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.
But it was the expression on Jamison’s face that had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. A mix of love and uncertainty that held him frozen in place, as if he, too, were bound by the look, don’t touch mantra.
“It sure is, sweetie,” Rory said, injecting a positive note into her voice though she didn’t know which of the Porters needed her encouragement more. “Miss Lindsay has a whole bunch of dresses for you to try on.” Tilting her head in the direction of the changing room, Rory asked Jamison, “Do you want...”
Looking torn between Daddy duty and a man’s typical reaction of running as far as he could from anything girlie, he said, “I, um, think I’ll wait out here.”
“What do you think, Hannah?” Rory asked when the little girl hesitated. “See, your daddy wants the princess dresses to be a surprise, so he’ll wait in that chair over there.”
Like father, like daughter. Hannah looked indecisively from her father to the curtained dressing room and back again. Finally her blond head bounced in a nod. “You wait there, Daddy, and no peeking.”
Rory wouldn’t have thought Jamison Porter could look any more uncomfortable than he had two seconds ago, but his daughter’s instructions for him not to go peeking into the women’s dressing room had a slight flush darkening his cheeks.
Rory fought to hide a smile, but judging by the narrowing of Jamison’s eyes, she didn’t succeed.
Biting the inside of her lip, she shot a stern look in his direction. “You heard the girl, Mr. Porter. No peeking.”
For a split second, their eyes met, and Rory’s smile faded as something electric and powerful passed between them. Heat flared in Jamison’s eyes, a warning beacon, and she swallowed hard. He might not have looked behind the curtain, but when it came to her attraction to him, Rory feared he saw way too much.
* * *
The jingle of metal rings cut through Jamison’s relentless pacing, and he glanced over in time to see Rory slip through the curtain.
The one his little girl had warned him not to peek behind. His faced started to heat again at the thought. Not because his own kid made him out to sound like some kind of Peeping Tom—she was only four, after all. But because of the moment that had followed.
The moment when Rory had echoed his daughter’s words and his gaze had locked on hers and there’d been nothing—nothing—in his power that could keep him from mentally pulling back that curtain and picturing Rory McClaren wearing something far less than the old-fashioned dresses she favored.
Judging by the way her eyes had widened, she’d known it.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is Hannah—”
“She’s fine. The seamstress is taking some measurements, and Hannah wanted me to make sure you’re still waiting for her. She was a little nervous at first, but I think she’s getting into the spirit of things. So, please...” She nodded her head at the waiting chair. “Sit down and relax.”
He all but glared at the floral-print cushions that might as well have been covered with sharp thorns. Without some outlet for his excess energy, he’d likely explode. “Relaxing doesn’t come easy to me.”
“Really?” Rory drawled.
“That obvious, is it?” He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Maintaining a single-minded focus and blocking out the world around him had been a reflex since he was a kid.
His parents’ divorce—hell, their entire marriage—had been a battlefield, his childhood collateral damage. The fights, the cold silences, the endless digs when the other wasn’t around—Jamison had hated it all.
That volatile home life had made Jamison even more determined to keep the peace in his own marriage. He’d worked hard to give Monica everything she could need, everything she could want, everything she’d asked for and more.
And none of it had been enough to make her—or their marriage—happy.
Monica had always complained about the long hours he put in. Of course, Monica had complained about so many things that work became even more of a refuge.
A sweet giggle came from behind the curtain, and Rory murmured, “She’s a beautiful little girl.”
The innocent comment slammed through him. He needed to spend this time away from work with his daughter. He needed to find a way to reconnect, but he was at a