Abby, Get Your Groom!

Chapter Two (#ulink_977ba133-c4ea-50de-a5e4-0211a17b8dc4)

Dylan paid the bill for his haircut at Beauty By Design’s reception desk then leaned around the partition behind it to call back to Abby Crane. “The park on Thirty-Second and Bryant, tonight at six-thirty, at the picnic tables—I’ll find you,” he said, repeating the time and location of the meeting she’d agreed to.

From her station she nodded that so-full head of shiny hair. He’d noted that it was the color of the Belgian bittersweet chocolate that he’d gorged on for the past three months.

“You’d better be on the up-and-up,” muttered the receptionist.

“I am, don’t worry,” he assured her before leaving the salon.

It was only a little after four and Dylan knew he should go back to his office for a while. But as he got into his black Jaguar the thought of that just didn’t sit well.

He wasn’t far away—he was on the very outskirts of the city, and it wouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to be sitting behind his desk again.

But since returning from three months of working on the security in the European stores—which he’d done to escape Lara and let the situation here cool off—everything seemed to require so much extra effort. It was taking its toll on him.

Sure, it was effort he was willing to put in. Effort he knew that he owed his entire family. And he definitely wanted to make things right again because he couldn’t even put into words how much he hated the way things were between himself and the family now.

But it wasn’t easy keeping up that eager-to-please attitude nonstop, day in and day out. It wasn’t easy doing things like today’s mea-culpa lunch with Cade and Nati—one of many he’d done during the three weeks since he’d been back. And sometimes he just needed to crawl to the back of his cave like a bear and take a few minutes before he could do more of it.

Like right now.

So rather than heading for the offices of Camden Incorporated where he would be around any number of siblings and cousins who were never particularly happy with him these days, he drove to his lower downtown penthouse loft instead.

There, he parked in his spot in the underground garage, rode the private elevator to the top floor and sighed in relief as he passed through the elevator’s doors when they opened directly into his loft.

His cave wasn’t very cave-like, admittedly.

The living room, dining room and kitchen were all one expansive open space decorated in glass, leather and chrome with mere hints of serene sky blue accents. The lines were smooth and there was no clutter. It was quiet, clean, and everything was in its place.

Lara had hated it.

And maybe that, and the fact that her own condo was decorated in what he’d considered “clutter chic,” should have been an indicator that she thrived on chaos.

But like all the rest of the clues, he’d missed that one, too.

As nice as it was to be home, and as tempting as it was to just chill out until he needed to leave again to meet Abby, he realized that he still had to let his sister and grandmother know what was going on. It was part of being on his best behavior, after all.

He took his phone out of his pocket and walked to the wall of windows that allowed him a view of most of Denver. Lindie was first on the list, to tell her that he’d arranged for her and her bridesmaids to have the hair and makeup trial by the special occasions team of Beauty By Design.

Abby had said that she ordinarily took Wednesdays off, but after some persuasion—and a conference with China who was apparently the head of the makeup-artist portion of it all, and the manicurist in charge of the nail division—they’d all agreed to do the trial next Wednesday.

And, yes, due to a cancellation of a wedding on the same Saturday that Lindie’s was scheduled, Abby Crane and the Beauty By Design group would be available for the race to the altar that Lindie had opted for, if Lindie and her bridesmaids were happy with the results of the test run.

Dylan concluded by relaying Abby’s email address so his sister could send pictures and information about what she had in mind.

Then Dylan called his grandmother to tell her the same things, as well as that he was meeting with Abby tonight to open the door on her past.

Both Lindie and GiGi appreciated what he’d accomplished but there was still an edge of reserve, a chilliness, from both of them—the same thing he met from the rest of the family at the office every day. So he was glad when the calls were complete and he could do what he’d come home to do—relax and let down his guard.

But the way things were still weighed on him.

Everybody had been pretty ticked off by the time he’d ended things with Lara, when he’d left for Europe. And even now, after admitting he’d been wrong and apologizing until he was blue in the face, feelings were still hurt, tempers were still tweaked and things were still stilted.

He just had to keep chipping away at it and eventually maybe the whole thing would get to be history.

The way he and Lara were.

“Crazy-ass woman,” he grumbled, reminding himself of his appointment on Monday to take the Jag into the shop to have the dents she’d made in it repaired.

If his siblings and cousins hadn’t been so mad at him when he’d left for Europe one of them probably would have had it done while he was gone. But as it was, his car had been left sitting in the parking garage for three months, the way he’d left it, and now he had to get it taken care of.

Luckily he’d had the windshield replaced before he’d left so he could drive it now. But there was plenty of bodywork that needed to be done on the expensive sports car.

Just one more thing that was all messed up...

Now, in retrospect, he could see how it had gotten that way. Subtly. Insidiously. Quietly. He could see where he hadn’t listened to what his family was saying and should have. He could see what he’d been blinded to by his feelings for Lara. He could see where he’d crossed the line himself on her behalf. And he sure as hell wished that he’d never given in to that urge in him to be her damn white knight.

But regrets and merely seeing things in retrospect weren’t enough. There was a price to pay for what had happened.

He knew that. And he was willing to pay that price. But, unfortunately, payment was coming late. In the end, he’d had to escape to Europe for a while just to get out of Lara’s sights himself—and that time lapse with his family had widened the gulf and made things all the more awkward to put back together again now.

He just had to keep at it, regardless of how rough it might be or how much he wished he could turn back the clock and stop it all from ever happening.

On the up side, he told himself, it had only taken Lara three months to get engaged to some other poor sucker. When he’d heard about the engagement he’d figured the coast was clear to come home, finally address things with his family and hopefully get them all back on track. It would have been worse if he’d been gone longer.

He hadn’t seen or heard from Lara since he’d come home. Thank God! He had no desire to ever set eyes on her again as long as he lived.

And exhausting as it was to put back together everything she’d broken, at least he’d had a couple of wins today. Hopefully he’d gotten a few steps closer to being forgiven by arranging for one of the most highly reputed stylists around to work on his sister’s wedding with very short notice—a coup if Lindie liked Abby Crane’s work.

Plus he’d set the wheels into motion to relay to Abby all his grandmother had told him so she could know where she’d come from. And he was on the path to find a way to compensate her somehow for what she’d suffered because of the actions of his family.

Assuming that Abby Crane had suffered.

But he did assume that, especially coming from his own current situation.

He’d felt lousy the past several months being on the outs with his family and a continent away from them. He’d been at loose ends the whole time. Adrift. He’d felt so damn cut off and alone in the world. It had been a rotten way to feel and he still didn’t like the sense that he was being kept at arm’s length, that he wasn’t embraced by them all the way he was used to.

So what must it have been like for Abby Crane to grow up in foster care, moved from home to home, with no family of her own ever?

He couldn’t imagine that it had been good for her.

And yet, she wasn’t what he’d expected of someone who had been shuffled through the system.

He’d expected her to be hard-edged. He wouldn’t have been surprised by spiked hair or tight leather or all-black clothes. By tattoos and piercings. By an I-dare-you-to-cross-me attitude.

But that wasn’t Abby Crane.

Instead she was a fresh-faced beauty who looked as if she could have grown up in the country, on a farm.