His Darling Bride (Echoes of the Heart #3) (16 page)

“What? No.”
We’re not letting you go again, Bethany . . . We’re your family.
“I am going back Sunday, and it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

How many foster homes had let Shandra down in some way before she’d been placed in Chandlerville? Now Bethany was becoming a part of that legacy.

She followed as her sister tried to leave. “Don’t go.”

“Why not?” Shandra whirled around, looking ready to explode. “You don’t want to be anywhere the rest of us are. You’re hardly ever at the house anymore. I heard you tell Mom and Dad you’re not going back to your residency, not while Mike’s there . . . It’s just like before, people keep saying. Just like when you quit painting and quit the family and quit everything else after high school. So, fine. Dump the youth center, too. Like I care.”

Of course she cared.

“Give me a chance to fix things.” Bethany’s knees wobbled as she remembered Mike begging her for the exact same thing.

But this was why Bethany had to steer clear of him. There was too much else at stake. She couldn’t let falling apart over a guy ruin things with her family again.

“I’m not quitting painting.”

Shandra looked at the tank top and jeans Bethany had worn to the Whip. Bethany knew there wasn’t a speck of fresh paint on her. There hadn’t been since Saturday. She ran a hand down the flared sleeve of Shandra’s perfectly tailored tunic.

“I won’t miss our youth center class Sunday,” she promised. “I’ve just needed some time to myself. I’m sorry I let that get in the way of what we’re doing together.”

Precious moments that she’d lost with her sister, her students, and the life in Chandlerville Bethany wanted so badly to be real.

She sat in the nearest booth. She ran her hand over the coolness of the red leather seats. She’d always loved the look of the Whip, with its vintage upholstery and chrome-rimmed tables. It was retro, but it was classy somehow. The Douglas family had kept things the same from the moment they’d opened their doors when Brad’s mother was a little girl. The permanence of a legacy like that had always mystified Bethany—how people could hold on and fight for something forever, no matter the obstacles. Never completely letting go.

“You’re really scared of him,” Shandra said, “aren’t you?”

“What?” Bethany blinked and realized her sister was sitting across the booth from her.

“Mike. Is it really that bad, that he’s famous and has money and wants to help artists like you and people like Dad?”

“No.”

It wasn’t bad.

Bethany rubbed at her tired eyes. It was wonderful, the things he’d done with his life. She’d come to terms with that while she’d lain awake the last four nights. It was sad, what had happened to his brother and whatever his parents had or hadn’t done to help their sons get through it.

But . . .

“Bethie?” Shandra asked, deserving an explanation.

“He’s just . . .” Bethany dropped her hands to the table.

He was too much like her. She’d sensed it that first night at McC’s, when something about him had made her feel so safe, she’d trusted a total stranger to help her.

“It’s scary, right?” Her sister slid a hand across the table and held Bethany’s. “People acting like they like you. And you never know if it’s real, or if it’s going to last, or if you want it to.”

Bethany inhaled, the air catching in the back of her throat. “All you know is that it hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.”

“So you stop it from hurting.” Her sister nodded, wise and angry and brutally honest beyond her years. “However you have to.”

Bethany squeezed her sister’s hand, feeling closer to Shandra than ever. “You always have the right to say stop.”

They’d gotten to this place a time or two, as their friendship had deepened. On their long drives into Midtown, or when they’d grabbed something to eat before or after the classes they taught together. When they talked about one of their students Shandra had grown particularly close to—Darby, a little girl who seemed to be quietly hurting in her own six-year-old way.

“It’s okay to hurt,” Bethany said. “We all do sometimes. But you don’t have to keep hurting. Your life starts getting better as soon as you accept that.”

Shandra had never talked about what she’d endured in her biological home and maybe some of her earlier foster experiences. But the pain was there, just below the surface, the damage done.

“Fighting back is never a bad thing,” Bethany insisted, “even when we sometimes make self-destructive choices thinking we’ll feel better.”

“Like when you walked away from Mom and Dad after high school?” Shandra asked, Bethany’s long-ago decision hovering between them like a shadowy path that she might follow again. “Because they said they liked you. And Benjie treated you like he liked you, and then treated you so bad. And you didn’t want to be treated bad anymore, so you left . . .”

Shandra pulled her touch away, a brave young woman who’d run from several homes of her own. Thanks to Marsha and Joe, she lost herself in fabric now, and designing crazy-cool clothes, the way their parents had helped Bethany find her paints and brushes and canvases, so she’d have something beautiful, something totally her own, to believe in, too.

“I’m back for good,” Bethany promised her sister. “I want my life here, with you and Mom and Dad and everyone. I know I’m being flaky, and I’m sorry about Sunday, and that I’m scaring you. I’m trying to fix this scary thing I’m going through. But I’m not going to run just because I’m scared.” She sat up straighter. “That’s no way to live life. Neither is you nixing the youth center and Darby and the other kids because of me.”

“You’re fixing yourself?” Her sister slumped into the booth’s plush cushion, arms crossed. “By ditching another guy, a
good
guy this time who’s been good to you? And now you’re ditching everyone else you
want
to be with, because you feel like shit without him around?”

Language,
Marsha would have said.

Damn straight,
Nic would have responded.

“No,” Bethany said. “Mike’s just . . . too much for me right now.”

“Fighting back can be a bad thing, too. Right? If there’s no real reason to fight?”

Shandra sounded so young and scared. And so not the funny, strong, determined teenager Bethany had watched blossom. She was a kid, after all. A lost, scared kid who desperately needed someone to tell her that everything would work out okay.

“Right,” Bethany agreed, hating that her insecurities were backing up on the sister she’d wanted so badly to inspire.

Except how did Bethany convince Shandra that things would be fine . . . when Bethany kept shying away from the people who loved them both to distraction, and kept fighting how perfectly at home she felt in a wandering cowboy’s arms?

Chapter Nine

Mike opened the door to one of his favorite smells.

A bell tinkled overhead. One baked aroma after another welcomed him. Bread and cake and something with cinnamon and butter. And best of all, chocolate. The Wednesday-afternoon air was frosted with the scent of cream cheese and powdered sugar. Dan’s Doughnuts was so much more than its humble name suggested. The pastry shop exceeded every thumbs-up description Chandlerville locals had given it, and Mike had barely made it through the door.

He took in the scene and smiled. Someone should bottle and sell the fragrance seeping from every pore of the place. His brother would have loved it here.

Jeremy had never met a dessert he wouldn’t devour—eating more
than his share, he’d insisted, to make up for what Mike couldn’t have. Twice a week when they were boys, his and Mike’s nanny would take them to a corner bakery not far from their Upper East Side apartment. Mike hadn’t minded that there wouldn’t be something sweet for him on the other end. Their nanny would always bring him an orange to snack on. And besides, the things he couldn’t have were nothing compared to Jeremy’s problems. And being outside and goofing around with his big brother, without their mother telling them to settle down and behave like young gentlemen, had been the real treat.

Visiting Dan’s brightly lit space felt like the same kind of extravagance. Kids were munching on afternoon treats. Grown-ups grouped and chatted near the register, waiting to buy or order or pick up whatever they’d come for. Everyone, regardless of age, was all smiles. The photographer in Mike wanted to capture each carefree moment, every expression. Then his attention snagged on a familiar young smile.

Camille Bowman’s cheeks were smeared with chocolate. Her eyes were closed in pure joy while she licked frosting off the top of a cupcake. Mike already had his smartphone out and was kneeling when he made eye contact with the beautiful woman standing next to the little girl. He gestured silently, to see if it was okay. She nodded, grinning her approval.

He zoomed in with his camera app and snapped a shot of Camille, mentally titling it
Rapture
. The little girl’s eyes popped open, and he snapped another shot before standing. She rushed toward him.

“Hey, Mike!” She held out her treat. “Do you like cupcakes? Uncle Dan and Aunt Leigh make the best. Even the ones like mine that most people don’t know how to make right. Want to try? It’s red velvet with cream cheese frosting . . .” She frowned down at the almost completely gone icing, shrugged, and offered the well-licked treat again. “There’s enough left for you to taste. And you won’t miss the stuff that’s missing in mine. I can’t have dairy and nuts, and Uncle Dan makes sure they’re gone. But you’ll love them anyway, promise.”

“I’d love to try one.” Mike chuckled at her excited chatter. So did
the natural beauty he presumed was Camille’s mother. “But there’d
have to be no sugar in them. That’s what has to be missing for me.”

“I’ll let Leigh know,” said the tall brunette, curling Camille to her side. “I’m sure she and her husband could come up with some
thing you’ll be able to eat if you snag an invite to Dru’s wedding. Dan
is magic with specialty desserts. I’m Selena Bowman, by the way.” She held out her hand. “And you’re Michael Taylor, the cowboy
my
husband’s fuming about for getting grabby with Bethany. Or is
it
Harrison Michael Taylor?” She’d lowered her voice as she said his full name. “The man my sister-in-law is fuming about, for . . . Well, I’m not exactly sure why yet. But you seem to be helping Joe, so that makes you okay in my book.”

“It’s Mike.” He shook Selena’s hand, genuinely happy to meet more of Bethany’s family. “If you’ve heard all that, I’m sure you know I was never really supposed to be coming to the wedding. I guess remaining Joe’s therapist is touch and go, too, unless I settle things with your sister-in-law.”

Mike kept showing up to work with Joe. And the other man kept cordially welcoming Mike into his home each time. But Joe continued to have a hard time committing to his rehab plan—during therapy, and with the solo exercises he was supposed to do between sessions. And Mike was concerned that some of his patient’s resistance might be stemming from Mike’s ongoing issues with Bethany.

“The Dixons are a volatile bunch,” Selena conceded. “But they’re fair. Even my Oliver. And everyone’s crazy distracted right now. I was just checking with Dan about the cupcake bar for Dru’s reception. We’re already doing a special order for Camille. It’s no trouble to add something for you, just in case.”

“I’d say to order plenty of whatever this is”—Mike showed her his photo of Camille’s bliss—“and you’re golden.”

“Let me see!” Camille nabbed his phone. “Cool! Mommy, I wanna show him the pictures I took of Grammy’s flowers, and Bear and the quilt on my bed and Hello Kitty.”

Selena plucked her smartphone out of her tote. She traded with her daughter.

“Would you mind texting me a copy of this?” She handed over Mike’s phone. “I googled you, you know. You have an amazing gift.”

“No problem sending you the photo,” Mike said. “Or any of the other ones . . .” He scrolled to the images in his gallery of the kids playing outside the Dixon house. He passed Selena his phone.

She studied each picture. “Wow.”

“Add your name and number to my contacts. I’ll text you the lot. And I . . .” How did he say it without sounding full of himself? “I would appreciate it if your family would keep the details about the rest of my life private for now.”

“Bethany’s already asked us to. Didn’t she tell you?”

Mike simply shook his head, leaving how much Bethany’s family knew about his and Bethany’s last conversation up to Bethany to tell them.

Selena’s attention returned to his photos. “I didn’t think the cameras in these things could take pictures like this.”

“The newer ones have advanced a lot. They read light and handle exposure more effectively. You have better choices about how and where to focus. You can wrangle the lens into seeing what you want it to, like any other camera.”

“Look what I did last night at my Grammy Belinda’s.” Camille tugged his arm until he knelt to look over her shoulder at Selena’s phone. It was smeared with chocolate from Camille’s cupcake.

“Like I said”—he scrolled through, taking his time, enjoying her wonder and excitement and pride—“you’re a natural. How does your grammy keep her flowers looking so beautiful?”

“She has the best garden ever,” Camille said. “And she says I’m the best helper ever.” She glanced to Selena. “My mommy and me help her together, now that we live down the street.”

“And this must be Bear.” A floppy-eared, bedraggled-looking stuffed bunny had been plopped onto a blanket on the grass in front of a bush full of bright pink blossoms.

“And my favorite quilt. My grammy’s got lots of quilts. And last night she said I could take pictures of all of them.”

“You’re telling me a story with each photo,” Mike praised. “Keep doing that. You have a great eye.”

“A what?”

“The way you show us the things you love.” He tweaked her nose. “Your pictures make me love them too, Camille. That’s what photography’s supposed to do. Would you mind if your mom texts me some of these, after I send her the pictures from my phone?”

“Can we?” Camille begged Selena.

Selena had leaned over Camille’s shoulder, too, to study her daughter’s photos. She smoothed a kiss to the top of Camille’s head. She took her phone back and handed Mike his.

“We’ll send Mr. Taylor whatever photos you like.” Selena met Mike’s gaze as he stood. “And don’t worry about my family. They’ll protect your identity if that’s what you want, even if your helping Joe doesn’t work out. Now,” she said to Camille, “let’s say goodbye to Mr. Taylor.” To him Selena added, “I hope we get the chance to talk more soon.”

“Call me Mike,” he told her.

He hoped they spoke again, too. And that his therapy sessions with her father-in-law
did
continue. And not just because they gave Mike an excuse to stick around Chandlerville longer.

You’re dabbling in things and people and places, until you get bored and move on.

Selena grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby dispenser and tackled the cupcake residue on her daughter’s face. “Let’s let
Mike
get on with whatever he came here for.”

“
’Kay,” Camille said. “Bye, Mike.”

She scampered off, making a beeline for another little girl who’d just walked in with her parents.

“You’ve really started something with her taking pictures,” Selena said. “Your excitement for what you do is contagious.”

“It’s my pleasure, seeing someone your daughter’s age having fun being creative.”

“That’s exactly how Bethany describes the classes she teaches in the city.” Selena smiled. “So, sugar free?”

He pocketed his phone and pushed up his shirt sleeve, revealing his MedicAlert bracelet. “I’m better off avoiding cakes and sweets entirely.”

Selena nodded. “How long?”

“Since I was a kid. It’s no big deal. These days I hardly notice the things I can’t indulge in.”

“Yet here you are, about to order something truly decadent. To bribe my sister-in-law, perhaps?”

He tipped back the brim of his Stetson, appreciating Selena’s to-the-point vibe that no doubt kept Oliver on his toes. “Does Bethany really like strawberry cupcakes as much as I’ve heard?”

“Loves,” Selena corrected. “Bethany loves Dan’s strawberry cupcakes.”

“A half dozen?” All he knew was what he’d heard the girls say at McC’s.

Selena hesitated. “As soon as you place your order, Chandlerville will be buzzing about who they’re for.”

“I can live with that.”

“Until you wander off to wherever you’re going next?”

“I guess you could call me a professional wanderer,” he admitted, not liking the sound of it these days any better than Selena seemed to. “But I’m in town for as long as I can help Joe. And I’d like to start over with your sister-in-law. And at least make sure she keeps painting in Midtown. I want . . .”

He wanted more than he should.

He wanted more than Bethany did. She’d made that clear. The cupcakes were only a gesture, he told himself, a peace offering. He’d make amends and move on, as free and easy as ever, leaving as much good as possible in his wake.

“If you’re planning on showing up at her front door uninvited”—Selena dug her keys from her tote bag—“take some blueberry scones, too. Bethany’s been a sucker for them since Dan Jr.’s dad ran the place and she spent all her allowance here as a teenager. Hey, Dan!”

“Yo!” The heavyset guy behind the counter sported a white apron over his belly and a perpetual smile for his customers.

Selena turned toward the baker. “Have Leigh add sugar-free treats to our reception menu. I’ll let Nic know. She’s going to hyperventilate when she sees our next order summary.”

“You bet.”

Dan waved Selena’s and Mike’s way. Curious customers turned from the counter and the tables scattered around the bakery. Their curious stares locked onto Mike.

“Just in case you finagle yourself a re-invite to the wedding.” Selena patted Mike’s arm and headed after her daughter. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” The door’s bell jingled happily as the Bowmans left. “I think I’m gonna need it.”

Dan stepped around the counter. He and Mike watched Selena pull out of the lot in a beat-up car Mike couldn’t believe was being driven by Armani’s wife.

“They’re a great family,” Dan offered. “After everything Joe and Marsha have done for their kids, what they’ve all been through lately, the whole town would do just about anything for the lot of them.” He clapped Mike on the shoulder. “We really appreciate you helping get Joe back on his feet. And it was high time someone put that Benjie Carrington in his place. Wish I could have been there to see you and the Dixon boys take him down. Now, how can I help you?”

It felt as if the entire bakery had paused to hear Mike’s answer.

“I need some strawberry cupcakes,” he said. “And blueberry scones, I guess.”

Dan nodded and headed around the counter.

“If you’re wanting to win Bethany Darling over,” he said, voice booming, “then—”

“No,” Mike corrected. “This is just—”

“A half dozen of each, I’m thinking.” Dan folded a bakery box together, filling it with pastries. “That girl deserves a good man in her life for a change.”