A Hideaway Wedding Wager

Twins Ana and Jason and their cousin Nicholas are successful thirtysomethings who are single—and loving it. They have no idea that their relatives are betting on which one of them will get married first. But by the family’s New Year’s Eve reunion, will all three have learned what it means to be really lucky—in love?

An irresistible attraction…

Among Virginia’s horse-country elite, Nicholas Cole-Thomas is the ultimate eligible bachelor. After escaping one disastrous relationship, Nicholas plans to remain single. Yet, when the beautiful veterinarian working on his horse farm needs help, he invites her to stay under his roof. And the closer he gets to her, the closer he wants to be.…

Blurring the lines between business and pleasure is risky for Peyton Blackstone. It’s not just Nicholas’s charisma but his gentleness that enthralls her. But when trouble from her past resurfaces, will he be man enough to trust her…no matter what the consequences?

Eternal Vows

Rochelle Alers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Hideaway Wedding Series

Good-natured boasting raises its multimillion-dollar head at the Cole family compound during a New Year’s Eve celebration. Family patriarch Martin Cole proposes each man in attendance place a one-million-dollar wager to the winner’s alma mater as an endowment in their name. The terms: predicting who among Nicholas, Jason or Ana will marry before the next New Year’s Eve.

Twins Jason and Ana Cole have given no indication they are even remotely thinking of tying the knot. Both claim they are too busy signing new talent to their record label. Former naval officer Nicholas Cole-Thomas has also been dragging his feet when it comes to the opposite sex. However, within the next six months Ana, Nicholas and Jason will encounter a very special person who will not only change them, but change their lives forever.

In Summer Vows, when CEO of Serenity Records Ana Cole signs a recording phenom to her label, she ignites a rivalry that targets her for death. Her safety and well-being are then entrusted to family friend, U.S. Marshal Jacob Jones, and Ana is forced to step away from the spotlight and her pampered lifestyle. She unwillingly follows Jacob to his vacation home in the Florida Keys until those responsible for the hit on her life are apprehended. Once Ana gets past Jacob’s rigid rules, she finds herself surrendering to the glorious sunsets and the man willing to risk everything, including his heart, to keep her safe and make her his own.

Nicholas Cole-Thomas’s entry into the world of horse breeding has caused quite a stir in Virginia’s horse country. Not only is he quite the eligible bachelor, but there is also a lot of gossip about his prized Arabian breeding stock. In Eternal Vows, Nicholas meets Peyton Blackstone, the neighboring farm’s veterinarian intern. He is instantly drawn to her intelligence, but recognizes the vulnerability she attempts to mask with indifference. Nicholas offers Peyton a position to work on his farm, and when they step in as best man and maid of honor at his sister’s spur-of-the-moment wedding he tries to imagine how different his life would be with a wife of his own. Just when he opens his heart to love again, someone from Peyton’s past resurfaces to shatter their newfound happiness, and now Nicholas must decide whether their love is worth fighting for.

Record executive Jason Cole will admit to anyone that he has a jealous mistress: music. As the artistic director for Serenity Records Jason is laidback, easygoing and a musical genius. His brief tenure running the company is over and he’s heading to his recording studio in a small remote Oregon mountain town to indulge in his obsession. But all that changes in Secret Vows, when Jason hears restaurant waitress Greer Evans singing backup with a local band. As they become more than friends, he is unaware of the secret she jealously guards with her life. And when he finds himself falling in love with Greer, Jason is stunned to find she is the only one who stands between him and certain death, at the same time realizing love is the most desperate risk of all.

Don’t forget to read, love and live romance.

Rochelle Alers

Happy the husband of a good wife, twice-lengthened are his days; a worthy wife brings joy to her husband, peaceful and full is his life.

—Sirach 26:1, 2

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Prologue

Solar lighting illuminated the in-ground pool and property surrounding David and Serena Cole’s sprawling Boca Raton mansion. The house was filled with four generations of Coles. The men who’d gathered in the library at the West Palm Beach family compound New Year’s Day had gotten together again—this time in David’s private office. The four men lit cigars and raised snifters of aged brandy, toasting their success for a covert investigation that had thwarted a hit man’s attempt to kill Ana Cole.

“¡Salud!”

David peered at his brothers and nephew over the rim of his glass. “I know it’s not in good taste to toast someone’s demise, but if anyone needed to be put in the dirt then it is Basil Irving.”

“I agree with David,” intoned Timothy Cole-Thomas. “The bastard should’ve been taken out a long time ago.”

Martin Cole lifted an eyebrow when he stared at his nephew. “Damn, Timothy. That’s cold. What happened to you being the gentle Cole?”

Running a hand over his cropped salt-and-pepper head, Timothy returned Martin’s steady gaze. “Niceness stops whenever someone threatens my family.”

“I have to agree with Timothy,” Joshua Kirkland said quietly, his deep voice carrying easily in the soundproof room. “Irving may have met an untimely end, but there’s still the matter of his younger brother who has taken over as CEO of Slow Wyne Records. I don’t know how much baby boy knows about the music industry but instinct tells me he bears watching.”

Timothy nodded. “You’re right, Josh. That’s why Diego told Simon to keep an eye on him. Ana may have evaded the trap, yet who’s to say they won’t shift the focus to Jason.”

“My son isn’t as benign as he appears,” David said. “Let’s just hope someone doesn’t decide to challenge him.” He set his glass on a side table. “Now that we’ve offered our insincere condolences I’d like to discuss the wedding wager. Those of us who bet on Ana marrying first are one-third closer to the grand prize.”

David, his brothers Martin and Joshua and his nephew Timothy had each wagered a million dollars to establish an endowment in the name of their alma mater as to whose unmarried thirty-something children would marry before the end of the year. David had had to put up two million because he had an unmarried son and daughter.

Martin sucked in a mouthful of tobacco. “You’re not going to count Ana’s wedding in the wager?” he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

David shook his head. “Come on, Martin. Man up and admit I’m right.”

Martin squinted at his youngest brother. “You’re not right, David. Ana and Jacob’s marriage was a setup.”

Holding his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, David blew out a series of smoke rings. “Tell him, Timothy.”

A shaft of light from a floor lamp filtered over Timothy’s lean dark brown face when he shifted on his chair to stare at his uncles. “Diego told me Jacob asked him to stand in as best man when he and Ana plan to renew their vows this coming New Year’s Eve.”

“I told you, big brother,” David drawled smugly.

Martin shook his head in disbelief. “Diego sets up a bogus marriage—”

“It’s not bogus, Martin,” Joshua Kirkland interrupted. “Their marriage license is as legal and binding as any of our marriages. And it’s not the first time a Cole woman has married her protector.”

Timothy nodded. “My Celia married Gavin Faulkner and made me a grandpa for the second time.”

Martin’s expressive eyebrows lifted. “Bragging, nephew?”

“Hell, yeah, Tío Martín.”

“Wait until you have as many grandchildren as Joshua and David before you starting boasting, sobrino,” Martin countered.

Joshua’s straight white teeth shimmered in his sun-browned face when he flashed a wide grin. “I’m about to pull ahead of David. Jolene is pregnant.”

“Again?” the three chorused.

“Michael and Jolene always said they wanted six children,” Joshua explained in defense of his son and daughter-in-law. “They’re now planning to close on an eight-bedroom, ten-bath farmhouse set on six acres in McLean, Virginia. Michael told me he’s keeping the former owners’ flock of sheep and half a dozen horses.”

Bracing both feet on the terra-cotta floor, Martin rested his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of horses. There’s still the question of whether Nicholas will be bitten by the love bug before the end of the year.” Nicholas’s obsession with horses had begun at a very early age. The first time he sat atop a pony during a friend’s birthday party, he felt as if he was born to ride. Nicholas would never become a jockey because of his height and weight, but that hadn’t diminished his dream to ride and breed champion horses.

“Only time will tell,” Timothy said. “If he is and does marry, then I’m out of any future wedding wagers.”

“Has Jason decided where he’s going to set up Serenity?” Joshua asked, segueing to a topic they’d avoided discussing in the presence of their wives.

There came an uncomfortable silence before David spoke again. “He told me a real-estate agent showed him a house in Coral Gables. He also said he’ll probably buy Ana’s condo once she and Jacob start a family.”

Joshua stubbed out his cigar in a large ceramic dish and then stood up. “I’d like to stay, but it’s time I head out now. I’m planning to fly back to Santa Fe tomorrow morning.”

Timothy stretched out his legs. “How are you flying back, Josh?”

“I’m going first class.”

The recently retired CEO of ColeDiz International, Ltd. shook his head. “Forget the commercial carrier. I’ll call Diego and arrange for you to go back on the company jet.”

Joshua sat down. “Thanks. I’m getting too old to hang around airports with the huddled masses.”

Timothy frowned at his uncle. “Even though your last name is Kirkland you’re still exempt from taking commercial flights.” Martin had decided more than forty years before that anyone with Cole blood was forbidden to take commercial carriers following the kidnapping of his daughter. Only Judge Christopher Delgado, a federal judge who’d married Joshua’s daughter, was exempt from the family edict.

“I doubt if anyone would ever link me to the rest of you guys.”

“Even with the blond hair and green eyes, you’re still a Cole, Josh,” Martin insisted.

Joshua smiled. “I don’t think you guys will ever let me forget—”

A knock on the door stopped what he’d planned to say and all conversation ended and everyone stared at the door. There was only the sound of measured breathing as David got up, unlocked and opened the door. “Where have you been?” he asked his grandnephew.

Diego Cole-Thomas hugged David, then each of the men when they rose to greet him. His deep-set dark eyes swept around the room. “I just got back from the Keys. What are you guys celebrating?”

Timothy smiled at his son. “David’s crowing because he managed to get another one of his kids married—with your help of course.”

Sitting on a leather club chair, Diego crossed one leg over the over. “I may have set up Ana and Jake’s marriage, but remember I offered them an out. But, after seeing them together less than an hour ago I can say they’ll spend the next forty or fifty years together.”

Martin snorted. “Why is it that all of David’s kids marry law enforcement? Gabriel married an ex-undercover DEA agent, Alexandra hooks up with someone from the CIA, and now it’s Ana with a U.S. Marshal.”

David, filling a snifter with brandy, handed it to Diego. “Maybe they’re turned on by guns and badges.”

“Or they have a need to feel protected,” Joshua added.

“Don’t even go there, Josh,” David retorted. “You will not attempt to psychoanalyze my kids and say I didn’t protect them when they were growing up.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Martin interjected quickly. “You and Serena raised your children as if they were ’70s flower children, and now that they’re out in the big bad world they look for someone whose life is or was governed by a set of laws and regulations.”

David relit his cigar. He pushed out his lips. “That sounds plausible.”

Joshua gave him a smug grin. “Don’t get me wrong, brother. I envy your kids because they live by their own set of rules. Now, we’ll have to wait and see who Jason hooks up with.”

Timothy gave his uncles an imperceptible nod as he raised his glass. “Here’s to Jason marrying a schoolteacher.”

David lifted his snifter, smiling, and the four others touched glasses, intoning, “To Jason.” What he didn’t say was that he doubted whether Jason would marry before Nicholas. His youngest son was still too transient and free-spirited to settle down with a woman and start a family. Jason told him as soon as the relocation for Serenity was finalized he planned to spend at least three months in Oregon where he’d set up a studio in the sprawling house he dubbed Serenity West. It was there where he wrote and edited music for the label’s newly signed and veteran performers.

His brothers and nephew teased him about his children, but no one knew his sons and daughters better than he did. And, that alone would make him the final winner in the wedding wager.

Part One

LOVE LOST

Chapter 1

Peyton Blackstone lay on her back, staring up at the gossamer fabric draping the four-poster bed. She’d turned off the air-conditioning the night before, leaving the windows open overnight to take advantage of the cooling temperatures.

Pinpoints of light painted the dawning sky with streaks of pink and lavender and the woodpecker living in the tree outside her bedroom window had begun tapping his beak against the bark in a rhythmic cadence that set her teeth on edge. She didn’t need an alarm clock to wake her, not as long as she had her feathery neighbor.

Peyton knew she had to get up and check on a mare recovering from a localized infection of the skin before driving over to a neighboring horse farm to pick up Celia Cole-Thomas. She and Celia had an eleven o’clock appointment at a Staunton salon for a beauty makeover. Later that afternoon Celia was scheduled to exchange vows with her fiancé. The ceremony would take place in the garden at Celia’s brother’s horse farm. The resident minister at Blackstone Farms would officiate, while Nicholas Cole-Thomas had invited everyone living on farms within a twenty-mile radius to attend the reception.

Celia and her fiancé, Gavin Faulkner, had come to Virginia to marry and at the last possible moment decided to hold the ceremony at Cole-Thom Farms rather than at the local courthouse. Peyton, after embarrassingly revealing she liked Celia’s brother, had been recruited by Celia to stand in as her maid of honor, while Gavin had asked Nicholas to be his best man. However, she knew Celia’s attempt to play matchmaker was destined for failure. Whenever Nicholas visited Blackstone Farms to meet with his mentor, he would give her a barely perceptible nod, looking through her as if she didn’t exist.

When she’d returned to Blackstone Farms after completing her studies for a degree in veterinary medicine, Peyton had asked her cousin about his protégé. Sheldon Blackstone was forthcoming when he told her about the swirling rumors weeks before Nicholas arrived to claim the prime land his agent had secured for him in an auction pitting him against the owner of Thornton Farms. Nicholas’s representative finally quoted a price that far exceeded what Jubal Thornton was prepared or able to meet, and over four hundred acres and a dilapidated mansion were deeded to the new owner who set up Cole-Thom Farms.

Sheldon also revealed it’d taken Nicholas more than a year to restore the mansion to its original grandeur and another year to erect one- and two-bedroom prefab cottages, connecting dormitory-style buildings for resident employees, a dining hall and two state-of-the-art modern stables. Viewed as an outsider, Nicholas was touted as brash, vain, arrogant and an upstart after he’d purchased several Arabians for breeding purposes. There was even more chatter about him. No one had seen him with a woman and this simply added to the mystique of the tall, dark, handsome horse breeder.

Sitting up, Peyton swept back a lightweight blanket, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She combed her fingers through the hair falling over her forehead and around her face. Her feet touched the floor at the same time her cell phone vibrated on the bedside table. Reaching for the phone, she stared at it. An unfamiliar number was displayed on the screen. She punched in her pass code, deciding to answer the call.

“Hello.”

“Hey, baby. I knew you would be up. You always were an early riser.”

The voice on the other end of the connection raised bumps on her exposed flesh. “Why the hell are you calling me?”

“Is that any way to greet your husband?”

She gritted her teeth. “Ex-husband, Reggie.” Peyton knew he hated when she called him Reggie.

His deep laugh came through the earpiece. “I’ll always think of you as my wife, Peyton.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. “I don’t want you to ever call me again.”

“Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”

“No! You said and did enough when we were together.” Peyton pressed her thumb to the touch screen, ending the call.

She didn’t want to believe he had the audacity to call her when she’d told him emphatically she never wanted to see or hear from him again. And Peyton didn’t want to believe that the man with whom she’d wanted to spend her life turned out to be a fraud. When she filed for divorce she didn’t know which of his names to use, so it’d become Reginald Matthews aka Ronald Mitchell, aka Richard Morris. The only consistent thing was his initials. She should’ve known there was something wrong with him because he appeared too good to be true. But at twenty-four she’d believed herself in love for the first time. However, a year later the rosy bubble didn’t burst but exploded when, after he’d been arrested for solicitation, she discovered her husband had a criminal history going back to when he was a juvenile. Reginald’s criminal history included misdemeanor offenses ranging from petty theft, forgery to menacing. He never served time because of his father’s influence.

The elder Matthews had always bailed him out and instead of serving time in jail or prison, Reginald was mandated to community service, which he never completed. However, Reginald’s luck ran out when he was arrested in Florida at the same time his parents were out of the country on vacation. Peyton had no intention of bailing him out for soliciting a prostitute, and he spent a week in jail before he was able to contact his indulgent father to put up the money. She moved out of their apartment, contacted a lawyer and filed for divorce.

Setting the phone on the bedside table, Peyton made her way into an adjoining bathroom. Flicking on a light, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a stranger staring back at her. Her dark gray eyes seemed abnormally large and haunted. A mop of sun-streaked blond hair fell around her face. The spray of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were no longer visible. Sitting on the rails watching the horses exercise, swimming in the in-ground pool, and occasionally picnicking outdoors with her young cousins without a hat had darkened her normal golden-brown complexion to a rich chestnut hue.

Fortunately she’d worn the highest number SPF sunscreen to protect her skin from the damaging rays of the hot Southern sun. If her mother saw her now she would launch into a tirade about the dangers of skin cancer, and Peyton would somehow placate her saying she would check with a dermatologist if she noticed anything out of the ordinary.

She went through her morning ablution, finishing her shower and applying a liberal application of perfumed crème cologne. She slipped into a pair of jeans with a white man-tailored blouse, turning back the cuffs, and a pair of black leather flats. Reaching for a brush, she pulled it through the tawny strands, which fell to her shoulders, smooth and shimmering with pale gold highlights. It’d been more than three years since Peyton had cut her hair, and the urge to cut it again was stronger than ever.

She paused to make her bed and put her bedroom in order before she left the suite of rooms in the large two-story white house she shared with Sheldon, his wife, Renee, and their young daughter, Virginia. Although Sheldon employed a full-time housekeeper, Peyton still cleaned up after herself. She hadn’t grown up with household help, so old habits were hard to break.

The sun was up when she walked to the area where a pickup truck, minivan and a SUV were garaged. Now that Sheldon had officially retired from running the farm, Peyton usually drove the red pickup with the farm’s logo emblazoned on the doors. The doors to the pickup, like all of the vehicles on the farm, were never locked and keys or fobs were always left in the ignition. She kept her medical bag in a locked compartment in the truck along with a pair of knee-high rubber boots.

The farm was beginning to stir. She drove past a group of men walking in the direction of the stables. One by one the horses would be taken from their stalls, washed and groomed, while the stable hands mucked and washed down the stalls. They would be fed and watered and then turned out to pasture to graze. The Thoroughbreds training for races would be exercised before the jockeys put them through their paces. Jockeys and trainers would spend time conferring with one another as the respective trainers entered the data into laptops.

Peyton parked alongside one of the three stables, retrieved her bag and exchanged her shoes for the boots. She walked in, coming face-to-face with Ryan Blackstone, the farm’s resident veterinarian.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked Ryan. “I told you I’d make rounds this morning.” He wore his ubiquitous jeans, plaid cotton shirt, battered baseball cap that had seen better days and scuffed boots. A two-day growth of whiskers shadowed his lean jaw.

The Blackstones were like the Baldwin brothers. The similarity in the actors’ eye color indelibly connected them as family. Whereas the Baldwins shared the gene for ice-blue eyes, it was varying shades of gray with the Blackstones. At forty, tall and slender Dr. Ryan Blackstone was bummed because he claimed more gray hair than his father, who would celebrate his sixtieth birthday the following year.

Ryan raised his eyebrows at his young cousin. She’d enrolled in the Western College of Veterinary Medicine in Saskatchewan, Canada, earning a doctor of veterinary medicine degree. Like him she’d specialized in large animal and equine medicine. He’d found her motivated and single-minded in learning everything she could about medical care for horses. He smiled. This morning she looked ten years younger than twenty-seven with her bare face and her hair pulled into a ponytail.

He reached for her medical bag. “Don’t you have a wedding to go to this afternoon?”

Smiling, Peyton nodded. “I wanted to check on Katie Dee.”

“I checked her already.”

“What’s up, Drs. Blackstone?” quipped one of the workers as he pushed a wheelbarrow filled with hay and manure out of the stable.

Peyton rolled her eyes at him when he winked at her. A few of the single workers had started flirting with her once they’d discovered she wasn’t married. What they didn’t know was that she had been married, but that was something she made certain not to advertise. It was just too embarrassing.

“There is one too many Dr. Blackstones on this farm,” she said under her breath.

Ryan gave her a level stare. “And there’ll probably be a third when Sean goes to veterinary school.”

“He’s only eleven, Ryan. Are you certain he wants to follow in your footsteps?”

“I’m only repeating what he told Kelly.”

Peyton fell in step with Ryan as he walked over to the pickup. “Even though I love working with you, I’ve been applying for positions at other farms. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck. I had a dinner meeting with Nicholas the other night, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him whether he’d let me volunteer some of my time because his sister and her fiancé had come in from North Carolina.”

Opening the passenger-side door, Ryan set her bag on the seat. “Why volunteer, Peyton? You’re a doctor, not an intern. Which means you should be paid for your services.”

She stared at the grooms brushing a mare and her foal, and then her gaze swung back to Ryan’s scowling expression. “It’s not about money.”

“If it’s not money then what on earth could it be?”

“It’s my name.”

“Peyton?”

“No. Blackstone.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with being a Blackstone?”

“Everything if I’m Dr. Blackstone, D.V.M.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “Whenever someone mentions Dr. Blackstone it’s never about me, Ryan. When I discovered the boil on Katie Dee’s back the first thing one of the men said to me is that I should call Dr. Blackstone. They were talking about you. I may not have your experience, but dammit, I do happen to be a licensed veterinarian. Hardly anyone on this farm relates to me as a vet. You, Sheldon and Jeremy are the exceptions.”

“It’s going to take some time before they realize you are.”

“How much time?”

“Probably a year. The more they see you caring for the horses, the more they’ll come to rely on you.” He dropped an arm over her shoulders. “Last night I had an in-depth discussion with Jeremy about setting up an equine hospital on the last quadrant. I could use you at the hospital because of your surgical training. No pressure,” he said quickly when she lifted her eyebrows.

“No pressure but a whole boatload of guilt,” Peyton teased.

Ryan winked at her. “No guilt, either.” He sobered. “I want the best for you, Peyton. And if that means you working at another farm then I want you to follow your dream. The only thing I’m going to ask is if we do put up the hospital I’d like you to assist me in the O.R.”

Peyton rested her head on his shoulder. “I promise. Now, are you coming to the wedding and reception?”

He dropped his arm. “I wouldn’t miss it. Will you save me a dance?”

“I don’t know, cousin. I’ll probably be so busy dancing with all of the single men that I may not have time for an old married man like you.”

“I’m not that old and I haven’t been married that long.”

Peyton wiggled her fingers as she climbed into the truck. “Thanks for taking over for me this morning. I’ll see you later.” She and Ryan alternated days checking on the horses. Not only did she want to gain greater experience caring for the farm animals, but she also wanted Ryan to spend more time with his wife and three young children. She smiled. He’d more or less given her his blessing about securing employment elsewhere. Peyton believed she would never be able to come into her own professionally if she continued to work at her family’s farm.

Peyton maneuvered onto the local road leading to Cole-Thom Farms, downshifting and coming to a stop when she pulled in behind a caravan of trunks and vans inching toward the gatehouse security checkpoint. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in frustration as security personnel carefully checked the papers of the drivers in each van. Nicholas had pulled off a minor miracle when he contracted with an event planner to coordinate a reception for an estimated two hundred guests in less than forty-eight hours.

He had invited several neighboring farms to the soirée; the owners and their employees were already in a party mood because of the upcoming biannual open-house festivities, and the owner of Cole-Thom Farms sister’s wedding was an unexpected prelude to what was touted as an inexhaustible supply of food, drink and music.

Celia and Gavin had picked up their marriage license; she and Celia had selected their gowns from a bridal boutique. Except for adjustments to the bodice, the gowns hadn’t needed any major alterations. They’d also purchased wedding accessories and ordered their bouquets and the groom and best man’s boutonnieres. Customarily some brides spent a year planning their wedding, while Celia’s had taken a mere three days. The weather had also cooperated for the outdoor venue. There was hardly a cloud in the sky; temperatures were predicted to peak in the mid to high eighties, and nighttime temperatures in the mid-seventies.

Peyton gave her name to the guard, who flashed a warm smile. “Aren’t you the lady doctor from Blackstone Farms?”

“Yes, sir.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Clinton Patrick. It’s nice to put a face with a name. Welcome to Cole-Thom Farms.”

She shook the gnarled hand. “Thank you.”

“Go straight ahead and follow the signs to the end of the allée. When you come up on the one for Cole House just make a left and you’re there.”

Towering trees stood along the newly paved roadway like sentinels. The smell of freshly mowed grass wafted through the truck’s open windows. Peyton spied several mares and their foals frolicking in a meadow surrounded by white rails under the watchful eye of farm workers. Men and women dressed in coveralls were unloading vans with tables and chairs, while others were driving stakes into the ground for those waiting to set up tents. Printed signs were posted on trees with directions to turn right or left for parking and comfort stations.

When she’d called to ask Nicholas to meet her for dinner, she’d suggested a Staunton steakhouse. She told him to meet her at the restaurant because she didn’t want him to get the impression that she was trying to come on to him. If they arrived in separate vehicles, then they would leave in separate vehicles. However, he’d insisted he would come to the farm and pick her up. Her plan to talk to him about possible employment was foiled when he called back to say he’d invited his sister and future brother-in-law to join them.

Truthfully Peyton wouldn’t know how to come on to Nicholas, because he was nothing like the men she’d known. He was much too aloof, indifferent. She wasn’t an ingenue when interacting with the opposite sex. By the time she’d entered high school she recognized when a boy was interested in her. The sly glances, the purposeful brush of his body against hers and those bold enough to verbalize they wanted to sleep with her.

Then, Peyton hadn’t had a boyfriend in the traditional sense, but hung out with a group of brainiacs that were more interested in their grades than in hooking up. They did everything together: study, hang out at the mall, go to the movies and crowd into booths at their favorite restaurant chain. The cool kids teased them relentlessly, but Peyton and her fellow geeks closed ranks to strengthen their supportive, carefree bond. She never concerned herself about not having enough money for a movie or for their occasional Friday-night outings because every week everyone in the group would donate five dollars of their allowance to an unofficial sunshine fund. At the end of the school year they celebrated in grand style at an upscale restaurant.

Peyton found kindred spirits in her fellow nerds. They’d developed a friendship that went beyond high-school graduation. As college students they continued to communicate with one another in cyberspace and once a year between Thanksgiving and Christmas they’d reconnect for a celebratory weekend in their small hometown in upstate New York.

College was very different for her. She dated her roommate’s cousin who wasn’t ready or willing to come out of the closet. Peyton wasn’t ready to give up her virginity, so going out with Collier had become a win-win situation for both. Who she did give her virginity to wasn’t worth her taking off her clothes. However, she didn’t know that until it was too late.

She saw the sign for Cole House tacked to a tree, and made a left turn. A trio of chimneys came into view when she maneuvered up an incline. Peyton held her breath when she saw the white three-story antebellum great house at the end of a live oak allée. A full-height, columned porch wrapping around the front and sides of the magnificent Greek Revival mansion was something she’d only seen in books and magazines.

When she and Celia met to discuss wedding plans, the E.R. doctor revealed that Nicholas had spent most of his inheritance to set up his enterprise. Celia also said she thought her younger brother frivolous, but after seeing the farm she was forced to admit he’d proven her wrong.

Peyton parked the pickup behind Nicholas’s late-model Lincoln sedan in the circular driveway. Alighting from the truck, she walked up the steps to the porch. She lifted the massive lion’s head door knocker, letting it fall against the door painted a glossy navy blue. Seconds later it opened and she curbed the urge to take a backward step when Nicholas loomed over her. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected him to answer his own door.

Peyton held her breath when she stared at the white T-shirt stretched over his broad, muscled chest. Her gaze moved slowly from his throat to the faded relaxed jeans riding dangerously low on a pair of slim hips. Her gaze reversed itself when she stared boldly at his face. There was something in his large, dark eyes that wouldn’t permit her to glance away. The nostrils of his delicate nose flared slightly when their eyes met and held.

“Good morning, Nicholas.” Peyton didn’t recognize her own voice when she stared at the stubble on his jaw. The timbre was low and breathless as if she’d run a grueling race.

Peyton failed to understand her own reaction to a man who was always seated next to her whenever Sheldon invited him for dinner. Except for a request to pass a plate or dish hardly a word was exchanged between them other than polite greetings. Their strained association had continued at the restaurant. She’d interacted with Celia and Gavin more than she had with Nicholas. However, she did get to see another side of him, a softer, relaxed part of him as he smiled at his sister’s enthusiasm whenever she talked about her upcoming nuptials. He also appeared to be amused watching Celia and Gavin share surreptitious glances, endearments and an occasional caress.

She didn’t know what it was about this reserved man that made her heart beat a little too quickly. It wasn’t only because he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, but the way he looked through her rather than at her, which led her to ask herself if he found something about her that turned him off. She’d begun to ruminate on various reasons for his coldness, and the only thing she could come up with was perhaps she’d reminded him of someone in his past.

* * *

Nicholas opened the door wider. “Good morning, Peyton. Please come in.” He noticed her looking at his bare feet.

“How is Celia holding up?” she asked.

“She’s not.”

Her head popped up. “What!”

Nicholas almost laughed aloud when he saw Peyton’s shocked expression. The thick, charcoal-gray lashes shadowing her cheeks flew up. There was something so young and innocent about her that he suddenly didn’t want to believe she was in her twenties. She reminded him of a high-school cheerleader with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“When I saw her earlier she was so nervous she refused to eat. I’d like for you to try and get her to drink something.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

He watched Peyton glance around the entryway. “You’ve never been here?”

“No.”

“Would you like a quick tour?” Nicholas asked.

“Perhaps another time. Celia and I have to be at the salon by eleven. But, there is something I’d like to talk to you about that I didn’t get a chance to do at the restaurant.”

Nicholas studied the petite blonde woman with incredibly beautiful gray eyes and a killer, compact body. Even though Peyton Blackstone was physically the complete opposite of what he considered his type, he had to acknowledge she was stunning. Resting a hand at the small of her back, he led Peyton through the entryway and into the living room, seating her on a straight-back armchair, he taking a facing matching one. He’d been curious as to why Peyton wanted to meet with him.

“I’d like to apologize for the other night. Even though you’d called the meeting I still invited Celia and Gavin to join us.”

Peyton waved her hand. “That’s all right. If you hadn’t invited them I wouldn’t be your sister’s maid of honor.”

“It’s not all right,” Nicholas countered. “Not only was it rude but also selfish on my part.”

“I don’t want to argue about it, Nicholas. It’s not that critical.”

His eyes drilled into her. “Aren’t you going to accept my apology?”

Peyton returned his glare with one of her own. A shiver eddied over her, bringing a chill despite the comfortable temperature in the room. If Nicholas believed he was going to intimidate her, then he was mistaken. She’d grown up with a father that made intimidation his trademark. Alphonso Blackstone was a harsh taskmaster. The men working for his construction company never slacked off in fear of losing their jobs, and his sternness was transferred to his home where her mother did everything humanly possible to keep the peace. Only Peyton was immune to his unexpected outbursts. She’d learned to tune him out whenever he complained that he had had to lay men off because business orders were down, while her mother placated him with her patent “things will turn around soon.” Lena Blackstone was always the optimist and her husband the pessimist.

“We’ll talk another time.” Celia had just walked into the living room. She stood up, Nicholas rising with her. She stared at Celia, who looked as if she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were puffy and lines of strain bracketed her generous mouth. Closing the space separating them, Peyton hugged Celia. “You look a hot mess,” she whispered in her ear.

Celia returned the hug. “I’m an E.R. trauma doctor supposedly with nerves of steel, but I’m having a meltdown just because I’m getting married.”

“What you need is some comfort food for the Southern soul,” Peyton said. “We’ll stop at a little takeout place and get an order of grits and eggs.” She wanted to tell the prospective bride that getting married was one of the most important events in one’s life, and would change Celia’s and Gavin’s lives forever.

Pulling back, Celia shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything. And what do you know about soul food?”

Peyton went completely still, struggling to rein in her rising temper. “I know as much about it as you do. And please don’t let the blond hair and gray eyes and the fact I come from upstate New York delude you into thinking I’m not a woman of color.”

Nicholas knew it was time to intervene or Celia would start something with Peyton she had no chance of winning. “Cee Cee, you...” Peyton held up her hand stopping whatever it was he’d planned to say.

“Please stay out of this, Nicholas,” she warned softly. “I can understand what your sister is going through. She’s having premarital jitters, and if she doesn’t get over it real quick I’m going to seduce her drop-dead-gorgeous fiancé. And you know it’s been done before.”

Celia’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t?”

Peyton bit back a smile. Talking about seducing Gavin had shaken Celia from her malaise. “I damn sure will if you don’t stop being a drama queen.”

Squaring her shoulders, Celia straightened her spine. “Okay. I’ll try and eat something.”

“Once you taste Mama Lula’s grits and eggs you won’t be able to stop eating.” Looping her arm through Celia’s she forced her to put one foot in front of the other. Glancing over her shoulder, Peyton smiled at Nicholas. He returned it with a wide grin and a wink.

“Later.”

Nicholas nodded. “Later,” he repeated.

Chapter 2

Peyton knew she was speeding but she wanted to get to Mama Lula’s to pick up the order she’d called in, and then to the salon. If Celia had planned to marry on the weekend she doubted whether they would’ve been able to secure an appointment. The technicians at Unique Creations were usually booked up two to three weeks in advance.

She gave Celia a sidelong glance. She was a feminine version of her brother, reminding Peyton of a doll with her small round face, black curls grazing the nape of her neck, large dark eyes, and pert nose, curved mouth and thumbprint-dimpled brown cheeks.

“I’m sorry I came at you like a rabid dog,” Peyton apologized.

Pressing the back of her head to the headrest, Celia closed her eyes. “And I’m sorry if you misunderstood me. I would never presume to identify your racial designation. I have an uncle with light green eyes whose hair was much lighter than yours. He has a grandson who looks exactly like him even though Alejandro’s parents both have black hair. When Uncle Josh tans his complexion is similar to yours. And he doesn’t bite his tongue when he brags about being an Afro-Cuban down to the marrow in his bones.”

Peyton felt duly chastised. People who hadn’t seen her parents would rudely ask “what are you?” And her pat comeback was “An American.” “I inherited my eye color from my father and everything else from my mother. Mom is very mild-mannered and laid-back, and the only time I witnessed her going ballistic was when I came home to tell her that my second-grade teacher, who was new to the school, asked me what I was. When I’d innocently told her my name she said knew that, but wanted to know if I was white or black. My mother called a lawyer and had the teacher transferred to another school.”

Celia opened her eyes. “Why should it matter what you are?”

Peyton shook her head. “I really don’t know what the big deal is when it comes to a person’s race. Didn’t we elect a mixed-race president?”

“Word,” Celia drawled. “By the way, the Coles are a patchwork quilt of different races and ethnicities.”

“Do you speak Spanish?” Peyton asked.

“Yes. My father and grandmother always spoke to me and my brothers in Spanish. My father felt it was important we know more than one language. It was different with abuela. She didn’t want us to forget our Cuban roots.”

The two women talked about their medical careers, professors, fellow students, course work and internships. Their order was waiting when Peyton maneuvered up to the drive-through window at Mama Lula’s. They had twenty minutes to spare, so they sat in the parking lot behind the salon eating grits, fluffy scrambled eggs and fileted whiting seasoned and fried to perfection.

Celia took a deep swallow of coffee. “Do you think we’re going to be able to fit into our gowns?”

Touching the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin, Peyton nodded. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. We probably won’t eat anything else until later on tonight.” Their gowns were scheduled to be delivered to the farm at noon.

Celia patted her flat belly. “Thank you for forcing me to eat. I really needed to put something in my stomach.”

Peyton gathered the containers and coffee cups, storing them in a plastic bag. “I knew you would feel better if you ate something.”

A beat passed. “Would you have really attempted to seduce Gavin?”

She looked at Nicholas’s sister as if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. “I was just blowing smoke, Celia. I’ve never attempted to seduce another woman’s man and I pray I don’t lose my mind and actually do something that skanky.”

Combing her fingers through the mass of raven curls, Celia held them off her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I believed you. I lost one fiancé, so it’s always in the back of my mind that I could lose another one.”

“What happened? Talk to me while we walk.”

Peyton listened, stunned when Celia disclosed the gang-related shooting rampage in the Miami hospital emergency room where her fiancé had been one of six murdered in cold blood. Two doctors died that night along with her patient and three other gang members. She and three others were wounded in a mêlée that lasted no more than thirty seconds and had turned the E.R. into a killing field.

“It’s been a year, but I still have nightmares,” she whispered as they entered the salon through the rear door.

Peyton wanted to know how seriously Celia had been injured and what had happened to the shooters, but it was too late to ask when they were approached by the owner of the salon. “Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. I’m Peyton Blackstone and this is Celia Thomas.”

Barbara Barnes, or Babs as she was referred to by her closest friends, pressed her manicured hands together. It was impossible to pinpoint her age; the woman had been nipped and tucked to where she’d literally stopped time. She was tall and claimed a figure that would rival a woman decades younger. Her short coiffed honey-blond hair, flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and her makeup were in keeping with someone who had achieved grande dame status. It was only on a rare occasion she would be seen in the upscale unisex salon.

“Welcome, Miss Blackstone. When one of my technicians told me you needed an appointment for a bridal package I knew I had to come and personally meet you. I had Iris move several clients to another day.”

Earlier that morning Peyton had complained to Ryan that being a Blackstone in horse country was more of a disadvantage than an advantage, but apparently she’d been wrong. She knew she’d been given an appointment when she told the receptionist her name; the woman called her back to inform her that someone had cancelled and they would be able to fit her and Celia in.

“Thanks so much for being so accommodating,” Peyton said, smiling.

Barbara inclined her head in acknowledgment. Her brown eyes shifted from Peyton to Celia and then back. “Who is the bride?”

Celia flashed a dimpled smile. “I am. And Peyton is my maid of honor.”

“You’re both lovely girls. My husband and Sheldon are very good friends. He was part owner in one of Sheldon’s Thoroughbreds that made Grainger a very wealthy man. So, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a Blackstone. I know you didn’t request it, but I’m throwing in full-body massages for both of you.” She winked at Celia. “A bride should be completely relaxed on her wedding day. Do you ladies have a favorite fragrance?”

Peyton exchanged a puzzled glance with Celia. “Anaïs Anaïs.”

Barbara smiled. “And you, Celia?”

“Trésor.”

“I asked because I know the wedding begins at four, so you’ll be able to shower and apply your fragrance before we do your hair and makeup. This way when you return home you’ll just have to slip into your gowns.” She motioned to a young woman dressed in a flowing black smock with her name stitched on one pocket and Unique Creations on the other. “Ingrid, please take care of

Ms. Blackstone and Ms. Thomas.”

Peyton and Celia gave each other fist bumps, as they followed Ingrid to a dressing room where they left their street clothes in a locker and were given plush black velour robes and matching slippers. Soft, relaxing Zen-like music coming from concealed speakers competed with the hypnotic sound of flowing water in a large corner waterfall filled with stalks of bamboo. They were brought into the massage room; scented candles and diffused light threw soft shadows on the walls and ceiling. Peyton felt as if she’d entered a cave or a grotto. The masseurs stepped out while they exchanged the robes for a towel, then lay facedown on the heated massage tables.

Both women lost track of time when they were simultaneously massaged and kneaded from head to toe. The massage was followed by a facial that left their faces cool and tingling. Peyton was almost listless when she was told she had to take a shower. They headed back to the massage tables where the masseurs applied scented body creams in their favorite fragrances. Dots of perfume were applied to all the pulse points. Her entire body glistened and glowed from the ministration.

Peyton slipped back into her robe, accepted a mug of steaming herbal tea, and as soon as she finished it she was seated in a shampoo chair. She ignored the conversations going on around her, luxuriating in the feel of strong fingers massaging her scalp. Every service was performed in precision like an assembly line. The highly skilled technicians knew exactly what to do, and there was no wasted motion. Her pedicure was completed when she sat in the chair with her hair slathered in a rich avocado-based conditioner under a plastic cap. Following the conditioning treatment, her hair was blown out and styled in a loose twist behind her left ear.

Her eyes met Celia’s in the mirror as they sat next to each other. Celia’s raven curls were set on large rollers, and then blown straight, brushed off her face and pinned into a chignon on the nape of her long, smooth neck. Celia had decided to wear flowers in her hair instead of the traditional veil or headpiece, while Peyton had chosen pearl and crystal hairpins.

Glancing at a wall clock in the glass and mirrored salon, Peyton noted the time. It was minutes before two. All that remained was a manicure and makeup. Although the invitations read four o’clock, Celia insisted the ceremony begin no later than four-thirty.

The manicurist noticed her staring at the clock. “Don’t worry, Ms. Blackstone. Someone will be applying your makeup while I do your manicure.”

* * *

“What’s going on?” Celia asked when Peyton maneuvered into the driveway at Nicholas’s house. A woman dressed in a black pantsuit with a pair of oversize sunglasses perched on the top of her reddish-pink hair was shouting into a walkie-talkie at the top of her lungs. The color in her face went from pink to bright red in seconds. She beckoned them to get out of the truck.

Peyton came to a stop, shifting into Park. “She has to be the planner.” Within seconds of getting out of the pickup two young women wearing similar pantsuits appeared as if out of nowhere.

The woman stepped forward, extending her free hand. “I’m Danielle Lawson, the event planner. We’re working on a very tight time frame, which means you have to go with the bridal attendants who will help you get ready. The groom and best man are dressed, so we’re only waiting for you. By the way, you look very nice.” She put the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Get someone here to move this truck to the parking area.”

Celia and Peyton followed the two women around to the back of the house, entering through a rear door. A small storage room off the pantry had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. Both gowns, covered in clear plastic, hung from wall hooks and a full-length mirror was propped against one wall; the wedding flowers, boxes with shoes, lingerie and jewelry were set out on a cloth-covered table.

The bridal attendants worked quickly and efficiently when they helped Peyton and Celia out of their clothes and into their wedding finery. Both women stared wide-eyed at themselves in the mirror as jeweled hairpins were secured in Peyton’s hair, while Celia’s attendant tucked tiny pink rosebuds into the ebony coil of the bride’s hair.

Celia had chosen a platinum silk sheath with embroidered tulle, a sweetheart neckline, short cap sleeves, beading, sheer back and a sweep train. Peyton’s gown was similar, a darker gray and designed without the train. The simplicity of the gowns, hairstyles and dramatic eye makeup was perfect for a summer afternoon wedding.

Slipping her feet into a pair of charcoal-gray silk rhinestone-studded sling-blacks, Peyton added four inches to her five-three height. Celia had decided on a pair of satin pumps with a lower heel in a becoming platinum shade. She’d admitted if she was going to be up on her feet for hours, she much preferred a two-inch heel rather than a higher one. Standing five-eight in bare feet, four inches would have put her at the six-foot mark.

“Please hold out your left hand, Miss Blackstone.”

Peyton complied, her eyes widening as Celia’s attendant looped a bracelet with princess-cut diamonds around her wrist, securing it with a double safety catch. Peyton looked at Celia. “We didn’t order this.”

Celia’s dimpled smile was dazzling. “It’s my gift to you for being an incredible maid of honor.” She held up her hand when Peyton opened her mouth. “Please let me finish. It’s the least I could do for you, because you arranged and paid for the beauty makeover. You also got your cousin to agree to let Reverend Merrill officiate. And you’ve also kept me sane. So please be gracious and accept it.”

She wanted to be gracious, but the weight of the white metal and the size of the stones in the bracelet probably cost more than some people earned in six months. “It’s exquisite, Celia. But it’s too—”

“Please stop it, Peyton,” Celia implored, interrupting her. “Nicholas and I grew up with trust funds, and our parents taught us it’s gauche to talk about money.”

Peyton’s smile did not reach her eyes. She may not have been a trust-fund kid and she hadn’t grown up dirt poor; however Celia’s gift was not only extravagant but also unwarranted. “Thankfully I’ve never been accused of being gauche,” she said under her breath as the attendant handed her Gavin’s double milgrain platinum wedding band. She put the ring on her thumb. She reached for Celia’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Gavin is very, very lucky. You are the perfect bride.”

A fringe of long lashes concealed Celia’s eyes. “Thank you, Peyton. And you’re a beautiful maid of honor, a wonderful friend, and I hope one day we’ll become more than friends.” She leaned in close. “I’m willing to bet Nicholas won’t be able to take his eyes off of you tonight.”

Danielle walked into the room, clapping her hands. “Ladies, we’re ready to begin. Maid of honor first, then the bride.”

Peyton didn’t want to think about Nicholas. She’d begun to believe her fascination with him was due to his mysteriousness. She’d watched him interact with other people, and not once was she able to discern from his expression what he was feeling. If he had been angry or annoyed that emotion also remained hidden behind a facade of polite indifference. She rarely saw him laugh or smile. Dinner at the restaurant had been the exception and she wondered if it had anything to do with Celia’s presence. It was obvious he adored his sister.

She wanted to forget the episode in the restaurant restroom when she confessed to Celia she was in love with Nicholas. Hours later Peyton realized she hadn’t been totally truthful about her revelation. She didn’t know how to explain to Celia that she’d mentally replaced Reginald with Nicholas in an attempt to emotionally exorcise a man whom she’d loved selflessly. A love he’d exploited and abused to fuel a life filled with deception.

Picking up her bouquet of pink-and-white roses, Peyton lifted the skirt of her gown with her free hand and walked out into the afternoon sunlight, following the planner down a flagstone path to an archway covered with climbing pale pink roses. The plantings were mixed, roses set among perennials that created a riot of color. Beyond the arch was a wooden fence with a doorway.

Danielle settled her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to open the door, but I want you to wait until I give you the signal to go through. The maid of honor will go first, followed by the bride.” A photographer stood off to the side snapping frames of pictures.

Peyton, glancing over her shoulder, gave Celia a reassuring smile. She didn’t want to think about her own wedding day; she had been in love and believed when she’d married Reginald it would last forever. However, forever lasted a year and when her loving husband had called her to come and bail him out of jail her world came crashing down around her. She would’ve understood if he’d been arrested for DWI or DUI, but not solicitation. While she’d believed her husband was traveling on business, he’d actually been busy soliciting prostitutes.

Her musings were shattered when Danielle opened the gate, revealing a charming English garden. A videographer was on hand to tape the entire ceremony. It was the perfect setting for an afternoon wedding. Marble statues of fairies peeked through a border of ornamental grass; water spilled from the mouth of a large fish perched atop a wide fountain and wildflowers in every variety grew in wild abandon among with vibrant hibiscus and hanging baskets overflowing with orchids. Several low stone benches were positioned around a large waterfall, making it the perfect spot to begin or end the day.

Peyton didn’t want to look at the opposite end of the flower-strewn path, yet she found she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the tall, ramrod-straight figure seemingly willing her to meet his eyes. Nicholas stood next to Gavin under a pergola intertwined with ivy and grape leaves. It was as if he possessed special powers with an indescribable force field pulling her in his direction.

Everything around her vanished: the wedding guests sitting on white tufted chairs waiting for the ceremony to begin; Gavin watching and waiting for his bride; Reverend Jimmy Merrill clutching his bible to his chest and the guitarist’s lightning-quick fingers playing flamenco on an acoustic guitar. Nothing existed except the man with whom she felt a connection despite his overt remoteness. The guitarist’s fingers slowed as he segued from the staccato strumming to a hauntingly beautiful rendition of “I’ll Always Love You.”

Danielle moved closer. “I’m going to start counting and when I reach ten I want you to start walking. I want you to take a pause a half second between each step so everyone will get a good look at you before you reach the pergola. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Peyton wondered if the event planner had been a drill sergeant in a former life. She didn’t ask or make requests. She barked orders, expecting them to be followed without question.

At Danielle’s whispered signal, she began the measured walk along the path, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. A mysterious smile parted her lips when she recognized the shocked expressions on the faces of those who lived with her at the farm. They were used to seeing her without makeup and her hair styled in a ponytail or braid.

She gave Sheldon a perceptible nod when he winked at her. Her father’s third cousin, widowed at thirty-two, had become a sought-after widower. Twenty years later he fell in love again and married Renee Wilson. He’d also become a father for the third time when Renee gave birth to a daughter.

Lowering her chin slightly, she stared at Nicholas through her lashes when she stood opposite him. The look on his face mirrored those who knew her: shock.

Gotcha! her silent voice shouted in triumph.

* * *

Gavin shifted until his shoulder brushed Nicholas’s. “The lady vet cleans up real good,” he said sotto voce.

Nicholas went completely still, as if someone had impaled him with a sharp instrument, while his breath solidified in his lungs. “No lie,” he whispered back.

If it hadn’t been for her hair Nicholas wouldn’t have recognized the veterinarian. She may have been given a boy’s name, yet there was nothing boyish about her petite, compact curvy body.

His gaze lingered on the toes of her shoes peeking out from under the hem of the gown that was a perfect match for her eyes before slowly inching up to the soft swell of breasts rising and falling above the revealing neckline. Staring at Peyton called to mind one of the dolls in Celia’s doll collection: perfectly coiffed golden hair, expertly applied makeup and drop-dead-gorgeous figure clothed in an exquisite evening gown.

Nicholas had feigned a lack of interest whenever Sheldon invited him to eat with his family, where invariably he and Peyton would be seated together. He’d purposely ignored her whenever they occupied the same space because she had become a constant reminder of how much he’d missed female companionship. Peyton also reminded him of when he’d ignored his intuition and had formed a relationship with a woman who was the opposite of any with whom he’d become involved. He didn’t know how, but he always felt tension radiating off Peyton, wondering why she was so uptight.

But he did get to see a very different Peyton at the restaurant. Nicholas wasn’t certain whether she’d bonded with Celia because both were doctors but she laughed easily, while exhibiting a wicked sense of humor. She appeared so much younger than twenty-seven, and with her petite frame he’d tried imagining her treating an animal as large as a horse.

Twice within the space of a week she’d tried to talk to him. Well, he mused, tonight would be different. After all, he was the best man and she maid of honor and that meant they would be forced to interact with each other. His entrancement with Peyton ended when the guitarist played the opening strains of the “Wedding March.” As if on cue, everyone stood up.

Nicholas had offered to walk Celia down the aisle, but she’d insisted that privilege belonged to their father. She’d also made him promise not to tell their parents she was marrying Gavin. He didn’t ask why but assumed Celia had a good reason for wanting to keep her marriage a secret.

He smiled, lines fanning out around his eyes with his sister’s approach. Never had she looked more serene. He’d witnessed her joy during her medical-school graduation, but this was different. Celia had been given a second chance at love. She’d been seriously wounded, while her fiancé Dr. Yale Trevor-Jones was killed instantly during the E.R. shootout. Nicholas flew from Virginia to Florida, sitting by his sister’s bedside until her medical condition was upgraded to good. He’d invited her to live with him while she recuperated, but Celia, similar to their mother, did not like horses. It’d taken a year, her falling in love and her agreeing to marry Gavin Faulkner for her to visit Cole-Thom Farms for the first time.

“Sweet heaven! She...she looks amazing.” Gavin’s voice cracked with emotion.

“All Cole women are beautiful,” Nicholas countered smugly.

Gavin chuckled. “It’s like that, brother?”

Nicholas nodded. “Damn straight, brother. You’ll see once you meet the family.”

Gavin took Celia’s right hand, tucking it into the bend of his elbow when she stood next to him. His dark eyes caressed every inch of her face. “I love you more than life itself.” A murmur went up from those sitting close enough to overhear his impassioned words.

Peyton felt hot tears prick the back of her eyelids with Gavin’s pronouncement, blinking wildly in an attempt to keep them from falling and ruining her makeup. It was obvious he was in love with his bride but she never would’ve predicated the man with the face and body of an A-list Hollywood actor would bare his soul in front of strangers. Her eyes met Nicholas’s briefly before she looked away, his expression giving away nothing.

She exhaled a soft breath, concentrating on Jimmy Merrill when he motioned for everyone to sit. The tall, rawboned minister had served as an assistant pastor in a little church in Texas before coming to Blackstone Farms to work as an assistant groom. There was a school, but no church at the farm, which prompted Sheldon to approve the construction of an interdenominational church on the south end of the sprawling property.

Jimmy opened his bible. “We’re gathered together here to join this man and this woman in the bonds of marriage. I will begin with a reading from the book of Numbers. ‘If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth. If a woman also vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand.’”

Peyton didn’t know how, but she felt the heat of Nicholas’s gaze on her face. Giving him a sidelong glance she met his curious stare. Rays of sunlight piercing the leaves of a nearby tree slanted over his face, turning him into a statue of gold. He and Gavin had elected to wear tuxedos, the tailored jacket flattering his broad shoulders. The pale pink silk tie, fashioned in a Windsor knot under the spread collar white shirt, matched the rose boutonniere. He smiled, an elusive dimple in his lean jaw deepening.

“You look lovely,” he mouthed slowly enough for her to read his lips.

Smiling, Peyton inclined her head, acknowledging his unexpected compliment. She was brought back to the ceremony when Jimmy asked Nicholas for Celia’s ring. Reaching into the pocket of his tuxedo, he handed Gavin the platinum band. Peyton repeated the gesture, removing the groom’s band off her thumb. She held Celia’s bouquet of pale pink roses tied with two yards of wide silver picot-edged ribbon.

Resting his hand over Celia’s and Gavin’s, Jimmy whispered a quiet prayer blessing the newlyweds’ union. Smiling, a network of fine lines fanning out around his eyes, he said in a clear voice, “Gavin, you may kiss your bride.”

Wrapping both arms around Celia’s waist, Gavin lifted her off her feet and kissed her passionately. Celia responded by looping her arms around her husband’s neck, returning the passionate kiss.

Jimmy smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present Mr. and Mrs. Gavin Faulkner.”

His announcement was followed by applause and shouts. Peyton handed Celia her bouquet and taking Nicholas’s proffered arm, she retraced her steps down the path as the many guests showered Gavin and Celia with flower petals, rice and birdseed.

As they stepped through the garden door, they were met by the photographer. “Please wait off to the side until everyone leaves because I want to take photos of the wedding party.”

Nicholas placed his arm around Peyton’s waist, smiling when the bride and groom accepted best wishes from complete strangers. He shook the hands of those who congratulated him on his sister’s marriage.

He knew his mother was concerned that he would never marry, yet that wasn’t a concern for Nicholas. He hadn’t said he would never marry. The question was when. If or when he met that special woman then he wouldn’t have to be coerced to commit.

Peyton, who’d slipped her arm around Nicholas’s waist inside his jacket, whispered, “It was perfect.”

“Celia is more than worthy of perfection because she’s gone through a lot this past year. It’s the least I could do for her.”

“You did real good, Nicholas.”

They shared a smile. “So did you, Peyton.”

The last guest had filed out of the garden, heading for the reception area when the photographer and videographers ushered the wedding party back into the garden for photographs that would recapture the occasion for posterity.

Chapter 3

“Move a little closer to the best man,” the diminutive photographer instructed Peyton. “I doubt if he will bite you,” he added with a Cheshire cat grin.

He’d taken frame after frame of the bride and groom posing in front of the fountain, under the pergola, the flowering archway, outside the garden gate, Gavin sitting on the stone bench with Celia, while she reclined against his shoulder. There were shots with Gavin and Nicholas, Celia and Peyton, and all four laughing, hugging and kissing. Peyton felt her knees buckle slightly when Nicholas brushed his mouth over hers. It’d only lasted seconds but for her it was long enough to savor the surprisingly gentle caress of his firm mouth.

Chuckling, Nicholas pressed his mouth to her ear. “He’s right. I don’t bite.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That photographer is a little pervert,” Peyton whispered between clenched teeth. “Didn’t you see him salivating on my chest every time he tried to get me into a pose?”

Nicholas’s arm tightened around her waist. He chanced a quick glance at her décolletage. The top of her tanned breasts were on sensual display each time she took a breath. “Do you want me to punch him out?”

“No! Please don’t.” Gavin and Celia, standing a short distance away turned and stared at Peyton with the sudden outburst. She couldn’t stop the wave of heat creeping from her chest to her face. Peyton didn’t know if Nicholas was serious or joking. However, she didn’t want him to become the knight in shining armor stepping in to defend her and ruin his sister’s special day with a physical confrontation.

Myron Essex frowned at Peyton. “Is something wrong, Ms. Blackstone?”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Essex.”

Myron threw up both hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I cannot work like this if you don’t cooperate with me.”

Her jaw dropped. What was he talking about? Cooperate. She’d done everything he’d wanted her to do, and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am cooperating but what is it exactly do you—”

“Enough with the melodrama, Essex,” Nicholas interrupted angrily. He wasn’t going to stand there and let the man insult Peyton. In fact, she had done everything he’d wanted her to do. “Let’s get this done so we can go and mingle with our guests.”

The harshness in his tone dared the photographer to challenge him. After all, he was paying the man top dollar for the wedding photos. He didn’t know if the little pervert, as Peyton referred to him, liked her and had a perverse way of showing it by being overly critical; he also had tired of the endless posing that had taken up more than an hour. Peyton had been nothing short of perfection—from the way she looked to being accomplished and adept when following the photographer’s directives.

Myron recoiled as if he’d been struck across the face, however he recovered quickly. “I need Ms. Blackstone to turn her left shoulder until she’s half facing you. And, Mr. Thomas, I need you to place your right hand on Ms. Blackstone’s left shoulder. I want both of you to look at each other. That’s it,” he said, his voice rising in excitement. Peering through the viewfinder of his camera, he got off five shots in rapid succession. “Nice. Now I need the entire wedding party to stand together. We’ll take this one in front of the waterfall. The ladies will stand next to each other with the men flanking them.”

Dappled sunlight filtered through a grove of flowering fruit trees, a slight breeze showering those in the garden with white and pink petals. Peyton raised her chin slightly as several landed on her hair and lashes; she smiled like a young child watching falling snow. Nicholas stared at her upturned face, the image caught by the camera lens. Celia resting her head on Gavin’s shoulder as he lowered his head to kiss her hair was captured in the same frame.

Myron lowered his camera and puffed out his chest. Even before seeing the digital image she knew the shots were exquisite. “I’m finished for now. I’ll take some more at the reception.”

Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, Nicholas took out his cell phone and tapped several buttons. “I need you to bring the car around to drive us over to the reception area.”

* * *

It was obvious Nicholas had pulled out all the stops to celebrate Celia’s impromptu marriage. The invited guests, seated or standing under white tents, were drinking or talking to one another as a DJ was busy spinning tunes. Several couples were already up on the portable dance floor showing off their fancy footwork. Solar lanterns and gardenia leaves floating in water-filled crystal bowls served as centerpieces for each table.

An outdoor kitchen had been set up on the south meadow with eight chefs preparing cook-to-order meals for nearly two hundred guests. The caterer, with a staff of fifty were kept busy filling water goblets, serving alcoholic libations, taking orders and setting out plates of salad and freshly baked artisan bread.

Nicholas glanced up at the waiter who paused in front of him with a bottle of Perrier in one hand and white wine in the other. “I’ll just have the water.”

The white-jacketed waiter filled the goblet with sparkling water. “Would you prefer red wine?”

“No, thank you. The water is fine.” He noticed Peyton giving him a questioning look. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked. “Are you abstaining tonight?”

Leaning to his right, his shoulder touched hers. “I’m waiting for the champagne toast. Remember we have the open house at your farm tomorrow night and Harridans on Saturday night. You’ve never been to a horse farm open house?” he asked when she gave him a blank stare.

Peyton shook her head. “No. This will be my first year. I’ve spent the last eleven years of my life in school. And that includes college and veterinary school, including an internship and another three years of residency training. As a kid I would always spend the month of August down here, and cry my eyes out when I had to go back home.”

“Had you always wanted to become a vet?” Nicholas asked.

Staring up at him through her lashes, Peyton’s lips parted in a smile. “Always and forever,” she crooned. “I knew I had to study very hard and that meant missing high-school dances and football games.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth. “So, you were one of the smart kids.” The query was a statement.

Throwing back her head, Peyton laughed softly. “I was the personification of a geek.”

“No way,” he countered.

“Yes way. And it paid off.”

Nicholas paused. “There’s nothing better than realizing your dream.”

Peyton heard the wistfulness in his voice. “Have you realized yours, Nicholas?”

He cocked his head, seemingly deep in thought. “I have, but I had to take a circuitous route. Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked, deftly changing the topic.

Drawing in a deep breath, she told Nicholas about her attempts to secure a position as an equine veterinarian at several of the other horse farms but without success. “I’m even willing to volunteer my services.”

“Isn’t your farm large enough to support two resident vets?”

“You’re missing the point, Nicholas. When someone mentions Blackstone Farms’ vet everyone knows they’re talking about Ryan. However, if I were to work for you Cole-Thom Farms would have its own Dr. Blackstone.”

Nicholas draped an arm over the back of Peyton’s chair. “I’d love to help you out, but I have a contract with Dr. Harry Richardson that doesn’t expire until next September. And I wouldn’t feel comfortable having you volunteer your services. That would be exploitation. But, if you can wait a year I’ll be more than willing to consider your offer.”

Peyton breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief. At least Nicholas hadn’t turned her down flat like some of the other owners. She didn’t want to believe it was because of professional jealousy, but competition and rivalries between horse farms was as epidemic as in other professional organized sports.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Placing his hand over hers outstretched on the tablecloth, Nicholas gently squeezed her delicate fingers. “You’re welcome. Have you decided what you want to eat?” He’d noticed she hadn’t checked off any of her dining selections.

Peyton eased her hand from under Nicholas’s much larger one. She picked up the pencil beside her place setting. “I can’t decide between the prime rib and fish selections.”

Nicholas picked his own pencil. “Why don’t you go for the surf and turf?”

She studied the printed menu. The caterers had listed medallion filet mignon and prime rib for beef selections and broiled salmon, Maryland-style crab cakes and pan-fried sole under fish. Chicken cordon bleu, broiled Cornish hens and herb-encrusted roast chicken were available for those who preferred poultry. While they’d posed for photos the guests were served hot and cold hors d’oeuvres along with specially mixed exotic drinks with and without alcohol. The grits, eggs and fish she’d eaten earlier that morning had managed to sustain Peyton throughout the morning and afternoon, but now she was ready to eat again.

“I think I’m going to have the prime rib and crab cakes,” she said.

Nicholas checked off his choices. “I’m going totally fish tonight. Salmon and sole.”

“After this weekend I know I’m going to have to either fast or detox,” Peyton said. The Blackstones had decided on a cookout theme for their open-house celebration, and she hadn’t heard what the Harridans were planning.

Nicholas had to agree with Peyton. Although he hadn’t officially announced that Cole-Thom Farms was hosting an open house, inviting two neighboring farms to Celia’s wedding reception had become a fitting substitute. He was more than aware of the lingering resentment among several of the owners with farms with racing and horse-breeding histories going back more than eighty years. He was viewed as the new kid on the block who purportedly had enough money to not take on investors.

With the exception of Sheldon Blackstone, none of them knew much about him. Once he’d taken possession of the deeded land and begun the task of restoring the house that would become his permanent home, Sheldon had come and offered to help him in every way he could to make the transition smooth and easier than it had been for him more than forty years ago.

Sheldon had become Nicholas’s surrogate father, mentor and a relentless tutor when Nicholas found himself tested over and over as to different breeds and the finite mechanics that went into horse racing. Peyton claimed she studied hard to become a veterinarian and he’d studied equally hard to become a horse breeder.

Dusk had descended on the farm and light from strategically placed lampposts had come on, illuminating the landscape and turning it into an emerald forest. Strings of lights entwined in tree branches twinkled like stars in the encroaching darkness.

All of the horses were stabled before the first guests had arrived and the farm’s security staff circulated inconspicuously among the assembly. Stringent precautions were taken to protect and secure millions in horseflesh whenever visitors were present. Closed-circuit TVs were viewed by the person manning the gatehouse and inconspicuously placed cameras monitored activity throughout the four-hundred-plus acres. There was another hundred acres of vacant land bordering the west end of the property Nicholas wanted to purchase not because he wanted to expand the farm but for better security. Signs were posted around the perimeter stating: Trespassers Will Be Shot on Sight and if Still Alive, Then Prosecuted. He’d increased security when there were rumors that someone had planned to steal a prized Arabian stallion he’d purchased for breeding.

A waitress picked up the dining requests from those at the bridal table as the maître d’ urged those standing around to take their seats because the waiters would begin serving dinner. Leaning forward in his chair, Nicholas noticed that Celia was resting her head on Gavin’s shoulder, and he wondered if she was overwhelmed with all of the festivities or she wasn’t feeling well. It’d only been a year since she’d hovered between life and death; she’d lost nearly one-fourth her body’s blood supply after being shot with a powerful handgun that could’ve ended her life if it’d struck a vital organ. She was luckier than many gunshot victims because she was in a hospital where immediate care was readily available.

Pushing back his chair, he stood and came around behind her. “Are you okay, Cee Cee?”

Celia gave him a slow smile. “It’s all coming down on me now that I’m a married woman.”

He dropped a kiss on her hair as he met Gavin’s eyes. He knew his brother-in-law would take care of his sister. Nicholas had always been overly protective of his sister even though she was older. It was something that had been drilled into him as a young boy. Cole men always protect their women. He and Diego didn’t have to worry about protecting Celia any longer because Gavin was more than qualified to do that.

Returning to his seat, Nicholas shared a smile with Peyton. Overhead light glinted off the diamonds in the bracelet circling her left wrist. “Nice bracelet,” he said softly.

Peyton held out her hand. “It was a gift.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Someone must really like you.”

“You’re right,” she confirmed. If Celia hadn’t told Nicholas she’d bought the bracelet, then neither would she. She studied his lean dark face, unaware that she’d been holding her breath. The stubble from this morning was missing and he’d had a haircut. He was so handsome that Peyton believed she’d conjured him up, and she wondered how he had managed to escape the clutches of some marriage-minded woman whose goal was to become Mrs. Nicholas Cole-Thomas.

Even if Nicholas had shown a romantic interest in her Peyton knew unequivocally she wasn’t emotionally ready to become involved in a relationship. Her feelings for Nicholas vacillated like the rise and fall of the tide, and it was apparent her personal maturity hadn’t kept pace with her professional maturation. And if she were to thank him for anything it would be his detachment. It saved her from making the same mistake twice.

The mood of the music changed from upbeat to instrumentals of classic pop songs as waiters, hoisting trays on one shoulder began placing orders down on the many tables. Nicholas touched his glass of water to Peyton’s, and she repeated the gesture with Celia who in turned touched her glass to Gavin’s. Wine flowed liberally as the mouthwatering aroma of food filled the air, the mood becoming more and more festive. The videographer circulated, capturing smiles, animated gestures and the overriding sound of laughter.

Nicholas did not want to think of his mild-mannered father’s reaction once Celia revealed she’d married a man she’d known a month. Celia wanted to keep her marriage a secret from the family and Gavin was also keeping a secret from his wife. Secrets that could backfire and shatter the newlywed’s trust and eventually destroy their marriage.

The volume on the music was lowered again, this time when he stood up to toast the newlyweds. Raising a flute filled with champagne, Nicholas smiled at Celia before nodding to Gavin. “I’d like to wish my favorite sister—”

“I’m his only sister,” Celia interrupted, smiling. Her statement was followed by laughter and applause.

A single dimple creased Nicholas’s left cheek. “My favorite and only sister,” he corrected, bowing slightly at the waist. “I love you and wish you more happiness than you could’ve ever imagined. Gavin, I know you love my sister and that you will protect her with your life. Brother. Welcome to the family.” Gavin raised his glass in acknowledgment. Cupping Peyton’s elbow, he helped her rise. “It’s time for you to say something.”

Peyton’s heart drummed a runaway rhythm against her ribs. She’d known Celia all of four days and she hadn’t planned on making a toast. She searched her memory for a sonnet or bible verse pertaining to love.

There came a strange and silent hush as hundreds of eyes were fixed on her. Smiling, she lifted her flute. “I raise my glass to toast a beautiful pair on the birthday of your love affair. To Gavin and Celia. May you be lovers the rest of your lives.” Shouts of congratulations and whistling followed her toast. Peyton permitted Nicholas to help her sit down, taking furtive sips of the dry wine.

“I had no idea you were a romantic,” he said in her ear.

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s because you don’t know me.”

Nicholas leaned closer. “You’re right. I don’t know you.” He stared at her under lowered lids. “If you plan to work for me maybe we should get to know each other.”

“A lot of things could change in a year, Nicholas.”

He lifted his shoulders. “True. But the fact that you’re a licensed veterinarian isn’t going to change.”

Peyton bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out that she could possibly secure a position elsewhere. Virginia wasn’t the only state with horse farms. She’d give herself another six months before sending out her resume to racetracks across the country.

The DJ’s voice came through the speakers set up around the tent. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special request from the groom for the couple’s first dance as husband and wife.”

The Foreigner classic “I Want To Know What Love Is,” filled the tent as Gavin led Celia out onto the dance floor. Peyton felt her eyes filling with tears when she listened to the poignant lyrics. She was saved from embarrassing herself when Nicholas gently pulled her to stand. One moment she was standing and the next she found herself in his arms, her breasts molded to his chest. The strength of his embrace, the warmth of his body and the lingering scent of his cologne swept over her, and she went completely pliant in his arms.

Peyton felt calm, astonished at the sense of serenity that made her recognize what she didn’t need. She didn’t need romance at this time in her life the same way she hadn’t needed it when she met Reginald. Marrying him had almost derailed her studies. She’d been back in the States four months when they met at a social mixer; he appeared to be everything she wanted in a man. She was unaware he was a predator and she a consenting and willing prey.

Reginald had accused her of being a girl in a woman’s body and she refused to give him the satisfaction of telling him he was right. He’d sensed her naïveté and like a piranha went in for the kill. Fortunately she’d escaped being devoured. She was left with invisible scars that had healed and were slowly fading, although there were times when Peyton wondered if her marriage to Reginald had ruined her for other men.

Peyton’s reverie ended when she found herself in Gavin’s arms. Tilting her head, she smiled up at the powerfully built man with large dark eyes and strong masculine features. “How does it feel to be married?”

Gavin twirled her around. “Wonderful. I’d confessed to Celia that I loved her but those words sounded so empty until I vowed to give her all that I am today and forever. And I like what you said about us being lovers for the rest of our lives. Too many times couples stop being friends and lovers once they’re married. I pray that will never happen with me and Celia.”

“Marriage is like a job or career. You have to work at it every day to make it better than the day before.”

“Are you speaking from experience, Peyton?” Gavin asked.

Smiling, she shook her head. Her marriage had been the exception rather than the norm. “No. Those are my mother’s words.”

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

Peyton didn’t want to refute Gavin’s assessment of her mother. Wherein Lena Blackstone had excelled as a mother she’d failed miserably as a wife, because she’d become a throwback to an era when women took the vow to obey their husbands literally. Lena’s stance on this issue had been a source of contention between Peyton and her mother for years. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her father, but Alphonso Blackstone’s need to dominate his wife and his employees had been the reason for her living in Virginia rather than return to her home state.

“She is a wonderful mother,” she said instead.

Nicholas winked at Celia. He’d cut in on his brother-in-law because it gave him an excuse not to dwell on how good it felt to hold Peyton in his arms. And after so many hours he still hadn’t recovered from her shocking transformation from the ingenue with a ponytail, jeans and flats to the startling sophisticate that left him with his mouth gaping. He also hadn’t missed the lustful stares from men when she’d walked down the carpet; he also understood why the photographer had given her a hard time. Myron Essex had reverted to an adolescent boy who liked a girl but didn’t know how to show it, so he either teased or harassed her.

Nicholas had left adolescence behind years ago, yet he hadn’t felt the need to tease or harass her. He’d found it easier to simply ignore her, convincing himself that she wasn’t there when everything about her was imprinted in his memory like a permanent tattoo. There had only been one other woman who’d affected him the way Peyton had within minutes of their meeting, and he’d known beyond the shadow of a doubt she would become his wife and the mother of their children. After an intense courtship and a proposal of marriage, his world fell apart. Not only had the woman he’d loved selfishly walked away from him, but he was forced to walk away from a career he’d wanted for what seemed like forever.

“How can I thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Nicky?” Celia asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Promise me I’ll be godfather to your firstborn. Jacob Jones trumped me when Diego picked him to be Samuel’s godfather.”

“I promise. But I’m going to tell you right now that I’m going to ask Peyton if she’ll be godmother. Aside from Hannah and a college friend, I really don’t have any other close girlfriends, and even though we just met I feel Peyton’s the sister I’ve always wanted.”

Nicholas’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “She is rather remarkable.”

“Oh, so you noticed?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Cee Cee?”

Celia leaned in close to her brother, her mouth pressed to his ear. “She’s perfect for you. And what is the expression? If you’re slow you’ll blow. Every single man and probably a few married ones would like to exchange places with you tonight. She’s not only smart, but also pretty. You’ve dealt with a few losers in the past. Especially Arden. So, please don’t let Peyton get away.”

Nicholas clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching noticeably. His sister didn’t know what she was talking about. “There’s nothing going on between me and Peyton.”

“Maybe there should be,” Celia countered.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s up with the matchmaking?”

Celia closed her eyes for several seconds. “This is one of the happiest days of my life and I want the same for you. You have an incredibly beautiful twelve-room house that’s more of a museum than a home. You own hundreds of acres of land where you breed horses when you should be breeding babies of your own,” she continued passionately. “Even if you don’t hook up with Peyton I want you to promise me that you’re going to stop this self-exile and start dating again. Not every woman you’ll meet will be like Arden.”

Nicholas spun his sister around in an intricate dance step. “I’ll promise only if you quit nagging me. You’re beginning to sound like our mother.”

Celia sobered. “Speaking of our mother. Don’t mention anything about me marrying until I get to tell her in person.”

“When is that going to happen?”

“Once the trial is over I’ll tell everyone.” As the state’s only surviving witness Celia had sought refuge in her vacation home in the Great Smoky Mountains to await the trial that would finally close the chapter on the E.R. massacre.

“You know all hell is going to break loose when you tell Dad. He’s been waiting years to walk his only daughter down the aisle.”

Her dimples winked at Nicholas when she smiled. “He will still have that honor when Gavin and I repeat our vows in West Palm this coming New Year’s Eve. And once we make Mama a grandmother again she’ll calm down.”

Dipping his head, he kissed his sister’s cheek. “Let’s hope you’re right.” The dance ended and he escorted Celia back to Gavin.

Nicholas scanned the crowd looking for Peyton, finding her surrounded by a group of men as if she were holding court. Some he recognized from Blackstone Farms, but there were a few he didn’t recognize. And from their expressions they were enthralled with her. He recalled what Celia had said about not letting her get away. He couldn’t stop her from getting away if he never had her.

And Nicholas was forced to ask himself if he did want Peyton, and the answer was as plain as the nose on his face. Yes, he did. What he had to figure out was for what. Did he want friendship or a relationship that was wholly physical in nature? He didn’t want more than that, because for him falling in love was not an option. Been there, done that and he wasn’t willing to travel that route again.

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