He’d gone over the falls in a barrel, as Rye was fond of saying, and he darn well knew it.
Tammy Hollins, formerly Morrison, had been on his mind and under his skin since their first meeting, when she’d been all flushed and glowing from Rye’s uncharacteristically saintly act of bringing home puppies for her kids. Her elegance had stolen his breath. Her blond hair was coiffed, her dress perfect, but underneath all that polish was a naked vulnerability, revealed in the way she’d raised her hand to her neck when their eyes first met. Everything in him had stilled. And in that moment he
knew
her, knew her strength, her creativity, her lushness—even if it wasn’t yet on display. And that had been it.
From that moment onward, he hadn’t wanted anyone else.
“Somebody’s got a crush,” the familiar voice of his sister, Shelby, whispered as he snagged another beer from one of Rye’s penguin-clad waiters.
Turning, he beheld his three sisters, lined up in the order of their birth. Susannah was his Irish twin, coming ten months after him, while Shelby was Sadie’s. This evening they were all dressed to the nines, their eyes dancing with glee.
John Parker’s sisters shared his curly hair, and they complained to no end about how it frizzed up in the summertime. It was nonsense, of course—they were all beautiful, which sometimes made it difficult to be their big brother given all the men who swarmed around them—but their smiles were what drew people to them. When they were kids, their mama had encouraged them to smile at strangers to lighten their day, and now they could charm just about anyone by doing no more than making their lips curve.
“Y’all go on now. Plenty of men to dance with.”
They gave him those charming smiles of theirs, so in sync they could have choreographed it, and didn’t move.
“But it’s so much more fun to tease you,” Sadie said, reaching for his beer and taking a swig.
Susannah grimaced. She might be a Southern girl, but she hated beer. “I don’t know how you can drink that, especially after he put his germs on it.”
“You’ve gotten all snotty since you started decorating rich people’s houses for a living,” Sadie fired back, the tomboy of the group.
“That’s enough of that,” he said, ever the peacemaker. “Y’all best get a move on, or I’ll tell Mama you’re up to no good.”
As if on cue, they all rolled their eyes at him.
“We’ll catch you later, Romeo,” Shelby nearly sang.
“Girls, you leave your brother alone,” his mama said, joining them.
She’d been too far away to hear most of what they’d said, but she must have sensed they were ganging up on him. Mama always had possessed eyes in the back of her head. There was no mistaking her as their mama since she had the same curly brown hair as all her children, though it was shot through with gray now.
Called out on their mischief, John Parker’s sisters gave charming waves and disappeared into the crowd.
“Tammy is a lovely woman,” Mama commented, sipping her ginger ale.
“Yes, she is.” And he wasn’t saying another word about it.
“I see the way the wind blows.”
“Mama.”
“Only an observation. I’ll just take myself off to your stepdaddy and see if I can coax him into a dance.”
John Parker glanced over to their table, where, sure enough, Dale was watching the festivities. After his daddy had up and left them when Sadie was still in diapers, his mama had done everything she could to support the family, taking a job at their church’s daycare so she could make money while watching over her little ones. Just after Sadie started kindergarten, she became their minister’s secretary, which had inspired her to seek her own calling. She’d met Dale at church when John Parker was a freshman in high school and married him a year later. John Parker’s stepfather had taught him a lot about being around women and letting them carve out the space they needed for themselves.
After kissing his cheek, Mama set off. It took some serious coaxing, but soon she and Dale were cheek-to-cheek dancing. He spotted his sisters watching them, smiles on their faces. Yes, they all loved seeing how happy their mama and their stepdaddy were. It hadn’t been that way with their own daddy, but John Parker had learned sometimes you had to lose something to get something better.
Tammy was learning that lesson. He prayed she would recognize he was that something better.
Her laughter reached his ears, the sound memorized by his heart. She was dancing with her daddy now, and he studied her over the top of his beer as Hampton twirled her twice. When they danced close to the edge of the dance floor where he was standing, her eyes flashed to his. Her laughter subsided, and she looked away.
“You need a better poker face,” Rhett Butler Blaylock murmured, appearing beside him. “Your desire for Tammy is plain as day.”
Maybe he needed to take a walk.
“He should make a move,” Clayton Chandler said, playfully bumping him from the other side.
Flanked by two of his oldest friends, part of him wanted to snarl. He’d been trying to hide his regard, but he knew she was aware of him, of
it
. She was still healing from her divorce, and she wasn’t a woman to rush. She’d left her husband not quite a year ago now, and his mama had raised him to respect waiting periods, be they divorce or death.
He was a patient man.
Well, at least he used to be. Each time he saw her, he got a little less patient. At the dress rehearsal last night, she’d arrived in one of her linen suits—black with white piping. She always looked like a lady, her blond hair perfectly pulled back from her face, her slim figure glamorously swathed in fashions that old-school movie actresses had made famous on the big screen. Yet John Parker knew she struggled with that image…
“Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay, I’ll help a boy out,” Rhett said. “Clayton here told me Gunner Nolan finally took the bait with the girl you hired to be his girlfriend.”
When John Parker thought about the tabloid reporter from
The Southern Mirror
who’d broken the news about Tammy’s million dollar divorce, he wanted nothing more than to seek the man out and punch him in the face.
“You guys are acting like super spies with this plan,” Rhett mused. “It’s the kind of thing you’d see in a movie.”
It had jolted John Parker when Tammy brought up the leak. He wondered if she was psychic or somehow in the know, but he was certain Rye hadn’t told her about their plan. He, Rye, and Clayton didn’t know if Megan Proctor, the actress they’d hired, would be able to ferret anything out of Gunner, but they’d decided it was their best shot.
“It was Clayton’s idea since no threat of legal action or amount of money was working,” John Parker told Rhett. He hadn’t liked it either, but they’d agreed to pursue all roads. This one was like the path to hell, he thought, paved with good intentions.
Clayton raised his beer. “I should thank that bitch I dated, Amanda, for giving me the idea. She got close to me to get information for her tabloid about Rye. Seemed only fitting we throw some women at Gunner Nolan to see if he’d succumb.”
“How many women did y’all try?” Rhett said, waving to Abbie, who was talking to her brother, professional poker player Mac Maven, and his wife, Peggy, who lived in Dare Valley with them and were also friends of Rye’s.
“Three,” Clayton said. “Megan finally snagged him.”
“Sounds like a rotten business to me.”
“It is,” John Parker said, and without meaning to, his eyes sought out Tammy. How was he going to balance her brother’s desire for revenge and her wish to move on with life?
Rye shuffled over then, dancing to the music. “How’s my boys? Y’all having fun?”
John Parker immediately slapped him on the back, putting away the unpleasantness of the tabloid talk. “You bet.”
“It’s a great wedding,” Rhett said easily. “It makes this bubba so happy to see you grinning like a buffoon over love.”
“Please.
Can’t we talk about all of the good-looking women around?” Clayton asked, tipping his longneck at the dance floor. “Well, except for Tammy. J.P. is moping over your sister, Rye.”
Of course, Rye wasn’t ignorant of John Parker’s regard. “Well, looks like he plans on changing that since he’s asked my sister to plant gardens for him and all.”
“You’re shitting me,” Clayton said, giving him a full body bump like they were high school football players. “You must have it worse than I imagined.”
“I think it’s a fine idea,” Rhett drawled. “Tammy’s told me about the gardening business she’s starting, and J.P.’s supporting her interests and talents. That’s what a man does for his woman.”
“You’ll watch out for her, J.P.,” Rye said, “that much I know. But she’s not sure of you yet, so mind yourself, or we’re going to have a problem.”
“Don’t worry,” John Parker said, turning his back to the dance floor so he wouldn’t be distracted by the sight of Tammy dancing around as light as a feather. “I don’t plan on making a move until she lets me know. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
Rye grew serious for the first time since he’d strolled out of the church with Tory on his arm. “And if she doesn’t come ‘round?”
“Then I won’t make a move.”
“She will,” Rhett mused. “Even with your back to her, she can’t stop herself from stealing glances at you. She does it all the time. Even Abbie noticed. Tammy might not be ready, but she’s interested in our boy here.”
“Can we talk about something else?” John Parker said, feeling his ears turn red.
“Okay. Now, I was hoping the three of us could sing to my bride,” Rye said, looking back and forth between him and Clayton. “Be like our old days in our fraternity. Tory loved the song I sang for her earlier to kick off the reception, and I’d like to put that look in her eyes again. Now Rhett, I love you, man, but you can’t join us. As your beautiful wife and I can attest, you are as tone-deaf as a tomcat.”
Rhett gave him a slight punch. “Doesn’t matter. A woman in love doesn’t care what a song sounds like when it comes from the heart.”
“I am literally going to throw up here,” Clayton said. “What do you want to sing, Rye?”
He scratched his chin for a moment. “How about that number J.P. wrote our third year in law school? ‘You’re the One.’”
“God, our buddy here was a romantic even then. He never capitalized on all of the Vandy girls who wanted to hook up with him after we sang at open mike night at Pat’s bar,” Clayton mused. “But since it’s a wedding, I guess it’s fitting. Three-part harmony?”
“Yep. You up for it, J.P.?”
“It’s my song, isn’t it?”
It had gone on his first and only album after Rye had orchestrated a record deal for him, but soon he’d discovered the touring and the country-music life weren’t for him. He’d missed the law. He’d found a way to make a life of the two things he loved to do. He had his own law practice and a songwriting business, balancing his two passions.
Clayton hadn’t wanted to be on stage either, even though he’d inherited the voice that had made his country-music star father famous. So, he’d followed in his mama’s footsteps, becoming her deputy manager as she guided Rye’s career.
After they made their way in front of the band, Rye handed them each a microphone.
“Since I’m a singer, I wanted to grace my bride with another song. This one was written by my friend J.P., here, and not me. I wanted to sing with J.P. and Clayton since they helped me get my career up and running and have been the best friends a man could ever hope to have. Now I have the woman of my heart, and Tory, honey, I love you more than I can say. You’re the one.”
As the band played the opening bars of music, they all started to sing.
You’re the one.
The one I long for.
The one I pray for.
You’re the one.
No one makes life worth living.
No one makes the sun shine like you.
No one makes me soften and surrender.
Only you.
You’re the air I want to breathe.
You’re the wind I want wrapped around me.
Yours is the heart I will always cherish.
You’re the one.
The only.
You’re mine.
John Parker couldn’t keep his eyes off Tammy as he sang. She stood with her hand on Rory’s shoulders, staring back at him, unblinking.
He’d written the song after his mama had pulled him aside one Christmas and told him she’d been praying God would send him the perfect woman. He’d been moved by that, so much so he’d started praying for her too.
Even from the stage, he could see the tears gather in Tammy’s eyes.
Yeah. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she was the one for him, the one he was singing to.
The only question was, would she surrender to it?
Chapter 3
No matter what Amelia Ann used as a distraction, she simply couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at Clayton Chandler. Especially after hearing his voice… Who would have thought the man could sing like
that?
Funny how easy it was to forget he was the son of country star Jimmy Ray Chandler. His talent made her wonder why he’d chosen to be part of Rye’s management team with his mama rather than pursuing his own singing career. Great. The last thing she needed was to find him more intriguing…
Now Clayton was leaning back in one of the white chairs nestled around the packed dance floor, checking his phone. Working, she expected. The man had a passion for it, something they had in common.
If that wasn’t enough, the thunderbolt of attraction she felt for him rocked her to the core. With his black hair and arresting gray eyes, Clayton personified tall, dark, and handsome.
He was all man, and she couldn’t help wanting that.
The first time she’d met him at one of Rye’s concerts, he’d scared the hell out of her…well, he’d scared the hell out of Amelia Ann the debutant. The other side of her, the one she hadn’t yet known what to do with, had been fascinated.
Now she knew what to do with it, and it didn’t matter that he was seven years older than she was, that he both worked for her brother and was his best friend, or that he ignored her like the plague.