May The Best Man Wed. Darlene Scalera

      Savannah’s father ignored his wife’s warning. “The million-dollar question, which I’m sure the bills are beginning to tally, is what are we going to do about it?”

      “Let him go,” Savannah stated.

      All gazes converged on her. She set down her coffee cup. “McCormick is a big boy, and if he decided he needs a few days away, maybe do something out of the ordinary by heading out in the middle of the night to some place different he’s never seen, some place such as his brother’s Colorado home…” She looked at Cash, trying to spy confirmation or denial but saw only a veiled interest. She turned back to the others. “The least we can do is respect his wishes. Let him go.”

      Belle shifted on the settee. “But it is a mite close to the wedding.”

      Savannah smiled at her mother. “Exactly.” She smiled at them all. “McCormick is less than two weeks away from taking one of the biggest steps of his life. Is it any wonder he’s acting a tad irrationally?” She paused for effect. “He’s scared.”

      “What about you?”

      Cash’s question came so swift and unexpected, it might have thrown one who hadn’t learned long ago that decisiveness and resolve could cover a multitude of insecurities.

      “Are you scared?”

      It was the first time anyone had asked her about her feelings. Feelings just waiting to waylay her.

      “No,” she answered with unflappable faith.

      It wasn’t until Franklin declared, “Cold feet,” that she tore her gaze away from Cash.

      “Exactly,” she agreed with her fiancé’s father. “Lots of people have second thoughts, last-minute doubts right before their wedding. Everyone here can probably tell me a story about a similar situation.” As soon as she said the words, she realized her blunder. She swallowed hard as if to take them back. The others were discreet enough or, as she sensed in Franklin’s case, disgusted enough not to look at Cash.

      “How ’bout you, Daddy?” She tried to shift the focus. “You can’t tell me you didn’t have a moment’s hesitation?”

      Her father looked to where her mother sat and Savannah knew she’d made another mistake. Her beautiful mother had always been the center of her father’s life, followed by his business, work, and finally, in varying degrees, his children. Savannah, with hard work crowned by her celebrated engagement, had eventually found herself fitting in there somewhere.

      Her father’s gaze locked with her mother’s. Like many of his gender and generation, he was not comfortable with open displays of affection, but one look at the man at this moment and it was clear—Jack Sweetfield had never had a heartbeat of doubt about his marriage.

      “No. Not at all,” Her father confirmed.

      An unusual melancholy rose inside Savannah. She pushed it aside. “Exception to every rule, no?” She smiled her most-assured smile. “My point is,” she sat down and folded her hands in her lap as if calm, “when you consider the circumstances, McCormick is actually acting in a very predictable manner. I mean wedding jitters are more the norm than not, correct? So, when all is said and done, his decision to take a few days and sort everything out is nothing to worry about. In fact, it’s a healthy move on McCormick’s part to explore his feelings. I say, give him some time, some space, some faith, and I’ll bet my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo sling-backs that two, three days tops, and McCormick will return. All demon doubts exorcised.”

      Besides, she silently added her own argument conceived earlier today, what are the chances this could happen twice in the same family?

      She didn’t look at Cash as she eased back in her chair. “After all, ‘absence does make the heart grow fonder.’”

      She saw the two sets of parents exchange glances. She stood, refusing to court any speculation. She picked up her coffee cup and returned it to the sideboard.

      When she turned around, she saw Cash had stood also and was looking straight at her. “Now that’s all settled, time for that bourbon you promised me this morning. Ready?”

      She didn’t know who was rescuing who.

      “Considering the circumstances, if you prefer to decline…”

      Maybe she appreciated the out he offered. Maybe it was the naked emotion she had seen in his eyes earlier or the open challenge she saw in them now. Maybe it was the melancholy that lingered. Maybe, more than anything, it was her determination not to let one flicker of doubt assail her. Savannah took a step toward her fiancé’s brother.

      Cash showed neither surprise nor smugness, only swept his hand forward for her to precede him.

      “Good night all,” she said as she moved past him, attributing the unusual blitheness in her voice to her decision to keep “the McCormick matter” completely under control.

      Chapter Two

      Savannah had expected that Cash would drive a sleek sporty number made for speed and sin. He didn’t disappoint her. The roadster was cherry-red and topless.

      “Good night, Cash.” She headed toward her four-door sedan—rated first in its class for safety.

      “Good night?” He had thought her behind him. He now slouched against the roadster’s side, recklessness meeting recklessness, and folded his arms. Every already-more-than-sufficient upper torso muscle expanded into “Body by Jake” territory.

      She reached her car. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait until you pole-vault into that little number to make sure you don’t injure any vital parts.”

      A thick lock of hair fell charmingly across his brow. “Mine or the car’s?”

      She met his shameless features. “I imagine both are extremely precious to you.”

      The lazy sweep of his hand as he combed back his hair was echoed by the easy curve of his lips. “You imagined right.” He pushed off from the car. “So, no drink?”

      She opened her car door. “You couldn’t keep up with me.” She liked too much the sound of his laughter floating behind her. She slid into the driver’s seat, careful not to slam the door and reveal her aggravation. Her first instinct about Cash Walker this morning had been correct. He was a dangerous, dangerous man.

      He strolled over to her car, propped his forearms on the opened window. “You still owe me a bourbon.”

      So much for a clean getaway. She smiled indulgently. “I don’t recall ever making a definite date.”

      He leaned in closer. “I believe we just did…about three minutes ago.”

      “No, three minutes ago you made up an excuse to get out of there without looking as if you were running away.”

      “Is that what happened, sis?”

      She eyed this man who so effortlessly elicited a rare impulse in her—to leap over any barrier and throttle him. This same man who would soon be forever linked to her as family. She couldn’t decide if she should be ashamed or rueful that she hadn’t acted on her first and only-ever primal urge this morning.

      “You do have a pattern.”

      Again, she stared at that column of bronzed flesh as if ready to reach out, take its length between her hands as if only to feel the pulse of life beneath her palms. For a woman who didn’t scare easily, she suddenly was afraid.

      “I’m sorry,” she said to herself as well as to him.

      He smiled. “Don’t apologize—not when you’re right.”

      She’d kill him yet.

      “Yes, I made up the excuse, but—” He held up an index finger. “You knew it, and here