RaeAnne Thayne - Country Bride - Country Bride / Woodrose Mountain

Her father patted her hand. “I know how hard this is for you. Do you want to go to the reception or would you prefer to head home?” His eyes were warm and sympathetic, and Kate felt a rush of love for him. A part of her longed to slip away unnoticed, but she couldn’t and she knew it.

“Kate’s already agreed to accompany me,” Luke inserted, daring her to contradict him.

Indignation rose inside her. Instead of helping, Luke was making everything worse. The pain of watching Clay pledge his life to another woman was difficult enough, without Luke’s unsought demands.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Devin Logan said, clearly relieved. He smiled as he slipped his arm around Dorothea’s waist. “Mrs. Murphy invited me to sit with her and, frankly, I was looking forward to doing that.” He released Kate’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, then strolled nonchalantly away.

“Shall we?” Grinning, Luke reached for Kate’s limp hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. As if they’d been a couple for years, he casually led her out of the church.

The early evening air was crisp and clear. Autumn had crested on an October tide of bronze and gold leaves, huge pumpkins and early twilights. Normally, this time of year invigorated Kate. If she hadn’t been fortifying herself against Clay’s wedding, she could have appreciated the season more.

The walk across the parking lot to the reception hall was a short one. Kate didn’t say another word to Luke, mentally preparing herself for the coming encounter with Clay and his bride. With each step her heart grew heavier. Rorie had asked her to be a bridesmaid, and although Kate was honored by the request, she’d declined. Rorie understood and hadn’t pressured her. Despite the fact that they both loved the same man, Rorie and Kate had become close. Their friendship made everything more difficult for Kate, yet somehow easier, too.

By the time they arrived at the old brick building, Kate’s pulse was so loud it echoed like a drum in her ear. Just outside the double doors leading into the hall, she stopped abruptly.

“I can’t go in there,” she told Luke. Panic had worked its way into her voice, which was low and trembling. “I can’t face them and pretend... I just can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“How could you possibly know what I can and can’t do?” she demanded, wanting to bury her face in her hands and weep. These past few hours had taken their toll and she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer. Luke gazed down on her and for the briefest of moments his eyes registered sympathy and regret.

“You can go in there and you will,” he repeated.

Kate saw determination in his serious dark eyes and swallowed an angry retort, knowing he was right.

At six feet, Luke towered over her, and the hard set of his mouth did more than hint at determination and a will of iron. “If you don’t attend the reception, everyone in Nightingale will talk. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she cried, then lowered her head, battling down wave after wave of depression and self-pity. “No,” she said reluctantly, loath to agree with him.

“I’m here for you, Kate. Lean on me for once in your life, and let me help you through the next few hours.”

“I’m doing fine. I—”

He wouldn’t allow her to finish. “Quit fighting me. I’m your friend, remember?”

His words, hushed and tender, brought a burning to her eyes. Her fingers tightened around his arm and she nodded, calling upon a reserve of strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Just don’t be so bossy with me. Please. I can bear almost anything but that.” She’d made it through the wedding ceremony on her own. Now she needed someone at her side to help her appear strong and steady, in control of her emotions, when she felt as though the entire universe was pitching and heaving.

“Anything you say, Princess.”

Although she’d objected earlier, she felt comforted by his strong arm against her. She heard his voice, as if from a distance, too preoccupied with her own pain to respond to his concern. But his presence restored her determination to acquit herself well during the long evening ahead.

“Only Daddy calls me Princess,” she said distractedly.

“You mind?”

“I don’t know... I suppose it’s all right.”

“Good.” His fingers intertwined with hers as he guided her into the brightly decorated reception hall.

The next half hour was a blur. Drawing upon Luke’s silent strength, Kate managed to make it through the reception line without a problem. Still, her knees felt shaky by the time she reached Clay, who kissed her cheek and thanked her for being so wonderful. Kate certainly didn’t feel wonderful—even particularly admirable—but she smiled. And she was sincere when she offered Clay and Rorie her very best wishes.

Somehow Luke must have known how frail she felt because he took her hand and led her to one of the round lace-covered tables. His fingers were cool and callused, while Kate’s were damp with her stubborn resolve to hide her pain.

Wordlessly, she sat beside Luke until the cake had been cut and the first piece ceremonially fed to the bride and groom. The scene before her flickered like an old silent movie. Kate held herself still, trying not to feel anything, but not succeeding.

“Would you like me to get you something to eat?” Luke asked, when a line formed to gather refreshments.

She stared at him, hardly able to comprehend his words. Then she blinked and her eyes traveled across the hall to the three-tiered heart-shaped wedding cake. “No,” she said automatically.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Kate didn’t remember. She shrugged. “Breakfast, I guess.” As she spoke she realized that wasn’t true. Dinner the night before was the last time she’d eaten. No wonder she felt so shaky and light-headed.

“I’m getting you some wedding cake,” Luke announced grimly.

“Don’t. I’m—I’m not hungry.”

He was doing it again! Taking over, making decisions on her behalf because he felt sorry for her. She would have argued with him, but he was already walking away, blithely unaware of her frustration.

Kate watched him, suddenly seeing him with fresh eyes. Luke Rivers had lived and worked on the Circle L for a decade, but Kate knew next to nothing about his past. His official title was foreman, but he was much more than that. He’d initiated several successful cattle-breeding programs and been involved in a profit-sharing venture with her father almost from the first. Devin had often remarked that Luke was certainly capable of maintaining his own spread. But year after year, he stayed on at the Circle L. This realization—that she knew so little of his past and even less about his thoughts and plans—shocked Kate. He’d always been just plain Luke. And he’d always been around—or so it seemed.

She had to admit that Luke puzzled her. He was handsome enough, but he rarely dated any woman for long, although plenty of Nightingale’s finest had made their interest obvious. He was a “catch” who refused to play ball. He could be as tough as leather and mean as a saddle sore when the mood struck him, but it seldom did. Tall, lean and rugged adequately described him on the surface. It was what lay below that piqued her interest now.

Kate’s musings about Luke were interrupted by the man himself as he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. He pushed a delicate china plate filled with cheese and mixed nuts in her direction.

“I thought you were bringing me cake.” His own plate was loaded with a huge piece, in addition to a few nuts and pastel mints.

“I brought you some protein instead. Sugar’s not a good idea on an empty stomach.”