Abby, Get Your Groom! Read online

  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.

  A spectacular beauty, certainly without any obvious too-hard edges.

  No, she was all soft curly hair—wild, thick hair that he’d kind of wanted to get his hands into. She was all smooth peaches-and-cream skin that didn’t show signs of ever having had so much as a blemish.

  She was all fine, delicate bones in a nose that not even the most expensive plastic surgeon could have done as well. She had a slightly pointed, defined chin and high cheekbones dusted naturally pink and pretty.

  And there definitely wasn’t anything hard about her soft-looking lips or those big brown doe eyes that somehow sparkled even from that deep, dark color.

  Why he hadn’t expected someone quite that attractive to come out of the life she’d had he didn’t know, but he hadn’t. And he could honestly say that even if she had been on a rocky road in the past, it wasn’t reflected in the way she looked now.

  About the only possible indication of a difficult youth had been in the way she carried herself.

  She was relatively small—not more than five feet four inches—and trim under that black smock. He’d seen that when she finished his haircut and took it off, revealing a body with tight curves in all the right places. But she stood straight and tall, shoulders back, head high, as if intent on making herself seem bigger than she was and strong enough to take on the world.

  And there was nothing effusive about her—that probably came from the way she’d grown up. She was friendly enough but not overly so. Self-contained. And while she seemed warm toward that China person, he certainly hadn’t felt an over-abundance of warmth directed at him.

  She was slightly outspoken, too, he recalled, remembering her unabashed demand to know what he was up to. And she was no good at hiding the suspicion she’d felt. But that attempt to sound intimidating had just been adorable. Thinking about it made him smile the way he would have at the time if he hadn’t suppressed it.

  So if foster care had left scars they weren’t readily visible. But it was something to watch out for anyway, he told himself. Like Lara’s true nature hiding just under the surface, Abby could have plenty of baggage that wasn’t easy to see but that could end up being hell to deal with.

  Purely on a business level, of course. It wasn’t as if he was considering anything else. Anything personal. There wasn’t going to be anything personal between him and any woman for a long time. Not when he had so much damage control still to do with his family.

  And even if he was ready for another relationship, even if all his fences with his family were mended, he’d be cautious of someone who came from Abby’s kind of background. Stable, steady, grounded—that’s what he’d be looking for when he started looking for someone again.

  Someone who had been raised moving around from home to home? He didn’t see how that could breed stable or steady or grounded.

  Maybe that wild hair of Abby Crane’s was the kind of clue that the clutter of Lara’s condo should have been.

  And this time around he was reading it, noting it, and taking it very seriously.

  Not that there was anything to what he was about to do with Abby Crane that was at all relationship-driven to make that matter.

  There wasn’t.

  His only job was to reveal to her who she was, where she’d come from, and then see how he could—in some way—make things up to her.

  At the same time he was making things up to his family.

  And, with any luck, maybe he could take care of everything at once and then really breathe a sigh of relief.

  But no matter how long either chore took, it was all going to be far behind him before he even considered getting involved with another woman.

  Fresh-faced spectacular beauty or not.

  * * *

  The park on Bryant Street was only a block from Abby’s apartment. She wanted to walk there but it was after six o’clock when she got home so she had to hurry in order to change clothes first.

  Not that she really needed to change clothes—there was nothing wrong with what she’d been wearing all day. And she convinced herself that it wasn’t for the sake of Dylan Camden. She just felt like putting on something fresh.

  So she replaced her work jeans with a better pair that were low-slung and fitted her rear end just the way she liked. On top she opted for a slimmer-cut black T-shirt that hugged her not overly well-endowed chest. She wore that over a white-and-black polka dot tank top that rose about two inches higher than the T-shirt’s square-cut neckline.

 
She drew a large hair pick through her curls and re-scrunched them, and refreshed her eye makeup, blush and lip gloss. Although she probably shouldn’t have used the time, she searched out and put on a pair of hoop earrings before rushing back to her closet for shoes.

  Despite telling herself that she should wear sturdy shoes in case this guy was some kind of creep she might need to kick before making a run for it, she still went with a pair of ballet flats that wouldn’t be able to do any damage.

  But they were comfortable and she’d been on her feet all day. Plus they had cute little white-and-black polka dot bows that coordinated with her tank top.

  It was six-twenty-five by then, so she grabbed her keys, put them in the pocket of her jeans and headed for the park.

  Dylan was already there—Abby spotted him when she reached the corner across the street from the park. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables. And looking as good as he had at the shop that afternoon.

  She’d been hoping that maybe he wouldn’t. That the flattering lighting of the salon had just really worked for him. But that wasn’t the case. The guy was sooo hot!

  But that wasn’t going to get to her. He was still a stranger and her guard was up on that account alone. But there were two other things that factored in, too—she’d just ended the only long-term relationship she’d ever been in, and what had come out of it had shaken her. That wasn’t anything she wanted to try again anytime soon.

  And if she hadn’t been good enough for Mark The Systems Analyst, she certainly wouldn’t be able to live up to the standards of a Camden. Someone like that would surely believe he was legions out of her league.

  So, Adonis or not, Dylan Camden wasn’t going to get to her.

  He saw her coming just then and perked up as if he was happier to see her than she thought he should be. Or maybe he’d just thought she wouldn’t show and was glad she had. But she was still leery.

  “Hi,” she said as she drew near the table.

  “Hey there,” he responded.

  He was sitting on the table itself, his big loafered feet on the bench below, long jeans-encased legs V’d out wide, leaning on forearms atop thick thighs—nicely developed forearms exposed below the rolled-up-to-his-elbows sleeves of a crisp, clean, pinstriped shirt.

  He’d changed clothes, too. And he’d shaved so his face was clear of stubble, as if he wanted to be ready for kissing.

  Dumb thought. Surely he hadn’t shaved so he’d be ready for kissing her.

  “Shall we walk or sit here?” he asked when she joined him.

  “Let’s just sit,” she said, preferring to stay near to the busy street and her apartment.

  “Oh, right, you work on your feet all day—taking a walk is probably not high on the list of things you want to do,” he reasoned.

  Sure, let him think that.

  He stood then, and Abby was struck once more by how tall he was and what a great body he had—lean and toned, muscular, and wow, those shoulders and the way they tapered down to that narrow waist were impressive!

  He motioned for her to sit on the now-free bench but she rounded the table and sat on the other side instead.

  Something about that distance she put between them made him smile as he slung a long leg over the seat he’d just offered her and took it himself. And when he smiled small lines fanned out from the corners of his astonishingly blue eyes and drew the most appealing little parentheses around that supple mouth.

  She tried not to notice, let alone appreciate the sight, but it was almost impossible not to appreciate someone who looked as good as he did.

  “How’s the hair?” she asked, letting herself look at him even more closely for a moment to assess the work she’d done on him earlier.

  “Best haircut I’ve ever had,” he said without equivocation. “I washed it in the shower, ran a towel over it when I got out and barely had to touch it from there.”

  She fought the mental picture of him in the shower—and out of it. Naked. Big and strong and tight. Hard muscles glistening wet. Reaching those impressive arms up to rake a towel over that dark, thick hair and making those massive shoulders stretch while the sinews of his back flexed all the way down to those great glutes she’d caught a peek of when he’d left her station today...

  Whew! That was not something she should be thinking about, either! And she wasn’t quite sure where all those details had come from.

  She chased the image out of her mind, forced herself to sound cool, detached and objective—which was not how she was feeling—and said, “It isn’t too short...your hair?” she added, reminding herself that that was all she was supposed to be considering.

  “Yeah, shorter than I wanted it but you were right to do it. It looks better than it ever has.”

  She didn’t know about ever but she did know he looked fantastic there in the late-day, early-autumn sunshine. She restrained herself to say nothing more than an aloof, “Good, I’m glad you like it.”

  “My sister is thrilled that you can fit her and her bridesmaids in for the test run Wednesday,” he said then. “And that if that goes well, that you’re free to do the wedding the Saturday after that. Her hopes are high and I told her I didn’t think you’d disappoint.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Abby assured, effectively ending the catching-up part of things.

  Which, she thought, left them with the reason he’d wanted this meeting. So she waited for him to get to it.

  He must have realized it was time for that because he reached into one of his front pockets and produced a key that he held out to her.

  She didn’t take it. Instead she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “If that’s the key to your place and this is all some kind of come-on—”

  “It isn’t,” he said quickly, setting the key on the picnic table closer to her than to him.

  But rather than explaining what the key was for, he said, “Is there anything you know about where you came from? Your family or history or anything?”

  “I know the same things you said this afternoon—I was left sleeping on a chair in the hospital waiting room with a blanket and a note saying my name was Abby. Someone along the line added Crane as my last name because there were pictures of cranes on the blanket that I guess I wouldn’t let go of.”

  “I’d wondered where that came from.”

  “I know that local newspapers did articles and news stations did broadcast stories asking anyone who might be able to identify me to come forward,” she went on, “and no one did. I know that there wasn’t any information other than my first name so I’ve never had a real birth date. The pediatrician who checked me out at the hospital decided I was barely two so they picked a day the month before I was found and that’s what I use when I have to give my date of birth. And that’s it. That’s all I know.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about a birth date,” Dylan muttered more to himself than to her.

  “Apparently neither did whoever left me.”

  “And you don’t remember anything?” he asked.

  “I was, as far as anyone could tell, barely two years old. Do you remember anything from when you were two?” Abby countered.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “When I think about it, sometimes I get a vague sort-of sense of being somewhere with too many bright lights and being scared. But it’s really just like a kind of faint dream. I’ve always figured that might be from waking up in the hospital with no one around that I recognized, but I’m not even sure if it’s really a memory or if it’s just how I imagine it was.”

  Dylan’s handsome face had sobered considerably as she’d talked and his well-shaped eyebrows were drawn together in a troubled expression before he said, “It was your father who left you at the hospital.”

  “And you know this how? Because he was c
onnected in some way to your father?”

  “Yes, my family did play a part in you being abandoned...”

  He sounded loath to admit that.

  Then he said, “Your father is—was—a man named Gus Glassman. Ring any bells?”

  “None,” she answered honestly. Why had he corrected himself to say her father was Gus Glassman instead of is? Had he changed his name, or was he...no, she shouldn’t get ahead of herself. She needed to pay attention to what Dylan was saying.

  “Well, that key came from him.” Dylan nodded at it. “Gus gave it to a prison chaplain just before he died—”

  “Gus Glassman—my father—is dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry,” Dylan said with more sympathy, pausing a moment as if out of respect. Or maybe to let it sink in—which was what Abby was trying to let it do.

  But it wasn’t easy. These were just words to her. There were no instant emotions the way she’d thought there would be.

  “According to the chaplain,” Dylan went on, “he was the first person Gus ever told about abandoning you. He asked the chaplain to find you, to find the lockbox that this key opens and to give the contents to you.”

  “So where’s the chaplain?” Abby asked.

  “He came looking for Camdens because there’s a connection. And talking to the Camdens means going to GiGi, first and foremost... GiGi is what we call my grandmother. She’s the head of the family.”

  “A prison chaplain just showed up on the doorstep of the foremost Camden with this story and a key to a lockbox? Why? What does your family have to do with it?”

  “We actually just found that out ourselves. Recently, we learned that twenty-eight years back your father worked for Camden Superstores. He was on the payroll as store security, but he did more than that...” Dylan said quietly, as if it was something else he didn’t want to admit.

  “What more did he do?” Abby asked, feeling removed from what he was telling her, still just trying to absorb it.