Broken: The Cavanaugh Brothers Page 9

  “Not it.”

  Mac beamed. “That’s my girl.” Then disappeared behind the door again.

  The next two dresses were horrible. One was knee length and pale pink, which did not suit Mac’s coloring at all, and the other fit well, but looked like lingerie. Sheridan even suggested Mac keep it for her wedding night. Which brought on a string of giggles so unlike the forewoman of the Triple C Ranch, Sheridan couldn’t help but join in. Even made her wish she’d brought along a little champagne to celebrate the occasion.

  Three more followed; two were decent, and one reminded Sheridan of the Black Swan. She was really starting to worry that they wouldn’t find anything right when the door opened again and it walked through.

  Moments like those can only be described as magical. Where Sheridan had been so sure of all the previous dresses—so sure they weren’t right—as Mac walked toward her, her entire body flooded with warmth and happiness and uncomplicated knowing. Sheridan covered her mouth with her hand, and, without her permission, tears sprang to her eyes.

  And Sheridan O’Neil did not do tears.

  She swiped them away quickly. But not before Mac noticed, and hurried forward, looking panicked. “Oh my God, is it that bad? I thought it fit pretty well and so did Elena.”

  Sheridan shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

  The words seemed to transform the woman, ease her, thrill her. She clasped her hands together. “Really?”

  “Elena?” Sheridan called past her. “This is it, isn’t it?”

  Elena was standing in the doorway, her blue eyes pinned to the stunningly beautiful, floor-length, white strapless dress with tulle and lace appliqué on both the bodice and hemline. “Deacon won’t know what hit him, honey,” she said. “I think you got your wedding duds.”

  Strange sensations washed over Sheridan as she watched Mac turn in slow circles in front of the mirror. And those unwelcome tears . . . Where had they come from? Yes, Mac looked beautiful and excited for her big day, but that wasn’t what had brought on the waterworks.

  Was it the idea of marriage? Or rather the belief that it wasn’t an institution she would ever be entering into?

  She searched her heart. Her father’s choice to leave and her mother’s struggle to put food on the table and a roof over their heads had certainly caused Sheridan to form many opinions and to resist trusting anyone with her heart. But her decision to never get married had always brought her comfort, not tears.

  James Cavanaugh’s movie-star handsome face entered her mind, those aqua eyes fringed by dark lashes lifting to pin her where she stood. Was it him? This new presence in her life? This man who told her outright that he liked her, kissed her like he wanted to consume her, connected with horses like it was the most spiritual act in the world? Were her tears about him?

  Or about the realization that, for the first time in her life, she might want to wear a white dress for someone?

  “Sheridan?” Mac called, pulling her from her thoughts.

  She looked up. “Yes?”

  Looking slightly sheepish, Mac walked over to her again. She looked like an angel. A beautiful, funny, tough, loving, country angel.

  “Would you consider . . .” She paused, looked away, then back again. “I know this is unusual, but I don’t have many friends who aren’t cowboys or ranchers.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Sheridan said.

  “What I mean is, I don’t have many friends who are women.”

  “Oh.” It was something Sheridan understood all too well, and could empathize with.

  Mac stumbled on quickly. “I work so much, and the people I work with are mostly men.”

  Sheridan nodded. “I understand. I actually have the same problem.”

  Mac brightened, her eyes growing hopeful. “Well, then, maybe you would consider it.”

  “Consider what?”

  “Being my maid of honor?”

  The room seemed to bow with the weight of that question. And the responsibility. It was so stunning, so unexpected. It didn’t belong to her. She hardly knew this woman.

  Taking Sheridan’s silence as a sign to explain further, Mac continued. “I know you work for Deacon, but that just can’t be the thing that stops us from being friends. I think it would be a real shame if it did, don’t you?”

  Sheridan sighed. “It’s a very important job, Mac . . .”

  The woman grinned and cocked her head to the side. “It would mean a lot to me.”

  “I’ve never been in a wedding. I wouldn’t know what to do—”

  “It’s not all that much,” she jumped in quickly. “I promise. You’ll need a dress. So, a couple of fittings. And you can pick out your own. I’d just like it to be red. And there’s a few odds and ends to see to, and the rehearsal dinner. It’s usually hosted by the groom’s parents, but they’re not here so . . . The job is going to the maid of honor and the best man.” She grimaced. “I guess that isn’t a small number of things. You can say no.”

  Sheridan knew she could say no. That Mac would understand and all would be fine. But the woman’s impassioned words about friendship had pierced her heart a few centimeters, and Sheridan didn’t want to let her down. She gave Mac an amused shake of the head. “I’m not going to say no.”

  “You’re not?” the woman squealed, then quickly composed herself. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Moving easily into professional mode, Sheridan took out her phone. “I suppose I should get started on a few of the main things. The dinner, mostly, since that’s going to need some planning. Who’s the best man?”

  Mac glanced up, her blue eyes flashing like twin sapphires. “Someone both easy to work with and easy on the eyes.”

  Sheridan’s brows slid together. “What do you mean?

  A slow smile spread across the bride-to-be’s face. “The best man is James Cavanaugh.”

  Eight

  James sat on his naked ass in the river, letting the current move over and against him, healing his slightly sunburned skin and washing away all the grime and sweat of the day. It was something he and Deac and Cole had done when they were boys. Especially in the summertime. Back then, the river wasn’t as deep as it was now. Maybe reached their knees, if that. And they’d had a hell of a time covering up their bits and pieces when they were sitting. But since no one really came out that way, except a stray cow, a few chattering squirrels, or other ranch varmints, they didn’t think all that much about it. Later, after Cass was taken from that movie-theater bathroom, taken from all of them, it had been their solace and their escape when Mama would forget herself and allow her anger to drive her actions. James’s hands fisted in the water. Sometimes she had hurt them with objects, sometimes with words. Most of the time, he’d wished she’d used a whip or a paddle, her hand or a wooden spoon. Anything but words. There was nothing that crushed a boy more than hearing his mama tell him he was a worthless coward for not having protected his sister.

  Except maybe a father who looked the other way when she did.

  Movement and the rustle of leaves echoed all around the riverbank. No doubt one of those ranch critters he’d just been thinking about, though that didn’t stop him from running his gaze over the heavily treed area. Like he’d told Sheridan last night; this was a small town with lots of good country folk. But that didn’t mean there weren’t a few vipers slithering around.

  When the sound came again, he knew he had company of the human variety. “Who’s there?” he called out. “If you don’t have four legs and a tail, I’d suggest you show yourself.”

  To his surprise, Sheridan stepped out from behind a tree about halfway between the river and the bunkhouse. She looked real pretty, kind of dressed up for a day mucking around. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she was wearing a black silk tank and tight jeans that were tucked into an expensive pair of boots. His chest tighten
ed, and below the surface of the water, things were starting to get problematic. As in, he wasn’t going to be standing up anytime soon.

  She headed his way, but stopped by a large buttonbush shrub when she got a look at where he was, and the clothes that were tossed into a pile on the bank.

  “I knocked on your door,” she called out to him. “You weren’t there.” She laughed at herself. “Probably because you’re here.”

  She seemed rattled, and he both loved and hated that he had that effect on her. “Something you need, Sheridan?”

  Her eyes dipped from his face and traveled down his chest. “I was just helping Mac choose a dress for the wedding . . .”

  “Oh, right,” he said, wondering if she liked what she saw. He knew he did. With every movement she made, his mouth got drier, and shit worsened down south. Tight jeans and boots really worked on her. “How’d that go?”

  “Good. Great, actually.” She covered another couple of feet, stopping beside the nearly buried rock that held his clothes. “She found the perfect thing. A gorgeous dress. She looked amazing. She’s going to be a stunning bride. I can just see her, you know? Walking down the aisle, the sun setting all around her, the breeze off the lake . . .”

  “I think I can see it too,” he said with a thread of amusement. He never would’ve figured Sheridan O’Neil for someone who got all flustered over wedding duds.

  Her eyes shot to his and she shrugged. “Got carried away. All that lace and satin messes with your rational mind. Just FYI.”

  He grinned. Damn, she was adorable. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Good. And I’m not positive, but I think tulle and tiaras might have the same effect.”

  “Oh, shit,” he said completely deadpan.

  Her eyes went wide and she stilled. “What?” She looked around for something, anything that could’ve caused his reaction.

  He sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to stop wearing my tiaras.”

  For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she started laughing, and the sound drilled a hole in his chest, trying most ardently to get to his heart.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Very smart.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have a point in coming here. And it’s not to talk about the mental effects of fabric choices or to sneak up on you when you’re nak—” She cut herself off, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.

  Hell, James mused, if she continued like this he was going to have no choice but to rush out of the water and kiss her again. Hard-on, or not.

  “You’re Deacon’s best man,” she said finally.

  “I am.” If he asked her to come closer, right up to the water’s edge, would she? And if she did, and if he pulled her into the river with him, would she be mad? Getting that silk shirt wet, those tight jeans even tighter? Or would she welcome his touch, him holding her?

  “I’m Mac’s maid of honor,” she announced, tugging him from his thoughts.

  His brows drifted up. “Is that right?”

  “I know. It’s crazy. We hardly know each other. It’s just she doesn’t have many friends who are girls.”

  He gestured to his face. “It’s not surprise you think you’re seeing here.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “What you’re seeing is relief. Being the best man is serious pressure. You don’t want to add to it by having some crazy stranger take up the part of the maid of honor.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” she said with humor.

  “Now, now. It’s not just that. There’s happiness too. For Mac. She’s a good egg. Like a sister to me and Cole. And you’re right, she doesn’t have a ton of female friends. It’s nice for her to have someone like you by her side.”

  The humor in her gray eyes died away and in its place was a softness, a genuine warmth that made his insides crackle. “She told me that we host the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.”

  “With our parents gone, I suppose that’s the best option,” he said.

  “Do you have any ideas?” she asked him.

  “I . . .”

  “For the dinner.”

  “Well . . .”

  “It’s coming up pretty quickly.”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “You want the truth?”

  “Always,” she answered.

  “I was planning on thinking about it the morning of.”

  “Thinking? The morning . . .” Her eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious?” She sounded as if his lack of enthusiasm was tantamount to kicking a puppy.

  “Come on now,” he chided. “It’s just family and close friends going to that thing. We can take them anywhere. The Bull’s Eye maybe.”

  “I see.” She started chewing her lip.

  Oh Lord. “You want to plan something, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded, then quickly amended, “But you don’t have to do anything. I can take care of the whole event. I’m very good at this kind of thing.”

  “I bet you are.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You already have an idea.”

  It was her turn to look sheepish. “Kind of.”

  Normally, in a situation like this one—and hell, if the maid of honor had been anyone else—James would’ve said, “Thank you very much, ma’am, and just tell me where to park my horse that night.” But it was Sheridan and, God help him, that made him want to get involved.

  “Turn around, Miss O’Neil,” he commanded good-naturedly.

  She looked offended. “I told you, you don’t have to be involved. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Good God, woman. I’m not asking you to leave. Just to turn around so I can get out of the water and put my clothes on.”

  “Oh,” she said, her entire demeanor changing. “Right. Turning around now.” Then promptly gave him her back.

  James stood up and trudged out of the water. “Listen, Sheridan, I want to apologize again for last night—”

  “There’s no need.”

  “There is,” he insisted, heading over to the rock. He grabbed his jeans and yanked them on. “I was a jackass. I scared you—”

  “Okay.” She turned back around. Her eyes dropped immediately to his bare chest and her cheeks flamed. “Let’s get something straight. You didn’t scare me. I wasn’t afraid of you.”

  His gut twisted. Just the words coming out of her mouth made him sick. “Sheridan . . .”

  “I was afraid of me, James. That kiss . . .” She chewed her lip for a second and released a weighty breath. “Oh my God . . . It was magical. I’ve never felt that out of control. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to think. And I was scared I’d do something . . .”

  “What?” he asked, existing somewhere between wanting to know and knowing it was dangerous as hell to know.

  “Life altering,” she said finally. “You don’t want to get into something serious or committed, and neither do I.”

  No matter how much truth her words held, James despised them. It almost would’ve been easier if she had been afraid of him. Now he knew she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And like him, she was trying to tamp it down, bury it.

  Where the hell did they go from here?

  He walked up to where she was standing. “Come on, maid of honor.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “My place.” His chin dropped and he said in all seriousness, “To talk, plan this shindig.” And to try to forget she’d just called their kiss magical.

  • • •

  Sheridan paced the living room floor of the bunkhouse as she listened to the sound of a shower running. James was in there. Naked once again. Water hitting those waves of abdominal muscles that she’d seen up close and personal down at the river. Not for the first time she wondered if Mac had known what her soon-to-be brother-in
-law was doing when she’d suggested Sheridan go and find him to discuss their ideas for the rehearsal dinner. She couldn’t have, right? Granted, Mac seemed keen on the whole matchmaking thing between Sheridan and James, but she wasn’t keeping tabs on the guy’s comings and goings.

  Even with her eyes open and focused on the sizable living space and its furnishings, the image of James Cavanaugh in the river—and out of it—was burned on her retinas.

  She stopped near the short hallway that led to the bathroom. Would it be irrational, inappropriate, and several other adjectives for her to go into the bathroom and offer up her shampooing services? He had such great hair. And sometimes, it was hard to reach the back of the scalp.

  Groaning at her insanity, Sheridan headed for the couch. She sat in one corner and just let the breeze through the open windows soothe her. The fading sunlight too. It seemed every spot in River Black came armed with beauty in some form or another. She’d miss it when it was time to go.

  She sighed a little wistfully. Just a couple more weeks and she’d be leaving River Black. After the wedding and the completion of construction on the house, she was pretty sure Deacon would want her back in the office in Dallas.

  And hell, that was what she should be wanting too. She’d worked her ass off to get where she was. A crush on a cowboy was not going to derail her dreams and goals. No matter how amazing the cowboy happened to be. Giving up a solid future you could see and control for a romance . . . she’d seen how that ended.

  Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the incoming text. Her mouth turned into a tight, thin line. That bastard was working her last nerve. She was pretty convinced that Caleb Palmer was buying inferior materials and pocketing the difference, but she hadn’t found definitive proof yet. She would though, and then she’d have enough to fire him, and bring in a reputable contractor. Hopefully all before Deacon returned.