Julie Miller - Do-Or-Die Bridesmaid

Conor pulled his hand from hers. He schooled the irritation out of his tone. “Guess what? I didn’t run away from anything. I went where the job took me. Remember? The job I’m obsessed with?” He immediately bit down on that snap of sarcasm and apologized. He was over this. He was over her. But being back in Arlington was stirring up painful memories. “You should be thinking about your honeymoon, not me. If you two aren’t happy together the rest of your lives, I’m gonna come back and kick both your butts.”

“No worries, man,” Joe assured him, looking relieved to hear the teasing.

“Thank you. You’re just so important to both of us.” Lisa’s next hug was a little too long and a little too uncomfortable. When he heard the telltale sniffle against his lapel, he leaned back, automatically pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket for her.

But Joe had pulled one out, too. He tucked his into Lisa’s hand, kissed her cheek and suggested she take a break to powder her nose.

“Sorry about that,” Conor apologized, balling his handkerchief into his fist. “That’s just the way my mama raised me.”

Joe nodded, looking not at all threatened by any old habits Conor might have that involved his new wife. “Heard you took up drinking.”

One bender the night Lisa had dumped him, and suddenly he was an alcoholic. Conor shook his head. “Is that the rumor?” He nodded toward the doorway where Lisa had slipped out of the reception. “No wonder she’s so worried about me. I swear my only vice is coffee. Strong and black.”

Joe laughed, reminding Conor of the camaraderie they’d once shared. “That’ll eat a hole in your stomach.”

“Standard hazard of the job.”

“I also heard you left the Marshals Service.” Joe pulled back the front of his tuxedo to slide his hands into his pockets. “Does that mean you’ve found someone to settle down with in Kansas City?”

Even the accountant wasn’t above interrogating him. “I’m still a cop.”

“So that’s a no.” Joe’s deceptively casual stance never changed. “It never was a competition between us. You know that, right? I would never move in on your woman. I didn’t ask Lisa out until you two were done.”

His breakup with Lisa didn’t seem to bother Conor as much as it seemed to bother everyone else. But this big ol’ pity party, expressing all this concern for his welfare, was rubbing on his last nerve. “No hard feelings, Joe. Just take good care of her. And make sure she takes good care of you.”

“I will.” Joe extended his hand. His grip felt firm and familiar. “Take care of yourself, too.”

Conor congratulated Joe’s parents and then backed out of the line, turning toward the main reception area.

“Con?” He glanced back to see Lisa hurrying to Joe’s side. Her makeup was all neatly in place again as she called after him. “Save a dance for me, okay?”

Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen. Thankfully, the other guests moving through the reception line demanded the bride and groom’s attention. He wondered just how long he had to stay before anyone else accused him of falling apart or running away.

Longer than Conor had planned, apparently. When one of his mother’s former bridge-playing friends linked her arm through his and invited him to join her and her husband at their table, he resigned himself to at least staying through dinner. But several old friends of his mother’s were at the table, too, and all their efforts to “help him” soured the taste of the prime rib and mashed potatoes he’d taken from the buffet.

“How long are you going to be in town?” Mrs. Martin, one of his mom’s friends, asked as he picked at his cake. “My niece just had her heart broken by a boy she’s been dating since high school. I think you two might have a lot in common.”

Conor set down his fork as the sweet icing curdled in his stomach. Now their concern had graduated to fixing him up with other women? “I won’t be in town that long.”

“I could give you her number for when you come back.”

Once he sold his mother’s house, he wasn’t coming back. “Sorry to hear that she’s unhappy. But no, thank you.” Conor pushed his chair away from the table. “Would you excuse me?” Conor eyed the patterns of foot traffic around the reception hall, taking note of the easiest route to an exit door. Maybe he could get a cup of coffee to go?

And then he spotted one of those sparkly feathered hair clips moving through the chairs and round tables, momentarily diverting him from thoughts of escape. Short, brown hair. Caramel highlights. Cotton candy-pink dress hugging womanly curves he shouldn’t be noticing.

Laura Karr.

When she moved past a table where the guests were seated, he caught a glimpse of her face. Her mouth was creased with frustration as she hurried after the groomsman with the dark hair and glasses. She caught up to him at the edge of the dance floor, grabbed the back of his black tuxedo jacket and forced him to stop and face her. Although there was too much noise with the band playing and the conversations buzzing around the tables to hear anything, he could tell by their body language that it was a heated discussion.

Conor’s gaze narrowed as the groomsman glared down at Laura.

Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Including lover in the same thought as the tomboy next door jarred his equilibrium, but he could tell Laura was upset. Was that guy picking on Conor’s little tagalong buddy? Giving her grief? Why was he so eager to dismiss her?

Conor’s emotions had been on the fritz since receiving the invitation to the wedding. Hell, they’d probably been offline long before that, but he’d just kept himself too busy to acknowledge them. But something pinged on his that-ain’t-right radar and made him curious to know why his longtime friend seemed so distressed—and why Glasses Guy was so intent on shutting her down.

Rescue. It wouldn’t get him out of this place, but it might get him out of his head long enough to forget the awkward discomfort of the evening.

He strode into the crowd of guests. “I’m comin’, Squirt.”

Laura Karr might be the one person here who’d treat Conor like the guy next door he’d always been—not like the prodigal son returning home, or some poor lost soul who needed to be saved. The groomsman smacked Laura’s hand off his sleeve, and Conor hurried his steps to reach her.

Smacked her?

Uh-uh. That wasn’t gonna happen.

Conor came up behind Laura in time to hear a parting shot from the curly-haired man. “Don’t mess with things you don’t understand.”

Over the top of that glitzy pink fascinator, Conor locked his gaze on to the dark eyes behind the man’s glasses. “Hey, Squirt.” He settled his hand at the nip of Laura’s waist, alerting her to his presence so he wouldn’t startle her, but also warning the other man that she had a friend who’d intervene if the argument turned any uglier. “Is there a problem?”

Laura’s frown transformed into a bright smile when she faced him. “Conor. I was hoping we’d get a chance to connect before you ran off.”

Great. Not her, too. “I came to the wedding, didn’t I? Even brought a gift. I’m not running anywhere.” He kept a friendly grin on his face, ignoring the fact that moments earlier he’d been sizing up the room for his best chance to do just that. Run.

“Sure, you weren’t.” A heavenward roll of her green-gold eyes told him she wasn’t fooled by either the words or the grin as her arms went around his waist in a welcoming hug. But he barely had a chance to complete the hug before she pulled away to stop the other man’s retreat. “Isaac, wait.” She tugged on Conor’s hand and pulled him forward to make introductions. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. Detective Conor Wildman, this is Isaac Royal. He was Joe’s groomsman today. They work together at the accounting firm.”