A Bravo Christmas Wedding. Christine Rimmer

      And she ignored the tiny voice in her heart that said she did care, she’d always cared—and that was never going to change.

Chapter Two

      “It’s a little strange,” Rory said when they sat at the table in the big farm-style kitchen, eating Alva Colgin’s excellent elk stew with piping hot drop biscuits, which Walker had whipped up on the spot. “Staying here, in your house...”

      He sipped his beer, the light from the mission-style fixture overhead bringing out auburn lights in his brown hair. “You have complaints?”

      She split a biscuit in half. Steam curled up from the center. Those blue eyes of his were trained on her. She thought he seemed a little wary. “Relax,” she told him. “No complaints. And I know I was a bitch before. Sorry. Over it.”

      He set down his beer. “Weird, how?”

      “It’s just not what we do, that’s all.” She’d always stayed at the Haltersham, Justice Creek’s famous, supposedly haunted luxury hotel built by a local industrialist at the turn of the last century. “You know how we are...”

      “How’s that?” He forked up a bite of stew and arched an eyebrow at her.

      Annoyance jabbed at her. Seriously? He didn’t know how they were? With a great show of patience, she explained the obvious. “Well, we meet up at Ryan’s bar.” His brother owned and ran McKellan’s, a popular neighborhood-style pub in town on Marmot Drive. “Or we hang out at Clara’s house. Or we head up into the mountains.” They both enjoyed hiking, camping and fishing. So did Clara and Ryan. The four of them had camped out together several times—just four good friends, nothing romantic going on. But now Clara and Ryan were getting married. And Rory was sleeping in Walker’s house. “I’ve been here at the ranch maybe six times total in all the years we’ve known each other—and tonight is the first time I’ve seen the upstairs. Wouldn’t you say that’s a little bit weird?”

      He was looking at her strangely. “You really don’t want to stay here. That’s what you’re saying, right? That’s why you’ve been so pissed off about having me handle your security.”

      Wonderful. Now she’d succeeded in making everything weirder. She set down half of the biscuit and picked up her butter knife. “No, Walker. That’s not what I’m saying.”

      “It’s not what you’re used to, is it? Too far out in the sticks, no room service, iffy internet access.”

      “Not true. Wrong. It’s beautiful here. And very comfortable. I promise you, I’m not complaining.”

      He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I admit it’s just easier for me, if you stay here at the ranch rather than the hotel. But if you want, we can—”

      “Will you stop?”

      “I want to work this out.”

      “There’s nothing to work out. I just said it was a little weird, that’s all. I was only...making conversation.”

      “Making conversation.” His mouth had a grim set.

      “Yes. I talk. You answer. I answer you back. Conversation. Ring a bell?”

      He set down his fork. It made a sharp sound against the side of his plate. “Something is really bugging you. What?”

      “Nothing,” she baldly lied. “There’s nothing.”

      But of course, there was.

      It was the two doors to the bathroom. Because of those two doors, she’d thought about seeing him naked and that was not the kind of thing a girl was supposed to be thinking about her very good friend.

      For years, they’d had everything worked out between them—for him, everything was still worked out.

      But for her, well...he kind of had it right, though she would never admit it no matter how hard he pushed. She didn’t really want to stay here—and not because it wasn’t a luxury hotel.

      Uh-uh. There was just something about staying in his house, something about having him as her bodyguard, something about Ryan and Clara suddenly getting married, something about everything changing from how it had always been. It had her mind going places it shouldn’t go.

      It had her heart aching for what it was never going to get.

      He sat back in his chair, tipped his head sideways and studied her with a look that set her nerves on edge. “Whatever it is, you need to go ahead and tell me.”

      She played dumb. Because no way was she having the I want to jump your bones, but hey, I get that you’re just not that into me conversation. Not tonight. Not ever again. “What are you talking about?”

      “You know what I’m talking about.”

      Yes, she did. So what now? Truth or lie?

      Lie, definitely. “No, really. There’s nothing.” She faked a yawn and hid it behind her hand.

      He fell for it. “Tired?”

      She lied some more. “Exhausted. It’s—what? One in the morning in Montedoro. I’m just going to finish this amazing stew and go on up to my room...”

      “You sure you’re okay?”

      “I am. Really. Just a little tired is all.”

      And that was it. He let it go.

      After the meal, she helped him straighten up the kitchen. Then she went upstairs, had a nice bath and called Clara’s house. Clara wasn’t there, so Rory left a message saying she’d arrived safely after an uneventful flight and would see her in the morning for the final fittings. They were all—bride and bridesmaids—meeting at Wedding Belles Bridal on Central Street at ten.

      Rory hung up and climbed into bed. She was certain she would lie there wide-awake for hours stewing over her inappropriate interest in her very good friend Walker. But she turned out the light and snuggled under that old quilt and smiled because the pillowcase smelled like starch and sunshine.

      And the next thing she knew, thin winter sunlight was peeking between the white cotton curtains. She sat up and stretched and realized she felt great. Lucky Lady sat at the end of the bed, lazily licking her paw.

      Rory beamed at the big black cat. All those weird emotional knots she’d tied herself up in the night before? Untied.

      Honestly, if she still had a little bit of a crush on Walker, so what? She didn’t have to get all eaten up over it. It just wasn’t that big a deal.

      * * *

      Walker drove her into town. He found a parking space right on Central Street in front of Wedding Belles, under a streetlamp all done up for the holidays with an evergreen wreath covered in bright colored Christmas ornaments and crowned with a red bow.

      Rory unhooked her seat belt. “I’ll call you when we leave the shop.”

      He didn’t fall for it. “I’ll see you inside.” He went to feed the meter.

      Still hoping that maybe he’d give up and go hang with Ryan or something for a while, Rory entered the shop.

      Wedding Belles was everything the name implied. Big, beautiful dresses in a delicious rainbow of colors hung on racks along the walls. More dresses tempted the buyer from freestanding displays. It was a truly girlie kind of place, and the final fitting was just supposed to be Clara and her attendants.

      Best man not included.

      Walker came in anyway. He assumed the bodyguard position, out of the way, near the door.

      Clara was already there. She stood in the center of the shop, all in white, on a round white fitting platform in front of a silver-trimmed cheval mirror, her brown hair loose on her shoulders. She