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  “Whoa,” Manny said, peering at Callie and her mountain of tulle. “You can get arrested for that now?”

  Chapter Two

  Ross pulled onto the rainy road, trying to keep frustration at bay.

  He’d seen Manny out of the corner of his eye, ready to commit grand theft auto on a pickup left on a dirt side road, and Ross wanted to get him before he actually committed it. If Manny had one more conviction on his record, he’d be sent back to the detention center. In four months, he’d be eighteen, and if he broke the law after that, he’d be tried as an adult.

  Callie and Manny regarded each other interestedly, Callie unworried that Ross had stopped to pick up a teenage mess. She returned Manny’s allover look with an appraising one of her own.

  “I’m trying to get married,” she answered him. “Unless they’ve made that a crime. Maybe it should be.”

  Manny grinned at Ross in the rearview mirror. “You lucky bastard. You should a’ told me. I’d have bought you a present.”

  “I’m not marrying him,” Callie said with unflattering quickness. “He’s giving me a lift.”

  “He’s stupid then,” Manny said. “You’re gorgeous. Even if you look like a raccoon.”

  Callie swung around and flipped down the visor, but found no mirror there. She rubbed under her eyes and studied the black that came away on her fingers.

  “I guess I do. Crap. There’s photographers from every paper in the state waiting for me.”

  “Really?” Manny asked. “Wow. They’ll laugh their asses off.”

  “Probably,” Callie said without rancor.

  “Manny,” Ross said in warning. Manny leaned forward, intent on him. “Button it,” Ross finished curtly.

  Manny slammed himself back into his seat. “You are a serious buzz kill, my friend.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Yeah? Well, your job sucks.”

  “Manny.” Callie’s silken voice slid over teenage anger. “That’s an interesting name. Short for Manuel?”

  “Manifold Sins,” Manny said, the words tight. But amazing, because Manny usually clammed up before he’d reveal his real name. “My mom was a die-hard born-again. Until she died.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Callie said, her sympathy sincere. “It’s not a bad thing to have an unusual name, though. Makes you stand out. My sister’s called Montana.”

  “Yeah?” Manny’s grin popped back. His moods changed like lightning. “Why?”

  “My mom and dad honeymooned there and loved it. So they named their firstborn Montana. No one forgets her name.”

  “Wish my mom would have loved a place like that. I could be called Wyoming, or something. Or North Carolina.”

  “When you turn eighteen, you can always change your name,” Callie assured him.

  “Cool. I could be Dakota Judd.”

  “Sure, you could,” Callie said, grinning back.

  Manny switched his attention to Ross. “I really like her, Ross. You should run away and marry her. She’s already got the dress on.”

  Ross chose not to answer. Bantering with Manny wasn’t always wise—the kid could talk rings around the most eloquent lawyers. Sometimes he got sent to juvie just because the judge couldn’t figure out what the hell he was going on about.

  “Maybe later,” Callie said. “Right now I’m marrying someone else. That is, if I can get to the church before everyone leaves.”

  “Yeah, Ross, why are you going so slow? Lights, sirens, let’s go!”

  There was no one else on the road in this rain—hail, now. Tiny pellets spattered down, and Ross prayed they stayed tiny. Hail in Texas could become softball-sized in moments, breaking every window in sight.

  He felt Callie’s imploring gaze. Her lipstick was smudged, like it would be after Ross kissed her.

  Shit, why did he think about things like that? His heart started pumping and another part of his anatomy began to respond. Only natural, he told himself. Manny isn’t wrong. She’s beautiful.

  Callie wasn’t marrying just another man, though, but a rich guy from Dallas. Probably a stockbroker or a property developer who rented an entire floor in one of the high-rises downtown, maybe that angled one with the pointed roof. Devon Whoever would stay in his office all day with devoted secretaries who would do anything for him, and only occasionally remember he had a beautiful wife at home.

  Ross knew he was painting the guy a jerk because he wanted him to be—not good enough for the beautiful woman sitting next to him. Maybe Devon was madly in love with her. He’d buy Callie a present every day, just because, and take long lunches so he could come home and make love to her.

  She’d lie beside him in the sunshine, her hair across his pillow, her sleepy blue eyes and wide smile welcoming him.

  Ross stiffened. He moved in the seat, willing himself not to have a full-blown hard-on thinking about another guy’s soon-to-be wife, with Manny Judd looking over his shoulder.

  She was beautiful, but she was taken, and life would go on. Ross would think about her every day of his life, wonder where she was and what she was doing, what would have happened if he’d stuck to his courage and asked her out one day way back when.

  His brothers would laugh their asses off if they knew how maudlin he was being.

  “You’re right, Manny,” Ross said, reaching for switches. “Here we go.”

  The siren sprang to life. Red and blue lights swept through the glittering hail, and Ross stepped on the gas.

  The SUV, high-horsepower and in peak condition, sped smoothly down the empty road, fast, faster. Hail sprayed them, the windshield wipers struggling to smack it away.

  “Woo hoo!” Callie threw up her hands. “Always wanted to do this.”

  “Gets old, trust me,” Manny said, but he was grinning at Ross, his usually surly face lit up.

  Ross kept the accelerator steady, his eye peeled for other cars or animals making a mad dash across the highway. He loved driving fast, but he wasn’t stupid.

  This road was straight, no curves, as it headed for Riverbend. At its end lay the town square with its church, the courthouse where Ross worked, and the row of apartments where Ross lived.

  The radio clicked. “Ross, what’s your twenty?” Mildred asked.

  Ross lifted the handheld. “Heading into Riverbend. Five minutes.”

  “Your mom’s worried about you in the hail. And she says the cookout will have to be indoors.”

  “No kidding. I need to make a drop off at St. Luke’s, and then I’m heading in with an arrest. Put new sheets on the cell’s bed and flowers on the windowsill.”

  “Ha ha,” Mildred came back. “Did you say St. Luke’s?”

  “Getting a bride to her groom. Then Manny’s coming for a sleepover.”

  “Manny?” Mildred’s voice rose. “What’s he done this time?”

  “Not my fault, Mrs. Burton,” Manny called from the back seat. “Ross is an asshole.”

  “Watch your mouth, young man,” Mildred said sternly. “Ross, Sanchez is heading to town with the tow. Out.” She clicked off.

  Ahead of them, a hanging light warning of the upcoming stop sign lazily flashed red in the haze.

  The hail lightened into heavy rain as Ross pulled to a stop at the intersection. He waited for a lone car to cross slowly in front of him then he drove into the square and around it to St. Luke’s.

  The small church was a traditional, white-painted, high-steepled building from the very early twentieth century, funded back then by Riverbend’s oldest families, which included the Joneses and the Campbells. A colonnaded porch stretched across the front, where on Sundays the congregation jumbled to greet the pastor and make lunch arrangements, and where the Easter egg hunt started every year.

  Cars filled the street in front of the church and the tiny parking lot behind. Ross double-parked his patrol SUV next to a bright yellow Ferrari, his lights staining the white church and the people who started filing onto its porch blue and red.

  Cal
lie hadn’t exaggerated about reporters. Men and women with state-of-the-art digital cameras jostled against the brightly clothed guests, lenses pointed at the SUV.

  Ross jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. He knew that people assumed the worst when they saw a law-enforcement vehicle pull up, and he wanted to quickly show them Callie was all right. He yanked open the passenger door and stuck out his hand, ready to help her down as though she were Cinderella descending from her carriage.

  “Great,” Callie growled under her breath as she scanned the crowded porch. “They’re going to love this.”

  “Give ’em a show,” Ross said. He knew as a sheriff’s deputy all about how reporters spun stories. “Make them glad they waited.”

  Callie gave him a nod and a smile, which made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

  Damn it, now Ross would start having fantasies about her looking at him like that in the shower. He needed to get her out of here and married off. Felt like a blow to the gut to let her go to someone else, but it was too late, and he had to suck it up.

  Callie shoved her skirts out of the door and took firm hold of Ross’s arm to climb to the ground. Her satin slipper landed in a puddle, and Callie winced.

  But she rallied. She let go of Ross and raised both hands to wave at the waiting crowd.

  “You can’t say I don’t make an entrance,” she called.

  Catching up her voluminous skirts, she darted around the Ferrari and up the walk to the church.

  The reporters click-clicked their cameras, but the dozen or so wedding guests and the three bridesmaids in raspberry tulle stood somberly as they watched her come. Something was wrong. They should be waving back, laughing, reaching out to pull Callie excitedly into the church.

  Ross remained in the rain, watching her, his heart beating hard in worry. Manny in the back seat pressed his face to the wet window.

  Callie ran up the porch steps on light feet. The bridesmaids and a few older women came forward. Ross recognized one of them as Karen Marvin. Figures—Karen liked to be in on any important social event in the county.

  Ross couldn’t hear what anyone said from the twenty feet of distance between them, but he saw Callie slow, her exuberance fading.

  She reached the top step, and the bridesmaids and the woman Ross recognized as Callie’s mother converged on her. Callie’s arms fell to her sides, limp, and her shoulders sagged.

  Ross thought he’d never seen a back so beautiful or so dejected. One wet curl came loose from her bun and dropped to her shoulder.

  “Damn.” Manny’s voice floated to him. “Did he dump her? Or drop dead waiting? Maybe he was an old guy.”

  Ross didn’t bother to tell him to shut up. On the porch, the women surrounded Callie. There was head-shaking, then arms sliding around her. One bridesmaid tried to give her a hug.

  Callie broke away from them. Not abruptly, but she pulled back, removing sympathetic hands, before she turned and headed down the steps. They started to follow her, one bridesmaid flinching at the rain before returning to the shelter under the porch roof.

  Callie moved slowly but steadily down the walk, looking neither right nor left. One by one, her friends and family dropped back, until Callie walked alone, her skirts dragging on the wet pavement.

  She skirted the bright yellow car once more and reached the SUV, where Ross waited by the open door.

  Callie looked up at him, her mouth drooping, her eyes filled with a sadness that tore at Ross’s heart.

  “Deputy Campbell,” Callie said quietly. “Will you please drive me home?”

  Chapter Three

  Ross Campbell was an angel, Callie decided there and then. Not only did he simply bundle her back into the SUV without a word, but he asked no questions, expressed no opinion as he turned off his emergency lights and pulled into the square, taking the road to head out of Riverbend.

  Manny, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. “What the hell happened? Is the dude still alive? Or did he get cold feet?”

  “Manny,” Ross rumbled, but Callie shook her head.

  “It’s all right. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow. Devon got tired of waiting, and he left, that’s all.” Heat from rage and humiliation filled her. “I’ll call him, and fix it.” She glanced at Ross, whose hands remained firmly on the wheel. “You don’t really have to drive me all the way home, Ross. I know you have better things to do. Drop me anywhere, and I’ll call someone to come get me.”

  Ross’s fleeting blue gaze landed on her. “I’m not leaving you like that in the rain. You still live at your parents’ house?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Everyone in Riverbend knew which house it was and where it lay. Callie didn’t have to bother with directions.

  Manny leaned forward. “Aw, that sucks. He sucks. Your fiancé, I mean, not Ross. Hey, I know what you should do. Take Ross somewhere and have great revenge sex. You know, serious down-and-dirty—”

  “Manny.” Ross’s neck flushed red, and he clenched the steering wheel.

  “I know, I know. Button it.” Manny flung himself into the seat, falling silent. Not for long. He started to hum.

  Ross said absolutely nothing. Callie raked tears from her face and took a deep breath.

  For some reason, deep down, she wasn’t surprised that Devon had stormed off. He’d done it before, the last time at a Dallas restaurant when Callie was delayed getting into town. It had taken her days to calm him down from that.

  On the church porch, Montana had given Callie a guilt-stricken look and said, “I promise, I thought Evelyn was picking you up. I swear to God.”

  Evelyn, Callie’s second-oldest sister, had cut in. “No, we decided, remember? You were supposed to.”

  Trina, Callie’s best friend from Dallas, had hovered behind the sisters. “I’m so sorry, Cal. You know how Devon gets. You should have let me drive you.”

  Devon’s mother had stood a little way from them, a fierce glare on her face. The That’s what my son gets when he tries to marry countrified trash, kind of look.

  Callie’s own mother had gazed at her in profound sadness, tears in her eyes. It was her mom’s tears, her true sympathy and understanding, that made Callie turn and run. She’d have lost it completely if she’d stayed.

  Ross, with her only connection to him their mutual high school and seeing him around town, was neutral and non-judgmental. He’d neither condemn her nor go to pieces.

  He did look a little pissed off, probably because of Manny’s remarks about revenge sex. Ross breathed fast, and he gripped the steering wheel as though he wanted to arrest it.

  But wouldn’t it be nice to take Manny’s advice? Devon’s disapproving face filled her mind, and Callie could hear his voice—Callie, you know you do this all the time. It’s got to stop.

  Right now, she’d love to erase Devon’s censure by being alone in a room with Ross, ripping the buttons from his oh-so-pressed uniform shirt, wrapping her arms around him, lifting herself to his firm line of mouth to open it with her tongue …

  The vision was so vivid that her temperature spiked. She imagined his smooth shirt, the warmth of the man inside, the incredible strength she’d already experienced when Ross had steadied her. She dug her hands into her ridiculous skirt to keep from reaching for him.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She was supposed to be devastated, brokenhearted, bewildered.

  Well, bewildered was definitely the case. Why the hell had Devon decided to make a scene on their wedding day? She had no doubt he’d been angry—he’d said months ago that her chronic lateness wasn’t cute anymore.

  The last time had been when the housekeeper’s husband collapsed at his office and had to be rushed to the hospital. Callie was happy to drive the distraught woman to be with him, hence her lateness to Dallas and the restaurant. Devon, the pig, had wondered why she’d bothered to help the help.

  That should have been a clue, Callie knew, though Devon had pretended he was joking at the time.
r />   Why had she thought everything would be all right once she got married? She’d have her own house—Devon’s house—hang out with Trina, and begin her job at the ranch outside McKinney, where they would rehab rescue horses and either found them new homes or determined that they were too far gone and let them pass peacefully. Callie loved the woman who owned the ranch, and was eager to start, even if Devon’s best friend—Trina’s husband, Brett—had said he’d never want a wife who smelled like horse shit all the time.

  The four of them—Trina, Brett, Devon, and Callie—had laughed. Another joke, right?

  “What is wrong with me?” The words burst out before Callie could stop them. This was not the time to have a huge princess rant, but damn, Devon was being a total asshole.

  “Nothing wrong with you,” Ross said with conviction. “Your fiancé’s the one who should be twisted into a knot and bounced down the road.”

  “With his dick cut off,” Manny put in with vicious glee.

  Callie choked on a laugh and pressed a hand to her mouth. “Quit. I’ll start to cry.” Tears burned her eyes.

  “My advice is, don’t call him,” Ross said. The drumming of rain on the roof wasn’t so loud as the rain slackened once more. “Make him come crawling back to you.”

  “On his ass,” Manny added.

  “What I mean is,” Ross cut through Manny’s words. “You have nothing to apologize for. He does. You were late, through no fault of your own. He got impatient and deserted you—at your wedding. Huge difference. He’s the one who should beg for forgiveness.”

  His tone was harsh, and Callie looked at him in surprise. “You sound like this has happened before.” To him, maybe?

  Ross shook his head. “Not this exact thing, but I’ve seen a lot of people get into it. As soon as you make another person’s behavior your fault, they have their fist around you. Pretty soon you’re taking the blame for every little thing, and that can escalate into a bad situation very fast.”

  “He knows what he’s talking about,” Manny said. “Happened to my mom and dad, except my dad was the one under my mom’s thumb. Now he’s just a useless drunk.”