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John’s face didn’t exactly soften, but his eyes lost their frosty glare. “I wasn’t exactly welcoming, either.”
Molly wiggled the plastic screen that she was holding. “Now that you’re on speaking terms again, you can help me tie the last screen in place.” She grabbed hold of John’s arm and pulled him forward. “I’ve heard Dylan speak highly of you. Would you tie the top string for us?”
John looked up at the wooden beam. A thick cord dangled from the edge of the plastic screen. He glanced at Rachel. “I guess I’m staying. Do you think we could start over?”
Rachel held her hand out. “We can. It’s a pleasure meeting you, John Fletcher.” He shook her hand and a warmth that had nothing to do with the outdoor fire, seeped into her bones.
“It’s good to meet you, too.”
Another zing of electricity replaced the first. When John wasn’t in a grumpy mood, Rachel suspected that he could be charming and incredibly dangerous.
Molly looked beyond the patio and sighed. “Would you do me a favor, John? Annie and Dylan are going to catch themselves a cold if they stay outside for much longer. Before you tie this string, could you unlock their lips and send them inside before we all freeze?”
Before John was halfway across the backyard, Dylan and Annie ran toward them.
“No unlocking necessary,” Annie said as she ducked under the plastic screen. “Even Dylan’s body heat can’t keep me warm out there.”
Rachel ignored the blush on Annie’s cheeks and started to tie the middle string. She had a feeling that John Fletcher wouldn’t have trouble keeping a woman warm. Even a woman with ulterior motives who wanted to see how his daughter was.
When the knot was tied, she stepped back and smiled. They were here to enjoy the last single night of Dylan and Annie’s lives. If she could do a little snooping and find out just how Bella was, she’d be even happier.
John Fletcher didn’t know a lot about her, but by the end of the night, Rachel was hoping to know a lot more about him.
***
John wasn’t sure when he’d started to enjoy himself. He was sitting beside Rachel, listening to the light-hearted banter bouncing around the table. Over the last hour they’d been joined by other friends, filling the patio with a buzz of laughter and happy conversation.
He’d met Tess and Sally not long after Charlie had lit the fire in the big stone fireplace. They were part of The Bridesmaids Club and Rachel’s friends. Dylan had been right - when Rachel and her friends got together, no one was safe. Their funny stories and good-natured ribbing brought a smile to everyone’s faces, including his. He leaned across the old wooden table and picked up another slice of pizza.
Rachel watched him as he bit into layers of beef, salami, bacon, and mozzarella cheese.
He swallowed what he was eating and frowned. “Have I got sauce on my face?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d eat pizza.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
He’d learned a lot about Rachel over the last hour. She was impulsive, easily excited, compulsively happy, and able to be part of two conversations at once. There wasn’t any room for craziness in her brain.
“Try me.”
She looked at the pizza, then back at him. She leaned in close and her blonde hair brushed against his arm. “You’re rich,” she whispered. “I thought you’d have a housekeeper making you healthy meals.”
John grinned. Rachel wasn’t joking. She honestly thought that he wouldn’t eat the same food as everyone else. He’d never been particularly worried about what other people thought of his life, but for some reason, Rachel’s opinion made him laugh. “Everyone likes pizza.”
Annie, the bride-to-be, pointed at her plate. “Everyone that’s not getting married likes pizza. I feel like I’ve turned into a rabbit.”
Rachel had told him that Annie was on a strict diet. No amount of tempting could make her eat one spare rib or anything dripping with cheese. John had no idea why Annie was starving herself, but he’d never been very good at second-guessing the way a female brain worked.
A waitress brought out more plates of hot, spicy food, drawing a groan from Annie.
Rachel passed her the salad dressing. “This might make your dinner taste better.”
Annie took the bottle out of her hand. “As long as I fit into my wedding dress, I’ll be happy.”
As the conversation randomly moved from one thing to the next, John relaxed, laughing more than he had in a long time. It felt good to be sitting with a group of adults who wanted nothing more from him than his company.
“I still don’t know why your mom didn’t like the peppermint creams,” Sally said to Dylan. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about my mom makes sense,” Dylan said with a smile. “I love her, but she changes her mind about everything. One year we were driving to Denver for a vacation. Halfway there, she changed her mind and we ended up in Texas.”
“Did you have a good time?” Molly asked.
Dylan nodded. “My mom might change her mind, but she’s fun to be around.”
“That must make up for her spontaneous nature. What about you, John? Do you have any childhood vacation tales to share with us?”
He looked at Molly and took her question at face value. “We didn’t go on many vacations. My parents preferred to stay at home on their ranch.”
Rachel looked at him. “Are you from Montana?”
“I spent the first eighteen years of my life here.”
“And then?”
John picked up his pizza. “And then I joined the military.”
She watched him finish his slice of pizza. Dylan asked him a question and everyone joined in with their opinion about the latest scandal to hit the streets of Bozeman.
Rachel leaned toward him. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
“It’s easier not to.” He’d learned the hard way not to speak about where he’d come from and what he did. There were lots of reasons why being a billionaire was great. There were other, less obvious ones, why it wasn’t.
He’d been in enough situations to tell him when to be careful. And for some reason, his internal radar was telling him to slow down and watch what he said. “You don’t freelance as a reporter, do you?”
Rachel shook her head. “No. I leave that up to Logan.”
Logan was married to Tess, one of Rachel’s friends. John had met Logan not long after he’d moved back to Bozeman. Relocating Fletcher Security’s head office to Montana had created a ripple on the information highway. Half the folks of Bozeman wanted to know all about the man who’d transformed the old flour mill into a security company. The other half couldn’t care less.
Logan was a reporter for the Bozeman Chronicle and a former war correspondent. He still freelanced for some of the major newspapers around the country. John didn’t want to end up on the front page of any newspaper. When he’d first moved to Bozeman, he’d steered clear of Logan, dodging his phone calls and emails for as long as he could.
Their first meeting had gone better than he’d expected. They’d come to an understanding, trading information like a game of poker. Logan wanted to know what he was doing and why he was doing it. John wanted to promote his company, not himself. The stories that Logan wrote were focused on the public face of John’s business and the jobs he was creating. The rest was left alone, filed away for another time.
John had hoped that once most people got used to seeing him around town, no one would care what he did. On the whole, keeping a low profile had helped keep him invisible, and he wanted it to stay that way.
Rachel nudged his elbow. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “What happened after you joined the military?”
“I was stationed overseas for a while. I came back to the States six years ago and started Fletcher Security. I built my business from nothing into what it is today.”
“So you’re just another country boy turned billionaire success story?” She looked impressively underwhelmed by the sketchy story he’d given her.
“You could say that. Although the billionaire part is fairly new.”
Rachel frowned. “It must take time to get used to having so much money?”
John looked closely at her. “Not as long as you might think. Most of my profits are reinvested straight back into my business.”
“So no gold encrusted chandeliers or jets whisking you away for luxurious vacations?”
Before John could answer her question, Molly gently banged her dessert spoon against her wineglass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she said in her lilting Irish accent. “To Dylan and Annie, two of the nicest people I’ve met. May your marriage be strong and true, tied together with bonds that will last all time.” She raised her glass and smiled. “To Dylan and Annie. Slainte.”
Everyone raised their glass to toast the nearly married couple. John glanced at Dylan. He looked so nervous that it almost brought a smile to his face. Until he remembered why he was nervous. Annie meant everything to him. He’d given his heart and soul to her, expecting nothing in return. It was the kind of relationship that Dylan had never thought he’d find. The kind of relationship that he didn’t think he deserved.
