Lone Star Wedding (21 page)

He'd been honest with Hannah from the beginning. He'd always known that they were complete opposites. He never should have taken her to bed. He could see that now. She was the type of woman who turned poetic, convincing herself that making love and being in love were the same things.

The words he'd spoken to that reporter had been cutting. Hell, he was known for his cutting remarks. He'd done her a favor. A clean break was better than a long, drawn-out one.

It was for the best. Running a hand through his hair, he straightened his tie and strode to the parking lot where he'd left his car.

 

“I understand you're not seeing Hannah any longer.”

Parker snapped his briefcase closed and met Ryan's gaze across the large, pretentious desk in Ryan's study. “It's for the best.”

Ryan steepled his fingers at his chin. “I see. Have you figured out why it feels like hell?”

Parker opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. It wasn't like him to be at a loss for words. It had been happening a lot lately, and he didn't like it. After a long pause, during which he combed his mind for a proper reply, he said, “I'm handling it.” He'd responded sharply. More sharply than he'd intended. That had been happening a lot lately, too.

Dammit to hell, he didn't like that, either. But what was he supposed to do? His life had changed this summer. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was different. Reed went home a few days ago, just in time for his fifteenth birthday. Parker's house was quiet and orderly once again. Lissett had announced that she was getting married, but had assured him she would be staying on as his housekeeper. She could cook and clean and bake, but she was no better at growing things than he was. Consequently, his fica plant had started to droop. It probably needed water. He didn't know what he needed.

He hadn't seen Hannah, except in passing, in more than a week. Ten days, to be exact. He missed her. He told himself it was nothing he wouldn't get over.

The phone jangled. Ryan moved without haste, answering it with unhurried purpose. “This is Ryan Fortune.”

Parker started to get up. Ryan gestured with a firm shake of his head.

The other man listened intently, his entire countenance
changing drastically. “A rebel uprising in Santo Bonisto, you say? I know my daughter is working in that country.”

He listened, asked several pointed questions, ending the conversation with, “Keep me apprised of every facet of this operation, do you understand?”

He slammed the receiver down and sat for a moment, his forehead resting in his hand. “Victoria's in danger,” he finally said.

Parker had known that one of Ryan's twin daughters was working as a nurse for a humanitarian organization on a tiny island on the other side of the world. Politics in those countries was always precarious. A rebel uprising meant that Victoria was in imminent danger.

“I have to get her out of there.”

Parker said, “Do you have any idea how to do that?”

Ryan picked up the phone. “I know someone who can.” He dialed a number. “Ginny,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Patch me through to Sam Waterman.”

Within minutes, he'd spoken to someone Parker assumed was Sam Waterman, and the first step in the process was under way. Sam was going to send in Quinn McCoy, a man evidently noted for his skill in covert actions.

Ryan was silent when he hung up the phone. He glanced across the desk at Parker, as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the room. Breathing deeply, he said, “Sometimes it seems like a full-time job keeping the people I love safe.”

Parker studied the other man, noting the worry lines between his eyes and the grooves slashing each cheek. “Ever ask yourself if it's worth it?”

Ryan's eyebrows rose dramatically and he steepled his fingers beneath his chin once again. “Are you asking me if I would put myself through the grief and torment and
worry of marriage and a family if I had it to do over again?”

Parker gave him a brief nod.

Ryan looked Parker in the eye. “With the exception of marrying Sophia, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Without the love of a good woman and a family, what is there?”

The question struck a nerve somewhere in the very center of Parker. There were plenty of worthwhile things to live for besides a woman and a family. He only wished he could think of one or two of them.

Rising to leave, Parker shook Ryan's hand.

The other man's grip was strong, his gaze steady as he said, “She's out riding with Lily.”

Parker didn't have to ask who.

“They've been gone the better part of two hours,” Ryan said. “I suspect they'll be back shortly. Perhaps you'd like to take a look at the new Arabian mare Clint had delivered a few days ago.”

“An Arabian mare?” Parker asked.

Ryan nodded. “Clint Lockhart knows his horseflesh. He could have been great at anything he tried. One piece of the puzzle was missing. I've never understood which piece it was. But that's neither here nor there. It so happens that the new mare is in the stall next to Lily's favorite horse.”

Parker reached for his briefcase. “You don't say. Maybe I will take a look at that horse.”

“You do that, son.”

Parker left Ryan's office, got in his car, and drove out to the stables to take a look at a mare, when he and Ryan both knew that he didn't know the difference between a good horse and a hole in the ground.

T
he barn smelled of horses and hay and dust. Parker felt as out of place as a pimp in a confessional. He almost turned on his heel and headed back the way he'd come. Instead he spied a stable hand, and asked for directions to the stall where Lily Cassidy's favorite horse was normally kept. The whiskered cowboy pointed him in the right direction, then went about his business with little more than a nod.

There was a stack of hay outside a set of wide double doors. Somebody had unloaded twenty-five or thirty bales of something—he thought he remembered reading somewhere that the golden-colored product was straw—in the shade near the barn. He didn't see any particularly unique-looking horses. But then, he was honest enough with himself to admit that he hadn't come to look at animals, no matter how magnificent they were supposed to be.

He'd come for a glimpse of a woman he'd claimed he didn't need.

The August afternoon was quiet but for the occasional lowing of a cow, the whinny of horses. In the distance, a herd of cattle lumbered toward greener pastures.

A trail led from a gate on the far side of the corral. Parker stared at it, willing a certain dark-haired woman and her mother to appear.

Parker was much better at arguing cases in court than conjuring up a woman on a horse. Ryan had said Hannah
and Lily had been gone for two hours. Surely they would be back soon.

He looked all around him for a comfortable place to wait. In the movies, cowboys perched on fences. A cowboy would have saddled up a horse and gone looking for Hannah. Parker was no cowboy. He was just a man, agitated and weary from too many nights with too little sleep.

He tried pacing. It didn't take him long to realize that pacing didn't have the same calming effect when it was done on grass instead of on carpet. He strode to the bales of straw stacked in the shade nearby. He lowered to one, and carefully leaned his back against another. It wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. He stretched his legs out, crossed his arms at his chest, and tried to figure out what he would say to her.

 

“Parker, wake up.”

He opened his eyes, only to find Hannah's face directly in front of him, the sun casting a golden glow all around her. At first he thought he was dreaming, but the hand on his arm was real.

“You fell asleep,” she said.

“That's impossible. I can't sleep without you.”

“You never slept with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Parker,” she said, “you're not making any sense.”

He blinked. He was sprawled out on a bed made of bales, several dry blades of straw poking through his coat and pants. Hannah was leaning over him, more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. “Nothing makes sense anymore,” he said.

She made no reply.

“My fica is dying.”

“What?”

“My fica plant.” He sat up, wincing because his leg was asleep. “Reed moved back home. The house is quiet. And the fica is dying.”

Hannah straightened slowly. She didn't know what to say. Parker was still groggy from sleep. He was probably lonely now that Reed was gone.

She knew how it felt to be lonely.

“You miss Reed. That's understandable. It'll probably take a little while to get used to living alone again.”

“Reed's fine. He isn't the one I miss.”

Hannah had thought she'd shed all the tears she was capable of shedding. She'd been wrong. Moisture blurred her vision. She'd never seen Parker this way, bits of straw stuck in his hair, the shadow of a five o'clock beard darkening his chin, his suit wrinkled.

“I miss you, Hannah.”

Don't listen to him, she told her heart.

“I miss your smile, your scent. I miss the way you make me think. The way you shiver when it's seventy-five degrees out. The way it takes you an hour to walk around the block.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart hadn't listened. He was getting to her, one word at a time.

Making one last valiant effort to remain strong, she put a little distance between them. “We can't go back to the way things were between us. I can't do that. I should have listened to you in the beginning.”

“No, Hannah. You were right. I was the one who was wrong.”

She stared out over the Texas hill country Ryan loved so much. Just yesterday she'd overheard two of his men talking about branding the new calves. With Parker so close, she couldn't even work up a decent amount of disgust for the archaic practice.

“I love you, Hannah.”

She turned slowly at the sound of those three powerful words. Parker was standing, his body in the sun, his face in shadow. His voice had been like the wind after midnight, a deep sigh, a slow sweep across her senses. She tried to tell herself he wanted her, and wanting someone and loving them were two entirely different things. But he took a step in her direction, the action bringing him fully into the light. Her gaze delved his, and she didn't know what to think.

She'd never come across a man she understood less and who drew her more. “You love me?” she whispered.

He took another step closer. “I'm as surprised as you are.”

He could turn her inside out with just a look, but when he unleashed his subtle brand of humor, her knees went weak and her mind turned to mush. She absolutely, positively, forbade herself to give in to the yearning washing over her. Still, a tiny ray of hope, like sunshine, warmed her more thoroughly than the sun.

“How romantic.”

Parker had always known Hannah was strong, but until these past ten days when she'd stood quietly by her mother's side, offering her unconditional love and steadfastness, he'd never realized just how strong she was. He'd felt her resolve softening a moment ago. And he knew he could probably kiss her. And the rest would be history.

But Hannah Cassidy deserved more than a romp in the hay. He strode the remaining distance to her. She probably deserved more than he could give her, but he wasn't as unselfish as she was. “Did you know that you're the only woman who's ever struck me speechless? You did it the first day we met. Remember? I thought you were propositioning me. You have no idea how many times during
the past few weeks I wished I'd have taken you up on what I thought you were offering.”

She studied him warily. Her eyes closed partway, a little line forming between them, a confused expression on her face.

A smile hovered close to his lips. “See what you've done to me? I never used to babble.”

“Oh, Parker.”

“I love you. And I want to be with you.”

She started to shake her head. His hand shot out, cupping her cheek, holding her head still. “You're beautiful. Your eyes, your hair, your mouth. Did I ever tell you that you have a poet's mouth? And your body, well…” He let his voice trail away. After all, he knew better than anyone that sometimes it was the things a man didn't say that made the greatest impact.

Taking up a different tack, he lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “It wouldn't matter if you weren't beautiful. That's the kicker. I'd want you, anyway. I guess that's what love is.”

She was looking at him, neither speaking nor moving. She didn't breathe. She didn't even blink.

“Hannah?”

Her expression changed to one of softness, of yearning. It was all the encouragement he needed. “I want to live with you. Laugh with you. Have a family with you.”

Hannah felt her eyes go wide and her breath catch in her throat. “Do you mean it?”

“Have I ever said anything I didn't mean?”

“You told that reporter you didn't believe in marriage.”

He conceded the point. “Besides that. Come on, Hannah. You might as well say you'll marry me, because I'll beg, barter, and badger you until you do. We Malones tend to be a pushy lot.”

“You don't say.”

“What do
you
say?”

For a moment everything went perfectly still, the cows, the horses, even the birds. It felt as if Hannah and Parker were alone in the world. They were the most quiet of all.

When she could find her voice, she whispered, “Say it again.”

A look of absolute bewilderment crossed his face a moment before he sputtered, “Was there one particular part you wanted me to repeat, or did you want to hear it all again?”

She moved closer, one hand going to his face, the other to the collar of his wrinkled shirt. “For now, you can just tell me you love me. A hundred times. You can tell me everything else later.”

His gaze settled on her mouth. “I love you, Hannah.”

She smiled.

He lowered his chin, and she just had to touch that delightful little indentation in its center.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

His lips skimmed her cheek. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He kissed her temple, her forehead, her nose, whispering his love for her at every stop. He murmured the words along the length of her neck. She lost track of the number of times he'd said it after that. But she didn't lose track of the sentiment and feelings they evoked.

“Parker,” she whispered. “You can stop now.”

“Stop?” he uttered, pulling her with him around the back of the haystack. “We've just begun.”

He hauled her to him and kissed her on the mouth. When the need for oxygen broke the kiss, he said, “Does this mean you'll marry me?”

She nodded.

And he smiled. “It looks as if the next wedding you plan is going to be your own.”

“I have a little confession to make.
Our
wedding is all planned. And just so you know, I love you, too.”

He reached for her hand. “Let's go tell your mother and Ryan.”

Hannah studied his hand, then placed hers firmly in his. As his fingers curled around her palm and fingers, warmth shimmered over her. She knew the future was still uncertain. Although Maria had gone back to her trailer in Leather Bucket, Hannah believed her younger sister was hiding something from the rest of the world. She was coming to accept the fact that she and Maria might never be as close as Hannah wanted them to be. It saddened her. The thought of her mother going to trial for a crime she couldn't possibly have committed sent worry all the way through her.

There were still storms to weather.

Squeezing Parker's hand, Hannah knew she wouldn't be going through them alone.

Lily and Ryan, who had been watching through a window as Hannah and Parker drove up, met them in the courtyard. Lily was thrilled with her daughter's happiness. All four of them went inside, where Rosita insisted she'd known it all along. Everyone laughed. Looking at these people who meant the world to her, Hannah felt optimistic for the first time in weeks. There was strength in numbers.

Most importantly, she thought, meeting Parker's gaze, there was strength in love.