And yet, he couldn’t get his feet to move toward the barn. Not yet. Not when he could—should—spare a couple of minutes to make sure trouble hadn’t followed her to the brunch.
“Caught you,” he whispered in her ear, leaning over the fence and also catching a whiff of her feminine scent.
She choked on her mimosa—he felt bad about that—then turned around. Even though he couldn’t see her light brown eyes behind her sunglasses, he had a strong feeling they were sparked with annoyance.
“Not too hard to do,” she said, “since I’m not trying to hide.”
He stood well above the top of the fence and looked down at her with a mix of interest and disbelief. “Then what are you doing?”
She wiggled her nose, like she needed to sneeze. “Brunching, obviously. What are you doing?”
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I like your shades, but you get a little crease in your forehead when you frown at me.”
She relaxed her face. “It’s such a common occurrence, of course you’d notice.”
“I’m pretty sure I should be the one giving you a dirty look.” He took quick stock of the event behind her. “Given you haven’t been invited to this wedding.”
“Shh!” At his raised eyebrows she added, “Please.”
So began a staring contest, just like they used to do in college, each of them unwilling to concede to the other.
A bell chimed. Someone called out, “They’re here!” And a wave of excitement settled over the fifty or so guests.
Kennedy spun around to watch the engaged couple step down from the deck to enter the party. A few seconds later, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips pressed together.
“Remember what I said, Shortcake.” He kept his tone friendly but firm.
“Grr.” Her grumble was cute. She loved when he called her Shortcake. Not.
Guests tapped their forks and spoons to their champagne glasses and chanted, “Kiss, kiss…”
The smiling couple obliged, the groom dipping his bride for a kiss. Family and friends cheered and whistled, but Kennedy stayed quiet. With her back to him, he couldn’t read her expression, so he relaxed his arms atop the fence and leaned forward, hoping for a glimpse of her profile.
“They look happy to me,” he said from over her shoulder.
“Oh, are you still here?” She spun back around, wobbling slightly.
He glanced down her body to see if her heels were stuck in the grass again. But to his surprise—and unwelcome delight—he found her wearing cowboy boots.
“I’m here all week,” he reminded her.
Her gaze moved somewhere beyond him. The sunglasses hid her eyes, but she had another tell: worrying her bottom lip. She wanted him to think she had the situation under control, but she didn’t.
“You’re thinking very hard over there. Don’t hurt yourself,” he teased.
She grinned up at him. “Worried?”
“Hardly.”
“I should get back to my party.”
“Or I could call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.” Yeah, he went there. The truth was, the ranch was private property and that meant he had every right to call the authorities. Not that he really would.
She huffed out a breath. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He lifted his arms off the fence and tipped his cowboy hat to show her who was boss. “You know the deal, Shortcake. No funny business.” With that, he turned and walked away, no doubt leaving her to fume.
…
He wouldn’t call the authorities, would he? Mr. Tall and Teasing just wanted to remind her to keep things on the down low. She could do that. And—wait a second. Was it trespassing if she was a guest of the inn? She didn’t think so. Grr… He could take his warning and shove it up—
“Rule Number Two, hang with the crowd,” Andrew said, coming up beside her.
She drained her mimosa, pushed a certain cowboy from her mind, and spun around. “You’re right. Let’s mingle.”
Andrew gave her his elbow, so she linked their arms. “By the way, you look great in those boots and dress. Country singer vibe all the way.”
“More like country winger, since I’m improvising this, but thanks.”
“Stick with me, Carrie Underwood, and you’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine with a glazed doughnut in me and a minute alone with Reed.” She steered Andrew toward the buffet table and the doughnut cake. “Doughnut first.”
“Hello,” said a woman, standing near the table with her own doughnut in hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Hello, I’m Andrew. And this is Kennedy.” No Australian accent on Andrew’s part. Phew.
“Hi.” Kennedy grabbed a doughnut and took a quick bite, not to be rude but because Andrew was much better at this than she was. “Oh my God. This is the best doughnut I’ve ever eaten.”
The woman smiled. “I know. This is my second one. I’m Connie, Elle’s aunt. You must be friends of Reed’s.”
Kennedy almost choked. Nothing like meeting the bride’s aunt their first day crashing.
“We are,” Andrew said, cool as a cucumber. “Hospital friends.”
“You’re doctors, too?”
“Therapists. We run the dance therapy program, second floor, physiotherapy department.”
Kennedy stuffed more doughnut in her mouth. Um, hello? She was a doctor. Why make this more difficult? At least the lie rolled off his tongue with ease and sounded believable.
“Kennedy hates when I share this, but were you a Seinfeld fan?”
Uh-oh.
“I was, yes,” Connie said.
“You know the episode where Elaine dances?”
“How could I forget?”
“That was our Kennedy.”
Connie laughed. “No!”
Kennedy stepped on Andrew’s foot with the heel of her boot. He let out a little grunt. “Yes. After dislocating her hip, she took dance lessons to correct those awkward body mechanics of hers and the rest is history. Dance became her passion and a way to help others.”
“You two will have to lead us in a dance at the reception.”
“Of course,” Andrew deadpanned.