That was good. She sounded regretful but not angry. Surely, people would accept her explanation. Everyone knew Maggie Spencer wouldn’t lie.
“Is he gay?” Griffin asked conversationally.
Maggie’s eyes widened. “No. We had a healthy... I mean, we’re both busy so it wasn’t exactly... Just no.”
“Another woman? A gambling addiction? Internet porn?”
“Why can’t you believe I made the choice to walk away?”
“Because you always do what’s expected, and a union between the Spencers and the Stones is something people around here have wanted for ages.” He pulled up in front of her house and threw the Land Cruiser into Park. “You don’t have the guts to defy them.”
Too stunned to move as Griffin got out of the SUV, Maggie watched him walk around the front toward her side. It was like he’d clocked her with a sledgehammer. A man she hadn’t seen for almost a decade—a man who’d never said a nice thing to her in all the years they’d known each other—had just summed up her life in one sentence, and it didn’t reflect well on her.
Especially because it was true.
“You don’t know me,” she said through clenched teeth as he opened the door. She went to push past him, a challenge with her ankle, but it didn’t matter. Griffin scooped her into his arms, ignoring her protests, and stalked toward the front door.
“Is it locked?”
“No,” she muttered, “and put me down.”
“Once we’re inside.”
He shifted his hold to reach for the doorknob, pulling her more tightly against his chest. She couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of him, tempting and dark like every rebellious thought she’d ever had but never acted on.
His heat enveloped her and she fisted her hands in the lapels of his navy suit jacket. She had the unbidden urge to press her mouth to the suntanned skin of his throat and forced her gaze to remain fixed on his striped tie.
The house was quiet, and he set her gently on the sofa, then knelt down in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking your ankle.” He pushed up the fabric of her gown, revealing her open-toe sandals with the delicate pearl detail across the straps. The shoes were elegant and glamorous and she needed them off her feet about as much as she needed to breathe.
Yet Griffin touching her was too much when she was in pain and emotionally vulnerable.
“I can handle it.”
“Let me look.” He undid the ankle strap, and she was amazed at how gentle his calloused hands were as they gripped her leg. “I was a combat medic during my time in the army.”
The pain had lessened slightly, or maybe she’d become numb to it. “You wore your dress blues to your dad’s funeral.” It was the last time Griffin had been home to Stonecreek, although she doubted he considered the town his home any longer.
His broad shoulders stiffened, but he nodded.
“Are you out of the army now?”
Another slight nod.
She winced as he manipulated her ankle, rotating it gently to one side then the other. “Why did you leave?”
He glanced up at her, his gaze both guarded and intense. “Why didn’t you marry my brother?”
“I already tol—”
“Trevor did something, Maggie.” He lowered her foot to the floor and sat back as he studied her. “Tell me what it was.”
“So you can rush off and slay my dragons?” she asked with a laugh, flipping her gown down over her knees. “Playing the part of hero doesn’t suit you, Griffin.”
Something flashed in his gaze, but it was gone before she could name it. “An understatement, especially coming from you.” He stood and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Your ankle should be fine when the swelling goes down, but you might want to rethink your heel height in the future.”
She bent forward and undid the strap on her other shoe. “It was my wedding day. The shoes were special.”
“It’s a strange phenomenon,” he said quietly, “the focus on the details surrounding a wedding. Seems to me the only important part is a man and woman committed to loving each other for the rest of their lives.”
Emotion clogged her throat. “Yes, well... Trevor and I love each other. We’ve been friends forever. Everyone knows it.”
Griffin raised a thick brow. “Then what are you doing here?”
A car door slammed, saving her from answering.
“My family,” she whispered, glancing around wildly like she could find a place to hide. A ridiculous idea, because there was no hiding from what she’d done today. Not in Stonecreek.
“I’ll go out the back, then circle around to get my car.” Griffin was already moving toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “No one is going to want me here for this.”
I do, Maggie wanted to tell him, although she couldn’t figure out why. Griffin was nothing to her.
“Are you staying in town long?” she blurted, using the arm of the sofa to lever herself to standing. She needed to be on her own two feet—or at least the one that wasn’t screaming in pain—to face her grandmother.
Griffin looked over his shoulder, raking a hand through his already-tousled hair. The air between them sparked, his gaze going dark as Maggie sucked in a breath.
“Put some ice on that ankle,” he said instead of answering, then disappeared down the hall.
A moment later the front door burst open and various members of her family flooded through.
“Are you okay?” her father asked, tugging at his black bow tie.
“Are you crazy?” Vivian Spencer, Maggie’s grandmother, asked, pushing past her son. “You can’t call off the wedding, Mary Margaret. It isn’t done.”
“She just did.” Maggie’s sister, Morgan, followed Grammy into the house, picked up a cardboard box from a wingback chair and then sat down.
“No sass from you,” Vivian scolded, wagging a finger at Morgan.
Sixteen-year-old Morgan, the picture of teenage petulance, responded with an eye roll and a dismissive sigh. Grammy’s eyes narrowed, although her angry gaze returned to Maggie.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said, looking at each of her family members.
Her fourteen-year-old brother, Ben, shrugged out of his rented tux jacket. “You should have seen how bad people were freaking out,” he told her, his eyes going wide. “Trevor’s mom looked like she wanted to shank someone.”
“Definitely me,” Maggie muttered.
“Jana Stone wasn’t going to shank anyone,” their father said. “Naturally, she’s upset and confused.” He glanced toward Maggie and then away. “We all are.”
Ben didn’t look convinced. “If someone handed her a rusty knife, she would have gutted Maggie like—”
“Not helping, Ben.” Jim Spencer leveled a glare at his teenage son.
Undeterred by the gruesome talk, Vivian moved toward Maggie until they were inches apart. Grammy barely reached Maggie’s chin and she’d proudly been a size-two petite for as long as anyone could remember. Her hair was teased into a silver pouf, and she wore a rose-hued coat and matching crepe dress that made her look like she took fashion advice from the Queen of England.
Her