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Instead, Lark had locked herself in the dining room at Crooked Elm for a few hours of telehealth visits with her patients back in Los Angeles, but she’d only stepped out of the house for a breath of fresh air and already her sisters were flagging her down. Fleur stood by the picnic table with the future bride and groom. A Bluetooth speaker sat on one bench, playing a classical piece of music.
Her wedding radar clicked into high alert.
“I’m only out here for a few minutes though.” Lark hesitated as she stepped off the back porch onto the grass. The sun was low on the horizon, casting a mellow pink and orange glow over the surrounding fields. “I still need to finish up some paperwork before I can call it a day.”
The bane of her existence as a counselor: the reports she needed to file seemed endless sometimes.
“This will only take a second,” Fleur promised, gesturing to the engaged couple beside her who were staring deeply into one another’s eyes, all smiles. “Jessamyn wanted me to show her and Ryder how to waltz, and it will be easier if I have a partner.”
Lark’s gaze stuck on Jessamyn. Dressed in a denim miniskirt and black T-shirt with the name of a local rodeo, her sister looked like she been born and raised on a ranch, right down to the dusty turquoise cowboy boots she wore. Jess had one hand on Ryder’s shoulder, the other curved around his palm, while the local search and rescue hero stared into her eyes as if she were the only woman in the world. And maybe she was, for him.
The obvious love made Lark think of her own wedding. Gibson had stared at her once just that way, and she remembered exactly how it had made her feel inside. As if she was the luckiest woman on earth. As if their love were so deep and true it would pull them through any hardship life had to offer.
Until it hadn’t.
Her throat burned so badly that she needed to swallow before she answered. “I don’t know how either,” she began, not wanting any part of dancing lessons.
“I’ll teach you, too,” Fleur insisted, lacing her fingers together to pantomime begging. “Please? I need a warm body to be my partner.”
Seeing no way to refuse gracefully, Lark joined them. Fleur had wanted this time together in Catamount to repair their sister bond, but she hadn’t said anything about subjecting Lark to daily doses of wedding mania. From the dinnertime discussions about writing your own vows to the breakfast chats about honeymoon clothes, being in the house with her sisters this week had rubbed her emotions raw. But she didn’t want them looking too deeply into her aversion to all things matrimonial.
“Okay. What do I do?” Edgy and uncomfortable, Lark forced her attention to stay fixed on Fleur while she cued up a new song on her phone.
A familiar country ballad began, the romantic lyrics scraping over Lark’s skin like sandpaper while Fleur moved toward her.
“It’s simple really. We’ll do a country waltz since you’ll have The Haymakers playing at the reception.” Fleur grinned at this, still thrilled that she’d booked the popular Western band last minute because they’d had a cancellation in their schedule. “This song is on their suggested playlist for ranch weddings.”
“I love this one.” Jessamyn practically swooned into Ryder as she said it.
Not that Lark was watching them. Gritting her teeth, she willed Fleur to get on with the lesson so she could stop thinking about how it felt to be wildly, hopelessly in love. Lark had already given Gibson way too much space in her head today, his image filling her phone screen as she scrolled through social media. It didn’t matter that she’d blocked the sports news outlets. All her local friends and nearby small businesses seemed to be buzzing about the question of Gibson Vaughn’s retirement. Everyone had an opinion about whether or not he would settle in Catamount to start ranching this time, or if he’d return to another hockey team before the season began.
There’d even been a few old photos of the two of them together, images that had made her shut down her phone for the day. Who knew she’d bounce from reminders of her failed marriage to dancing lessons beside the world’s happiest couple?
“So what next?” she prompted Fleur, while the Nubian goats that had belonged to their grandmother made a ruckus in their pen nearby.
The goats were adorable with their long ears and playful ways, but they were definitely vocal, bleating to one another and to the backyard dancers.
Fleur removed the flour-dusted apron she’d been wearing around a pair of yellow overalls, then tossed it on the picnic table before she answered.
“Well, the country waltz is in three-quarter time, the same as the American waltz. Just listen for it.” Fleur hummed along with the tune for a few moments, exaggerating the “One, two, three” count so the rest of them could hear it.
Lark focused on the rhythm, telling herself the sooner she conquered the steps, the faster she could be released from the day’s romance session.
“Now, let’s get into our dance positions.” Fleur flipped her copper-colored ponytail behind her and moved closer to Lark, laying a hand on her waist. “Ryder and I will lead, Jess and Lark, you’ll follow so your first step is backward on the count of one.”
She demonstrated the basic steps and Lark mirrored her, an unexpected memory drifting up from her childhood. She’d danced like this once. Not at her own wedding of course, since she and Gibson had opted for fast and private over a public declaration of their vows.
There’d been a time...before her parents’ bitter split. Before all the family fractures that had followed. Beneath all those rifts, there’d been happy times. Her singing along with the radio in the kitchen of her girlhood home. It had been a warm summer morning, and her father swooped her into his arms, standing her on his feet to dance her across the tile floor.
He’d still been her hero then. Back when she’d believed he’d been a good person.
She missed a step, stumbling on Fleur’s toes.
“I’m sorry.” Righting herself, Lark let go of her sister. “I probably shouldn’t do this while I’m distracted by—” she cleared her throat as she produced an excuse “—my work.”
What did she even do with a memory like that? She’d spent too long resenting her father—for good reason—to dwell on any redeeming qualities he might have once had. He’d turned his back on his family, not her.
“Is anything wrong?” Fleur asked, her gray eyes keen as she studied her.
