As for Merry Lee, ambitious and beautiful, it was hard to empathize with the woman who had kept his child’s existence from him for eleven and a half years.
Merry’s first album had gone platinum, as had the second. She’d married someone in Europe, had a child, was rich, he’d heard. But Jake hadn’t paid much attention. They’d had a three-month affair when he filled in for her guitar player on a summer tour, ended up married in Vegas and then they’d gone their separate ways. Merry wasn’t so merry and had a mean temper when she wasn’t in front of an audience. The quick divorce had been a relief, and the brief marriage to Merry Lee was something in the distant past.
Until now.
Winter was now digging through the console. “What about the GPS?”
“Try it,” Jake said, grateful for the change of subject. “Maybe the Triple M Ranch is on there.”
“Like an address?” She reached into the console between the seats and retrieved the GPS.
“Yeah. If not, look it up.” He gestured toward his cell phone, a state-of-the-art iPhone he’d bought for the trip. “Try texting Sam again. Maybe he’ll answer and give us directions.”
“I don’t think it’s right to crash a wedding,” Winter huffed, typing into the device. “We could be escorted from the premises.”
“Excuse me, Miss Manners,” he said, making her smile just a little bit. “If you can find a store between here and this ranch, we’ll buy a gift and make the whole thing legitimate.”
They both eyed the expanse of open land ahead of them.
“Fat chance,” she muttered, frowning at the screen. “There’s nothing between here and the Triple M. It’s a historic ranch and was founded by a man from Scotland named Angus MacGregor. There’s even a picture.” She held the phone up so he could see.
“MacGregor,” Jake repeated. “That’s the name of the groom, so we’re heading to the right place. Are there directions?”
Winter looked stricken. “We can’t go there. We really could get in trouble.”
“We won’t get in trouble,” Jake promised his overly serious child. “We’ll owe them a gift, which we will buy tomorrow. You can pick it out. We won’t stay for the food or the dancing. We’ll find Sam, get the key to his house and get off the road. We’ll ask the butler to give him a message.” He grinned. “What do you say?”
“Not funny. I’ll text him again. Getting off the road would be okay,” Winter agreed, setting the GPS device into its dashboard cradle. “But we’re not going into the reception.”
“Unless the bride requests a song,” he added, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d learned, over the past six days, that she didn’t care much for teasing. She didn’t think he was all that funny, and she had little use for music. He suspected she was tone-deaf, which was odd considering that her parents were musicians.
His daughter rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
“Hey,” he protested, “she might be a fan.”
“You are so not going to sing.”
Trying to make her laugh, Jake broke out in a bluesy, off-key version of a seven-year-old hit song.
She ignored him, something she was good at. She didn’t care to answer too many questions. In fact, in the week he’d known her, she’d said little about her mother, even less about her childhood. Apparently her mother’s cousin had acted as nanny early on, but she’d married and had her own children. Winter had spent the past six years in boarding schools and summer camps.
Except for this year.
This year she had a father.
For better or for worse.
And whether she wanted one or not.
* * *
AURORA DIDN’T CARE if Jake Hove—if that’s who he really was—followed her out to the Triple M. The male guests at the wedding—and there would be a lot of them, considering that the town’s population was overwhelmingly male—were more than capable of taking care of a stranger who might want to cause trouble.
If he turned out to be Sam’s problem, then Sam could deal with him. If he was really Sam’s brother—and Aurora had had time in the car to ponder the resemblance between the two men, deciding they did share certain physical characteristics—then Lucia would no doubt explain the situation to Meg and Aurora the next time they met for coffee or lunch or a glass of wine.
Planning this wedding had given Aurora what Lucia called “girlfriend time.” Now that she’d experienced it, Aurora intended to continue the practice. Between girlfriend time and quilting lessons, she was slowly filling the lonely hours with friendships instead of compulsively scrubbing woodwork in the bar.
In the past four years since moving to Willing, she’d discovered it was easy to cry and scrub at the same time. Aurora thumbed her iPod and listened to Joshua Bell’s new release.
Three young men flagged her down after she’d navigated the long road to the main house, a large white building that looked as if it were a ranch house on a movie set.
Les, the youngest member of the town council and a sweet young man, stepped over to her car.
“Hey, Aurora.”
“Hey, Les.”
“We’ll park it for you,” he said. “The yard’s still a little muddy, so Owen has asked everyone to walk on the gravel and go straight to the barn. Unless you’re going to the house...? You can go on the grass to the front, because it’s not so bad. Ms. Loralee and Shelly are in there with Meg.”
“All right. Thank you.” She stepped out, ignored the appreciative looks from the young men and retrieved her bag and her purse, then trudged across the grassy yard to the front steps of the wide covered porch. She stepped out of her muddy boots and left them off to the side before opening the heavy door and walking inside.
One of Lucia’s little boys greeted her. “Hi, Miss ’Rora. You look nice.”
“Thank you, Matty.”
“The baby won’t stop crying,” he said, peeling paper from a frosted cupcake. All dark hair and dark eyes and wearing a white button-down shirt and black pants, six-year-old Matty was adorably rumpled. Aurora suspected the shirt wouldn’t be clean for very much longer.
Sure enough, a baby wailed from another room. “Uh-oh. Is that Laura?”
“Yep.” He carefully licked the frosting violet from the top of the dessert. “Grandma says she needs a nap. My mom made a lot of these.”
“How many have you eaten?” She suspected this wasn’t his first. She also suspected his mother didn’t know he’d been sampling the dessert.
“Today?”
She nodded.
He frowned in concentration, trying to remember accurately. “Four.”
“Wow.” Aurora had little experience with children and absolutely none with young boys. Lucia’s three children often seemed like strange, energetic creatures who made a lot of noise and couldn’t sit still.
“I ate seven last night,” he confided. “Without frosting. For supper.”
“Aurora!” The cupcake eater’s mother came rushing into the hall. “We were getting worried about you.”
“I was delayed. Sorry. I had a—”
“Matty! I thought I told you no more cupcakes.” She plucked the half-eaten cake from her son’s sticky fingers. “Go to the barn. Now. Tell Sam you’re all supposed to stay with him now.”