Cowboy Heartbreaker. Delores Fossen

I was chicken. Call me overly cautious about sepsis and gangrene, but I didn’t like the idea of cutting myself with a pocketknife that you’d used to gut fish and clean your fingernails. Nothing could go wrong with that.”

      Allie chuckled at that part, too, but Ryder didn’t. Allie hadn’t said that she didn’t want to be their sister, just not his. Curt noticed it, too, and he volleyed some long, confused glances between both of them.

      “You two aren’t—” Curt started, then stopped “—crossing lines, are you?”

      “No,” Allie and Ryder said in unison, but Allie dodged his gaze. She stared down into her wine as if it held the secrets of the universe.

      What the devil was going on?

      Ryder tried to look at her face, to see what was in her eyes, but before he could manage that, Savannah came to the table.

      “There you are,” Savannah said. She slid her hand around the back of Curt’s neck and kissed him before she studied the three of them. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

      “Nary a thing,” Curt said at the same time that Ryder said, “Nope,” and at the same time that Allie said, “No.” Bree added, “Does a chicken crap diamonds?”

      The four variations of the quick denial—including Bree’s oddball one—all added up to making it sound like malarkey. Which it was. Ryder had been on the verge of finding out what Allie had meant and then giving Curt some grief over suggesting that line-crossing thing. He’d never crossed anything with Allie and had no plans to start.

      Hell, he mentally repeated that.

      Now the notion of crossing lines and starting stuff best not started was in his head. Not that he would do anything about it. Nope, no, nary a thing, and a chicken wouldn’t be crapping diamonds. Even if Ryder had been so inclined, he would have to nix the idea because Allie was still his best friend. He could always get a lover, but best friends were in short supply.

      “Oh, okay,” Savannah said, sounding about as convincing as they had been with their denials.

      The silence came, awkward and a little thick before Allie jumped back into the conversation. “Savannah, I want to thank you again for asking me to be your bridesmaid.”

      “Same here,” Bree agreed without adding a smart-ass comment.

      “Glad you both agreed. I know how close all of you are with Curt, and we wanted the three of you to be a part of this.”

      That wasn’t lip service. Savannah had immediately agreed with Curt’s choice as Ryder for his best man, and the four of them had considered Allie and Bree as honorary best men, too. In the end, though, Savannah had asked Allie and Bree to be bridesmaids and to stand in when needed for Savannah’s sister, Linda, the maid of honor—who was seven months pregnant.

      “And speaking of being a part of this,” Savannah went on, “I need to ask one more favor. Curt and I will be leaving for the honeymoon soon, and the photographer wants to get some shots of the wedding party dancing. Linda has to get off her feet—swollen ankles—but I was hoping Ryder and you would dance together.” She tipped her head to Ryder and Allie. “Bree, I was hoping you’d dance with my brother.”

      Bree jumped right in to do that, probably because Savannah’s brother, Trace, was good-looking. Normally, Ryder would have jumped to dance with Allie, too, but that blasted thought hit him again.

      I just didn’t want to be Ryder’s sister.

      Now it felt a little off. Obviously, though, he was the only one who felt that way because Allie did some jumping. She got right to her feet, tugging him out of the chair, and they set their drinks on the table while they made their way to the dance floor to Alan Jackson’s “Chasin’ That Neon Rainbow.”