Unexpected Bride (10 page)

"I know, Mommy," Lara said, her voice soft.

"The food is being served at our table now." She extended her hand, reaching for her daughter as if to snatch her away from Clayton.

He should have been glad that she was rescuing him from an awkward situation. Instead, he felt as if she were
rescuing
her daughter from him, as if she didn't trust him. He hadn't been very nice to Abby when they were kids. He'd been so angry over his father's illness and his own inability to help that he'd lashed out at the one person who wasn't hurting in the way the rest of his family had been hurting. But now, looking back, he realized Abby had been hurting, too. She'd loved his father. Probably more than she'd loved her own father.

Abby didn't want Lara away from Clayton.
She
wanted to get away from him. A charming Clayton was far more dangerous than the usual uptight, judgmental one. Good thing she'd made certain she and Lara were seated at the other end of the wedding party table from the only open chair left, which was for Clayton.

But Lara, who'd always been so obedient, didn't put her hand in Abby's. Instead, she put it on Clayton's shoulder. "Will you look for her?" she asked.

He nodded solemnly. "Of course."

Why was he being so nice to her daughter? Abby doubted it was the reason some other men had been nice to Lara—in order to get close to her mother. She knew Clayton didn't want to be any closer to her than she did to him. He didn't even want her in the same town.

Oh, Molly.

Abby couldn't leave until she talked to Molly and knew she was really all right. Like Colleen and Brenna, she'd been using her cell phone to call their runaway friend, but Molly had been serious about needing time alone to think. Her cell was turned off, leaving Abby to field the nosy questions of all those people who, like Clayton, had once wanted her gone. Although she'd been trapped in a series of intrusive conversations, she'd never shifted her attention from her daughter, too used to living in a big city where she could never let down her guard. Could she do that here?

Not with Clayton around.

"Who do you have Clayton looking for?" she asked Lara as she led her away from the man who still crouched in front of the cake table. Although she'd once loved sweets, the man before the table inspired more hunger in her right now than the lavish cake.
No.
She couldn't give in to her attraction to Clayton McClintock. It was bad enough that she'd admitted it.

"Clayton's going to find the bride," her daughter answered.

No wonder he'd agreed so readily to help. He wanted to talk to Molly, too. But did he want to make sure his sister was all right or did he want to force her to go through with a loveless marriage?

Abby would have believed every marriage in the world was loveless, if not for having witnessed Clayton's parents' love for each other. Their relationship had been special and rare. But Abby was too realistic to hope for that for herself, knowing she'd only find more disappointment.

What about Clayton? Did he believe in love?

Clayton reached for the plastic cup. He really needed a drink, despite the champagne toast he'd just had. Or maybe because of it. He'd toasted Abby Hamilton's return to Cloverville. She wasn't even off the plane before she'd started messing up his life, getting him dumped, arguing with him and undermining the wedding. She was still nothing but trouble. But he honestly couldn't blame her for everything that had gone wrong, even though he wanted to. He wanted any reason to squelch the desire he felt for her.

Hell, he didn't actually miss Erin... Ellen.
He
couldn't even remember the woman's name now, not since Abby had come home. But she wasn't staying. She'd sworn she was leaving after the wedding. So would she be gone tomorrow? For some reason the thought brought him no relief, only that familiar tight feeling in his chest.

"Hey!" Rory shouted in protest as his brother pulled the cup from his hand.

Clayton sniffed the rim.

"It...it's just punch," Rory insisted.

Clayton tipped the cup and swallowed a mouthful, wincing and grimacing as the fiery liquid burned a trail down his throat. He blinked twice to clear his eyes before remarking, "Since when is nonalcoholic punch hundred proof? Oh, yeah, since I noticed your friends, the Hendrix boys, hanging out by the punch bowl."

"It's spiked?" Rory asked, his eyes widening in feigned shock. "Mrs. George or the bartender must have done it by accident."

Clayton shook his head, glad he'd kept an eye on the Hendrix brothers, which hadn't been easy since Abby, in that strapless red dress, kept drawing his attention away. Before following Rory out the side door with his cup, he'd told the bartender to pull the bowl. With luck, no one else had taken a glass of the spiked punch yet. The Hendrix boys, catching sight of Clayton heading toward them, had taken off, leaving Rory to fend for himself. "Those kids are bad news, Rory."

'They're my friends."

The same argument, eight years before, flashed through his mind. Molly and Colleen defending their friendship with Abby Hamilton, when he'd dragged them all out of a tattoo parlor in Grand Rapids.

"You're only fourteen. You shouldn't be hanging out with kids that old." Or that much trouble.

"I'm almost fifteen—same age as Chad."

"But Greg is seventeen." Old enough to drive too fast and recklessly. Clayton had already forbidden Rory to ride with him. But then he'd also forbidden him to drink or smoke. He tossed the cup into a Dumpster in the alley. Then he put a hand on Rory, reaching inside his brother's tux for the pack of cigarettes he found in the pocket. How the hell were these kids getting their hands on cigarettes and booze?

"I was just holding those for Greg."

Clayton shook his head again. "Rory, I'm not buying it and neither will Sheriff Block."

The boy's eyes goggled in real surprise. "You'd turn me in?"

"You're too old to turn over my knee."

"You're not my father!"

No. He wasn't. And that was the problem. Despite knowing his father the shortest amount of time, Rory still missed his dad, and he resented his older siblings for having had more time with him. Clayton understood, and he felt for the kid. That was probably why he, like their mother, had been too easy on him. Rory was the single biggest reason why he didn't want to take on any other responsibility. He was failing the kid and failing his dad, who'd asked him to look after the family.

Someone cleared his throat before joining them outside. Clayton turned his attention to Mr. Schipper, his old teacher and Rory's current English teacher. "Hey, guys, your mother's looking for you both."

Usually Mr. Schipper, with his graying hair and mustache, was looking for Mrs. McClintock, as well. Clayton had noticed the older man's interest in his mother. While he knew his mom deserved some happiness after losing her husband, he hadn't stopped to analyze how
he
really fell about his mom getting involved with another man.

Rory pulled away and ran back inside the hall. He had obviously made his decision.

The teacher sighed. "I haven't had a student give me as hard a time as Rory since..."

"Abby Hamilton?"

"I was going to say Greg Hendrix. Abby was a challenge, too," the teacher admitted, "but she really wasn't a bad kid."

And Rory was. Ellen had been smart to dump him— Clayton would never have time for a personal life. That was good though, since he had no room for serious involvements in his plan.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find the bride," Clayton said as he held Lara in his arms. Her feet dangled above his as he whirled her around the dance floor.

She giggled. "It's okay."

After busting his brother, he'd looked. Clayton had really wanted to find that figurine for her. probably selfishly so that he would feel as if he'd succeeded at
something.
Most especially he'd wanted to make Lara smile. But she didn't really want that plastic doll. She wanted a daddy. He couldn't help her with that; not without letting her down more than he had anyone else.

He should find his brother again and make sure he hadn't snuck any more alcohol. But with the Hendrix boys gone, maybe Clayton could relax. Those kids were nothing but trouble. Like someone else he knew.

Deep red nails lightly tapped his shoulder. "I'd like to cut in."

She obviously didn't see him as a father figure for her child, either. She had already danced with her daughter, spinning her around and around while they both smiled and laughed.

As he turned to leave the dance floor, she caught his arm. "Wait a minute."

Unconcerned about her red satin dress, she knelt in front of Lara and kissed her cheek. "Mrs. Mick is going to take you home, sweetheart. It's getting late. I'll be back before you go to bed. though, to tuck you in."

"Can Clayton tuck me in?" she asked.

"He doesn't live at Mrs. Mick's."

But even if he did, Clayton doubted Abby would let him tuck her daughter into bed. She probably thought he'd be as mean to Lara as he'd been to her.

He crouched down to meet the child's gaze, her eyes soft and sleepy. "Good night, Lara. You were a beautiful flower girl."

"Miniature bride," Abby corrected him, while her daughter threw her arms around Clayton's neck and hugged him tight.

Shocked by the girl's affection, Clayton patted Lara's back, his hand feeling too big and clumsy to handle someone so small and delicate. Just like his mother, and like so many guests tonight, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. His heart tightened.

'Thank you, Clayton," she said.

For the dance? For looking for the bride? She didn't clarify before walking off the dance floor to join his mother. That vise tightened around Clayton's emotions even more as Lara waved at him before putting her hand in his mother's. His mom's eyes softened as she beamed down at her.

"Uh-oh," he murmured as he rose from his crouch. His mother was in love. No doubt she would renew her pressure on her eldest to give her a grandchild or, more specifically, to give her
that
grandchild. His mother wouldn't have cared if Molly had gone through the wedding and provided her with a slew of grandkids. Mary McClintock had another plan, and a not very subtle one, to fix him up with Abby Hamilton.

Warm fingers wrapped around his hand as Abby stepped into his arms. His body jerked and surprise shot through him. "What the—"

"I cut in on my daughter, Clayton, so I could dance with you," Abby told him, smiling at his stunned reaction to Lara's show of affection and then hers. Not that she was really showing him affection. She'd only wanted to talk to him to thank him for how sweet he'd been to Lara.

Clayton stared down at her, his eyes darkening. Then his fingers closed over hers, his other hand slid to the small of her back and her smile slipped away. She stiffened now, so that she wouldn't melt into the enticing hardness of his body.

What had made her think dancing with Clayton McClintock would be a good idea? The song ended, and she relaxed slightly. But Clayton didn't release her. He just held her, in the middle of the dance floor. Before she could pull away, the next song started, slower and smokier than the previous one.

Clayton's hand on her back pushed her closer, so that her breasts settled against his chest, her thighs and hips pressed tight to his. She swallowed hard.

"What a day..." Clayton murmured into her hair, his breath warm against her ear.

Her nerve endings tingled as she followed his lead. Weariness settled over her after all she'd just done: packing up her apartment in Chicago, catching the flight and getting through an emotional confrontation with Molly. With a sigh of defeat, she leaned her head on Clayton's shoulder and dragged in a breath of air scented with citrus and musk, a mixture of aftershave and Clayton. "I hope Molly's all right."

"Me, too."

"You don't want to wring her neck?" she asked, surprised by his admission. But he'd already surprised her in that he hadn't searched her purse for Molly's note. Apparently he intended to honor his sister's request for time alone.

"I don't want to wring her neck."

"Just mine?" she asked.

"Not anymore."

"You got your revenge by making me the guest of honor," she surmised, turning her head to witness the grin spreading across his face, etching creases in his cheeks. When he grinned like that, her knees trembled.

"Abby Hamilton, the guest of honor."

"More like the guest of dishonor," she grumbled, shaking off the bitterness.

Somehow, the townspeople seemed more willing to let go of the past than she did. She needed to believe they still hated her. If they didn't, she had no excuse for staying away. And now, eight years later, she wondered if they had really hated her as much as she'd imagined. Or was she the one who had haled her life? Hated herself?

"I didn't ask you to dance in order to fight with you," she said. "I wanted to thank you for being so kind to Lara."

"She's a sweet kid."

Pride swelled in her chest. "Yes, she is."

"Nothing like you were."

No, Abby had been more like the groom's twin sons. A hyper little brat. "I've been blessed."

"She asked me a question." Clayton said.

Abby's heart slammed against her ribs. She'd overheard her daughter's queslion and been too shocked to intervene before Clayton had answered her. "I know." She'd been completely mortified. "Thank you for handling that so well."

"She look me by surprise. She has no idea who her father is?" From the way he gazed down at her, he obviously wondered if Abby knew.

"I've never been in love," she said, reminding him of their conversation the night before. "But I don't indiscriminately sleep around."

"Just discriminately?"

She tried to pull away, but his hand at her back held her tight against him.

"I'm just teasing you, Abby," he said, his hand stroking her spine as one might smooth the raised hair of a spooked cat. "Relax."

She doubted that was something she'd ever be able to do in his arms, with the heat of his body burning through his clothes and hers, setting her senses afire. She tingled everywhere.