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"Th ree weddings next month? Are you kidding me?" Paris Perslow cast a look of dismay at the wall calendar in the back room of her father's real estate office on Main Street. The pastor of Canyon Springs Christian Church had to be out of his mind asking her to get involved with this. "December's only a few days away."
Outside the back window, a gust of wind swept snow through the towering ponderosa pines, filling the air with a reminder of the frosty holiday season. While it wasn't by any means the first snowfall of the year in this Arizona mountain community, she wasn't ready for winter.
Or Christmas.
Or Christmas weddings.
Another gust rattled the window, tendrils of cold creeping in around its wooden framework. She stepped away from the glassy panes, thankful for her cashmere sweater.
"My wife would kill me if she knew I was asking you to help." The voice of Pastor Jason Kenton carried over the phone in an apologetic tone. "You know, because…"
Yes, she did know. Because both he and his wife, Reyna, were aware she'd stepped away from responsibilities as a volunteer wedding coordinator when her own dream wedding three and a half years ago had taken a tragic turn.
"I'm sorry about Reyna's illness, Jason, but I don't see how I could pull three weddings together on such short notice." Not if they were anything like the over-the-top extravaganza she and her mother-in-law-to-be had once orchestrated.
"There isn't much left to do," he assured. "Jake Talford and Macy Colston have been planning their wedding since last spring. Sharon and Bill since the summer. And you know the Diaz clan—the whole family will be on top of Abby and Brett's special day. You'd be more of a go-to person representing the church, a reassuring voice for jittery brides and grooms."
Wasn't that his job? She paced the hardwood floor, the powerful music of Handel's Messiah that emanated from the CD player lending her strength to stand her ground.
"I don't have the time…."
She'd scheduled church and community-related activities into her calendar months ago, including the Christmas charity gala for which she'd been voted the committee head. Dad, too, had expectations for seasonal entertaining. The holidays, even without a trio of weddings, could be exhausting when you and your widower father played a prominent role in the community.
A pang of apprehension shot through her. Dad wasn't going to like what she intended to tell him after the first of the year…that she'd soon no longer be at his beck and call. That is, if she could garner the courage to make the break. Life away from Canyon Springs? Could she do it?
She had to.
"Would you be willing to think about it?" Jason coaxed. "Maybe pray about it?"
She could almost see his eyebrows rise in question as they often did during Sunday morning messages when challenging his congregation.
"I'm not sure I can commit to doing even that."
"Taking this on may help you work through things," he said gently, again broaching the issue they both knew stood between yes and no. "Weddings are meant to be happy times, Paris. A celebration of God joining two lives for His purposes."
"I understand, but…" While it was difficult seeing others caught up in their happily-ever-afters, the real issue behind her reluctance was one which Pastor Kenton knew nothing about.
"No matter how brides try not to let it get to them," he continued, "the tiniest of setbacks can throw them into a tailspin. But I have confidence you can help these gals keep the right perspective. Honestly, Paris, this shouldn't take much of your time."
A skeptical smile touched her lips. Maybe she'd better get his wife to confirm that. But Reyna hadn't yet been released from the hospital in Show Low, and Jason had mentioned earlier in the conversation that she had a long way to go to recover from a serious bout of pneumonia.
"Could I get back to you tomorrow?" Why was she even saying that? She couldn't allow herself to be sucked into a world of weddings and receptions and starry-eyed couples. Into a world where her "widowed" status drew misunderstanding and undeserved sympathy. But Reyna was more than the pastor's wife, she was a friend.
At her words, Jason perked up. "Tomorrow? You've got it. And no pressure. I promise. Take a look at your calendar and see if you can fit this in."
She knew what the calendar looked like and it wasn't pretty.
"Reyna and I would both be forever in—" He brought himself up short with a self-conscious laugh. "No, no pressure. Think about it. Pray about it. I know this isn't an easy decision to make."
*
• *
There it was again.
Cody Hawk averted his gaze, pretending not to notice, but it disturbed him just the same. The expression was fleeting, evasive. Sometimes curious, suspicious or even—could he only be imagining it?—silently accusing.
But above all, it was a look of recognition, one that had become annoyingly familiar since returning to his hometown of Canyon Springs two days ago. Not even Christmas melodies piped onto Main Street the morning after Thanksgiving or snowflakes floating through the air made it any more palatable. You'd have thought that after a dozen years people would have forgotten about him and gotten on with their own lives.
Squaring his shoulders, he strode across the street to the office of Perslow Real Estate and Property Management. A two-story natural stone building with a cheery pine-cone wreath gracing the door, it exuded a rustic warmth suitable for drawing in newcomers to purchase or rent a piece of what was touted as a mountain country paradise.
Paradise.
The misnomer left a bitter taste in Cody's mouth. The community might be a dream come true for those who had the financial means to buy their way into it, but it showed a much different side to those with lesser resources.
Sleigh bells on the office door announced his entrance, jingling as if delighted to welcome him. Not likely. He closed the door to block a blustery gust, then stuffed his gloves in his pockets, unzipped his jacket and pulled off his baseball cap. A faint tang of pine emanated from a half-decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Several boxes of ornaments and a rope of tinsel lay neglected at its base as if a holiday elf had been suddenly called away.
Although the waiting room was devoid of visitors and no one manned the front desk, he could hear the distinctive strains of Handel's Messiah overriding a feminine voice coming from a partially open door. It was a one-sided conversation, as if someone was on the phone.
Had it really been a dozen years since he'd charged out of this place, boiling mad and head held high from having told his father's boss—Paris Perslow's father—what he could do with his job offer?
Dumb kid. He hadn't been old enough or smart enough to know burning bridges could come back to haunt you. What was that parting line he'd tossed at Mr. Perslow that memorable afternoon? Just you wait and see. Someday you'll be groveling at my feet. Sir.
Cody groaned inwardly at the sarcasm with which he'd laced that final word of his tirade. Well, he might be only minutes away from being shown the door, but what choice did he have?
Reluctantly moving to the seating area, he'd barely lowered himself into a burgundy leather chair when the final notes of the classic Christmas choral piece faded away as the woman in the back room wrapped up the conversation. Her lilting tones now clearly reached Cody's ears.
A viselike sensation tightened around his chest.
It couldn't be, could it? But that voice…
He stood and moved swiftly to the door. This wasn't the time or place for a reunion. Not when anyone could walk in on them at any minute. Her dad. A coworker. Her husband.
"May I help you?" a melodious voice called from behind him as he reached for the doorknob.
He tensed, willing his heart to slide down out of his throat and back into his chest. Please let this be a cousin. A long-lost sister. With effort, he turned to look directly into the smoky-gray eyes of a woman far more exquisite than the girl he'd long remembered.
A soft charcoal sweater, jeans, English riding-style boots and dark brown hair pulled loosely into a low ponytail gave her the carefully casual appearance of an American aristocrat. High cheekbones touched by a whisper of rose and delicately arched eyebrows underlined the air of seemingly flawless refinement.
But he knew the satiny gloss on a too-tempting mouth camouflaged a scar acquired in third grade. She'd been running from playground bullies, slipped on a graveled walkway and cut her lower lip. He remembered the day well, his first at the new school as a fifth grader. He'd retaliated on her behalf by bloodying a few noses, got sent home…and forever lost his heart to Paris Perslow.
Or rather, Paris Herrington.
Mrs. Dalton Jenner Herrington III.
Heart pounding, Paris stared up at the boy she'd known since grade school. A man now. Tall. Muscular. Rugged. A shock of raven hair slashed across his forehead and the high cheekbones gave credence to talk of Native American blood in his ancestry. Sharp, black-brown eyes pierced into hers.
"Remember me, Paris?" His words, tinged with the faintest of Texas accents, held a note of self-deprecating humor as he no doubt recalled their last meeting.
How could she forget him? Not only had he been her self-appointed guardian from third grade onward, raising the ire of teachers, classmates and her father alike, but her last encounter with him had left her more than shaken.
"I'm sorry to hear of your father's stroke, Cody."
His jaw, graced with a five o'clock shadow even this early in the morning, hardened. "Bad situation."
"Is he. Has there been any improvement?"
A humorless smile touched Cody's lips. "He still can't talk much. I'd say that's an overall improvement, wouldn't you?"
Paris flinched at the candid judgment. While the burly Leroy Hawk could be a charmer when he chose to be, his humor was sometimes biting and unforgiving. She'd often wondered why her father kept him on as an employee.
Clearly, though, there was still no love lost between father and son despite over a decade's separation. Which wasn't surprising. In elementary school, Cody had once furtively raised his ragged T-shirt to show her the ugly bruises—but only after he'd made her promise never to tell.
She hadn't told.
But she should have.
Ignoring Cody's harsh question, she restlessly moved to the Christmas tree and picked up a box of glass ornaments. "How is your mother holding up?"
Cody had adored Lucy Hawk, and Paris suspected that as a kid he'd deliberately drawn his father's anger in an effort to protect her from the short-tempered man's fists.
"Working too hard."
She always had, and now Leroy's health setback would make it even harder on her. Paris removed an ornament from the box and hooked a metal hanger into its loop. "I bought the wreath on the door from Dix's. It's one of hers. Canyon Springs is fortunate to have her working on the annual Christmas gala this year. She's a true craftsman—a gifted artist."
"I'll let Ma know you think so."
For several moments, neither of them spoke. What more was there to say that could be said? A tremor of awareness skittered as Cody's dark eyes remained fixed on her, and she self-consciously hung the ornament on the tree. He'd always looked at her that way. It was in many ways the same look other men had long been known to give her—appreciative of her beauty. But with Cody there had been something else. A tenderness. An almost…reverence.
That had always been her undoing, and she'd long guarded against it. Abruptly she turned toward him. "I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm here to see your father."
Regarding Leroy's job security? His insurance? His stroke wasn't workers'-compensation-related. Everyone in town knew he'd blown last Friday's paycheck on lottery tickets and booze, then when the multimillion-dollar winning number was drawn—and it wasn't his—he'd suffered a stroke.
Her own father had seemed more agitated about the whole thing than she would have expected. Had he anticipated this visit from Cody, asking special favors for his father, maybe applying legal pressure?
"I'm afraid Dad left for the Valley this morning. He'll be gone for a few days. Remember, this is a holiday weekend."
Cody's brows lowered.
"He left you here to watch over things?" His glance raked the office, then focused again on her. "All alone?"
Gazing up at the big man, a ripple of unease skimmed her spine. But that kind of thinking was preposterous. Cody might look menacing, but he'd never so much as attempted to lay a hand on her during the years she'd known him. Not even that last day when he'd stepped out of the darkness and frightened her half out of her wits with his crazy talk.
Nevertheless.
"Everett's here. And Kyle. Or at least they'll be back in few minutes." She moved behind the receptionist's desk, placing a barrier between them. She didn't know Cody now. She hadn't really known him back then, either. And although he'd never crossed any lines with her, he was a Hawk.
"I don't," he stated, "have business with Everett or Kyle."
"Perhaps there's something I can—"
"I need to see your father."
"I'd be happy to schedule an appointment for Monday." She did her best to keep her tone cheerful despite his terse responses. She'd warn her dad, of course, so he wouldn't be caught unprepared.
Cody exhaled a resigned breath. "First thing Monday morning then."
She opened the scheduling software program. "Ninethirty?"
"There's nothing earlier?"
You'd have thought she'd suggested high noon. He'd been an early riser as a kid, with chores to see to before he came to school. Maybe old habits died hard?
"Dad often works late in the evening with clients, so yes, nine-thirty is customary."
"Fine."
He didn't sound as though it were fine, but she typed his name into the database. "May I let him know what the appointment concerns?"
"He'll know."
Did he have to sound so confrontational? That wouldn't go over well with Dad. It didn't go over well with her, either. Cody might never have had much patience with those in authority, but he'd always been more than polite with her.
As if coming to the same realization, he nodded toward the computer, his tone softening. "I mean, he'll know I'm here about my father's situation. I need to find out where things stand regarding his employment status and medical benefits."
She nodded and made the note. When she glanced up, he was watching her with that look that had been typical of Cody since the first day she'd met him. Self-consciously she ran her tongue along her lower lip. Across the scar.
"Well, you're all set," she said with a businesslike clip to her words. "Nine-thirty on Monday morning."
"Thank you." He placed his ball cap on his head, zipped his jacket and started to turn away. Then he paused to look down at her once again. "So you're filling in here while visiting Canyon Springs over the Thanksgiving holiday?"
"I live here. I'm a real estate agent."
His expression darkened slightly.
"Was there something else?" She held her breath, the pulse in her throat racing as his gaze lingered, indecision flickering through his eyes.
"No." He shook his head. "Have a good rest of your day, Paris."
And then he was gone, the sleigh bells chiming a farewell as the door closed behind him.
Exhaling, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
Cody Hawk had returned to town.
But he wouldn't be here for long. He'd made that clear. He had family business to take care of, then would disappear into the night as he'd done a dozen years ago. Thankfully, he hadn't attempted to express condolences for the death of her fiancé. Nor had he made reference to their last meeting.
When he'd confessed he loved her.
