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He sure as hell needed some form of protection, some barrier to establish a safe distance from this woman and the unexpected, unwanted way she made him feel. If his disastrous marriage had taught him one lesson, it was that he far preferred being numb.
“Mr. Porter, nice to see you again.”
Her smile was genuine, but Jamison couldn’t imagine her words were true. He’d been abrupt the day before, unnerved by his reaction and bordering on rude. “Ms. McClaren. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this morning.”
“All part of Hillcrest House’s service as an all-inclusive wedding venue,” she said with a smile to Lindsay before turning that full wattage on Jamison. “But we are a hotel first and foremost, so I hope you enjoyed your first night under our roof.”
He’d heard his share of come-ons in his lifetime. There was nothing the least bit seductive in her smile or her voice. But his imagination, as suddenly uncontrollable as his hormones, had him picturing an intimacy beyond sleeping under her roof and instead sleeping in her bed...
Jamison didn’t know if his thoughts were written on his face, but whatever Rory saw had enough color blooming in her cheeks to rival the roses on her dress. Her lips parted on an inhaled breath, and Jamison felt drawn closer, captured by the moment as the awareness stretched between them until she dropped her gaze.
“And Hannah!”
That quickly, the enticing image was banished, but not the pained embarrassment lingering in its wake. He wasn’t some gawky teenager lusting after the high school cheerleader. He was a grown man, a father...a father with a daughter he was terrified of failing—just like he had her mother.
“How are you this morning?” Undeterred by the lack of response, Rory’s lyrical voice rose and fell, and Jamison didn’t want to think about the slight tremor under the words. Didn’t want to think she might be as affected as he was by the chemistry between them. “Do you like your room at the hotel? You know, the Bluebell has always been my favorite.”
The Bluebell...
What kind of hotel designated their rooms by a type of flower?
“It’s all part of Hillcrest’s romantic charm,” Rory had explained.
He had no need for romance or charm or bright-eyed brunettes. He wanted logic, order. He wanted the normalcy of sequential room numbers, for God’s sake!
But the Bluebell was one of the hotel’s few two-room suites and, while small, it offered a living space and tiny kitchenette. The comfortable room was subtly decorated in shades of blue and white.
If only it wasn’t for the name...and the reminder of flowers that had him thinking far too often of Rory’s dark-lashed, vibrant blue eyes.
“I like purple,” Hannah answered, surprising him too much with her willingness to talk to a virtual stranger for him to point out bluebell wasn’t a color.
“Me, too,” Rory agreed as she caught on to his daughter’s twist in the topic.
Hannah’s forehead wrinkled. “You said you like blue.”
“Actually, Hannah, rainbow is my favorite color...” The wedding coordinator bent at the waist so she and Hannah were almost eye to eye as she shared that piece of nonsense with the little girl. “That way I never have to pick just one.”
A lock of her hair slid forward like a silken ribbon and curved around her breast. The dark strands were a stark contrast against the white fabric, but it was the similarities that had Jamison sucking in a deep breath. Soft cotton, soft hair, soft skin...
Realizing he was staring, he jerked his gaze away. Falling back on good manners now that good sense seemed to have deserted him, he ground out, “Hannah, you remember Ms. McClaren?”
His daughter nodded, her eyes too serious for her still-baby face as she peered up at the wedding coordinator. She wrapped her index finger in the hem of her shirt, holding on the same way she had to the pink-and-white blanket Jamison remembered her carrying with her everywhere when she was a toddler. “She’s Miss Lindsay’s fairy godmother.”
Jamison blinked at Hannah’s unexpected announcement. “She’s... Oh, right.” That was how Lindsay had introduced the woman. The bride had sung Rory McClaren’s praises, complimenting her on finding the perfect music, the perfect flowers, the perfect menu—as if any of that attention to detail would lead to the perfect marriage.
Jamison knew better. He was cynical enough to wonder if Rory knew the same, but not cynical enough to believe it. Everything about her was too genuine, too hopeful for him to convince himself it was all for show. But even if the wedding coordinator believed what she was selling, that didn’t mean Jamison was buying.
“She’s not really a fairy godmother,” he told his daughter firmly.
“Of course not,” the dark-haired pixie said with a conspiring wink at the little girl, who gazed back with shy curiosity. “And you can call me Rory.”
Jamison’s jaw tightened. No doubt Rory thought the shared moment with Hannah was harmless, but the last thing he needed was for his daughter to put faith in fairy tales. Especially when the one thing Hannah wanted was the one thing no one—not even a fairy godmother, if such a thing existed—could give her.
Rory’s smile faltered when she glanced up into his face. Straightening, she rallied by getting down to business and glancing between Lindsay and Hannah. “So, are we ready to start trying on some gorgeous dresses?”
“I can’t wait!” Lindsay announced, clapping her hands in front of her as if trying to hold on to her excitement. “I’ve picked out some of the cutest dresses, and you have got to help me decide which one to choose.”
“That is what I’m here for. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask!”
And with statements like that, Jamison thought, was it any wonder Hannah thought the woman was some kind of fairy godmother? Even he half expected a magic wand to appear in the delicate hand she waved through the air.
Better to leave now before he—before Hannah—could get sucked any further into a belief in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.
“About that. I think Hannah might be a little too young for all of this.”
Lindsay sank back onto her heels, her earlier excitement leaking out of her. He wasn’t a man to go back on his word, but he never should have agreed to have Hannah in the wedding in the first place. With his in-laws pointing out the need for a female influence in Hannah’s life, he’d thought—hell, Jamison didn’t know what he’d thought. But the whole idea was a mistake. “Trying on clothes isn’t her idea of fun.”
This time, though, the wedding coordinator’s smile didn’t dim in the least. If anything, an added spark came to her eyes. “The shopping gene hasn’t kicked in yet?”
“I’m hoping it skips a generation.”
Rory laughed as though he’d been joking, brightening her expression even more, like a spotlight showcasing a work of art. “You and all fathers everywhere.”
It was a small thing—Rory categorizing him as a typical dad—but some of the pressure eased in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t so obvious from the outside that he was at such a loss when it came to his own daughter. Best to quit while he was, if not ahead, then at least breaking even.
But before he could once again make his excuses, Rory turned to Hannah. “Well, maybe Miss Lindsay can go first. What do you think, Hannah? Are you ready to help?”
“Ms. McClaren—”
“Why does she need help?” It was Hannah who interrupted this time, coming out from behind him far enough to look from Rory to Lindsay. “She’s a grown-up, and big girls should be old enough to get dressed by themselves.”
Jamison closed his eyes and wished for a sinkhole to open up in the sidewalk and swallow him whole at his words coming out of Hannah’s mouth. Crap. Was that really how he sounded? So...condescending and demeaning?
“Hannah...” He’d only pulled out the big-girl card because Hannah was so filled with ideas of what she would do when she was older. Or at least she had been.
But if Rory was ready to take that “typical dad” title away from him and flag him with “worst father ever,” she didn’t let it show as she knelt down in front of his little girl. Close enough this time that he could have stroked her hair, as dark as Hannah’s was light, and he shoved his free hand into his pocket before insanity had him reaching out...
“You know, Hannah,” Rory was saying, her voice filled with that same touch of sharing a secret she’d conveyed earlier with that wink, “funny thing about being a big girl...sometimes we still need help.”
As she spoke, she reached up and slipped the bright pink band from Hannah’s hair. With a few quick swipes of her hands and without a comb or brush in sight, she had the little girl’s curls contained in a smooth, well-centered ponytail. “Not a lot of help. Just a little, just enough to make things right.”
To make things right... Jamison didn’t have a clue how to go about making things right in his daughter’s world. Especially not when he saw the open longing and amazement in Hannah’s face as she reached up to touch her now-perfect ponytail.
“So what do you think?” Rory asked as she straightened, her full skirt swirling around her legs. The roses on her dress might have been embroidered, but somehow Jamison still caught a sweet, fresh scent, as if she’d risen from a bed of wildflowers. “Do you want to help Lindsay with her dress for the wedding?”
Hannah hesitated, and Jamison braced himself for the “I don’t want to” response. Instead, she surprised him, nodding once and sliding a little farther out from behind him.
“And maybe, after Lindsay’s done, we could find a dress for you. Just to try on—you know, like playing dress-up. And then you can put your everyday clothes back on, because who wants to wear dresses all the time?”
Hannah reached out and brushed her tiny hand over Rory’s skirt. “You do.”
Rory tilted her head to the side as she laughed. “You caught me. I do like wearing dresses. But not all the time.”
Jamison might have only met the woman, but he already sensed how Rory’s clothes—elegant and old-fashioned—suited her. He had a hard time picturing her in anything else.
Now, if he could only stop himself from picturing her wearing nothing at all...
Chapter Two (#ulink_b828210a-1f6f-59a5-b85d-fd8c65fe073f)
When Rory McClaren was five years old, she went through a princess phase. Her cousin Evie would likely say she never fully recovered from her belief in true love and happy endings and fascination with gorgeous ball gowns. Or the hidden longing to wear a tiara. On a Tuesday. Just for fun.
And while Rory had denied those longings throughout her adult life, her new position as wedding coordinator for Hillcrest House brought out every once-upon-a-time memory. She might have laughed it off when Lindsay Brookes had introduced her as a fairy godmother, but it was secretly how she viewed her job.
Of course, Rory also knew what Evie would say about that.
Coordinating weddings is a serious business, not a game of pretend. And Hillcrest House isn’t a fairy-tale castle, no matter what you thought as a kid.
Neither she nor Evie had planned on this recent stay in Clearville, but the two of them were in this together—doing all they could to keep Hillcrest House running while their aunt was going through cancer treatments. Evie, a CPA, was handling the books and the staff while Rory was taking on a guest relations role as well as event planning for the venue.
So far, Lindsay Brookes had been a dream to work with, but her wedding to Ryder Kincaid came with some extra pressure. Not only did Rory consider Lindsay a friend, the pretty businesswoman also worked for Clearville’s chamber of commerce. She was constantly promoting the small Northern California town and its businesses.
Rory wanted to prove all the brochures and promotions touting Hillcrest House as the all-inclusive wedding destination were as good as gold. The weight of responsibility pressed hard on her shoulders, but she was determined not to crumble.
She could certainly withstand a reticent best man and his shy flower girl daughter. Despite Jamison’s claims that she didn’t enjoy shopping, Hannah was gazing at the elegantly posed mannequins and racks of lacy dresses lining the walls of the small shop while her sharp-eyed father watched from close by.
With her tiny hands clasped behind her back, the little girl was clearly familiar with the phrase look but don’t touch. Under her breath, she named off the color of each dress she came across in a singsong voice, and Rory didn’t think it would take much to rid Hannah of her uncertainty in her role as a flower girl.
Her smile faded, though, when she caught sight of the storm clouds gathering in Jamison’s eyes. Something told her erasing his concerns wouldn’t be so easy.
Rory had hoped her initial impression of Ryder Kincaid’s best friend had been a rush to judgment. She’d told herself that with a good night’s sleep and a chance to relax and unwind, Jamison Porter would be a different man. A man she could handle with professional competence as she guided him through the duties of the best man from suggestions for a fun yet tasteful bachelor party to tips on a heartfelt toast.
But Jamison Porter was still every bit as intense and edgy as he had been the day before—and not a man easily handled.
It wasn’t the first time Rory had been to this shop with a reluctant man in tow. Not every couple held to the superstition that the groom shouldn’t see the bride in her gown. But none of the men had seemed so out of place as Jamison did. At over six feet, with rich chestnut hair and cool gray eyes, all rugged angles and sharp planes, he wore the tall, dark and handsome label to perfection. The airy dresses around him seemed as insubstantial in comparison as dandelion fluff, ready to disintegrate with a single puff of breath from his lips.
Not that Jamison Porter’s lips were anything Rory should be thinking about...
“So, you’re the best man,” she said, cringing at the exuberant sound of her own voice.
“That’s what Ryder tells me.”
The hint of self-deprecating humor loosened a strand in the single father’s too tightly laced personality. One that made him even more attractive than his classically handsome good looks.
But that was the last thing Rory needed. Their first meeting, as abrupt and tension filled as those moments had been, had sparked an awareness that had her thinking of the handsome single father far too often.
And just now while standing outside the bridal shop, when she asked what she’d thought to be an innocent question about his first night at Hillcrest...
The intensity in his expression served notice there was nothing innocent about Jamison Porter. Everything about the man had Rory on high alert, raw nerve endings leaving her jumpy and out of sorts. Off her game at a time when she needed to be at her best.
Evie had taken a leave of absence from her job at the accounting firm to help out their aunt, confident they would hold her position for her, and had sublet her fabulous condo in Portland.
Whereas Rory—
Rory had nothing left. She couldn’t afford not to come to Clearville. Back in LA, she had no boyfriend, no apartment, no job and a reputation left in tatters all thanks to her professional—and personal—failure.
Pushing thoughts of her short-lived interior design career aside, she focused on the most important aspects of the wedding.
“Ryder and Lindsay make such a wonderful couple. It’s amazing the way they’ve reunited after so many years, and seeing them together... Well, they’re crazy about each other.”
Jamison gave a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Crazy is one word for it.”
“And what word would you use?”
He paused for a moment, and Rory had a feeling he was searching for the least offensive description. “Sudden,” he said finally. “They just got engaged.”
“True, but they’ve known each other since high school.” Lindsay had filled Rory in on the couple’s history, how she had been a shy bookworm with a huge crush on the popular quarterback. “They went their separate ways after graduation, but from what Lindsay says, she never stopped loving Ryder.”
And while Ryder had gone on to marry another woman, Rory had no doubt he was in love with his future bride.
“She’s a wonderful person. A great mother...”
The dark clouds in Jamison’s eyes started flashing lightning and Rory’s voice trailed away as she realized that was one box she shouldn’t have opened. Unable to leave well enough alone, she couldn’t help asking, “Have you met Robbie?”
He gave a quick nod. “I have.”
“He’s a great kid.”
“One Ryder didn’t even know about until a few months ago.”
Rory sucked in a startled breath. Okay, so Jamison was breaking out the big guns to take on the elephant in the room. Fortunately, the curtain to the dressing room opened and Lindsay stepped out before he had time to reload.
Hannah’s breathless voice broke the silence that followed. “You look beautiful.”
This was the first time Rory had seen Lindsay in her wedding dress, and she couldn’t hold back a whisper of her own. “Oh, Lindsay. Hannah is right. That dress is perfect.”
Having worked on the flowers, the music and the table settings for the reception, Rory knew Lindsay had an elegant, timeless vision for the wedding, so it was no surprise her dress reflected that same taste.
The sheath-style gown was gorgeous in its simplicity; lace sleeves capped a straight column of white satin, and a hint of beadwork decorated the bodice and the lace insert that veed out into a modest train.
Lindsay gave a self-conscious laugh as she glanced at the silent member of the group. “It’s not bad luck for the best man to see the bride in her gown, is it?”
To his credit, Jamison tipped his head at Lindsay. “You make a beautiful bride.”
Lindsay blushed at the compliment, but while the words were right, Rory knew in her heart Jamison thought Ryder and Lindsay getting married was wrong.
A gentle tug on her skirt distracted Rory from the troubling thought. “Miss Rory, is it my turn to dress like a princess?”
She smiled down at Hannah. She was an adorable little girl with a riot of blond curls, big brown eyes and a shyness that tugged at Rory’s heart.
