made classical music interesting through his eyes. And something that used to irritate her and make her feel impatient actually made her want to lie back, close her eyes and let the melody take her on an adventure.

“All I know is that Brock treats my husband like a second-class citizen. And my loyalty is to Clint. If Brock doesn't like the father of my child, then it's going to be really hard for me to overlook that.”

Taylor should be loyal to her husband. But did that mean that Casey had to be loyal to her sister and stop spending time with Brock? Was the fact that she liked Brock a betrayal to her sister?

“I feel like you're expecting me to dislike someone just because he doesn't get along with Clint. That's not right, Tay.”

Her sister pulled into her driveway, shifted into Park and turned off the engine. Hands still on the steering wheel, Taylor turned her body toward her.

“Maybe it is wrong, Casey. But I don't want you to end up with someone who I wouldn't invite to my house for the holidays.”

Casey laughed with a shake of her head, breaking the tension. “Lord have mercy, Taylor! You have me married off to Brock and all I've done is have a picnic with the man! Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

Taylor stared at her—her eyes very intent on her face. “You don't see it, but every time you talk about that man, you smile like it's Christmas morning.”

* * *

Every day, weather permitting, Casey went for a ride. To be riding again, especially such a beautiful palomino mare like Gigi, was beyond any of her original hopes for her summer vacation in Montana. To be given a horse for the summer—well, it was the greatest gift Brock could have given her and he had done it without having the faintest clue how much it would mean to her.

It was the day after her visit with her sister and she couldn't seem to get the conversation out of her mind. She was hoping that a long ride on Gigi would clear her head.

It was obvious why this was still bothering her—Taylor had a front-row seat to her developing affection for Brock. Just what were her feelings for Brock and was she getting too close to the rancher? It would be one thing if he were single and emotionally stable—but he wasn't single and the impending divorce from Shannon, understandably, had him shaken.

And yet, she couldn't stop herself from liking him. He was a tall, burly man who liked to cook and was a good father. He wasn't her physical type necessarily, as she often gravitated to more metrosexual kinds of guys—and Brock was the polar opposite of that. But that was just the outside. On the inside, Brock was exactly her cup of tea.

Casey swung the saddle onto Gigi's back after she groomed the quarter horse and picked out her hooves. After Gigi was saddled and bridled, Casey led her through the gate and then closed it behind them. She mounted and walked Gigi toward the open field, leaving the reins long so the horse could stretch her neck down while her muscles warmed.

Once Gigi's muscles were nice and loose from the heat of the sun and the walking, Casey clucked her tongue a couple of times to signal to the mare that she wanted her to start into a nice, easy jog.

“Good girl, Gigi!” Casey sunk down into the saddle to stabilize her seat. “Nice jog!”

Casey took Gigi through her paces, working her out at each gait, until Gigi was allowed to do what the mare loved to do: gallop. Casey stood in her stirrups, taking weight off the saddle, gave the mare her head and pressed the mare's barrel belly with her calves. Gigi jerked forward into a gallop, her legs churning, her hooves pounding on the hard earth. They galloped across a wide-open field, kicking up clumps of dirt and sending birds, who had been grounded in the bush, flying into the seemingly endless blue of the cloudless sky.

Paradise. I'm in paradise.

At first, when she heard a pounding noise nearby, she thought it was the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears. But the louder the pounding got, the more she realized that the pounding was coming from behind her. She looked back quickly and saw Brock galloping toward her on Taj. The powerful Taj was twice as fast as Gigi, so it wasn't hard for Brock to catch her.

“Hey!” She smiled at him when they were side by side. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I'd join you for a ride.”

They both slowed their horses to an animated walk. Gigi threw her head and nipped at Taj when he got too close to her.

“Man—does she look good. She's lost weight. Her muscle tone is rock solid.”

Casey patted the palomino's neck. “She's such a great horse. I can't thank you enough for letting me have her for the summer.”

Brock smiled at her. “Like I said—you're doing me a favor.”

“Some favor.” Casey laughed.

They rode together until they reached the end of Brock's land. Her face felt windburned, her thighs hurt from riding every day and she had more freckles on her face than she had had since she was a kid. But she really couldn't care less. This was an exhilarating way to live—and even though she genuinely missed going downtown to Water Tower Place with her friends and shopping the eight-level mall of fabulousness, it wouldn't hurt her feelings to ride like this every day of her life. Even if she did divert some of her shopping budget to renting a horse or buying a horse and stabling it on the outskirts of the city, there was no way she'd ever have the freedom to gallop across a flat, open field until the horse was dripping with sweat. The best she would be able to do was ride in an arena—it just wasn't the same.

They headed back to the barn—Brock needed to cool Taj down, rinse him off and then get on the road to pick up Hannah from school. The easy silence between them carried them back to the gate. Brock leaned down, unlatched the gate and pushed it open for Casey to ride through first.

“You should take Gigi to one of the local shows—put her through her paces. The two of you have an unusual look that would grab the attention of the judges.”

Casey halted the horse and swung out of the saddle. She loosened the girth before bringing the reins over Gigi's head.

“I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

Why not?

Performance anxiety. Abject fear.

“It's not really my thing.” She shrugged off the suggestion.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind—I could get a friend of mine to hook you up with some Western pleasure show clothes.”

“Mmm. Nah.” Casey wrinkled up her face at the thought. “Not even for new pretty clothes.”

Brock pulled his saddle off the Friesian; Casey knew two things for sure about Brock—he loved Hannah and he loved Taj. Every morning before the sun came up, Brock was in the barn grooming Taj. Almost every night, Brock was riding Taj—keeping him limber and fit. After the night Brock had confided in her that Shannon wanted Taj, she had never questioned him further about it, but that didn't mean she hadn't thought about it. Of course, she could understand why Shannon would want the stallion. He was beyond magnificent. But he belonged to Brock—he belonged
with
Brock. Ever since he had told her about it, she had silently prayed that he won that battle with Shannon.

She took care of Gigi, went to go get Hercules from the loft and then, since it was her night to cook, she headed to the kitchen while Brock headed out to get Hannah. She was going to make gluten-free lasagna—one vegetarian pan and one with Italian sweet sausage because it was Brock's favorite—but it had a long prep time so she needed to get started right away. The kitchen as usual was a disorganized mess. The dishes were all washed, but were piled in the dish drain and on the counters—everywhere but where they should be. Her desire to have everything in its place made it very difficult to work in the kitchen. She had been sucking it up because she was a guest on Brock's ranch. But she'd been around long enough to begin to make some changes to the inside of the house. And she had the autism research on her side—this chaos was not helping Hannah's anxiety or behavior. Hannah needed order and structure and a clean, organized environment. She wasn't just trying to meddle for no good reason. She was meddling for a
very good
reason.

“I've got to get a handle on this.” Casey stood with her hands on her hips, feeling overwhelmed by the stacks of dishes and pots and silverware scattered about.

In fact, when she looked beyond the kitchen to the living room, everything in the house felt congested. The flow was bad. The colors were bad.

“Brock and Hannah need feng shui in their lives,” Casey decided aloud. “This whole house needs to be rearranged, reworked and decongested.”

It was decided. Now all she had to do was get Brock on board and figure out how to completely unclutter and unclog the dilapidated farmhouse without sending Hannah into a tailspin.

* * *

Later on, over piping hot plates of gluten-free lasagna, Casey broached the subject of changing the interior of the house. It made sense that the work she had already been doing with Hannah would continue, but it would continue within the context of having the preteen take control of her own environment. Instead of her feeling that the changes were happening to her, she would be the one in charge of the change. Brock surprised her by being open to the idea.