The Best Man's Bride. Lisa Childs

friends spiking the punch.” She extended her hand, reaching for her bag.

      But he held tight. “I can’t give this to you.”

      “What?”

      When he fumbled with the rhinestone clasp, she gasped at his audacity. She had no idea how bold he could be, but now he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know him.

      “I have to take your keys,” he insisted. “You can’t drink and drive.” As a surgeon, he’d seen far too many drunk drivers and the people hurt by them.

      “I’m not driving.”

      “No, you’re not,” he agreed, as he pulled out her key ring.

      “Hey, those are my house keys, too,” she protested.

      “This is Cloverville. No crime,” he said, tossing her words back at her. “I doubt anyone here locks his door.”

      Colleen opened and then closed her mouth, completely at a loss. Her mother had never locked her front door, and since Colleen still lived at home, she could get inside without a key. But still, he had no right to take her property. No right to tease her.

      An urge came over her to tease him back, to make him want her as she’d wanted him for so long. The reckless desire coursed through her veins with all the fire of the spiked punch. Maybe she’d stifled her impetuous nature for too long. Or maybe the punch had loosened her inhibitions. Either way, she couldn’t act. She knew the ramifications of impulsive behavior. She always wound up getting hurt or humiliated.

      “Give me my keys and my purse,” she demanded as she managed to summon her earlier haughtiness again. But her hand trembled as she held it out.

      “I will,” he agreed. Too easily. “After I walk you home.”

      She ignored the traitorous leap of her heartbeat and lifted her chin, saying firmly, “I’m not leaving.”

      “Your blond friend has already left. And there goes the redhead with Josh.” He gestured toward the door.

      Colleen followed his gaze. Looking like an old married couple, Brenna walked alongside the groom, each of them carrying a sleeping twin. Their seemingly boundless energy was finally spent.

      “Abby Hamilton is ‘the blonde,’” she informed him, annoyed that he knew no one’s name. He’d skipped the rehearsal dinner, of course, so he hadn’t officially met anyone. But he could have at least read a program. “And Brenna Kelly is the maid of honor.”

      “The maid of honor put up Josh and the twins last night,” Nick observed.

      Yet she could hardly blame Nick for not being invested in the wedding when even the bride hadn’t seemed to care about the plans. Colleen nodded. “Brenna put them up at her folks’ house, so the groom wouldn’t see the bride before the wedding.”

      Even so catering to superstition hadn’t saved them from bad luck.

      Nick snorted, probably sharing the same thought. “They’ve extended their hospitality even longer,” he said, as if amazed at their generosity. “He’s still staying with the Kellys.” His voice turned bitter as he added, “He’s waiting for your sister to return.”

      “Molly will come back,” she assured him. If she’d ever really left Cloverville, which Colleen doubted. She had to be at Eric’s, safe and protected.

      Nick’s pale green eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “Do you know where she is?”

      As Colleen shook her head, her stomach was doing flips from nerves and punch. She really needed to find Rory—the teenager had to learn there were consequences to thoughtless actions. Colleen hadn’t been much older than he was now when she’d learned that painful lesson.

      NICK HAD LOST HER again…to that place she retreated when all the color drained from her face and her eyes darkened, haunted with regret.

      “Come on,” he said, taking her by the elbow to guide her toward the exit. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

      “I’m fine,” she insisted.

      But she followed his lead, as she had on the dance floor, their steps perfectly in sync.

      It occurred to Nick that’d he’d never been as attuned to another person, not even his best friend, and especially not his brother.

      “I don’t need air, and I don’t need you to walk me home.” Instead of sounding petulant, she sounded proud. Her voice was strong with spirit and independence.

      Nick pushed open the outside door, and Colleen passed by him into the cool night. Crickets chirped in accompaniment to the buzz of fluorescent lights as flood lamps illuminated the parking lot. “But you’re leaving.”

      “As you pointed out,” she said, her voice soft, lost, “all my friends have left.”

      Why did he suddenly suspect it wasn’t the first time Colleen McClintock had been left behind? She was younger than her sister and the other bridesmaids. When they’d gone off to college, she would have still been in high school. She was young. Far too young for him. Even though he was only thirty-two, he felt much older. He swallowed back a sigh. And tired. Damn, he was tired. Too many long hours, too many old regrets.

      “When you said earlier that you were staying, you made it sound like more than just tonight. Are you really staying in Cloverville?” she asked as they crossed the parking lot.

      “Yes.” He couldn’t leave Josh alone; he’d made that mistake before. “Like Josh, I have the next couple of weeks off.” And he didn’t intend to let his friend out of his sight until he was sure he was really all right.

      “But where are you staying? With Josh and the twins staying there, the Kellys don’t have any more room. And Cloverville has no hotels,” she said, her lips lifting in a satisfied smile. “No inns. No bed and breakfasts.”

      Nick realized she didn’t want him to stay. He shouldn’t care. He knew nothing could come of the attraction he felt for her, and not just because she was too young for him.

      “Your brother offered me his spare room,” Nick said.

      She lifted her face toward him, her eyes wide with surprise.

      “Really? Clayton prefers being alone, or so he claims.”

      Nick shrugged, uncertain why McClintock had offered him a guest room. “I think he feels responsible for your sister skipping out on the wedding.”

      She let out a derisive laugh. “That sounds like Clayton—responsible.”

      “Or guilty.”

      “That sounds more like me,” she murmured, her voice weary with regret.

      “What?” he asked, dipping his head closer to hers, to where the lilies had wilted in her hair. “Feeling guilty because you’re hiding your sister?”

      “I’m not hiding Molly.”

      “But you know where she is?” And who was hiding her.

      “Why do you care?” she asked, defensiveness on her sister’s behalf hiding her own vulnerability.

      He cared because he needed to protect his friend. So why did he feel as if he needed to protect Colleen McClintock, too? “If you’re not hiding your sister, what are you feeling guilty about?”

      She shook her head. “I don’t know why I said that to you. I guess I did have too much punch.”

      “How old are you?” he wondered aloud.

      “Twenty-three.”

      Too young to be haunted by all the regrets that he had.

      “What do you know about guilt?”

      “Too much,” she murmured, as she stepped onto the sidewalk and into the shadows cast by the canopy of