“Was it during the luncheon?”
“Was what? Restocking the bar? Or getting my head in a better place when your bride and my former best friend invited me to sit at someone’s dirty spot and eat any leftovers available?” I press my lips together. I’m notgoing to make this any more personal; otherwise, I will be the reason for it and the blame for it. “I would hope even you can see how far out of my way I’m going to be professional. I’m not the one who betrayed someone who trusted them without question. I’m not the one who planned a wedding at the home of the person they betrayed. And I’m not the one holding the family’s legacy over their head to pull off a hiccup-free ceremony.”
His jaw gets harder with the more I say. I’ve pushed him too far. I’ve hit his pride and that of his bride.
“This could very easily be a train wreck,” I say in a gentler voice. “It’s up to the three of us to show everyone else that the atmosphere is celebratory.”
He’s softening, then his gaze lifts over my shoulder, and fire flashes in his eyes. “He’s here.”
The hot brush of Durban’s gaze caresses the back of my neck, and a sensuous shiver traces over my skin. I melt against his invisible touch, and Stanford’s shrewd gaze latches onto whatever dreamy expression has plastered itself across my face.
To keep that professional front up, I dig out my phone. “Right on time. Early even. Excuse me while I catch him up on how the rest of the evening’s going to go.”
I ditch Stanford, but I have to make a hard decision, and it’s right when I could use Durban’s special stress relief the most.
Durban
Campbell’s wringing her hands, and from my periphery, I can see Stanford mean-mugging me. He knows we’re having sex. Well, he suspects it. But the bottom line is that he’s upset, and we’re facing down the last twenty-four hours.
She’s giving me that worried look, the one that says she’s scared I’ll be disappointed. I am. Who wouldn’t be if they were told by Campbell that they shouldn’t touch her tonight? She’s also fretting about my reaction toward Stanford.
I lean on the makeshift bar I’m going to stand behind for the next five hours until eleven, when the guys will all go to their rooms for a night of sleep before the big day. No hijinks allowed. While I might like the plan, I would bet January set the curfew. She doesn’t want to be in her room, being a good little bride and not seeing the groom the night before the wedding, but she also doesn’t want to be made a fool. There’s no way she’s giving Stanford a green light to spend the night away from her when Campbell’s in the area. If January truly fears that something could happen, then she doesn’t know her cousin very well.
Campbell would never betray her like that. I have that misplaced loyalty in common with Campbell.
Campbell flutters her fingers in the air. “I know it’s not fair, but I don’t dare leave the pavilion or he might come looking for me.”
He could try. He’d be stopped. I lean closer to her, not in an intimate way, but like we’re discussing how many drinks to serve each of the groom’s party. “Belle, it’s okay. I’m not going to get you in trouble, and as much as I’d like to be the thorn under that man’s collar, I’m not messing with his night.” I maintain eye contactso she knows I’m serious. “Because it would mess with you.”
Finally, her shoulders relax. “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. You asked me to be professional.”
“Believe me, I wish I had the guts to be unprofessional.”
“There’s a lot riding on this.” A lot that her parents should stand up for and not her alone. William has been doing what he can to take the pressure off. All of the staff of Hawthorne Guest Ranch has, but the vast majority is on Campbell’s strong shoulders.
I only admire her fortitude more.
“I need a drink to kick this party off,” she mutters. She props a hand close to mine on the portable bar top and one on her hip. To anyone else, we’re shooting the breeze, and she’s telling me to water down the liquor to keep these guys from getting out of line. I already planned to do that. I brought the lowest-proof spirits with the most flavor and chose the manliest cocktails that make a guy not realize how much nonalcoholic stuff is already in there. I basically do the opposite of what Silas would do at Bootleg Tavern.
I put a plastic glass on the bar top. Her gaze drops to it, then lifts to me.
The ice bucket was dropped off just as I arrived. I dig out two round balls—Chef made sure even the ice was fancy—then I grab a bottle of cucumber-and-jalapeño-infused vodka. “This is new.”
Interest shines in her eyes. Much better than how fraught she was minutes ago.
I pour a small splash. She won’t want to drink a lot, and it’s not enough for anyone to find reproachful if theysee her having a drink. Then I fill the cup with club soda and add an umbrella left over from the luncheon.
She takes a sip, and a little one of those moans I love slips out. “Ohmigosh, that’s refreshing.”
I grin, proud as hell when infusions are the easiest thing we can do. “We’re going to use that for the Rafting and Tasting event next month with the huckleberry mint.”
“Your idea?”
“I get to do stuff outside the box and customize each event we do. Iverson also suggested I speak with an event planner and come up with more ideas.”
She takes a drink and looks around before leaning in. “I heard you’re sleeping with one.”
