Risky Moves. Carrie Alexander

Adam.”

      He smiled at her stubborn resolve. Maybe her sweet nature had turned a little tart in the years he’d been away. “Sorry. It’s just that you of all people—” He looked her up and down. “Out of everyone I know, you’re the person with her feet most firmly stuck to the ground.”

      “Exactly the point.”

      He shook his head. “Don’t ask me to help you with this crazy idea. Go to a skydiving school if you have to, but don’t ask me.”

      She reached for his hands and almost got them, too, except that he backed off. He was still quick enough for an elusive maneuver when he needed one. Too bad that meant he was trapped in the far corner of Jerome’s, blocked from the exit by a jumbled maze of guests, fancy-dressed tables and chairs at cockeyed angles. The john was nearby, but what he really needed was to get outside and breathe the fresh night air.

      “Adam,” Julia said, her voice catching. He quit scanning the room for an escape route and focused on her face, intrigued despite himself. What was going on in her unleveled head? “I guess I’m scared,” she confessed. Her eyes beseeched him, shimmering with a surprising amount of emotion. “That’s why I asked you. I want someone I know I can trust. Not a stranger.”

      “Moot point. I’m not certified to teach skydiving in this state.”

      “Oh.” She frowned, stymied for a moment before her troubled brow smoothed. “Rock climbing, then. To begin.”

      He could do that. Take her out to one of the granite bluffs he’d scrambled up and down as a kid, make her think it was steep and dangerous, give her enough of a thrill to satisfy whatever urge was driving her and pack it in before lunchtime. He could do that. Maybe.

      Maybe.

      Doubt crept in. He hated it. He’d never been cautious or afraid before the accident—hiking, biking, rowing, parachuting and rappelling without a moment’s fear. Even now, eighteen months after the accident, when he’d recovered to the point where walking was again a given instead of a small miracle…it wasn’t enough. He was supposed to feel blessed, and instead he was so damned uneasy about his abilities. Not to mention his future.

      Julia blinked, growing dismayed by his hesitation. “Oh, Adam. I’m sor—” She stopped herself, her features crimping with concern as her gaze swept over his legs. “I thought—Zack said you’re doing great—”

      “No problem.” Adam was brisk about it, though suddenly he was having trouble swallowing. His fingers felt like thumbs as he yanked at the bow tie until it finally came undone. Julia didn’t need to know how feeble he’d been, what a long struggle it had taken to regain even half of the physical skills he’d lost when he’d sped too fast around a treacherous curve on a mountain road and sideswiped a lumbering delivery van. After surviving a succession of risky adventures, he’d been done in by a squat van transporting inner tubes for the Snake River Rafters. The irony wasn’t as amusing as it might have been.

      “It’s you I’m concerned with,” he said bluntly. “You’ve never been the daring type. What’s up?”

      Julia met his eyes, her chin dimpled like an orange peel because her lips were so firmly set. He held back the impulse to smile. Being deadly serious, she wouldn’t appreciate knowing how cute she looked. “You think I can’t handle it?” she accused. “I’m fit, you know. I work out.” She lifted an arm, crooking her elbow and clenching a fist to show him her biceps. “I’m perfectly capable and—and mentally prepared.”

      “To defy death?”

      “Um. That might have been an overstatement.”

      To get his attention—which she had. But he still had no idea of her reasoning. “All this because you’re bored?”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you do it?”

      His tight answering smile was an evasion. “I don’t remember.” Didn’t want to remember was more like it. Remembering would mean wanting, and wanting meant trying. There were times, he’d learned, that it hurt too much to try. Which was something he’d never expected to cop to, considering all the do-or-die instances when he’d hung off a rock wall with his muscles screaming, forcing his numb fingertips to clench on a handhold just…one…more…time.

      “I remember,” Julia said. Her face softened. “You’ve been a daredevil ever since Chuck Cheswick double-dog dared you to climb the water tower when you were ten. I also remember how you used to scare the life out of Zack. He was always watching over your escapades.”

      “And bailing me out.”

      “Yes, and bailing you out.” It was obvious what they were both thinking of now. About a year and a half ago, there’d been a blowup between him and Zack over Laurel Barnard, the woman Adam had fallen for in a bad way. Laurel had manipulated the situation, playing one brother against the other until they were twisted into knots. After a major argument, Adam had made a heated escape, leaving Laurel to worm out of Zack what she’d been after all along—a marriage proposal from the man known as Heartbreak Brody, the biggest catch in Quimby. A short time later, Adam’s car accident had called Zack to Idaho on the eve of the wedding—trumping Laurel’s worst-laid plans.

      Adam figured he owed Zack double. First for saving him from the scheming Laurel, then for saving him from despair when the doctors had told him he might not walk again. Zack had stayed for an entire year, putting his life and reputation on hold to inspire, cajole and harangue Adam until he was back on his feet. Performing as the best man at his brother’s real wedding despite the curious stares and pitying attention was the least Adam could do in return.

      “Hey, Madman,” said Fred Spangler, waving from a group of plotting groomsmen. “Get over here, fella. We’ve gotta strategize over how to trash the groom’s getaway car.”

      Adam looked at Julia. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

      “But what about—”

      He stepped around her when she didn’t move. “Nice talking to you.”

      She reached out for a brief, firm hug, sending a jolt through him. Usually she kept her distance. “It’s wonderful to see you again,” she murmured. “You look…”

      Good. Really good! Adam gritted his teeth in anticipation.

      Julia swung her head, making her smooth golden-brown hair sweep across the small satin bows that lay flat against her shoulders. “You look thoroughly civilized.”

      Civilized?

      “Hey—what does that mean?” Adam said, but Fred Spangler grabbed his arm and pulled him away, leaving Julia looking after him with a taunting little smile playing across her lips.

      THE WOODWIND TRIO played a slow, spitty-sounding Irish melody to wind down the evening as Julia made her way across the restaurant to her table. A slice of wedding cake waited at her place, thickly frosted with green and white globs that were supposed to be lily of the valley even though this was an autumn wedding. Julia had advised Cathy that detailed artistry was beyond Velda Thompson, Quimby’s one and only unrenowned cake decorator, but you couldn’t talk sense to a woman about to tie the knot. Brides had their own cockeyed logic. A mystery to Julia, who liked order, stability, cause and effect. Under normal circumstances, she couldn’t imagine thinking like a bride.

      But these circumstances weren’t normal.

      Her tablemates were off chatting, boozing or schmoozing, so Julia allowed herself a loud sigh, then propped her elbows on the table. Disconsolate, she considered the cake a long while before stabbing it with a fork. There was no need to sleep with a slice of wedding cake under her pillow. She didn’t want marriage just now—she wanted change. Excitement.

      Adam Brody.

      The sooner the better.

      Ever since Cathy had confided that Adam had agreed to return to Quimby and act as Zack’s best man, Julia had been filled with an unusual restless energy. This was