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His laugh caressed her ear. “Who said I was leaving? Maybe I’ll stay. This is my home, after all.”
No. Fucking. Way. Magnolia Grove was hers, dammit. He’d forfeited it ten years ago. “It’s changed a lot since you’ve been gone. I doubt you’d—”
“I can see it’s changed.” Long fingers trespassed below the invisible line of decorum at the small of her back to very deliberately trace the curve of her hip. The move brought every nerve ending in the vicinity to attention, and she had a funny feeling he wasn’t talking strictly about the town. “I have to admit, those changes are part of the allure. Show me around.”
Uh-uh. She wasn’t the Welcome Wagon, and he wasn’t staying. If she had anything to say about it, he’d be gone before—
“Hot damn!” a voice blasted from the other side of the room. “There’s a knock-down, drag-out fight in the parking lot.”
Sinclair whirled to see who called out, while all around her, people rushed toward the exit. A few jostles and one stomped toe convinced her to step aside. She made her way to the perimeter of the dance floor. When she turned around, Shane had disappeared.
So much for him sticking around. And ironic, really, that he’d pull a fade in the face of a disturbance, because there’d been a time when he’d have been the first guy to wade in and throw a punch. Were it not for that mile-wide impulsive streak, and his misplaced protective instincts, they would never have known each other except in passing. She’d grown up in a nice, comfortable house in one of Magnolia Grove’s most distinguished neighborhoods, while he’d been raised in a run-down rental in the old section of town. He’d been two years ahead of her in school, although showing up for the sake of district attendance expectations hadn’t seemed high on his list of priorities.
But there had always been something about him…
Since she had no desire to run outside and watch a couple of over-served idiots roll around in the dirt, she slipped into the small room the venue had allowed them to use for gifts and checked in with the wedding planner to get a sense of when they’d be doing the garter and bouquet toss. People were filtering back into the reception by the time she returned, which meant whatever drama had unfolded in the parking lot was under control. She saw her mother seated at a round, linen-draped table, talking with a gray-haired woman. She approached, realizing too late that her mom shared the table with gossipy old Claudia Pinkerton. The look her mother shot her absolutely forbade her from bailing.
Resigned to her fate, she kissed Mrs. Pinkerton’s plump cheek, and took the empty chair next to
her mother.
“Sinclair, dear. You look pretty as a picture in that dress. The color matches your eyes.”
She smoothed her hand over the fitted bodice of the strapless, midnight-blue satin. “Thanks. The credit for the dress choice goes to Savannah, although I did warn her things would get ugly if she stuck me in sea foam. What happened outside?”
“You don’t know?” Mrs. Pinkerton scooted her chair closer to the table. “Heavens, I nearly passed out from fright. The best man’s girlfriend’s baby daddy showed up drunk or stoned or some such nonsense and tried to snatch the baby right out of her arms.”
“Hunter’s girlfriend? Holy sh…heck,” she modified as her mom whacked her knee. “Is everyone okay?”
Mrs. Pinkerton nodded. “Hunter knocked him on his you-know-what and then threw him in the pond. Your dance partner fished him out and handed him off to Sheriff Kenner. Deputies took the whole mess down to the station so as not to ruin Beau and Savannah’s day.”
“Speaking of dance partners,” her mom interrupted, “who was that boy you were dancing with? You two seemed awfully familiar, but I couldn’t place him.”
“That’s Shane Maguire,” Mrs. Pinkerton supplied, her expression as eager as her reply. “Remember him?”
“The same Shane Maguire who broke your grandson Ricky’s nose their senior year of high school?”
Sinclair resisted the urge to leap to Shane’s defense. Ricky had definitely had it coming, but the Pinkertons were influential in these parts, and thanks to the very loud, very public fit Ricky’s parents had pitched, few people knew, or cared, about the underlying facts.
Mrs. Pinkerton nodded. “A lot of folks considered him a troublemaker, just like his brother, but I’ve always had a soft spot for the boy. By the looks of that dance, you do, too, Sinclair.”
Her mother’s keen blue eyes cut to her. “You don’t say?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” She intended to disabuse anyone of that notion right quick. “He’s been gone for ages. I barely know him. I simply shared a dance with an old schoolmate. End of story. Hey, Dad,” she greeted her father as he ambled up to their table. “I heard you started some trouble outside.”
He stopped behind her chair, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Me? Get real. I finished it, kiddo.”
“Bill, please don’t tell me you got involved—”
“Relax, dear.” He winked at Sinclair and then turned his smile on his wife. “Kenner had everything under control by the time I came along. An impressive state of readiness, I have to say. Mayor Campbell credited the city’s new consultant with the speedy response. Apparently he suggested they muster up some overtime budget so Kenner could increase patrols for things like weddings, since the combination of gathered family and host bar sometimes makes for interesting results.”
“Well, good plan, as it turned out,” her mother replied. “Did you get the present for Beau’s parents while you were outside?”
Her dad’s smile twisted into a quick frown. “Damn. No, I got so wrapped up in conversation with Campbell I forgot the whole reason I went out there in the first place.” He dug his keys out of his pocket. “Back in a sec, ladies.”
“I’ll get it.” Sinclair surged to her feet and snagged the keys. Better to fetch a bottle of champagne from her dad’s car than stay at the table getting grilled over her dance with Shane.
“It’s behind the driver’s seat,” her father called after her. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
