A Beaumont Christmas Wedding (2 page)

“It sounds like it’s going to be perfect,” Whitney said. And she meant it—a Christmas Eve ceremony? Horse-drawn carriages? Gowns? It had all the trappings of a true storybook wedding.

“It better be.” Phillip chuckled.

“Let me show you to your room,” Jo said, grabbing a bag.

That sounded good to Whitney. She needed a moment to sort through everything. She lived a quiet life now, one where she didn’t have to navigate family relations or PR events masquerading as weddings. As long as she didn’t leave her ranch, all she worried about was catching Donald when he was on a soapbox.

Jo led her through the house, pointing out which parts were original, which wasn’t much, and which parts had been added later, which was most of it. She showed Whitney the part that Phillip had added, the master suite with a hot tub on the deck.

Then the hall turned again and they were in a different part, built in the 1970s. This was the guest quarters, Jo told her. Whitney had a private bath and was far enough removed from the rest of the house that she wouldn’t hear anything else.

Jo opened a door and flipped on the light. Whitney had half expected vintage ’70s decor, but the room was done in cozy green-and-red plaids that made it look Christmassy. A bouquet of fresh pine and holly was arranged on the mantel over a small fireplace.

Jo walked over to it and flipped a switch. Flames jumped to life in the grate. “Phillip had automatic switches installed a few years ago,” she explained. On the other side of the bed was a dresser. Jo said, “Extra blankets are in there. It’s going to be a lot colder here than it is at your ranch.”

“Good to know.” Whitney set her bag down at the foot of the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small table with an armchair next to it. The room looked like a great place to spend the winter. She felt herself relax a little bit. “So...you and Phillip?”

“Me and Phillip,” Jo agreed, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “He’s—well, you’ve seen him in action. He has a way of just looking at a woman that’s...
suggestive
.”

“So I wasn’t imagining that?”

Jo laughed. “Nope. That’s just how he is.”

This did nothing to explain how, exactly, Jo had wound up with Phillip. Of all the men in the world, Whitney would have put “playboy bachelor” pretty low on the list of possible husbands for Jo. But Whitney had no idea how to ask the question without it coming out wrong.

It could be that the Phillip in the kitchen wasn’t the same as the Phillip in the headlines. Maybe things had been twisted and turned until nothing but the name was the same. More than anyone, Whitney knew how that worked.

“He has a horse,” Jo explained, looking sheepish. “Sun—Kandar’s Golden Sun.”

Whitney goggled at her. “Wait—I’ve heard of that horse. Didn’t he sell for seven million dollars?”

“Yup. And he was a hot mess at any price,” she added with a chuckle. “Took me a week before he’d just stand still, you know?”

Whitney nodded, trying to picture a horse
that
screwed up. When Jo had come out to Whitney’s ranch to deal with Sterling, the horse of hers that had developed an irrational fear of water, it’d taken her only a few hours in the paddock before the horse was rubbing his head against Jo. “A whole week?”

“Any other horse would have died of sheer exhaustion, but that’s what makes Sun special. I can take you down to see him after dinner. He’s an amazing stud—one to build a stable on.”

“So the horse brought you together?”

Jo nodded. “I know Phillip’s got a reputation—that’s part of why Matthew insists we have this big wedding, to show the world that Phillip’s making a commitment. But he’s been sober for seven months now. We’ll have a sober coach on hand at the reception.” A hint of a blush crept over Jo’s face. “If you’d like...”

Whitney nodded. She wasn’t the only one who was having trouble voicing her concerns. “I don’t think there’s going to be a problem. I’ve been clean for almost eleven years.” She swallowed. “Does Phillip know who I am?”

“Sure.” Jo’s eyebrow notched up in challenge. “You’re Whitney Maddox, the well-known horse breeder.”

“No, not that. I mean—well, you know what I mean.”

“He knows,” Jo said, giving Whitney the look that she’d seen Jo give Donald the hippie when he gave her a lecture on how she should switch to biodiesel. “But we understand that the past is just that—the past.”

“Oh.” Air rushed out of her so fast she actually sagged in relief. “That’s good. That’s
great
. I just don’t want to be a distraction—this is your big day.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Jo said in a reassuring voice. “And you’re right—the day will be very big!”

They laughed. It felt good to laugh with Jo again. She hadn’t had to stay a whole two months with Whitney last year—Sterling hadn’t been that difficult to handle—but the two of them had gotten along because they understood that the past was just that. So Jo had stayed through the slow part of the year and taught Whitney some of her training techniques. It’d been a good two months. For the first time in her adult life, Whitney hadn’t felt quite so...alone.

And now she’d get that feeling again for two weeks.

“And you’re happy?” That was the important question.

Jo’s features softened. “I am. He’s a good man who had an interesting life—to say the least. He’s learned how to deal with his family with all that charm. He wasn’t hitting on you—that’s just how he copes with situations that make him nervous.”

“Really? He must have an, um, unusual family.”

Jo laughed again. “I’ll just say this—they’re a lot to handle, but on the whole, they’re not bad people. Like Matthew. He can be a little controlling, but he really does want what’s best for the family and for us.” She stood. “I’ll let you get freshened up. Matthew should be here in a few.”

“Sounds good.”

Jo shut the door on her way out, leaving Whitney alone with her thoughts. She was glad she’d come.

This was what she wanted—to feel normal. To
be
normal. To be able to walk into a room and not be concerned with what people thought they knew about her. Instead, to have people, like Phillip, take her at face value and make her feel welcome.

And he had a brother who was coming to dinner.

What did Matthew Beaumont look like? More to the point, what did he act like? Brothers could like a lot of the same things, right?

What if Matthew Beaumont looked at her the way his brother did, without caring about who she’d been in the past? What if he talked to her about horses instead of headlines? What if—? What if he wasn’t involved with anyone?

Whitney didn’t hook up. That part of her life was dead and buried. But...a little Christmas romance between the maid of honor and the best man wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? It could be fun.

She hurried to the bathroom, daring to hope that this Matthew Beaumont was single. He was coming to dinner tonight and it sounded as if he would be involved with a lot of the planned activities. She was here for two weeks. Perhaps the built-in time limit was a good thing. That way, if things didn’t go well, she had an out—she could go home.

Although...it had been eleven years since she’d attempted anything involving the opposite sex. Making a pass at the best man might not be the smartest thing she could do.

She washed her face. A potential flirtation with Matthew Beaumont called for eyeliner, at the very least. Whitney made up her face and decided to put on a fresh top. She dug out the black silk before putting it aside. Jo was in jeans and flannel, after all. This was not a fancy dinner. Whitney decided to go with the red V-neck cashmere sweater—soft but not ostentatious. The kind of top that maybe a single, handsome man would accidentally brush with his fingers. Perfect.

Would Matthew be blond, like Phillip? Would he have the same smile, the same blue eyes? She was brushing out her short hair when, from deep inside the house, a bell chimed.

She slicked on a little lip gloss and headed out. She tried to retrace her steps, but she got confused. The house had a bunch of hallways that went in different directions. She tried one set of stairs but found a door that was locked at the bottom. That wasn’t right—Jo hadn’t led her through a door. She backtracked, trying not to panic. Hopefully, everyone wasn’t downstairs waiting on her.

She found another stairwell, but it didn’t seem any more familiar than the first one had. It ended in a darkened room. Whitney decided to go back rather than stumble around in the dark. God, she shouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready. She should have gone back down with Jo. Or gotten written directions. Getting lost was embarrassing.

She found her room again, which had to count for something. She went the opposite direction and was relieved when she passed the master suite. Finally. She picked up the pace. Maybe she wasn’t too late.

She could hear voices now—Jo’s and Phillip’s and another voice, deep and strong. Matthew.

She hurried down the steps, then remembered she was trying to make a good impression. It wouldn’t do to come rushing in like a tardy teenager. She needed to slow down to make a proper entrance.

She slammed on the brakes in the middle of a step near the bottom and stumbled. Hard. She tripped down the last two steps and all but fell into the living room. She was going down, damn it! She braced for the impact.

It didn’t come. Instead of hitting the floor or running into a piece of furniture, she fell into a pair of strong arms and against a firm, warm chest.

“Oof,” the voice that went with that chest said.

Whitney looked up into a pair of eyes that were a deep blue. He smiled down at her and this time, she didn’t feel as if she were going to forget her own name. She felt as if she’d never forget this moment.

“I’ve got you.”

Not blond, she realized. Auburn hair. A deep red that seemed just right on him. And he did have her. His arms were around her waist and he was lifting her up. She felt secure. The feeling was
wonderful
.

Then, without warning, everything changed. His warm smile froze as his eyes went hard. The strong arms became iron bars around her and the next thing she knew, she was being pushed not up but away.

Matthew Beaumont set her back on her feet and stepped clear of her. With a glare that could only be described as ferocious, he turned to Phillip and Jo.

“What,” he said in the meanest voice Whitney had heard in a long time, “is Whitney Wildz doing here?”

Two

M
atthew waited for an answer. It’d better be a damn good one, too. What possible explanation could there be for former teen star Whitney Wildz to be in Phillip’s house?

“Matthew,” Jo said in an icy tone, “I’d like you to meet my maid of honor, Whitney Maddox.”

“Try to stop being an ass,” Phillip said under his breath.

“Whitney,” Jo went on, as if Phillip hadn’t spoke, “this is Matthew Beaumont, Phillip’s brother and best man.”

“Maddox?” He turned back to the woman who looked as though she’d been stepped on by a Percheron. At least they could all agree her first name was Whitney. Maybe there was a mistake? But no. There was no missing that white streak in her hair or those huge pale eyes set against her alabaster skin. “You’re Whitney Wildz. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

Her eyes closed and her head jerked to the side as if he’d slapped her.

Someone grabbed him. “Try
harder
,” Phillip growled in his ear. Then, louder, Phillip said, “Dinner’s ready. Whitney, is iced tea all right?”

Whitney Wildz—Matthew had no doubt that was who she was—opened her eyes. A wave of pain washed over him when she looked up at him. Then she drew herself up.

“Thank you,” she said in that breathy way of hers. Then she stepped around him.

Memories came back to him. He’d watched her show,
Growing Up Wildz
, all the time with his younger siblings Frances and Byron. Because Matthew was a good brother—the best—he’d watched it with them. He’d even scored VIP tickets to the
Growing Up Wildz
concert tour when it came through Denver and taken the twins, since their father couldn’t be bothered to remember that it was their fifteenth birthday. Matthew was a good brother just taking care of his siblings. That was what he told everyone else.

But that wasn’t, strictly, the truth.

He’d watched it for Whitney.

And now Whitney was here.

This was
bad
. This was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to this wedding—to him. It would have been easier if Phillip were screwing her. That sort of thing was easy to hush up—God knew Matthew had enough practice covering for his father’s indiscretions.

But to have Whitney Wildz herself standing up at the altar, in front of the press and the photographers—not to mention the guests?

He tried to remember the last time she’d been in the news. She’d stumbled her way up on stage and then tripped into the podium, knocking it off the dais and into a table. The debate hadn’t been about
if
she’d been on something, just
what
—drugs? Alcohol? Both?

And then tonight she’d basically fallen down the stairs and into his arms. He hadn’t minded catching a beautiful woman at the time. The force of her fall had pressed her body against his and what had happened to him was some sort of primal response that had taken control of his body before he’d realized it.

Mine
, was the only coherent thought he’d managed to produce as he’d kept her on her feet. Hell, yeah, he’d responded. He was a man, after all.

But then he’d recognized her.

What was she on? And what would happen if she stumbled her way down the aisle?

This was a disaster of epic PR proportions. This woman was going to mess up all of his plans. And if he couldn’t pull off this wedding, would he ever be able to truly call himself a Beaumont?

Phillip jerked him toward the table. “For the love of everything holy,” he hissed in Matthew’s ear, “be a gentleman.”

Matthew shook him off. He had a few things he’d like to say to his brother and his future sister-in-law. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he half whispered back at Phillip. “Do you know what this
means
for the wedding?”

On the other side of the room, Jo was at the fridge, getting the iced tea. Whitney stood next to her, head down and arms tucked around her slender waist.

For a second, he felt bad. Horrible, actually. The woman who stood thirty feet away from where he and Phillip were didn’t look much like Whitney Wildz. Yes, she had Whitney’s delicate bone structure and sweetheart face and yes, she had the jet-black hair with the telltale white streak in it. But her hair was cut into a neat pixie—no teased perm with blue and pink streaks. Her jeans and sweater fit her well and were quite tasteful—nothing like the ripped jeans and punk-rock T-shirts she’d always worn on the show. And she certainly wasn’t acting strung out.

If it hadn’t been for her face—and those pale green eyes, like polished jade, and that hair—he might not have recognized her.

But he did. Everything about him did.

“It means,” Phillip whispered back, “that Jo’s friend is here for the wedding. Whitney Maddox—she’s a respected horse breeder. You will knock this crap off now or I’ll—”

“You’ll
what
? You haven’t been able to beat me up since we were eight and you know it.” Matthew tensed. He had a scant half inch on Phillip but he’d long ago learned to make the most of it.

Phillip grinned at him. It was not a kind thing on his face. “I’ll turn Jo loose on you and trust me, buddy, that’s a fate worse than death. Now knock it off and act like a decent human being.”

There was something wrong about this. For so long, Matthew had been the one who scolded Phillip to straighten up and fly right. Phillip had been the one who didn’t know how to act in polite company, who’d always found the most embarrassing thing to say and then said it. And it’d been Matthew who’d followed behind, cleaning up the messes, dealing with the headlines and soothing the ruffled feathers. That was what he did.

Briefly, Matthew wanted to be proud of his brother. He’d finally grown up.

But as wonderful as that was, it didn’t change the fact that Whitney Wildz was not only going to be sitting down for dinner with them tonight, but she was also going to be in the Beaumont wedding.

He would have to rethink his entire strategy.

“Dinner,” Jo called out. She sounded unnaturally perky about it. There was something odd about Jo being perky. It did nothing to help his mood.

“I really wish you had some beer in the house,” he muttered to Phillip.

“Tough. Welcome to sobriety.” Phillip led the way back to the table.

Matthew followed, trying to come up with a new game plan. He had a couple of options that he could see right off the bat. He could go with denial, just as Phillip and Jo seemed to be doing. This was Whitney Maddox. He had no knowledge of Whitney Wildz.

But that wasn’t a good plan and he knew it. He’d recognized her, after all. Someone else was bound to do the same and the moment that someone did, it’d be all over. Yes, the list of celebrities who were attending this wedding was long but someone as scandalous as Whitney Wildz would create a stir no matter what she did.

He could go on the offensive. Send out a press release announcing that Whitney Wildz was the maid of honor. Hit the criticism head-on. If he did it early enough, he might defuse the situation—make it a nonissue by the big day. It could work.

Or it could blow up in his face. This wedding was about showing the world that the Beaumonts were above scandal—that they were stronger than ever. How was that going to happen now? Everything Whitney Wildz did was a scandal.

He took his seat. Whitney sat to his left, Phillip to his right. Jo’s ridiculous little donkey sat on the floor in between him and Whitney. Good. Fine. At least he didn’t have to look at Whitney, he reasoned. Just at Jo.

Who was not exactly thrilled with him. Phillip was right—Matthew was in no mood to have Jo turned loose on him. So he forced his best fake smile—the one he used when he was defusing some ticking time bomb created by one of his siblings. It always worked when he was talking to reporters.

He glanced at Phillip and then at Jo. Damn. The smile wasn’t working on them.

He could
feel
Whitney sitting next to him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to be aware of her like that. He wasn’t some teenager anymore, crushing in secret. He was a grown man with real problems.

Her.

But Phillip was staring daggers at him, and Jo looked as though she was going to stab him with the butter knife. So Matthew dug deep. He could be a gentleman. He could put on the Beaumont face no matter what. Being able to talk to a woman was part of the Beaumont legacy—a legacy he’d worked too hard to make his own. He wasn’t about to let an unexpected blast from his past undermine everything he’d worked for. This wedding was about proving his legitimacy and that was that.

Phillip glared at him. Right. The wedding was about Phillip and Jo, too. And now their maid of honor.

God, what a mess.

“So, Whitney,” Matthew began. She flinched when he said her name. He kept his voice pleasant and level. “What are you doing these days?”

Jo notched an eyebrow at him as she served the lasagna.
Hey
, he wanted to tell her.
I’m trying
.

Whitney smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I raise horses.” She took a piece of bread and passed the basket to him. She made sure not to touch him when she did it.

“Ah.” That wasn’t exactly a lot to go on, but it did explain how she and Jo knew each other, he guessed.

When Whitney didn’t offer any other information, he asked, “What kind of horses?”

“Trakehners.”

Matthew waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

“One of her horses won gold in the World Equestrian Games,” Phillip said. He followed up this observation with a swift kick to Matthew’s shin.

Ow.
Matthew grunted in pain but he managed not to curse out loud. “That’s interesting.”

“It’s amazing,” Phillip said. “Not even Dad could breed or buy a horse that took home gold.” He leaned forward, turned on the Beaumont smile and aimed it squarely at Whitney.

Something flared in Matthew. He didn’t like it when Phillip smiled at her like that.

“Trust me,” Phillip continued, “he tried. Not winning gold was one of his few failures as a horseman. That and not winning a Triple Crown.”

Whitney cut Matthew a look out of the corner of her eye that hit him funny. Then she turned her attention to Phillip. “No one’s perfect, right?”

“Not even Hardwick Beaumont,” he agreed with a twinkle in his eye. “It turns out there are just some things money can’t buy.”

Whitney grinned. Suddenly, Matthew wanted to punch his brother—hard. This was normal enough—this was how Phillip talked to women. But seeing Whitney warm to him?

Phillip glanced at Matthew.
Be a gentleman
, he seemed to be saying. “Whitney’s Trakehners are beautiful, highly trained animals. She’s quite well-known in horse circles.”

Whitney Wildz was well-known in horse circles? Matthew didn’t remember any mention of that from the last article he’d read about her. Only that she’d made a spectacle of herself.

“How long have you been raising horses?”

“I bought my ranch eleven years ago.” She focused her attention on her food. “After I left Hollywood.”

So she really was Whitney Wildz. But...eleven years? That didn’t seem right. It couldn’t have been more than two years since the last headline.

“Where is your ranch?”

If Matthew had known who she really was, he would have done more digging. Be Prepared wasn’t just a good Boy Scout motto—it was vital to succeeding in public relations.

One thing was abundantly clear. Matthew was not prepared for Whitney, whatever her last name was.

“Not too far from Bakersfield. It’s very...quiet there.”

Then she gazed up at him again. The look in her eyes stunned him—desperate for approval. He knew that look—he saw it in the mirror every morning.

Why would she want his approval? She was Whitney Wildz, for crying out loud. She’d always done what she wanted, when she wanted—consequences be damned.

Except...nothing about her said she was out of control—except for the way she’d fallen into his arms.

His first instinct had been to hold her—to protect her. To claim her as his. What if...?

No.

There was no “what if” about this. His first duty was to his family—to making sure this wedding went off without a hitch. To making sure everyone knew that the Beaumonts were still in a position of power. To making sure he proved himself worthy of his father’s legacy.

At the very least, he could be a gentleman about it.

“That’s beautiful country,” he said. Compliments were an important part of setting a woman at ease. If he were smart, he would have remembered that in the first place. “Your ranch must be lovely.”

A touch of color brightened her cheeks. His stomach tensed.
She
was beautiful, he realized. Not the punk-rock hot she’d been back when he’d watched her show, but something delicate and ethereal.

Mine.

The word kept popping up in his head, completely unbidden. Which was ridiculous because the only thing Whitney was to him was a roadblock.

Phillip kicked him again.
Stop staring
, he mouthed at Matthew.

Matthew shook his head. He hadn’t realized he was staring.

“Matthew, maybe we should discuss some of the wedding plans?” Jo said it nicely enough but there was no mistaking that question for an order.

“Of course,” he agreed. The wedding. He needed to stay on track here. “We have an appointment with the seamstress tomorrow at ten. Jo, it’s your final fitting. Whitney, we ordered your dress according to the measurements you sent in, but we’ve blocked out some additional time in case it requires additional fittings.”

“That sounds fine,” she said in a voice that almost sounded casual.

“Saturday night is the bachelorette party. I have a list of places that would be an appropriate location for you to choose from.”

“I see,” she said. She brushed her hand through her hair.

He fought the urge to do the same.

What was wrong with him? Seriously—
what
was wrong with him? He went from attracted to her to furious at everyone in the room and now he wanted to, what—stroke her hair? Claim her? Jesus, these were exactly the sort of impulses he’d always figured had ruled Phillip. The ones that had ruled their father. See a beautiful woman, act on the urge to sweep her off her feet. To hell with anything else.