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The red boots didn’t move, but the fanning stopped and she lowered his hat. There was something about the sight of her hand cradling the crown of his black Stetson that grabbed his attention. Her fingers were long and slender, the nails neatly trimmed and devoid of polish. Emily had kept her nails lengthy and painted bright colors. She couldn’t open Coke cans and got upset when one chipped or broke off. While those manicured nails had been sexy as hell, he’d always worried about being impaled when she handled his man parts. That wouldn’t be a problem with Cloe. Those long fingers could easily wrap around his—
Whoa, boy!
He brought a screeching halt to the thought train that had completely run off the rails. Obviously, his three-year dry spell had finally caught up with him. Cloe Holiday giving him a hand job? What was the matter with him? Shock at his wayward thoughts gave him the jolt he needed to regulate his breathing and sit up.
Her eyes behind the lenses were filled with concern and kindness. Which made him feel badly about being so snappish.
“Sorry I’m being a bear. Weddings aren’t really my thing.”
She smiled softly. She had a nice smile. It wasn’t fake or too big. It was just . . . nice.
“Weddings are stressful, aren’t they? Not only for the bride and groom, who feel like they are the hosts, but also for their parents who are watching their money leak down the drain. Then there are the bachelors who fear their girlfriends will get marriage fever and start demanding proposals. And their girlfriends who are stressed because they’re worried they won’t ever get that proposal.” Her smile faded. “And finally there are the people who have gambled at love and lost. For those people, weddings just make them feel like . . . complete and utter failures.”
Cloe had hit the nail right on the head. Rome felt like a complete and utter failure. He just wasn’t willing to admit it. Especially when she was giving him that pitying look. Sympathy was not something Remingtons had ever received graciously.
“A complete and utter failure? Look, just because I got a divorce doesn’t mean I’m a failure. I run one of the biggest ranches in Texas and run it damn well.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about you being a failure, Rome. I was talking about me.”
Before he could ask her what she meant, Liberty came charging around the corner of the barn. While Cloe was calm, soft spoken, and blended into the woodwork, Liberty was high strung, controlling, and commanded attention with her stunning beauty. At one time, Rome had considered asking her out, but she scared him too much.
“Have you seen Sweetie and Decker? We’re getting ready to take pictures and I can’t find them anywhere. I swear trying to keep control of a bridal party after the wedding is over is like trying to corral a litter of misbehaving puppies.” Liberty glanced between Cloe and Rome. “Just what are you two doing hiding over here? And why are you holding Rome’s hat, Cloe?”
Rome waited for Cloe to tell her sister about his panic attack.
She didn’t.
“I was feeling a little lightheaded from the heat in the barn and Rome helped me outside to get some fresh air.” She fanned herself with his hat, causing the wisps of hair around her face to flutter. What was her hair color? Mahogany?
“Lightheaded?” Liberty said. “You’ve never been lightheaded in your life, Clo—” She cut off and her eyes widened. “Wait a second. Are you pregnant? Is that why Brandon has finally gotten around to asking you to marry him after six long years?”
Rome glanced at Cloe, whose face was as red as the barn. She was getting married? Why did that surprise him? Probably because she had never dated in high school or even shown any interest in dating. Which had made him assume she would end up like his Aunt Francis, who was quite happy living alone in South Padre with her three parakeets.
“I’m not pregnant,” Cloe said.
Liberty’s eyes narrowed. “Then why were you lightheaded? And don’t give me that ridiculous excuse about the barn being hot. It’s not over sixty degrees today.”
Since Cloe had lied for him, Rome jumped in and helped her out. “I guess some people are just more hot natured than others. I was burning up in the barn.”
Liberty studied him. “You do look sweaty. You might want to wipe some of that off before pictures.” She glanced at Cloe. “And take off that ugly scarf, Clo. No wonder you’re overheated with that thing wrapped around your neck.” She reached for the scarf, but Cloe sent her a warning look.
“The scarf stays, Libby.”
Rome was surprised. He’d always viewed Cloe as a wilting pansy next to her more aggressive sisters. But it looked like she had some steel hidden under her quiet reserve.
Liberty backed off. “Fine. Keep the scarf, but you two don’t dawdle. Since I can’t find Decker and Sweetie, we’ll start on the groomsmen’s and bridesmaids’ photos.” She whirled and hurried off as quickly as she had arrived.
“I see Liberty is still a tornado.” Rome took his hat from Cloe and pulled it on. “So you’re getting married. Congratulations.”
Instead of replying, she studied him for a long moment before she stepped closer and reached up to adjust his hat. He didn’t know what surprised him most. Her uncharacteristic actions, or the realization that he’d been wrong about her eyes. They weren’t the same color as her sisters’. This close, he could see that the irises were a darker shade of green. Like the color of the late summer grass that covered the south pasture.
And how did she know how he liked his hat to sit?
She adjusted it to the perfect angle on his head as she spoke. “Actually, I’m not getting married. Brandon broke up with me a few weeks ago. I just haven’t gotten around to telling my family yet. I didn’t want to ruin Sweetie’s wedding with bad news.”
Rome felt like a complete jerk. While Cloe had been trying to make him feel better about having a panic attack, she had been suffering from her own relationship ending only weeks ago. A six-year relationship.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
