Anywhere with You. Debbi Rawlins
striking brunette who’d joined them, her strapless red dress held up by generous breasts.
“Katy,” Rachel said, “this is Ben. I’ve told you about him. Ben’s like another brother to me.”
“Yes, I remember.” Katy leaned forward to shake his hand, her breasts plumping over the top of the dress, her smile sultry. “I believe you mentioned he wasn’t as bad as Trace.”
“Thanks.” Rachel laughed. “Thanks for that.” She looked at Ben. “I meant when I was a kid. You both teased me unmercifully and don’t deny it.”
Ben forced a smile. His memories weren’t quite that benign. “Where is Trace, anyway?” He looked past Katy to do a quick sweep of the crowd, but stopped at a familiar face. Whoa.
Deputy Hendrix had let her hair down in loose waves that skimmed her shoulders. The sunglasses were gone, and she’d traded her uniform for tan slacks and a tailored white blouse that showed off her fit, toned body.
Nice. Very nice.
He wondered if she had her ticket book with her. Maybe after a little champagne, she’d have second thoughts about the one she had written him.
Rachel glanced around, frowning. “I don’t see Jesse or Cole, either. They know the photographer wants to take more shots of the wedding party.”
“We could go look for them,” Katy said, and Ben knew the “we” included him.
He wasn’t in the mood for company. Maybe later. “I’ll be heading to the house soon,” he said. “If I see the guys, I’ll send them over. Or drag them out of their rooms if I have to.”
“Perfect.” Rachel’s smile lasted only a second. “Wait. Knock before you go in. Girlfriends may be involved. Or in Cole’s case, his wife.”
“Cole’s married?” He’d never said anything about taking the plunge.
“He and Jamie eloped a month ago to avoid having a big hoopla.” She lowered her voice. “Not common knowledge. Just the family knows.” She gestured inclusively to Ben. “And now you, too, Katy. But don’t say anything.”
A group approached to congratulate the newlyweds, and Ben used the opportunity to slip away. He could feel Katy’s eyes on his back. He might have played that better, but he’d lost sight of the deputy.
While he searched for her, Ben realized how easy it had been with Rachel and Matt. It felt good that she still considered him family. And so did Cole. As long as Ben did nothing to hurt Hilda. The McAllisters had always been fiercely protective of his mother. Starting with Gavin and Barbara.
Thinking of Gavin McAllister tightened Ben’s chest. Missing the man’s funeral would haunt him for life. Gavin had treated him like a son right alongside his own boys, never taking sides when they squabbled and disciplining without bias.
Time had a way of lending perspective. Ben understood now that he’d been damn lucky to have Mr. McAllister as a role model.
He looked toward the house, hoping he’d finally catch sight of the deputy, but she wasn’t among the people crowding the wide porch. People sat on rockers. Some lounged against the railing. A short, dark-haired woman wound her way through them carrying a large pitcher. He studied her for a moment, taking in the frail stoop of her narrow shoulders. Realization hit him square in the gut.
Mom?
She set down the pitcher and glanced up suddenly, as if she could feel him watching her. He turned, hoping she wouldn’t see him.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest, and he had the sudden urge to make a run for the Porsche, drive so fast and far that he’d forget all about the Sundance. Forget about the family who’d given him a home. Forget about the mother who’d never trusted him enough to tell him the truth about his own father.
Hell of a time to figure out he wasn’t ready to see her. Certainly not in front of all these people.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he stared at the distant Rockies and the crimson sun sinking behind them. He was struck by the sudden notion that he’d missed more than the mountains. He’d missed the McAllister family. The Sundance. And in spite of her betrayal, his mom.
He hadn’t expected this, wasn’t prepared to do anything but push the feelings aside. Clear his head.
What he needed was another drink. He’d promised his sister he’d do this thing. Reconnect with their mom. Make some peace. Which felt impossible at the moment.
He found another makeshift bar and was about to pour a scotch when he saw her.
Deputy Hendrix. From the strained curve of her mouth to her stick-straight posture, she seemed uncomfortable. Probably trying to get rid of the old guy in the loud sports jacket who was bending her ear. Ben could help her with that. He smiled, practically seeing her void his ticket.
Before he could approach them, the man walked away. She turned a longing glance toward a row of parked cars, looking as though she wanted to be here as much as Ben did.
Keeping an eye on her, he exchanged the whiskey for a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket and filled two flutes.
* * *
GRACE WAS BEGINNING to wish she’d brought her gun. If her uncle didn’t stop annoying her, she was pretty sure she could make a case for justifiable homicide. Although since she didn’t have a squeaky-clean record, maybe she’d be better off hiding the body. Plenty of good places around here.
Grace swallowed. Dear God. How could she joke about this? Even if only to herself. She was a horrible person. And now she’d lost track of Clarence. He’d disappeared into the crowd. But he’d pop up again and motion for her to meet yet another person who simply wanted to enjoy the party and not be bullied by the mayor.
Maybe she should make a run for her car. Now. While she had the chance. She hated that Rachel might see her, but Grace could always apologize later and pretend she’d been ill.
“Well, don’t you clean up nicely.”
The deep voice sent a flutter down her spine. Taking a moment to compose herself, she met his eyes. “I’m not tearing up the ticket.”
Ben just smiled and passed her a flute. “I’d planned to rescue you a minute ago. I figured that might soften you up, but I was too late.”
“Rescue me?”
He glanced back at the crowd. “I saw some guy bothering you.”
“Who?”
“An old guy with a bad comb-over.”
Grace laughed. Oh, wouldn’t Clarence love to hear that description. “Better watch it. He’s the mayor.”
“Figures.”
“And my uncle.”
“Ah. My apologies.” With that lazy smile of his, he looked about as apologetic as a tomcat toying with a mouse. No, he didn’t care who Clarence was to her or the town. “I didn’t want him chasing you off before we could get better acquainted.”
Grace snorted a laugh. He was smooth, a real charmer. In her line of work, she met quite a few, usually trying to talk their way out of an arrest.
“You don’t believe me?” He was watching her, studying her face with a faintly bemused expression that she didn’t care for. Though fair was fair. She’d given him the once-over earlier. The difference was, while she’d admired his bronzed skin, he was probably counting her freckles.
She stared at the champagne she’d absently accepted from him. “I really shouldn’t drink this,” she said and took a sip. “I have to drive.”
“You can’t have far to go. Not in this town.”
She moved slightly so his shoulder blocked the remaining rays of sunlight and she didn’t