The Bride Wore Starlight Read online

  A soggy, stained softball hit his right foot, and Rowan wiggled her body in front of him like a hairy exotic dancer. Alec laughed again. She’d give him five or six good retrieves before her interest was exhausted. They had these ten minutes of undisciplined exuberance each time he returned home, and then his beast turned into the world’s most talented couch potato. For as big and fast as she could be, she was quite a medium-energy dog.

  After the fifth ball toss, Rowan let the ball lie where it landed and started her routine mosey around the yard. Five minutes later Alec let her in the house and handed her a giant bone biscuit, which she accepted with enthusiasm and took to the middle of the living room floor to crunch with surprisingly ladylike dignity.

  It was only seven thirty, and since he hadn’t ended up eating much with Joely, he searched his cupboard, found a can of disgustingly wonderful Beefaroni, and popped the easy-open lid. While it nuked, he grabbed two pieces of bread—whole wheat, his only concession to nutrition—and smeared them both with peanut butter. When the microwave dinged he grabbed a beer, the local craft brew he’d decided beat Budweiser all to hell, took his bowl, sandwich, and brew to the den off the living room and sat.

  Beefaroni and beer with his dog. Not as pleasurable as fried chicken with a beautiful woman but still satisfying in a knuckle-dragging bachelor kind of way. He’d long ago accepted that social refinement wasn’t his strong suit. Proof: he should have picked up steak and strawberries and champagne for Joely. Maybe that would have been more impressive.

  He settled into the couch and put his leg up. Resting it gave him enough relief that he decided he could scarf down the food before changing clothes and taking off the prosthetic.

  Tough. Yeah, he was such a tough guy. Too damn lazy to move any more, at least at the moment, was closer to the truth. He was tired.

  And, after half the Beefaroni and half the bottle of beer were gone, he knew he was also mildly depressed. Maybe he did regret a little bit the way he’d gone after Joely.

  No. You know you needed the same kind of tough love three years ago. Somebody had to do it for her.

  But still. You got more flies with honey. She was a girl—you had to be more gentle than with a stubborn, angry cowboy.

  She’s tough. I can tell by . . .

  By how? He frowned to himself. What made him think he knew her so well?

  Call her.

  Oh no. He wasn’t going to be one of those panty-waist guys. He wasn’t needy. He did what had to be done.

  Tell her you’re sorry you got tough with her. That you know she’ll be just fine. That—

  His cell phone ringing halted the argument with himself. For one second his heart gave a hopeful skip. Maybe thinking of her had conjured a call from Joely. It took only one second more to realize that was ridiculous on its face and another second to answer without checking the caller ID.

  “Alec Morrissey,” he said.

  “Well, slap my ass with a junk yard saddle. It is you, you one-legged freak. Where the hell have you been?”

  The voice stunned him nearly into silence.

  “Vince?” he asked. “Damn, is that you?”

  “Me and about ten more pounds since I saw you last. Holy shit, man, it’s good to hear your voice. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

  A little guilt and a great deal of regret sliced quickly through Alec’s gut. Aside from his cousin, Buzz, Vince Newton had been his best friend within the rodeo community since high school. A bull rider to Alec’s bronc rider, Vince had always complemented Alec’s talents and vice versa. For a season, after Buzz had decided to re-up for a second tour in Iraq and Alec couldn’t get his butt out of the Middle East fast enough, he and Vince had tried to start something new—a partnership in team roping that would lead them into other events and competition for all-round honors. But Vince wasn’t a roper, and the stress of trying to be what they weren’t had strained their friendship. They’d both dropped the idea like nuclear waste and so rescued their relationship.

  They’d stayed close until Alec had made his own insane trip back into the belly of the Iraqi beast and come home one limb lighter with a chip on his shoulder the size of a bomb blast. He’d let a lot of things slip away while creating his new life.

  “Oh man, so long. It’s been three years at least. My fault, totally, I admit it. How’d you find me now?”

  “I live in the area, too, bro’. Came back about a year ago. I happened to hear your name in town the other day, and someone said you’d moved just outside of Jackson. I just dug until someone was willing to give up your number.”

  “Aw, hell, Vince, that’s great. I’m glad you did. So where are you?”

  “East, about fifteen miles out of Jackson. Got me a little spread—forty acres. I’m raising some bucking bulls and breeding some broncs. Got me some chickens, some dogs, and a kid.”

  “A what? What the devil are you talkin’ about, boy?”

  “Remember that cute little bunny used to hang around us—Wendy?”

  “ ’Course I do.”

  “I married her. Then I knocked her up—in the right order and with her permission, I might add.”

  “No way! You son of a gun.”

  Alec grinned to himself. Vince had never been the best-looking cowboy on the circuit, but he’d certainly had more than enough charisma to make up for it. If their circle of friends had been a high school class, Vincent Newton would have been voted “Most Likely to Date Every Girl on the Planet and Never Marry.”

  “Yeah. Nobody believed it when it happened.”

  “How the mighty have fallen.”

  “Nah. You’ll never get me to admit that. I’ve got me a little girl name of Olivia Beatrice who thinks I’m a hundred feet tall.” Pride, so thick Alec could have grabbed it from the line and spread it on bread, oozed from Vince’s voice.

  “A little girl,” Alec said. “That’s fantastic. I hope she looks like Wendy.”

  “Jerk. She does.”

  His old friend’s chuckle warmed him. Alec rubbed the inside of his left knee. “It’s great to hear you so happy. You still riding at all?”

  There was a slight pause. “Some. Mostly low-level stuff. A little individual calf roping.”

  “What? You suck at that.”

  “Yeah, but I gotta tell you. It’s damn hard climbing on the back of a bull when you’ve got a sixteen-month-old whose mama is teaching her to pray Daddy comes home safely. Shakes your sense of immortality.”

  “Huh.” Alec snorted in appreciation. “I never took you for a smart man, Newton. Did a bull finally throw you hard enough to knock some sense into your head?”

  “Nope. Roped and hog-tied by the love of two good women.”

  “Okay—enough. I don’t want hear anymore girlie-novel shit come out of that mouth. Let’s leave it at I’m happy for you.”

  “And that leads me into one reason I called. I’m hoping you’ve had time to get back into the scene again. You figure out that gimp leg of yours enough to get back on a horse?”

  Alec’s throat squeezed shut and a pain in his chest he hadn’t felt in a year throbbed like a fresh wound. He’d known rodeo would catch back up with him sooner or later. He’d known this was a dangerous place to settle. In his deepest heart, however, he’d believed he’d had time to brace for impact.

  “I’ve been on a horse.” He managed to push the words past the fist squeezing his larynx. “Just no bucking ones.”

  “So . . . you’re trying to tell me I won the bet.”

  “There was no bet, butthead. I told you—”

  “You told me you’d ride that horse one day or die trying.”

  “That horse” was a blue roan appaloosa gelding, sweeter than a day at your grandma’s unless a person even thought about putting weight on its back. A saddle blanket on that animal’s back would flip the switch that turned him into the embodiment of his name: Ghost Pepper.

  “I wimped out of that bet. I admitted it. I accept it.”

>   “And I told you, a bet’s a bet.”

  Alec could hear the laughter behind Vince’s words. The man was on his way to making some point, but Alec had no clue what it was. After three years all contracts were null and void as far as he was concerned. Besides, it was far too late to collect on the bet. Ghost Pepper had to be in his late twenties now and retired to some beautiful pasture with other equine greats. Or he could be dead. That was a real possibility.

  “What was the wager anyway?” Alec tried to make light of the wager he knew perfectly well. “A case of Bud? Hell, let’s settle up. It’s on me.”

  “You can buy me a case of beer anytime you want, bro’.”

  Alec sighed. Was his oaf of a friend seriously still going to make a stink about the hat? His stomach dropped at the thought. The hat was sacred. It rested in a plain white box on his closet shelf, and he wasn’t about to give it up for the sake of a bar bet made ten years before under the influence of too many tequila shots.

  A flash of annoyance surprised but galvanized him. It was Buzz’s hat. He was Buzz’s cousin. Damn it all, the hat wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Hey, Vince, look,” he said, “you know it’s great to talk to you, but what’s this really about? I don’t ride broncs anymore, it’s not physically possible. Ghost Pepper is long gone and—”

  “Oh ho, buddy, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Oh?” Alec asked warily.

  “Ghost Pepper is very much alive and, literally, kicking. Wanna know how I know?”

  “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

  “I’m lookin’ at him.”

  Alec sat back in his chair, stunned. He hadn’t expected that. “ ’Scuse me?”

  “He’s eating like a horse right outside my barn. Gorgeous, sweet-tempered, and talented as ever. And I want you to come over here and learn how to ride him.”

  Chapter Seven

  “ALMOST HOME, SWEETHEART. How are you feeling?”

  Joely smiled at her mother, who sat in the passenger seat of her pickup truck clearly happy to be on Crockett land again. They were still nearly fifty driving miles from Rosecroft, but her mother’s face had finally lost the drawn, devastated shadows of grief that had lined it for the past three weeks. They’d flown the 960 miles to Los Angeles from Jackson twenty days ago, to take care of packing and sorting Joely’s belongings, fighting twice with an angry Tim, quitting her part-time job and her volunteer positions, and packing up her beloved Penny along with the mountains of tack and equipment that went with owning a champion barrel racing horse.

  Now they were on the final few miles of a marathon drive back to the ranch—the empty ranch since her father was no longer there. Still, both she and her mom couldn’t wait to be home. Joely was determined to make this move the most positive thing she’d ever done. Taking over management of Paradise Ranch would be good for her. She could do it with Cole’s help. With Leif and Bjorn’s help. With her mother’s help. It wouldn’t matter that Paradise was in financial trouble—they would turn things around. Her life was about to turn around—she could feel it. She pressed the accelerator down a fraction of an inch. The big Ford pulled the three horse trailer so easily—especially with only one horse in it. The speedometer in the truck crept toward eighty—far too fast, but this part of the highway, cutting through the southeast corner of Paradise, was always deserted. They were almost home.

  A voice from somewhere outside her head, as if she were dreaming, screamed at her to let up on the gas. She laughed. Just this once she was going to live free, not be rule-bound.

  “I’m doing fine, Mom,” she replied. “How about you? You don’t seem to mind coming back.”

  “It’s hard, but it’s where I want to be. My goodness, that’s quite the load he’s carrying up ahead.”

  Finally Joely eased on the brakes slightly. The semi and flatbed was still a ways ahead, but the pile of logs it hauled extended above the semi’s cab. Joely checked the stretch of board-straight road ahead and saw nothing. She could pass the log truck—they were catching up quickly to the slow-moving vehicle.

  She turned on her blinker and saw the first chain snap just as the bloink-bloink of the turn signal sounded. Someone outside her head screamed again. The chain flailed in the air like a drug-crazed rattlesnake.

  “Brakes, Joely,” her mother said. “I don’t like the look of that.”

  “Let’s just get past him. I don’t like it either.”

  She had no time for either choice. A second chain snapped. She could hear the angry explosion of the two metal snakes biting into one another. And then the world turned into a series of flashes that made no sense. Flying bark, a horrendous grinding crash, a spine-snapping dead stop, smashing glass, the rings of a tree’s cross section so close she could almost count them.

  The voice screamed again. Her mother.

  “Mom? Mom?”

  Nothing

  Voices and snips of words. Excruciating pain as strong hands rolled her onto something very stiff and hard. She couldn’t move her head. Blackness.

  “The horse won’t live.”

  The screaming from outside her head again. Crying.

  “Don’t let her die.”

  Had she said that out loud? Who? Her mother or her horse? Wait. The horse won’t live? What did that mean? Blackness.

  Chopping air, loud, percussive. Blue sky moving above her until, suddenly, blades of metal spun into her vision, making her dizzy. Helicopter rotors. Then a lift and a jolt. Pain sliced through her, slashing every atom in her body. A ceiling with little strips of green neon lights.

  This had to be what an alien abduction looked like.

  “Joely, can you hear me?”

  Slowly the green lights and the gentle voice she didn’t recognize faded into a gray fog. She struggled. And once again came the screaming from somewhere beyond herself.

  “Joely? Joely, honey, wake up. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

  She sat straight up and grabbed . . . “Mia?” Joely gasped in relief. This was reality. Mia hadn’t been in the accident.

  “You’re okay,” Mia said again.

  In a miraculous rush, Joely’s brain cleared and the memories faded; the dream became a dream. She was not in a medivac helicopter. She was in her room. In her apartment. Mia was staying overnight. Yes. Helping her pack. She breathed more easily.

  And then the embarrassment slammed her. That, too, was familiar after waking many an orderly or night care nurse over the past months.

  Sobbing racked her head to toe. “I’m sorry, Mia. So sorry.”

  “For what? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “For being so stupid. These dreams are ridiculous.”

  “They aren’t. They’re helping you cope, believe it or not. Your mind is letting the images out so you can eventually let them go. Don’t try to hold them back. This is why you need to come home and not go off on your own. It’s time to be there with us and forget moving into town.”

  “No! This is exactly the reason I’m not coming back. I can’t stand putting this burden on others. I need to stay in my own space where my dreams and my body won’t be in anyone’s way.”

  “For crying out loud.” Mia took Joely’s face in her palms. “Listen to me. That’s asinine, honey. You can’t bother us. One for all and all for one. It’s truer now than ever.”

  “Not according to Alec Morrissey.”

  “Alec? What does he have to do with this?”

  “He has a prosthetic leg.”

  “Uh. Yeah?” Mia knotted her brows, clearly needing an explanation for the non sequitur.

  “I didn’t know about it. Not until a week ago when he told me I needed to quit whining and stop waiting for everyone to help me, and then he yanked up his pant leg with no warning.”

  “My goodness, how dramatic.” She didn’t sound like she thought it was the least bit out of line. “And he told you to quit whining? In those words?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Of all
the arrogance.” Mia grinned.

  “Oh, nice. Some sisterly support. What are you smiling about?”

  “Believe me, I think Alec Morrissey is maybe a little arrogant. But in this case, he’s right. Or partially so. It’s true you can’t just wait for people to help you. You do have to buck up and make your own decisions.”

  Mia’s words stung even more than Alec’s had. A single, embarrassed tear burned at the corner of Joely’s eye. Mia ran one thumb beneath it.

  “Why do you think I’m moving to my own place?”

  “I didn’t mean you’ve been whining, Jo-Jo. Alec was not right about that. You never whine, but you don’t tell us honestly what you need either. We want you to ask for help. We want you to come home and start learning to be independent around people who love you.”

  “And take up even more of everyone’s time and energy? Confirm that I’m a demanding person who has evidently been driving everyone insane the past eight months.”

  “Stop it, you know better than that.” Mia drew her into a hug even as she chastised. “If you haven’t learned by now that none of your sisters is going to feel sorry for you, then you’re an imposter Crockett who didn’t grow up in our family. If you were driving us insane, we’d let you know it. Am I right?”

  Joely had to concede. With the possible exception of their oldest triplet, Grace, not one of the Crockett sisters knew how to mince words. “Yes,” she said, her voice small in the dark bedroom.

  “Then believe that I, that we, adore you, and all we want is to help you take the next step in healing. If it takes arrogant Alec Morrissey to aggravate you out of your shell, then I’m a fan.”

  Alec Morrissey.

  Every time she heard the name the most confusing mix of feelings assailed her: shivers, annoyance, happiness, despair, a deep desire to punch him . . . a deeper, hotter desire to try kissing him. She wondered if she had some variation of Stockholm Syndrome—finding her tormentor attractive.

  With a deep breath and a long exhale that released the last of the dream’s hold on her, she also released her sister.