Big Sky Wedding (25 page)

The reference to her sister-in-law was made softly, with a note of wry humor to show she felt no resentment at being dragged along.

Brylee rose to her feet then, and Zane automatically stood, too, nearly spilling the contents of his plate into the grass because he’d forgotten, at least for a moment, practically everything but his own name. All along, on a subliminal level, he’d been reliving last night’s mind-blowing kiss, outside the Boot Scoot Tavern. Now, the recollection slammed into him like a body blow.

He opened his mouth, ready to ask Brylee not to go, but she swept away in a flurry of soft green fabric, trailing a flowery but utterly unique scent—
her
scent—behind her. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye before she vanished like thin smoke caught in a sudden breeze.

With a sigh of his own, Zane sat down on the brick wall again and silently listed all the reasons he ought to tackle the grub piled on his plate, starting with starving children in China, another of his late mom’s old standbys, invariably trotted out when he and Landry were kids, prone to balk like mules when anything set before them at mealtime happened to be green. His improved understanding of good nutrition notwithstanding, even now he couldn’t quite work out how a bunch of kids on the other side of the world would benefit if
he
ate his broccoli, or spinach, or string beans.

He took a few bites—in an effort at good manners—but it was a lost cause. All he could think about was Brylee Parrish, how it felt to kiss her, how much he wanted to do that again—and a lot more. Finally, he carried the meal to the nearest trash receptacle, tossed it and decided he ought to do a little more circulating himself.

After fifteen minutes or so, during which Zane caught intermittent glimpses of Brylee, smiling that killer smile of hers and chatting with people she’d obviously known all her life, he began to get restless. Well,
more
restless. Maybe it was the weather, which was turning more ominous by the minute, now that the wind had picked up, ruffling the hems of tablecloths and women’s skirts, tossing the paper lanterns and sending empty paper cups and plastic glasses skittering across the yard.

He was trying to make heads or tails of an in-depth discussion of local politics, spearheaded by two elderly ranchers, when Cleo edged up alongside him, holding down her flying hairstyle with one hand and grinning as broadly as if she’d just won first prize in a church raffle.

“When you get ready to leave,” she told him, raising her voice a little to be heard over the wind and another crack of thunder, “don’t you trouble yourself about me. I’m making friends right and left, and it’s bingo night in Parable, so a bunch of us are going to try our luck. Mabel Evans goes right past your place on her way home, and she’ll drop me off after.”

“Okay,” Zane said. Hadn’t Cleo claimed to be a bust at bingo, somewhere along the line?

Cleo had barely trundled off to rejoin the gambling contingent when Nash materialized at his elbow. “There’ll be fireworks after it gets good and dark,” he announced. “Can we stay?”

Zane wasn’t keen on the idea; nightfall was still several hours away, and he had a horse and a dog that would need to be fed eventually, and he was still thrown by the unexpected encounter with Brylee—not that he’d have missed it. “Well—”

“Those kids over there on the patio, by the soda cooler...” Nash interrupted, pausing to point out the adolescents in question. “A couple of them are from Three Trees, and Jack Carlson—he’s the one in the Che Guevara T-shirt—said I could catch a ride home with them later, if you didn’t feel like sticking around.”

Zane frowned slightly. First Cleo had seemed to assume he was waiting for a chance to bail, and now Nash had apparently come to the same conclusion.

Was it that obvious?

“Who’s driving?” he asked his kid brother.

“Jack’s dad,” Nash answered, in the tone of one deigning to react respectfully to a really lamebrain question. He scanned the yard again, found the man he was looking for. “That’s him,” he went on. “The guy by the wheelbarrow full of—whatever those yellow flowers are called.”

Zane chuckled. “We’ll see,” he said, knowing his own desire to head for home was exceeded only by Nash’s excitement over the upcoming fireworks display and a chance to spend more time with kids his own age. God knew when he’d enjoyed that simple pleasure—maybe never.

He crossed the yard, approached the man, put out a hand and introduced himself as Nash’s brother. Andy Carlson replied with his name and a friendly grin and shook Zane’s hand.

Carlson, it turned out, was a high school math teacher who spent his summers fighting forest fires and working part-time as a paramedic. He definitely seemed like a solid citizen, Zane reasoned. Probably wouldn’t have been invited to this shindig in the first place if he hadn’t been.

Andy said he’d be more than happy to bring Nash home after the fireworks. It was likely to be around midnight when they got there, though.

Zane nodded and thanked Jack’s dad. Each man keyed the other’s cell number into his phone, and then Zane turned to go in search of Nash, only to practically stumble over the kid, he’d been hovering so close behind him.

Grinning, Zane broke the good news, though he was sure the boy had overheard his conversation with Andy Carlson.

Nash gave a whoop of triumph, just the same, and rushed off to blend in with the other kids.

There was another game of horseshoes in the offing. Horseshoes. Probably another new experience for the self-proclaimed travelin’ man.

Zane watched his little brother for a few moments, then made the rounds, finding Kendra Carmody and thanking her for the hospitality. She smiled warmly, even prettier up close than she was at a distance, prominent baby bump and all, and said the party wouldn’t be over for a long time yet. Dessert hadn’t even been served, and then there were the fireworks to cap off the evening. Was he sure he wanted to leave so quickly?

He
was
sure, he realized. The sky was angry, the color of slate, threatening to bust the sky wide-open and dump torrents of rain through the cracks, but that wasn’t what made Zane so jittery—no, that had begun when his and Brylee’s gazes connected, right after she and Casey and the baby had arrived at the party.

He looked around for Brylee once more, after saying goodbye to the lovely Mrs. Carmody, but she was nowhere in sight. Casey, however, was nearby, beaming with pride while a bevy of grandmotherly types admired her baby boy.

Since Hutch had finally stopped playing chef, filled a plate for himself and sat down at one of the picnic tables to eat, surrounded by jocular friends and neighbors as before, Zane decided not to interrupt the man’s meal to say his farewells, and headed for the spot where he’d surrendered his truck.

As soon as he was out in the open, the downpour started in earnest—no preliminary sprinkle, no gentle mist—just a hard, sudden fall of rain, warm as bathwater and roaring like a forest fire.

The kids parking cars had on yellow slickers now. They’d taken refuge under a nearby tree, but one of them sprinted off after Zane’s rig, evidently stashed somewhere down on the road.

He waited, idly wondering if the storm would let up before the fireworks were scheduled to start, heedless of the moisture plastering his shirt to his torso and his back, dripping off his hair and soaking his jeans through.

He’d have laughed at himself, and his all-fired hurry to get back to Hangman’s Bend, if it hadn’t been for the light tug at his right shirtsleeve.

He turned, and there, to his surprise, was Brylee, nearly transparent dress clinging to every perfect curve, hair hanging in wet clumps around her face, smile brighter than the flashes of lightning that split the sky every few moments.

“Casey wants to stay and show off the baby for a while,” she said, over the pounding din. “After that, everybody will want her to sing, so—”

Mud splashed around them as drops the size of quarters pummeled the ground and formed puddles. The downpour went from loud to deafening.

Zane stared down into Brylee’s wet, smiling face, confounded by everything he felt. He knew he ought to say something—anything—but he didn’t have a damn clue what. Meanwhile, his truck sped through the ranch gate and fishtailed up the driveway toward them.

“Can I catch a ride with you?” Brylee asked, after waiting in vain for Zane to stop gawking at her and speak.

He nodded, a strange, wild joy coursing through him, and took her hand. They both ran through the rain, toward the waiting truck, and she scrambled inside, holding her white sandals in one hand.

Zane tipped the kid-valet, wrenched open his own door and climbed behind the wheel. Rain sheeted the windshield, all but swamping the wipers.

Brylee wriggled her muddy feet, grinned at him and, holding up one calf to show him a long run in her stockings, said, “I’m hell on a pair of panty hose.”

He laughed then, a deep letting-go that cleared his muddled brain and soothed his soul, and she laughed with him.

* * *

S
HE
’
D
KNOWN
IT
was going to happen; Brylee could admit that now, to herself at least. What she wasn’t so sure about was why—why she’d made the rash decision that it was time to stop living in limbo and
find out,
once and for all, what—if anything—was actually going on between her and Zane. All she knew for certain was that she was bone-tired of hovering on the sidelines, waiting for her turn at—whatever.
Life,
maybe.

The
when
wasn’t all that clear, either—she’d agreed to attend the barbecue only because Casey wheedled her into it, and anyway, Zane Sutton had been the
last
person she’d expected to run into at Hutch and Kendra’s barbecue, if only because he was new in the area. Duh. She hadn’t expected to see him at the Boot Scoot the other night, either, but she’d been thunderstruck at the sight of him, back there in the Carmodys’ yard, with friendly chatter and the delicious scent of food being cooked in the open air all around, and a certain sweet sorrow had overtaken her, too.

There were so many couples—newlyweds and long-time marrieds and every sort of pair in between. Even Casey, temporarily on her own, was secure in the knowledge that Walker, on the road at the moment, would be home soon, and once again enfold her in his love, as well as his arms.

Zane seemed to be concentrating on the road, the windshield wipers barely adequate against the driving summer rain as they drove toward Three Trees, lightning splintering the world around them at regular intervals, thunder crashing in the big sky far above. He’d turned the heater on as they left Whisper Creek, but the warmth had promptly fogged up the windows, so he’d switched it off again, in favor of the defroster.

They didn’t talk much as they passed through Parable and then covered the thirty-odd miles between there and Three Trees, but there didn’t seem to be a need for words, anyhow.

The air inside that truck was so charged with electricity that Brylee figured she’d get a shock if she touched anything.

Zane didn’t ask her what was going on in her mind, though he must surely have wondered, nor did he inquire whether or not Casey knew she’d left early.

It was slow-going, because of slick roads and low visibility, but they reached Three Trees soon enough; it was a blur of neon and asphalt and Main Street businesses as they passed through.

Zane drove on, without saying a word except to ask if she was cold—she wasn’t—and turned in at the Timber Creek gate without any prompting from his passenger.

“Around back,” she directed, when he would have turned onto the concrete skirting in front of Casey and Walker’s garage.

Rounding the big house, he spotted Brylee’s SUV, pulled up beside it, looked over at her with an uncertainty she suspected was foreign to him and waited for a cue. Walk her to the door? Wait in the truck until she was safely inside before driving away?

“Come in,” Brylee heard herself say. “You’re soaked. You can grab a shower, and I’ll get you some of Walker’s clothes to wear. You’re probably not the same size, but close enough.”

Zane opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Brylee suppressed an urge to giggle hysterically, at Zane’s bewilderment, at her own impetuous actions, at the rain and her wet hair dangling around her face in soggy ropes and the globs of mud coating her feet.
Gumbo,
that was what Montanans called the incomprehensibly sticky slop, and the name suited it perfectly.

She pushed the passenger’s-side door open and climbed down, holding her sandals in one hand and draping her purse strap over the opposite shoulder, and then dashed for the door that led into her apartment, Zane beside her.

Snidely met them in the kitchen, curious and probably relieved not to be alone anymore. Snidely, though Rin-Tin-Tin fierce in some ways, quailed whenever a loud storm broke. Thunder could send him scrabbling under her bed for shelter, and lightning made him whimper so pitifully that it broke her heart.

Brylee paused long enough to reassure the dog, then headed through the apartment and crossed into Casey and Walker’s territory, leaving a trail of muddy footprints that would just have to be dealt with later. She greeted their dogs, three chocolate Labs and a sweet mutt called Doolittle, and went straight on to the laundry room.

Sure enough, there was a basket full of clean clothes on the folding table across from the washer and dryer, and Brylee flipped through the various garments until she found a pair of Walker’s work jeans, a lightweight sweatshirt and a pair of socks.

She drew the line at borrowing underwear, and figured Zane would be on the same page where that was concerned, so he’d just have to make do without. Delicious thought.

The family dogs—there were a couple of cats around somewhere, too, but they’d made themselves scarce—trooped after her when she returned to her own apartment, still on a mission, and though she couldn’t have said precisely what that mission was, she had her suspicions.