Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon

“I tried my darnedest to get that gal to reach for the bouquet...”

Nick was barely listening now, all his attention trained on the length of shaggy hair across the room.

“But she says since her divorce ain’t final, she ain’t really single. Like I told her, if that husband of hers was dim-witted enough to let her get away, a few weeks one way or the other won’t make any difference whatsoever. Says she don’t feel married. Problem is, I don’t think Brittany feels unmarried, either.”

The silver-haired man stepped out of the shadows at the same instant Cletus uttered the one name in all the world that could bring Nick to his knees. He was caught between two force fields. Danger. And need. Blood pounded in his head, and his lungs felt too large for his chest.

The silver-haired man turned, giving Nick a good look at his face. The guy was sixty years old if he was a day and sported a handlebar mustache and a hefty paunch. His face was deeply lined, but there was no jagged scar. It wasn’t his man.

It didn’t take long for the roaring din in Nick’s ears to quiet. The brick in his chest was going to be more difficult to eliminate.

“I’m hoping it’s only a matter of time before one of our shy-but-willin’ Jasper Gents catches Brittany’s eye and sweeps her off her feet, but I’m afraid it might be more complicated than that. She says it’s just semantics—whatever in tarnation that means—and has nothin’ to do with the fact that her soon-to-be ex-husband is paying her a little visit in a couple of days.”

The old man’s voice trailed away. Peering up at Nick through bushy white eyebrows, he said, “I don’t believe I caught your name, son.”

The crowd parted, and Nick had his first clear view of a slender, dark-haired woman who was trying to ward off the advances of one of the cowboys on the other side of the dance floor. The man brushed aside a lock of her chin-length hair and bent his head as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear. Instead, he planted a sloppy kiss on one corner of her mouth.

Nick’s fingers curled around the cup in his hand. Handing it back to Cletus, he said, “My name’s Nick Colter. That dim-witted husband you mentioned. You’ll have to excuse me. There’s a man I have to punch in the nose.”

“Now don’t be too hasty there...”

Nick moved with the same kind of purpose he used in the streets and alleys of Chicago, maneuvering around the people blocking his path so quickly they had to turn their heads to keep him in their line of vision. He stopped behind the cowboy and tapped him on the shoulder with enough force to leave no doubt that Nick meant business.

The man spun around so fast he teetered slightly. “What the—”

“Pardon me,” Nick ground between clenched teeth, “but I don’t appreciate watching another man kiss my wife.”

“Your wife?”

Brittany Matthews’s decision to step between the two men who were squaring off opposite each other wasn’t made consciously. Once she’d done it she wasn’t sure it had been wise. Now she had a half-drunken cowboy behind her and an angry man in front of her. She had no doubt which of the two was going to be more difficult to deal with.

“Nick.”

His eyes were narrowed, accenting sculpted cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose. His hair was dark and just wavy enough to be unruly. His mouth was set in a straight line, his chin squared in a manner that had always meant trouble. There were taller men in the room. But none were more intimidating. Nick’s striking blue eyes were his one feature that could be soft. Right now they were shooting daggers at the man behind her. “Step aside, Brittany. This won’t take long.”

Brittany heard the murmur going through the crowd. Swallowing, she was more aware of the murmur going through her. She’d spent the better part of the past week preparing herself to see Nick again. If he had arrived when he said he would, she might have been prepared. Or maybe nothing could prepare a woman for the sight of the man who had been her first lover, and her greatest heartache.

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, trying to get her emotions under control. Finally she shook her head and said, “You don’t have any reason to pick a fight with Forrest, Nick.”

Nick’s lip curled. “I think anytime a man’s wife is caught kissing another man is cause for a fight.”

“She told me she’s gettin’ a divorce,” the other man slurred.

Groaning out loud, Brittany snagged Nick’s hand and pulled him to a more-secluded spot on the floor. “I didn’t kiss him, you idiot.”

“You gonna give me a lesson on who puts what where?”

“Come on, Nick. Forrest is half-drunk.”

“Did you like it?”

“Did I—” She bristled. Nick Colter made her so mad.

“Well?” he prodded.

Oh, for heaven’s sakes. “Did it look like I liked it?”

“What the hell kind of answer is that?”

Brittany took a fortifying breath and willed herself to refrain from saying what she was thinking. Taking the utmost care to instill her voice with patience, she said, “What are you doing here tonight, Nick? I thought you said you weren’t coming until Monday.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the man with the silver ponytail and handlebar mustache. What was he doing here? There was a question. Turning his attention back to Brittany, he thought a better one would have been How did he ever let her go? Suddenly he felt very tired, and very alone.

Releasing a pent-up breath, he said, “I cleared up everything back home and took off a couple of days early. How are you, Brittany? And how’s Savannah?”

There was nothing Brittany could do to keep her heart from sliding into her stomach. Angry, Nick Colter was a force to be reckoned with. Nice, he was almost impossible to resist. Fighting valiantly to do just that, she gave in to a heartfelt sigh. “I’m fine, Nick. And so is Savannah. She fell asleep a little while ago. She’s going to be tickled to see you.”

Leading the way to a table on the far side of the room, she felt the eyes of half the people in town, yet she was more aware of Nick’s gaze following her every move. He’d always been able to undress her with his eyes. No matter what else had gone wrong between them, her husband had always been an earthy, virile man. Her soon-to-be ex-husband, she reminded herself. Training her eyes on her six-year-old daughter’s dark head nestled in the hollow of Crystal Galloway’s shoulder, Brittany hurried through the crowd.

“Well, well,” Crystal exclaimed, watching them advance. “Who have we here?”

Hoping her friend would attribute this sudden attack of breathlessness on her brisk trek across the room, Brittany said, “Crystal, this is Nick Colter. Savannah’s father.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nick said.

With delicate eyebrows arched knowingly, Crystal extended her right hand. Nick shook it, but strangely, his fingers didn’t linger.

Crystal smiled. “Charmed I’m sure.”

Brittany glanced up at Nick. She’d been wondering how he would react to Crystal. She wasn’t jealous. It just so happened that she thought the world of her new friend. But Crystal was gorgeous. And men always noticed, which made them easy targets for her flirtations. Nick’s attention had already shifted back to her as if seeing a buxom blonde with startling green eyes was no big deal. Brittany absolutely, positively forbade herself to melt.

“Taste this punch, Brittany,” Crystal said, holding up a paper cup.

Thankful to have something to do with her hands, Brittany lifted the cup to her lips. Two hours ago the punch had been sweet. Now, it warmed a path from her throat to her stomach where it curled outward in waves.

She glanced around the room, suddenly understanding the reason why the noise level was bordering on a dull roar. The punch was spiked. From the depth and heartiness of the men’s guffaws and the silliness of the women’s laughter, it had been that way for some time.

“Can you believe Isabell missed it?” Crystal asked, pointing to a gray-haired woman who bore an amazing likeness to the cartoon character Olive Oyl, and was twittering louder than anybody else.

Brittany smiled at the spectacle Isabell Pruitt and Opal Graham, two of the staunchest leaders of the Jasper Gulch Ladies Aid Society, were making from the center of the dance floor. “It looks like they’ve made up,” she said, thinking of all the months it had been since the former best friends had spoken. Cheeks flushed and chins bobbing, they moved their hands and shook their hips in a manner that looked very little like the dance they were trying to do.

“Isabell and Opal doing the Bunny Hop. Now there’s one for your history books, Brittany,” Crystal declared.

“Everybody’s getting sloshed,” Nick said, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can. “Reminds me of your senior prom. Somebody spiked the punch that night, too. Remember?”

Brittany didn’t intend to meet his eyes. Once she had, she couldn’t look away. He was gazing at her much as he had that night all those years ago. He’d been young and defiant then. He wasn’t much different now. Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol that night. Brittany had felt intoxicated without it, drunk on whimsy and on love.

Nick had rented a tux for the prom, when she knew darn well he couldn’t afford it. Nick Colter had always been proud, had always been intent upon impressing her. What he’d never understood was that he didn’t have to try to impress her. She’d been a girl on the brink of womanhood. He’d been the first boy to kiss her with his tongue, the first boy to touch her breasts, the first boy to make her heart speed up and her breathing deepen. She could practically hear the rasp her dress zipper had made as he’d lowered it after the prom. She could practically feel that first touch of his hand on her naked skin. She’d been so certain he’d loved her, and so filled with the vehemence of youth. They’d managed to keep from going all the way that night. But they’d both known it was only a matter of time.