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He recognized the blame wasn’t all hers. But did it matter now when they’d already tried and failed to be together? What if love wasn’t enough?
The last thing he wanted was to hurt her again.
For that matter, he wasn’t sure he could survive losing her a second time when their divorce had been so painful.
“I’m glad you told me now so we can both have closure.” He would be thinking about what might have been for a long time.
He didn’t ask her again about attending Jessamyn’s wedding together. Part of him wondered if she’d told him about the pregnancy now in order to push him away because she was afraid of getting too close to him again.
For all he knew, maybe that was for the best. Hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t hurt her again?
So when Lark pivoted on her heel and quietly let herself out of his back door, he didn’t follow her.
Thirteen
Lark had to dig deep into her emotional resources to fulfill her co–maid of honor role with the grace it deserved. Dressed in the stunning navy blue gown that, until today, only Gibson had seen her wearing, she rushed up the stairs at Crooked Elm with a glass of water and some crackers for the pregnant bride who was getting dressed for the big day.
“Here you go, Jess.” She called out to her sister as she entered the largest bedroom in the house that now legally belonged to them. Before today, none of the Barclay sisters had used this particular space since it had been inhabited by their grandmother. Instead, Fleur, Lark and Jessamyn had gravitated to the smaller rooms they’d occupied as children when they’d visited the Colorado ranch. But in their planning sessions for the wedding, Fleur had declared their grandmother’s former chamber as the best place for a bridal suite. Jessamyn and Lark had agreed it would be a wonderful way to make new memories in the space, and to feel like Gran was with them.
“I’ve got your morning sickness cure.”
She crossed the dark plank floor, the grapefruit-colored walls providing a vibrant backdrop for the bride dressed in her ivory chiffon, off-the-shoulder gown.
Fleur scurried around the hem of the dress, fluffing the fabric so that Lark had intermittent peeks at Jessamyn’s hand-stitched ivory lace shoes where she stood in front of the antique cheval mirror. Fleur had draped the mirror with one of Gran’s white lace mantillas so that Jessamyn’s reflection was surrounded by the fabric.
Seeing her framed that way made a lump form in Lark’s throat. She told herself to focus on her sisters and the beauty of the moment, not the memories of her own love story gone so far awry. But how could she not remember her own wedding today?
These weeks in Catamount with Gibson had made her remember all the ways they’d been good together. He’d supported her through the trial. Applauded her courage in standing up to the media. Given her a safe haven from them when she’d wanted a retreat.
And then, there’d been the hours in his bed when everything else had fallen away and their love—because yes, that’s still what she’d shared with him—had been the only thing in the world.
“I’m feeling better now that I started to move around again,” Jessamyn declared, waving away the cracker offering, her French manicure showing off her engagement ring on her right hand, where it would remain until Ryder slid the wedding band on her left. Then, she would transfer the pear-shaped diamond to her left finger as well, fitting the V-shaped platinum pieces together. “The scent of the hair spray just made me a little woozy.”
“I’m glad your stomach settled,” Lark said briskly, setting the silver tray on the bedside table near a framed photo of the Barclay sisters when they were girls. “Because it’s almost time to head downstairs.”
Her gaze lingered on the old picture of herself at thirteen, standing next to one of the four-rail fences to support six-year-old Fleur as she leaned to stroke the nose of a buckskin-colored mustang. Jessamyn would have been nine at the time, and she had one foot on the fence to stroke the horse’s neck on the other side of the animal. All three of them looked thoroughly happy, cheeks pink from the summer sun and fresh air, hair in careless ponytails and feet in matching turquoise-colored cowboy boots, a gift from Gran that year. She’d loved those boots.
She made a mental note to buy new pairs for herself and her sisters, too. She might not be staying in Catamount, but she could take that happy memory home with her, along with the knowledge that her sisters would enjoy them. Her visit to Colorado had returned her to her family, and that was a very good thing, no matter how much she hurt today for the love that had slipped away from her.
Again.
“It’s that time already?” Fleur stood, her face flushed from all the gown straightening. Her navy blue dress was styled differently than Lark’s, the strapless sweetheart neckline and slight flare to her skirt giving her dress a more overtly feminine appeal that suited the former rodeo queen. She peered out the window overlooking the yard where wedding guests had been arriving for the last twenty minutes. “Oh be still, my heart. The men are a sight to behold.”
Lark’s heart smarted at the thought of the man who was missing from the small ceremony. The ex-husband who hadn’t wanted his date with her after learning how she’d robbed him of those weeks where he could have—albeit briefly—celebrated the news of being a father.
She hadn’t told her sisters about the split with Gibson since she’d never mentioned that sparks had been flying between them throughout her stay in Catamount. It was easier that way.
Although, even as she thought it, she wondered if she was once again robbing herself of the chance to share her hurts and maybe find better healing. She’d done the same thing with Gibson. But she was saved from having to overthink that realization when a new voice spoke from the threshold of the bedroom.
“Is there room for one more in here?”
Jennifer Barclay stepped tentatively inside, wearing an elegantly draped blue mother-of-the-bride dress, the silk hand-painted with swirls of cream and tan. Far from matronly, the dress skimmed her curves to show off an enviable form. Her dark hair was in a sleek twist, while pearl and gold earrings winked in the sunlight as she gazed at Jessamyn.
The daughter she’d only just begun to reconnect with after the family rift.
“Of course there’s room,” Jessamyn replied as she waved her inside. “Mom, you look beautiful.”
“No, honey. You’re the one who is absolutely radiant.” Striding deeper into the bridal suite, their mother stopped in front of the bride to admire the ivory chiffon wedding gown. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be a part of your day.”
