McKenna ended the call as the rain started. Saying a prayer Erin hadn’t sustained serious injuries, she dumped her phone in her pocket, and switched into management mode.
A smile frozen on her face, McKenna opened the French door, stepped inside, and found Ty Barnett. When he mentioned the toast, she asked he give her five minutes to pour champagne before calling for the guests’ attention.
She hadn’t reached the champagne table when the storm hit. Wind howled outside as it sent trees swaying in a macabre dance. Rain pounded the roof as McKenna walked to where the flutes lined the table. Bottles of champagne on ice in galvanized tubs rested behind it. After grabbing a bottle, McKenna scanned the room for the servers, but couldn’t pick any out. Who’d have guessed so many guests would wear black shirts and jeans like the temp help?
Not wanting to delay the toast, she started filling glasses, expecting staff to assist. When she retrieved a second bottle, a black shirt appeared before her.
For an instant all coherent thought disappeared. Over six-feet tall with short, spikey blond hair, the man’s black shirt contrasted against his tanned skin. His crisp, creased jeans emphasized his muscular thighs, and his mesmerizing green eyes sparkled with amusement.
When her heart pitter-pattered faster than it had in years, she frowned. She frequently encountered attractive men in her occupation, but her heart rate never went crazy. What was it about this man made it do so now?
Attractive doesn’t begin to describe him, and you know it. Make a woman walk into a wall because she is so distracted ogling him was a better description.
Getting a grip on her foolish feminine reaction, McKenna grabbed another bottle and held it out to Mr. Stop Traffic.
“I’m glad to help, but—”
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Ty said from the dance floor.
McKenna shoved the unopened bottle into his hand. “In about a minute everyone will be clamoring for champagne to toast the happy couple. Pour.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Stop Traffic said as he removed the foil wrap.
The voice fit the man—confident, smooth, and, when paired with his crooked, boyish smile, could render any woman within a fifty-mile radius spellbound, and from the besotted looks of the nearby females, that was exactly what he’d done.
“As soon as the bubbly’s poured, everyone grab a glass to toast AJ and Grace,” Ty said.
Cheers and whistles erupted in response to Ty’s announcement. Before the room quieted, lightning slashed through the darkness and a thunderous boom rattled the windows. Something popped as the lights flickered, then died. Gasps and shrieks reverberated around the room.
Inky darkness, the kind only found in the country, descended as pain shot through McKenna’s nose. She cried out and stumbled backward, reaching out to steady herself, but grabbed only air. Her hand holding the bottle flew forward.
“Dang, that’s cold.”
McKenna winced, recognizing Mr. Stop Traffic’s voice. What had happened to him?
Finally getting her feet under her, she pulled away and cupped her nose, feeling something wet and sticky. Not good. She swiped the dampness away with her sleeve and ignored the pain.
“It’s okay, everyone. Merely some excitement we didn’t expect, but nothing to worry about,” McKenna said loud enough to be heard over the booming thunder and howling wind. She found her phone and used her flashlight app to light a small area around her. “I’ll fire up the generator, but I’m betting the lights will be on before I get there.”
“Are you okay?” Mr. Stop Traffic asked, stepping into the light. She must have showered him with champagne because his shirt lay plastered against his chest, revealing his well-defined abs. Oh, my. His chest looked as wonderful as his face.
“I need to get to the generator,” she said, but she’d no sooner gotten the words out when the lights came on.
“What happened? There’s blood smeared on your face and sleeve, and your nose is swollen.”
McKenna resisted the urge to groan, his comment obliterating all her feminine warm fuzzy feelings. While she was thinking about how dreamy he was, he’d been worried about her bloody, swollen nose. She should’ve known something practical accounted for his interest.
“Something hit my nose when the lights went out.”
“Bet it was the cork from my champagne bottle. It got away from me when the lightning hit.” He glanced around. “Mrs. Severance, you’re a nurse. Come check this out.”
Thanks. Call more attention to the fact that I got hurt and probably resemble a rodeo clown,while you, dripping wet with champagne look…marvelous.
McKenna smiled and waved the older woman off. “No need. I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Mrs. Severance replied.
She nodded as Mr. Stop Traffic moved past her, lifted a glass, and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher. Next, he grabbed a napkin, dunked the square into the water, and returned. Increasingly embarrassed and fighting the urge to run, McKenna reached for the napkin, but he pushed her hand away. “You’ll only smear it more.”
