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“That stopped being funny ten years ago,” Loyal admonished.
“But it’s still true,” she shot back.
“So true,” Asher confirmed. “They were rearranging the flower arrangements when I arrived.”
As usual, the stairs had been cordoned off at the bottom to keep guests from the second floor, and Shelby and Merit turned to face him and Loyal for their usual huddle up before political shindigs.
“You all know Dad’s announcing his senate run, right?” he asked.
They each nodded, and he took note of the mixed emotions on his siblings’ faces. Shelby’s lashes lowered to cover her dismay, but the downturn of her mouth gave it away. Merit was more than happy to welcome the spotlight, and the brighter the better. Loyal’s stoic expression didn’t give much indication of his feelings either way. Typical.
“All right, then,” Asher said. “Everyone on their best behavior.”
It was a warning meant for their younger brother, but the horn-dog just grinned as they each put their hands in for a quick pile and break. The first time they’d done it as a joke, but over the years it had become a secret little tradition he actually looked forward to. It grounded him, while at the same time reinforced they had each others’ backs. It was nice to have Loyal back in the huddle tonight. He’d been absent for most of them the past four years.
“FYI,” Merit said in a stage whisper, “I got dibs on the wine cellar after ten o’clock.”
Loyal frowned. “Show a little class, Mooch.”
Merit’s gaze narrowed at the hated nickname. “You should try it sometime. You might have better luck getting ‘em to the cellar than the altar.”
Their oldest brother’s jaw clenched. “Fuck you.”
Shelby backhanded Merit on the arm as Loyal stalked away. “I can’t believe you said that.”
He shrugged, and she shook her head as she left as well. He turned his mutinous gaze toward Asher. “No one can take a joke around here anymore?”
Except it hadn’t been a joke, and they both knew it. Hell, they all knew it. “Like I said before, Merit. Grow the hell up.”
Leaving him there, he made his way into the growing crowd of guests. Much as he loved his little brother, he’d had just about enough of him already tonight. Loyal had headed straight to the bar. When his oldest brother turned around with a healthy glass of his usual Black Maple Hill bourbon, he acknowledged Asher’s silent concern with a tight nod. He nodded back, and eased back against the wall to fiddle with the settings on his camera.
Wine-red hair and a burgundy dress flashed in the corner of his eye. Just that one glimpse reeled him in like one of the Rocky Mountain spotted trout mounted on Grandpa Ira’s wall. He raised his camera to zoom in on Honor talking with an older couple near the French doors leading out to the patio. The smile on her glossed lips lit up her eyes and rounded her freckle-dotted cheeks.
Time slowed even as his heart skipped and dipped before thumping so fast his breath caught in his chest.
She’s The One.
The thought hit hard, and he swallowed hard as his pulse continued to race. From fear or excitement, he wasn’t entirely sure, but then, he realized he’d felt an inexplicable connection to her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Acting on it had been impossible when he thought she was enga
ged, but now, the impossible was entirely possible.
His heartbeat settled to a more normal rhythm as acceptance sank in. Followed by approval, and definite anticipation.
It was time he took a page out of Merit’s book and went after what he wanted. Right?
Right. Difference was, he wasn’t only looking for a one night stand or fifteen minutes in the wine cellar.
His feet itched to carry him to her side and jump right in. But the weight of what was at stake slowed his roll. As the song went, only fools rush in. Honor Hartman wasn’t a woman he wanted to make a fool of himself over. Not in that way, anyway.
Forcing himself to take it slow, Asher gradually made his way across the room under the guise of taking pictures of his parents’ guests. Unlike at the wedding where he used his camera to avoid her, tonight she was fully in focus.
CHAPTER 9
The hair on Honor’s arms prickled for the third time in as many hours, and it had nothing to do with the cool evening air. Even with her shoulders bare, the patio heating lamps provided plenty of warmth. No, this was something else entirely. Someone else.
While casting a surreptitious glance around, she raised her champagne glass to her lips. The bubbles were long gone, the sweet liquid now lukewarm, but holding the drink gave her something to do with her hands while talking to people.
Sure enough. In the middle of her pretend sip, her gaze landed on Asher’s profile about three feet away as he snapped a photo of his father shaking hands with a nun. The governor left the woman with an ear to ear grin before placing his hand on his wife’s back to guide her to a podium set up on a raised dais at the far edge of the huge patio.
