He was dead.
But I wasn’t. And I knew with all my heart that Darren would hate it if I spent the rest of my life only loving my daughter. I could almost feel him there, reassuring me. Rubbing my back like he often had when he knew I was upset. Shoving me forward rather than holding me back.
I wasn’t sure how far I could step out from behind the black veil of widowhood I’d been living in, but for tonight?this one night?I was going to let myself just be a woman attracted to a man. Nothing else would come from it, anyway. Brady O’Neil was a superstar. He was in Grand Orchard simply because his family was there, and he would be gone as quickly as he’d shown up. I didn’t want anything more from him. Not even sex. I just wanted to know I was desirable. To let this flirt of a man, this Pan-like creature, spread some of his charm my way.To pretend for a few minutes that someone might want me—ugly scars, baggage, and all.
Brady
SOMEBODY LIKE YOU
“And I let go of all my lonely yesterdays
I've forgiven myself for the mistakes I've made
Now there's just one thing the only thing I want to do
I want to love somebody, love somebody like you.”
Performed by Keith Urban
Written by Shanks / Urban
Tristan was clueless to the factthat she was taking my breath away. I had a feeling she didn’t see herself as someone who could stop men in their tracks even when she’d stopped me in mine. It wasn’t just her blonde hair and soft curves. It wasn’t just the glow of the setting sunlight that seemed to surround her. It was the steel warrior’s soul at her core, full of grit and resolve.
She was stunning.
Now, with a handful of shots in her, she’d shed a portion of the barrier normally keeping her from the rest of the world. I’d only seen the barrier ever disappear when she was talking with Hannah or Stacy. With everyone else, it was always there, a thin sheet of chainmail hanging over her body.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice was light, without the anguish that trailed inside it as often as her armor.
I nodded.
“Why haven’t you opened the box from Grams?”
I spun the empty shot glass several times.
“Never mind,” she said, and I heard the wall coming back up, and I wanted to kick myself around the room and back for letting it happen.
“No. It’s okay,” I said, meeting her gaze, curiosity and trepidation—hers and mine—mingling together. “I suppose it’s because once I do, I won’t hear from her ever again. Whatever’s inside…whatever she put…it’s like one last conversation. One last teachable moment.”
She looked down and then back up. “Sorry. I always seem to ruin the mood.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, waving the empty glass at Mick. He smiled a knowing smile and started throwing more alcohol in a shaker for us.
“Well, I’m not exactly a bubble of happiness on most occasions. It’s one of the things I admire about your sister…” she said, a breathy intake as she added on, “about you.”
“Cass is pretty incredible,” I told her honestly.
My gaze traveled to those full pink lips. The gloss that had been on them earlier was gone. Now, they would taste like the purple concoction we’d both been drinking, but I wondered what other flavors would linger there. What was the essence of her that would always lie underneath the scent of what she’d just consumed? Would it be the bitter chocolate I’d sensed on Friday?
A line dance song came on, and Stacy hollered out from across the room, “Tristan, bring that man out on the dance floor with us!”
Stacy’s husband was already leading her into the throng of dancers.
Mick set down the entireshaker. A little pitcher of shots.
I poured one for each of us and held it up to her. She clinked her glass with mine, we downed it, and then I pulled her from the stool toward bodies moving to the rhythm. Our fingers pulsed with energy, those sparkles of light that seemed to surround us every time we touched never once receding.
I felt Marco’s eyes on me from where he’d taken up a position near the door. He knew I didn’t do this sort of thing anymore—dance in a crowded room with a woman. I rarely did anything this personal out in the open, and I was worried for a moment that joining the crowd would mean a wave of people approaching me. But, as usual when I was in Grand Orchard, the town folk ignored me. No one asked for my autograph. No one asked to take a picture. The bar full of people who’d known me my whole life didn’t care that I had three platinum albums out in the world. They didn’t care that I’d sung onstage and in videos with John Legend and Thomas Rhett. They just saw Cormac, the kid who’d worked at Elana’s and would forget his right hand if he was playing his guitar.
